The Cursed

by Dave Duncan

  That was typical of Labranza. She seemed to have a gift for enlisting other persons' powers to further her own ends—she had demonstrated it many times in Raragash. Others beside Jasbur had noted that gift, but whether she used mere personality or some sort of fatalist influence was something no one seemed to know.

  "Who?" Ordur demanded, crunching noisily.

  "A good question! People you were supposed to find and help."

  About to protest the injustice, Jasbur thought better of it. She was being very unfair, though. He and Ordur had been given an impossible mission. There was no way to identify an Ogoalscath. A Jaulscath, yes. They were easy. Ordur was very obviously an Awailscath at the moment, but transitions were usually much less obvious. Other Cursed could either suppress their powers or use them without revealing their own whereabouts.

  "And what are you doing in Tolamin anyway?" she continued. "You were sent to Daling."

  "Daling drove all the survivors out, whether they were Cursed or not. We thought some of them might have come here. They must have."

  "What's left of it. Obviously you haven't been eating well. What happened to all your money? No, don't bother explaining. I can guess." She began exploring the chests, banging lids. In a few moments she snorted. "Blankets. Well, they'll do. Here, dry yourselves."

  She tossed a bundle over to the men and then continued her investigations. Jasbur decided he had blunted the edge of his hunger and could not eat any more of the sawdusty biscuit without something to drink. He stood up and began to towel himself.

  "Report!" Labranza said. "How many Cursed have you contacted?"

  "Three, Saj. A Jaulscath, an Ogoalscath, and an Ivielscath."

  "None of them had arrived when I left."

  It was a long way to Raragash. The last Jasbur had seen of the Ivielscath, the poor devil had been barely a stone's throw ahead of a killer mob.

  "We shall have to forget the rest of the refugees now," Labranza announced, completing her trip along one side of the cabin and crossing to the other. "There is a more important emergency."

  Much as Jasbur would like to be relieved of his mission, that was not good news. "Yes, Saj?"

  "Tibal Frainith. Do you know him? Ah, here's some clothes!"

  "The Shoolscath? Tall, lanky? Middle twenties?"

  "That's the one. He left Raragash about a month ago, without any explanation. He's been heading this way." Labranza came over to Jasbur and handed him a smock and breeches. "These will fit you, I think."

  He took them without a word, dropping his blanket. Then he remembered that he was male at the moment and she was not. He turned his back hurriedly.

  Why was Labranza Lamith pursuing Tibal? The residents of Raragash were free to come and go as they pleased, or so he had always believed. She might or might not be willing to explain.

  "Saw him," Ordur growled. He was still drying himself.

  "You did?" The Ogoalscath eyed him intimidatingly.

  "Don't believe him, Saj," Jasbur said. "He's dumb as a dead pig just now."

  She turned her glare on him. "But it would explain why my influence brought you to me. When?"

  Ordur scratched his woolly hair, then pushed the other out of his blue eye. "Um. Two days ago? Maybe three."

  "Did you speak to him?"

  "Um. No."

  "Why not?"

  He recoiled a pace. "Well, he wouldn't have known me, Labranza Saj!"

  She exchanged glances with Jasbur. "But you could have told him who you were!"

  "No, Saj. He was on a boat."

  "Ah! Going which way?"

  Ordur scratched his head again, the blanket dangling from his other hand. He was quite oblivious of his nudity. He probably didn't recall what sex he was. "Don't remember."

  Labranza shrugged angrily and went back to the clothes chest.

  "Was the boat being towed, Ordur?" Jasbur asked patiently. "Were there animals pulling it?"

  Ordur thought, screwing up his unmatched eyes. "No."

  "It had a sail up?"

  "Yes."

  It had been going downstream, then, but Labranza was capable of working that out for herself.

  "There's nowhere downriver except Daling," she said. "So that's where he's heading." She tossed garments to Ordur. "No shoes here, that I can find. We go on to Daling. It is essential that we find Tibal Frainith!"

  Perhaps feeling more confident now that he was dry and decently clad, Jasbur took a deep breath and said, "Why, Labranza Saj?"

  She gave him a look to melt his bones. "The Karpana have crossed the Nildu."

  That was certainly bad news, but why was it relevant? Fortunately Ordur, apparently managing to listen and lace up his breeches at the same time, said, "Huh?"

  Labranza looked at him with slightly less menace. Perhaps she was capable of feeling pity after all. "That means war. The Karpana are as bad as the Zarda ever were, probably worse, especially to us."

  Jasbur shivered. He had heard of the Karpana's attitude toward the Cursed. The Zarda had spared Raragash when they overthrew the empire, but the Karpana would not be so well disposed. But what did that have to do with Tibal Frainith? "The Nildu's a long way away."

  The ports on one side brightened. The noise of rain had stopped altogether. Did that mean that the Ogoalscaths had stopped influencing, or was something worse going to replace the storm?

  Labranza stalked toward the door. She stopped when she reached it and turned around. "We have reason to believe," she said, "that Tibal has foreseen the coming of the Renewer."

  Jasbur groaned. "Balderdash!" Before he could stop himself, he added, "No one believes in that nonsense any more, surely?"

  He had earned another of Labranza's dangerous glares.

  "No?" she murmured.

  "The empire's been dead for a hundred years! I mean... Well... Of course, if it's true, then it's wonderful news!"

  "It may be. Or it may not be. It certainly means war and upheaval."

  She spoke as if Shoolscath prophecies were reliable, which they never could be. Or could they? What did she know that he did not? "What do the other Shoolscaths say?"

  "Nothing, of course. As little as possible." She smiled a reptilian smile. "But we are working on them."

  Did she mean Jaulscaths? Again Jasbur shivered. Labranza was hinting at something very nasty indeed, but she was capable of anything. It was her ruthlessness that made her so frightening. Most Ogoalscaths were chary of using influence, for it could harm them almost as easily as it could help their cause. Ogoalscaths died in bizarre ways—being struck by lightning, or swallowed bodily into cracks in the earth. All fatalist power was two-edged like that. Labranza never seemed to hesitate. She did what she wanted, apparently without a thought to the cost.

  She opened the cabin door and peered out. Her snarl of annoyance brought Jasbur to her shoulder at once.

  The sun was shining, the storm had gone as fast as it had come. The barge had broken loose from its moorings and was drifting sideways down the great river. Already the burned ruins of Tolamin were disappearing into the early-morning haze.

  "I hope we are right in assuming that Tibal Frainith has gone to Daling," she said crossly. "We seem to be on our way there whether we like it or not."

  Obviously that was her own fault. Only her Ogoalscath influence could have produced this outlandish result. But even Labranza Lamith could not guarantee good luck, so they might be heading in entirely the wrong direction. She moved over to the rail to peer around the corner of the cabin.

  Jasbur thought unhappily of the long winding river and the desolate countryside that flanked it. They would reach Daling only if they did not run aground first. Meanwhile he had a couple of days with the fearsome Labranza to look forward to. He wondered whose barge this was, and where the crew had gone.

  "Jasbur," muttered a sorrowful voice at his ear. "I'm sorry I'm so stupid."

  He winced and turned to put an arm around his confused friend. "You can't help it, and I shouldn't be so snap
py."

  "You still love me?"

  At the moment Ordur's own mother couldn't love him—and she certainly wouldn't know him—but Jasbur managed to say the words. "Yes, I still love you. And one day soon, everything'll be all right again."

  Ordur nodded glumly. "Yes, then it'll be all right."

  "Jasbur!" Labranza called. "You must hoist some sail and make sure we do not run aground. That is man's work."

  "We're not sailors, Labranza Saj. But we'll try."

  "That would be very wise of you."

  "Ah, yes."

  "Jasbur?" Ordur whispered. "Why does she want Tibal Frainith?"

  "I don't know." There were many Shoolscaths in the Academy. Why was Tibal Frainith so important that Labranza herself would leave the sanctuary of Raragash to find him? Jasbur was certainly not brave enough to ask her.

  "Oh." Ordur shrugged, puzzled. "Labranza Saj? Why do you want Tibal?"

  There were advantages to being stupid.

  She eyed him with the sort of expression emperors must have worn when condemning close relatives to death by torture, but she answered him, which she probably would not have done for Jasbur. "I strongly suspect that he is on his way to meet the Renewer. I want to meet him too."

  6

  Sasion's Butterfly was an ill-tempered gelding with half an ear missing and an uncertain temper. He kept trying to pitch Polion into the undergrowth or rub him off against low branches. A man who had just been publicly identified as mature and virile had a certain dignity to keep up, so Polion fell back to the end of the string to be rear guard. There could be no danger so close to Tharn Valley, but he needed an excuse. It was an hour before Butterfly tired of his tricks and Polion could spare a little attention for the rest of his life and the world in general.

  Then he had no one to talk with. Kathim and Aneim were next ahead of him, jabbering like magpies over the market prospects of Daling. Everyone else was out of sight in the trees.

  He had been to Daling as a kid, years ago. The thought of visiting it again was exciting enough in itself. To visit Daling as a man... but those places would demand money, which was something he did not have. Still, just to visit a big city would be a welcome change from the vale. The most exciting thing that ever happened there was the swallows coming back in the spring. Daling was no Zarda shanty town. Daling was still Qolian, the last remnant of the old empire.

  Looking forward to it. Thrilling!

  To be threatened with a wife at the same time was a little much. A man would need some time to think about that. Father might want a say in the matter and Mother certainly would, so nothing too final could happen. There were a couple of girls over at Wideford he had his eye on, and Shei Ignamith, although she'd set her heart on that beefy cousin of hers. And there was Meilim.

  Why a city girl, a Daling girl? The Old Man was up to his usual tricks, roping a man down as soon as he had hairs on his chin. Polion Tharn was not quite sure he wanted to be roped down yet. There was a lot of world outside Tharn Valley. There were ocean-going ships. There were wars. Man could make a fortune in a year or two if the fates were kind.

  What was wrong with Meilim, anyway? Why did the Old Man have such a hatred of cousin matches? The Ignamiths did it all the time.

  Why are we going so slowly? We'll never get to Daling at this rate.

  He was the only bachelor in the group. Would Jukion loan him some money in Daling? It would a brotherly sort of thing to do. Trouble was, Jukion was just bright enough to guess why he'd want it, and too straitlaced to approve. Now Farion's wife had not long had her third; Thalbinion's was about due—both men must be feeling out of practice. They would surely slip away from under Aunt Elim's eye at least one night. Would they take Polion along, now that he was officially one of them?

  When will we get out of these accursed trees and their flies?

  What sort of wife? Plump or skinny? The plump ones tended to get very fat very soon. The thin ones died young.

  A horseman waiting in the trees...

  Polion blew a mental raspberry.

  Wosion had pulled off the trail and was waiting for someone. No mystery who that someone was. Of all his uncles—two of whom were a lot younger than he was—Polion liked Wosion least. He was not Wosion's favorite nephew, either.

  Sure enough, Wosion nudged his gray back onto the trail as Polion drew level. He had the sourest smile in the family. "Got your horse under control now?"

  "Yes, Uncle."

  "Well enough to talk while we ride, I mean?"

  "Yes, Uncle."

  Wosion was a pinch-faced man with a prominent nose. He was weedy by the standards of Tharn males, who tended to be built like snowmen—excluding a certain nephew, unfortunately. Polion was still waiting for a blizzard to hit him, but now it seemed unlikely. He might be fated to remain an icicle. The thought that he might be fated to look like Uncle Wosion was extremely unpleasant, but at least he did not have the same pike nose.

  As a child, Wosion had been gored by a bull and left with a permanent limp. The Old Man had sent him off to Wesnar to apprentice, and now he was family pastor. That made him official custodian of morals, although the Old Man himself was much better at keeping people in line than Wosion could ever be. Wosion also taught the small fry to read and write—with indifferent success in the case of that same nephew. His most important job was to keep watch on the stars, calculating days propitious or unpropitious, learning the fates' intent.

  Wosion shaved his face every few days, apparently because pastors were expected to. He was the only man in the valley without a beard. He never went bare-chested in public like others. He never cracked jokes. Polion had learned long ago that the best way to deal with Wosion was to answer all his questions with a simple yes or a no, without comment.

  Wosion had learned to ask him the sort of question that could not be answered with a simple yes or no. Now, for example—

  "What were you doing to Meilim in the hay barn?"

  Polion's fingers tightened on the reins. Butterfly flicked his one-and-a-half ears and pranced a couple of steps. Polion kicked him. Doing to? Not doing with?

  "Nothing, Unc... Nothing, Wosion." A man now.

  "You expect me to believe that?"

  "Yes, Wosion."

  The pastor peered at him distrustfully. "It was not what your grandfather implied."

  "No, Wosion?"

  "Ah! He said, 'hay,' not 'hay barn,' didn't he? What were you doing to Meilim in the hay?"

  Polion tried a cold glare. The answer was only fingers, but he wouldn't discuss such things, at least not with the pastor. Ask rather what Meilim had been doing to him! She was a sadistic tease, that's what she was. "If you're eager to hear about it, I suggest you ask her, Wosion."

  "You realize that you have ruined her honor and reputation?"

  "No, Wosion. If anyone did that, it was Grandfather."

  The pastor's face reddened in outrage. Before he could explode, Polion continued. "And how did Grandfather know? From the women, right? And who told the women? Not me."

  "I expect you were observed."

  Polion said, "No, Wosion!" firmly. It had been black as the ice house. Both times. He flapped flies away from his face. Meilim had been bragging.

  Apparently his tone convinced the older man, for he scowled sourly and switched his attack. "Don't get too heated over that marriage he mentioned."

  Polion was tempted to say that he would rather sow wild oats for a while yet anyway, but discretion prevailed. He might decide to get married. He might decide to go off and be a mercenary soldier for a while. A girl of his own, for every night, was certainly an appealing idea, but mercenary soldiers would not lack for women. Why not? was another possible response to Wosion's curious change of... Fates!

  Butterfly detected his spasm of shock and danced sideways a few steps, heading some low branches. Polion hauled him into line with a savage yank on the bit and a kick in the ribs.

  "You mean... Grandfather?... his tooth, you mean!
"

  The pastor nodded. "You're a man now, you'd better face reality."

  Polion glanced forward. The trees were thinning out and he could see most of the line ahead. A Tharn family outing was usually much louder and more raucous than this gloomy parade. A world without Bulion Tharn? It was unthinkable!

  It could happen. Joyim, who had been his own age, cutting her hand and dead in a week...

  "The signs are propitious, aren't they?" he demanded. "Iviel... I saw the Healer this morning, bright as the moon! She was visible almost to full daylight."

  Wosion pulled a face. "Iviel is also giver of sickness, and she is in the House of Sorrows! His tooth trouble began two weeks ago, when Awail was full, and in the House of Bones. A tooth is a sort of bone, isn't it? We may see the new moon tonight at sunset. If not tonight, then tomorrow. So we shall have Awail, giver of change, and Poul, bringer of death, together in the House of Men, or the House of the Father, as the Nosavians term it. Even you must see the significance?"

  Polion glanced up at the sun, floating between trees now as the travelers emerged from the woods. "Poul is giver of life, too!" He was clutching at soap bubbles. Wosion had taught him what little he knew of the lore.

  "And Awail, as she renews herself every month, can also renew us, granting permanence, or at least continuation. The portents are never certain, you know that. Fortunately Awail did not eclipse Poul, which would have made Father's death almost a certainty. But they stand together in the House of Men, with Iviel in the House of Sorrows!"

  A world without Bulion?

  "But only the fates themselves know their intent," Wosion said firmly. "Shool is in the House of Hopes, you know, and that means a lot. I want you to... I need you to do something."

  "Yes, Uncle?"

  "First, stay cheerful! Worry is men's business, and we must not alarm the women. Secondly, keep those sharp eyes of yours open. I'm making you rear guard. Farion can relieve you later. Times are troubled, Polion. I don't need the stars to tell me of fighting and bloodshed in our future."

  "You don't?"

  Wosion sighed, as if all nephews were unutterably obtuse. "Tolamin has fallen! Wesnar may go after Daling next, or the Karpana may cross the Nildu at last. There are vagrants around already. So keep a hand on your sword."