Curse of Kings (The Trials of Oland Born, Book 1)

by Barclay, Alex

  LAND AND DELPHI REACHED THE RAGGED STONE path that led to the Pyreboys’ cabin. The air was clear and there was only a sprinkling of black dust on the ground. They untied their masks and returned them to Oland’s bag. They could hear a faint voice inside the cabin. They walked up the path and listened.

  It was Blaise. “Finally!” he was saying. “I shall recount the Legend of Praevisia. And not a word from any of you.”

  Oland looked at Delphi and shook his head. Now was not the time to call on the Pyreboys.

  “Hundreds and thousands of years ago,” said Blaise, “a baby girl was born, arriving, bawling, into the world, like every other baby born before and since. The midwife handed her to her mother and the baby quietened. Satisfied, the nurse smiled and left the two alone, promising to return the following day. When she closed the door behind her, the baby opened her eyes. The mother stifled a scream. For the baby’s eyes were like two pools of crystal water. There appeared to be no end to their depth and there was no dark pupil at their centre.

  “Although the mother did not sleep one wink, the baby drifted in and out of sleep all night. But each time she opened her eyes, they were the same deep pools of crystal water, and the mother saw images in them: she saw herself, she saw family, friends, people she knew. When the nurse arrived the following day, the terrified mother told her everything. But when her daughter opened her eyes, the pools of water were gone, and she simply had two beautiful eyes of blue. The nurse told the mother that her tiredness had led her to see things that were not there. The mother, relieved, named her beautiful baby daughter Praevisia.

  “It was later said that for the first twenty-four hours of her life, the baby’s eyes were pools to be filled with the futures of many, and that these visions would pass across them, for anyone fearless enough not to be repelled by the aberrance. For Praevisia was a scryer, born with the power to see things before they came to pass.”

  Blaise continued. “It first happened during a thunderstorm two days before her tenth birthday. The sky grew dark and rain started to pour from the skies. Lightning would not be far behind.

  “Praevisia had been playing in the garden, but her mother soon called on her to come into the safety of the house. Overhead, the thunder built to a deafening crescendo. Seconds later, a huge bolt of lightning struck the tree in front of Praevisia as she ran to her mother. It exploded into flames. But this was not what terrified Praevisia. What terrified her were the hundreds of images that flooded her mind as the flames shone in the water at her feet. She saw fragments of her mother’s future, her friends’, and all the noblemen for miles around.

  “Praevisia fell to the ground, screaming, her entire body rocking and shaking with the power of what she had just seen. Her mother rushed to her side, throwing herself on the ground, dragging her daughter into her arms. The flames raged behind her, the rain poured down, but she held her daughter there until the last embers died.

  “‘I saw everything,’ said Praevisia to her mother. ‘I saw the future. Strange pictures have been coming to my mind since I was eight years old and now they make sense. I can see the future.’ She jumped up. ‘I must tell my friends.’

  “But Praevisia’s mother stopped her and made her promise never to speak of her gift to another person as long as she lived. For who would believe that someone could see the future?

  “But,” Blaise continued, “someone did believe. Praevisia’s mother took her to a strange medicine man to cure her. It turned out that even Praevisia’s own mother did not believe that Praevisia could see the future, the medicine man believed. He bided his time until many years had passed and Praevisia’s mother had died. He returned on the day of her funeral to take Praevisia away and lock her up in a cave to tell the fortunes of others in exchange for gold.

  “But,” said Blaise again, holding up a finger, “Praevisia had a true love that no one knew about and, before this medicine man had come back to take her, Praevisia had borne her true love a son and a daughter and her gift was passed on. And over the years, while she was locked away, her son and daughter met true loves of their own, and their gift was passed to the next generation and the next and the next.

  “And it is said that an old woman – the Scryer of Gort – who lives in a barren land, is in her ninety-ninth year of telling the fortunes of those who have the gold to see her. She tried to poke out her own eyes when she discovered her gift, so only one eye remains. She is the longest serving scryer and, if the next scryer is not revealed soon, the spell will be broken, and never again will a fortune be told. The men who guard this scryer, the Bastions, will do anything to find the Rising Scryer, so they can lock her in a cave for a hundred years and continue to collect their golden reward.”

  “Is that a true story?” came a Pyreboy’s voice.

  “As true as I sit here tonight,” said Blaise. “As true as the fact that only the scryer herself will know the Rising Scryer, because—”

  Delphi lost her balance and, as she steadied herself, her boot raked across the stony ground.

  Blaise stopped suddenly. “Shh!” he said. “Shh! Stoker, go!”

  There was silence inside. Oland and Delphi froze. They could hear footsteps on the floorboards. They had no time to react, as the door burst open and Stoker stood staring down at them.

  TOKER FROWNED. “WHO ARE YOU?” HE SAID TO OLAND, but his focus quickly became Delphi alone. He smiled. It was a remarkable sight – the counterweight to every bleak, washed-out, charcoal corner of a Pyreboy’s existence.

  Delphi smiled back.

  Stoker had an almost feminine face, long dark hair, sculpted cheekbones and long eyelashes. His face and neck were coated in an even layer of soot. His hands were black and his fingernails blacker.

  Oland stood up. “I am Oland Born,” he said. “This is my friend, Delphi.”

  “I’m Stoker,” he said, his eyes only on Delphi as she stood up.

  From behind Stoker another Pyreboy appeared, pushing in front of him.

  “Where do you come from?” he said, spitting out the words. “What do you want?”

  “Flint…” said Stoker, his voice appeasing.

  Flint pushed him back.

  “What do you want?” said Flint again.

  “Well,” said Oland, “we are from the Kingdom of Decresian. We are looking for something. And this something may be found here…”

  “Do, please, come in.” Flint bowed graciously and led Delphi and Oland into the room. It was dimly lit by half-melting candles and the windows were shuttered. There were armchairs all around the room, draped in dull grey sheets and blankets. A Pyreboy lay slumped on each one, his eyes heavy, his body limp. Along the wall by the door was a row of hooks, each holding the bag the Pyreboys used to carry their birch to the shore. Underneath, each had a crate that held a tinderbox, cloth and a jar of wax to make the torches. The Pyreboys’ names were on the top of each hook: Blaise, Flint, Brennen, Stoker, Tallow and Frax.

  “Pyreboys,” said Blaise, “welcome these visitors from Decresian. They are looking for something, though can’t say what, and won’t say why.”

  Everyone but Stoker laughed.

  “Now,” said Flint, turning to Oland and Delphi. “How may we help you to find this something that may be on Curfew Peak?”

  “I… we… it’s a crest,” said Oland.

  “We need to find a crest,” said Delphi.

  Flint frowned. “For Decresian? Why would—”

  “No,” said Oland. “Not for Decresian. For Sabian.”

  Flint let out a long breath. “There is no Sabian,” he said. “This is Sabian.” His tone was cruel. He threw his hands up in the air. “You are standing on Sabian ground. Curfew Peak is all that is left of Sabian.”

  “We know that,” said Delphi, “but we thought maybe that there might be a Crest of Curfew Peak, and that—”

  Flint laughed. “A Crest of Curfew Peak? A prison crest? Are we to travel the land planting our flags and claiming territories? Who told you t
hat there was? And what has it got to do with you? We are hundreds of miles away from your miserable kingdom.”

  “Curfew Peak is miserable!” shouted Delphi. “A miserable place! If this is what is left of Sabian, good riddance to it. Maybe Curfew Peak can go the same way and take its hideous beasts with it. And the criminals who live in the half-darkness—”

  Flint stepped towards her. “Get out! Go live your lives. What are you doing here, if you haven’t been condemned here? I’ve got one month left and I am doing nothing for no one to jeopardise my freedom. None of us is.”

  He pushed them out of the door. The last thing Delphi could see from inside was a look of apology on Stoker’s face before Flint slammed the door. Delphi pounded on the door with her fists until Oland dragged her away. She pulled up the hood of her cape.

  From the side of the cabin, they heard the crunching of stones. The smallest Pyreboy, Frax, stuck his head out. “Girl,” he said. “Girl!”

  “Yes?” said Delphi.

  “Did you see the drogues?” said Frax, shifting from one foot to the other, the stump of his right arm twitching. His skinny left forefinger was pointing to her ripped clothes.

  “Yes!” said Delphi.

  Frax’s eyes went wide. “Were they scary?” he said, walking over to them.

  “Yes,” said Oland. His voice was firm. He was trying to guide Delphi away from Frax.

  “Haven’t you ever seen a drogue?” said Delphi.

  Frax shook his head violently. “No,” he said. “None of us has! In all these years!”

  “Here,” he said, taking two clean kerchiefs from his back pocket. He handed the first to Delphi, the second to Oland. “For your journey back,” he said.

  “Thank you,” said Delphi. “Why were you sent here?”

  Oland squeezed her elbow, again trying to pull her away.

  “Where are you from?” said Delphi.

  “Quisknee,” said Frax. It was pronounced quiz-nee. “The place with the funny spelling.”

  “Why were you sent here?” said Delphi again.

  “For spelling it wrong,” said Frax. He paused before he laughed, which he managed to do through pinched lips so it shot through his nose. Then he jumped from one foot to the other as he half sang, half spoke: “Q is for Quick! U is for You. I is for Me. S is for Show. K is for Knowing, N is for No, E is for Easy, he’s Eager to go.”

  He pointed at Oland for the last part. He had clearly been a street performer of some kind. Oland’s face was set. He had no time for cheap tricks.

  “Girl, I was sent to Curfew Peak for stealing,” said Frax. “Two slices of Quisknee’s finest bacon slices. From a live pig. And also for beating the farmer I stole them from. And for picking the pocket of the person who came to help him. And for burning down both their houses.” He smiled a black-tipped, tiny-toothed smile.

  Delphi felt the hairs on the back of her neck stand up. “Well,” she said, “we better be on our way.”

  “Good luck,” said Frax, nodding furiously, his eyes wide. He threw his head back and laughed. “Good luck. Run for the shore,” he said. “That’s what I’d do. Run for the shore.”

  A sudden gust of wind swept Delphi’s hood from her head.

  Frax recoiled when he saw her face. He struggled to speak. “Stay away from me!” he managed to say. “Stay away!” He began to walk backward.

  “Pardon?” said Delphi.

  “Stay away from me!” roared Frax.

  “I’m sorry,” said Delphi, alarmed. “I didn’t mean to—”

  “Mean to what?” said Frax.

  “I don’t know… to… to frighten you…” said Delphi.

  Frax stepped forward. Delphi froze. He grabbed her with his one hand, then jerked her close. He whispered into her ear. “You didn’t mean to frighten me when you ripped my arm off, either, did you?”

  Delphi pulled away from his grip. “Let me go!” she shouted.

  “What do you think you’re doing?” shouted Oland, putting himself between Frax and Delphi.

  “What do I think I’m doing?” said Frax. His eyes were wide with fright.

  “You can’t just grab a girl like that,” said Oland.

  “A girl?” said Frax. “A girl?” He snorted. “She ain’t no girl. She’s a roxling witch.”

  RAX GAVE ONE LAST PANICKED GLANCE BEHIND HIM before he disappeared into the shadows.

  “He called you roxling…” said Oland.

  Delphi was too stunned to speak.

  “He’s clearly mad,” said Oland.

  “That was… the strangest… we need to leave here, now,” said Delphi. “Bream was right about this place. We should have listened to him. And there’s no crest here anyway…”

  Delphi and Oland made their way down to the shore to the cove where they had left the boat tied.

  “They imprisoned a firewild on an island where his only job is to burn things,” said Delphi, untying the rope from the stanchion. “How is that meant to teach him anything?”

  “I would venture that no one is meant to learn anything on Curfew Peak,” said Oland, taking the rope and beginning to pull the boat into the water.

  “We certainly haven’t,” said Delphi. “What a hideous place.”

  Suddenly, Oland grabbed for his bag and opened it. He stared inside. He shook out the contents. “The little runt!” He jumped up. “He’s taken King Micah’s letter! He’s taken my knife!”

  They both stood up.

  “When he was handing me the kerchief, he was distracting you,” said Delphi.

  “Singing his stupid song.” He started to walk back towards the cabin.

  “We can’t go back up there,” said Delphi.

  “Oh, we can,” said Oland. “I’m getting that letter back…”

  He fell silent. An ominous sound was building at the far end of the shore, its deep tone mounting over the sound of the water.

  Delphi looked towards the source. “Oh, Oland,” she said.

  A wave taller than the highest tower in Castle Derrington rounded the cliff on the furthest end of the shore and moved in a way that they had never before seen water move. Oland felt as tiny as one of his tin soldiers.

  It was a tornado of water, swirling and foaming, spinning towards them, half in the ocean, half tearing up the beach. They watched as its vicious, twisting force quenched the first torch that the Pyreboys had lit, then the second, then the third. It moved rapidly towards them.

  “Look!” said Oland, pointing. “The stakes are still standing! The water has quenched the flames, but the stakes are still there. Run for the stakes! We must climb the stakes!”

  He turned to Delphi, a girl whose whole life had been spent facing dangerous waters. He thought about her strange existence – the fact that she knew so well the thing that could kill her. And here it was in a terrifying incarnation, bearing down on her, hostile and insurmountable.

  They reached out for each other’s hands as the water came their way, the white ridges of the waves foaming and spitting.

  “What about the boat?” shouted Delphi.

  “Forget the boat,” said Oland. “Run!” He pulled her towards the closest stake. “Wrap your arms around it,” he said. “You’ll get wet, the water will be powerful, but you will not be submerged.”

  Delphi grabbed on to the stake. Oland ran to one that was twenty feet from hers, closer to the swirling water that was charging their way. He wrapped his arms and legs around the timber, pressing his cheek against the weathered wood. The last thing he saw before he squeezed his eyes shut was the wall of water, building in strength and height the closer it came.

  The strange tornado hit Oland with breathtaking force. Delphi screamed as the water washed over him, but he held his grip on the stake.

  Seconds later, Oland opened his eyes and turned to Delphi. The stake where she had stood was still there, but Delphi was gone. Oland’s heart jumped. He looked towards the shore and saw one of her boots where it had been torn from her foot. But worse than
that, when his eyes moved out to sea, he saw the turmoil of the water and, at its height, Delphi. Her tiny body was being thrown around with the force.

  But still, she did not go under. Oland couldn’t predict what the water would do next – maybe it would spin back towards the shore and drop Delphi at his feet. Instead, he watched in horror as the water started to calm and each rotation of the tornado got slower and weaker. And, as it did, Delphi was dropped lower and lower until, eventually, she was submerged.

  “No!” screamed Oland. “No! Delphi!”

  He ran into the waves until the water was up to his waist. “Delphi!” he roared. He could see nothing except miles of merciless water and the white tops of its waves. “Delphi!” He roared and roared until his throat burned. And, as the water rose around him, he was forced to swim. It was a monstrous battle to stay afloat. He fought for as long as he could, but soon, part of him wanted to succumb to the waves. As their force waned, he finally washed up, shattered, back on to the shore of Curfew Peak.

  URFEW PEAK WAS THE DARKEST PLACE IN THE WORLD when its torchlights were quenched. Oland sat on the shore for hours, waiting for Delphi. He ached in every way possible, but he refused to lose hope, if only because Delphi believed in it. He had never thought it was her life he would be hoping for.

  The water had calmed, and it seemed cruel that it could rise up so violently, and now stretch out before him, almost serene. It was as though it had gone back to sleep after a nightmare. For Oland, there was no nightmare, just a horrifying reality. He fought sleep. If there was a chance that he could go into the water again, that Delphi might appear and that he would have another chance to save her, he wanted to take it. But, as he listened to the gentle, lapping, lying ocean, exhaustion finally took over.

  After a short troubled half-sleep, he woke up, desolate. The sun had come up and was cruelly shining on the bare shore. His best friend, his only friend, was gone. He was the one person who could have saved her. And he had failed. There would be no second chance. He looked out again at the mocking calm of the sea. There was just undulating water, no waves, no white crests.