The Seer's Curse

by J. J. Faulks

  Ardus prayed to the gods, begging for their help. Under pressure from the others gods, Efrinon offered Ardus a deal. If Ardus could journey through the Forest of Greed, he would find Dyna waiting for him at the other side, but if Ardus succumbed to the treasures of the Forest, Dyna would remain in the Land of Gods with Efrinon forever. Ardus had no choice but to accept the challenge.

  From the outside the Forest of Greed looked like any other forest. Ardus felt confident that he would be able to walk through to the other side without difficulty. But once he had ventured inside, he realised that the task was more challenging than it had seemed at first.

  The Forest of Greed was named for the many temptations that it held to seduce travellers. Those that succumbed to the enticements found themselves enchanted and trapped by their own greed, unable to leave. Ardus passed many such travellers as he walked deep into the forest, but the travellers were so engrossed in their objects of desire that they failed to notice him.

  Ardus’s first temptation came when he passed a tree bearing offerings of food. The food was rich and copious. It was the food that, as a child, he had seen others eating whilst he chewed upon crusts of stale bread. Ardus stepped towards the tree with its glut of fruit and meat and wine. He caught the scent of freshly baked loaves, sweet figs and succulent roasts. He closed his eyes and inhaled. But when he opened his eyes he saw a man lying amongst the protruding roots of the tree. His stomach was distended, his eyes bulging, yet still he reached for more food, trying to cram in just one more crumb.

  Ardus shook his head and walked away. The food that had once tempted him now brought him nothing but disgust.

  Next, Ardus came upon a tree that glittered with jewels. Where there ought to have been bark, there were gemstones, and the leaves were not green but were fine sheets of gold. That one tree held more riches than Ardus could spend in a lifetime. He thought of all the things he could buy, all of the things that he had wanted for when he was growing up. He barely noticed the man huddled beneath the tree, his thin limbs curled around a pile of golden leaves. The man opened one lifeless eye, but the effort alone exhausted him and it soon slipped shut again.

  Ardus walked on, refusing to look back. Dyna was worth more riches than any tree in the Forest of Greed could offer.

  Finally, Ardus came across a tree encircled by beauties. They sang with voices as sweet as honey, and they called for Ardus to join them. Ardus stood still, bewitched by their beauty. The more he looked, the more perfect they seemed. But it was that flawlessness that reminded him that they were not real, not like his wife Dyna.

  Ardus turned away and he marched on towards the light at the far side of the forest. With each step he reminded himself of Dyna and he gave thanks to the gods for his strength. When he broke free from the forest, he found Dyna waiting for him. He rushed to her, grateful that she was safe and grateful that they would be returning home together.

  Though Efrinon was not pleased by Ardus’s success, he kept his word and let Dyna go. Ardus and Dyna returned to their humble but blessed life, and they remained grateful for all that they received.

  *

  The threads dissolved into the water and the vision faded from the fountain. The Seer’s window into Teymos’s home cleared, revealing Orleigh and the Dreamspinner once more. Every word of praise that Orleigh lavished upon the Dreamspinner—amazing, wonderful, brilliant—added a twist to the coil of unease that was building inside him. The way that she smiled, her eyes sparkling like sunlight on glaciers, loaded on enough tension to make it snap.

  The Seer pushed himself away from the stone table, distancing himself from the bowl of water and the storm of trouble that was brewing within. The Dreamspinner was a problem that he could not have foreseen. Orleigh would walk straight into the boy’s web and she would be trapped, unable to return to her true fate.

  He looked back to Orleigh’s village, and there he found the solution. There was someone strong enough to lure her away from the Land of Gods, to provoke her into discovering the truth.

  He retrieved the porcupine from its resting place under the map and then, taking a piece of bone no bigger than his thumb, he began to carve a new creature. That creature was a mouse.

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  Beighlen sat on a smooth boulder at the edge of the rock pool. He shut his eyes, just softly enough that the warm sunlight could filter through his eyelashes, and he leant back on his hands. The cool air rolled off the sea and washed over him, bristling through his hair, its salty tang sharp in his nose and on his tongue as he matched his breath to the rise and fall of the waves.

  “Beighlen!” His mother’s voice cut through the breeze.

  His eyes snapped open.

  He pretended not to hear her over the sound of lapping waves, he pretended to be engrossed in the starfish that scuttled across the bottom of the rock pool rather than replying to her. Starfish had always fascinated him; their ability to regrow limbs gave them a certain invincibility. It was as if they yearned for his immortality.

  “Beighlen!” she called again, louder than before.

  He glanced over his shoulder. She was striding towards the rock pool, her auburn hair billowing in the breeze. Her fierce eyes locked on his and, with an urgent curl of her hand, she beckoned for him to return to the house.

  He couldn’t avoid her any longer, so with a huff he rose to his feet. He took his time, making every movement seem like a chore, demonstrating how much of an imposition it was. But when he looked again he saw that his mother had turned back to the house and was not watching his display.

  He followed the path that led from the shore to their home, bounding through the jagged rocks that would soon disappear with the rising tide. His feet knew the path so well that he didn’t need to look before placing them, he just trusted them to carry him safely over the slippery stones and loose gravel that lined the way to the house. The possibility that he might fall had never even occurred to him.

  His mother was waiting for him inside. She pulled her shawl tighter around her shoulders. Modesty is more admirable than beauty, she always said, and Beighlen would roll his eyes in response. She was probably just sensitive to the chill of the sea air.

  “I’d like you to deliver a message for me,” she said, and she motioned for Beighlen to take a seat as she settled into her own.

  Beighlen remained standing.

  One eyebrow arched in acknowledgement of his defiance, as if to say that she saw him but that she refused to engage with such behaviour. “A woman has prayed to me for the safe return of her son, and I’d like you to inspire her with strength and hope.”

  “But—” Beighlen began, but he bit his tongue and lapsed into a sullen silence.

  “But what, Beighlen?” His mother gave him the same look that she used to give him as a child, the look that told him she had heard enough of his complaints. “I thought you’d be pleased to go to the Land of Mortals.”

  “I had plans, that’s all,” he said, and he shrugged as if to say that it didn’t matter.

  Her eyes narrowed. “What plans?”

  “Nothing,” he said and shook his head. She should just let it go.

  Her voice rose a notch and she pressed, “What plans, Beighlen?” Her tone crept up to the border of dangerous and teetered there.

  “Nothing!” he insisted, raising his voice to match hers. “I was just going to see—” to see Orleigh, but his mother didn’t know about Orleigh and he had no intention of telling her “—to see Teymos, that’s all.”

  “Teymos can spare you for a few days.” She shook her head, the sharp green of her eyes dulled with disappointment. “The whole point of you spending more time with Teymos was so that you would learn to use your powers for good. If it’s having no effect—”

  “It is having an effect,” he said. “I’ll deliver the message for you.”

  His mother stopped mid-sen
tence. She closed her mouth and frowned. Her arms crossed over her chest as she leant back in her chair and, with a stone-hard look, she studied him.

  The change of heart had been too sudden and it was arousing his mother’s suspicion. He massaged his neck with one hand, trying to ease the tension.

  “You’re right.” He put on a meek smile. “I’d like to go to the Land of Mortals.”

  She held her posture like a statue. Not even her gaze would soften.

  He lowered himself onto the chair opposite hers. “Where am I going?”

  Beighlen’s mother was waiting for him by the door. In the low light of early morning, her plain clothes and fair skin merged with the mottled beige wall. Only her auburn hair, alight with the glow of smouldering coals, and the green flash of her eyes gave her away. She surged to her feet as he approached. The dark circles that rimmed her eyes would make anyone else look drained, but the way she wore them made her eyes even more haunting. Had she sat there all night, waiting to intercept him?

  “Thank you for doing this, Beighlen.” She placed a hand on his upper arm, just below where it met his shoulder, and squeezed. Her thin smile faltered. “I don’t think you know quite how strong your powers are. I just want you to use them for good.”

  “I know.” Beighlen shrugged his arm free of her grip and slung his bag over his shoulder. He stepped past her, out of the house and onto the grassy path that led to the Great Forest.

  “Stay safe,” she called after him. “And please, Beighlen, please try to blend in.”

  “I will,” he shouted back, his eyes never leaving the dark trees that towered in the distance.

  The Great Forest and the borderland sailed by, passing through his vision and straight out of his mind. He walked nonstop, rising with the first solo of the dawn chorus and resting only when the path ahead disappeared into the dusk.

  On the fourth day, when the sun was still cruising through its peak, the path split into an abrupt fork. Between the two prongs of the fork lay a heap of chalky grey rocks, each bearing grooves of writing that, with rigid strokes, spelt out people’s names. A scrap of wood was propped against the bottom of the pile. One end of the wood had been filed into the point of an arrow; together with its inscription, it directed Beighlen towards the village where the woman lived.

  Makeshift stalls lined the main street of the village, creating a barrier between the path and the houses. A huddle of women sat behind the tables, chattering away to one another. People zigzagged along, stopping to browse through clay vases and plates, fine woven tapestries that depicted scenes from the myths, and wreaths of bread stacked like bricks.

  A squeal erupted behind him, the harsh noise jolting through Beighlen’s spine. He jumped out of the way, just in time to see a pig barrel by in a flash of pink and brown, shortly followed by a brawny boy with dark hair.

  The boy dived at the pig and landed with a heavy, “Oomph!”

  He had caught hold of the animal’s back legs, but the pig squealed and kicked out. It slipped free again with a defiant grunt, shook out its bristles and bolted down the road.

  Beighlen chuckled to himself. Seconds later, another boy, identical to the first, shot past and overtook the boy lying in the dust as he charged after the pig.

  “Get back here!” the boy shouted, but the pig galloped away.

  A group of girls loitered outside the ruins of a stone building. The roof had gone and the walls had collapsed, surrendering the foundations to an overgrowth of vegetation. The girls stole glances at Beighlen and giggled into their hands as he approached. Beighlen puffed out his chest and flashed them a smile. All three flushed scarlet and averted their gaze. As soon as he had passed, they burst into snorts of insuppressible laughter.

  Beighlen meandered to the far side of the village where he found a stream curving along the back of the farmland. He settled onto the lush grass of the bank and, stretching out the net of his fingers, he began to spin a dream. It was a dream of strength and hope, just as his mother had asked for, and he would deliver it to the woman whose son was absent, just as his mother had asked for, and he would not question if the solace of a dream was what the woman had asked for when she prayed.

  At nightfall, Beighlen waded through the grasses of the field towards the glow of the woman’s house that nestled beneath the bruised sky. On the other side of the window, a man paced back and forth with one hand stuck to his hip in a tight fist, whilst the other wagged its finger at the air. Behind him, hunched over the table with her head cradled in her hands, was the woman that Beighlen sought.

  Beighlen ducked down and crept up to the house. He pressed his back to the cold stone wall beneath the jut of the window ledge, and turned his ear towards the window. Inside, the couple threw loud whispers at one another.

  “This is your fault,” the man said. His footsteps slapped across the floor. “If you didn’t fill that boy’s head with all those tales of heroes and quests he wouldn’t have run off like this.”

  “My fault?” the woman hissed. “My fault?”

  The man held his tongue. The stomp, stomp, stomp dwindled to a tap, tap, tap.

  “And how, exactly, was I meant to know that this would happen? Hmm, Pityr?” the woman said. “I didn’t even know that Orleigh was alive!”

  Beighlen’s head jerked towards the window. He frowned and muttered, “Orleigh?”

  “She was taken to the Land of Gods,” the man said, “So she was as good as dead.”

  Orleigh lived in the Land of Gods. They had to be talking about Orleigh. But what did the man mean, she had been ‘taken’? Who had taken her and why? And why did these people think that Orleigh was dead? They were the ones who were meant to have died, in a fire that had consumed the whole village.

  “But she wasn’t dead,” the woman said. “Did you know that she was still alive?”

  “It didn’t matter if she was alive or not,” the man said. “She was cursed and it was good that she was gone.”

  “Good?” the woman choked. “Good for whom? For Ormoss? The only thing worse for him than having Orleigh around was having her gone.

  “What about for me? Do you think a single day has passed without me seeing her face, without me wondering what she would be like now?

  “And Piprin? It certainly wasn’t good for Piprin! Perhaps if he hadn’t been lied to all of his life he wouldn’t have run away!”

  A chair scraped across the floor. Beighlen winced at the grating sound.

  “Piprin will be back soon,” the man said. His voice had softened, deflated. “You’ll see.”

  “You underestimate that boy,” the woman said. “What happens if he does succeed? What happens if he does make it to the Land of Gods?”

  A door slammed. The house sank into silence.

  “He won’t,” the man said, under his breath.

  Beighlen dipped his hand into his pocket, feeling for the dainty pink orb that he had spun that afternoon. It whirred against his palm, like the wings of an insect trapped in a web. The sooner he delivered it, the sooner he could return home and tell Teymos what he had heard.

  His fingertips clung to the window ledge as he crept up from crouching to peer into the room. The man stood alone, his back to the window. He half-filled a tankard from a flagon of mead, paused, and then continued to pour until the tankard was brimming. He slammed the flagon down on the table and drank in a steady stream of gulps.

  Beighlen tiptoed around the outside of the house, stopping to look through each window that he passed. The woman had retreated to a cavelike bedroom at the back of the house. She lay on her side with her eyes screwed shut and her hands clasped against her lips as if she were praying. Her shoulders, rounded towards the hollow of her chest, trembled like water rippled by raindrops. A choked sob escaped through the quiver of her lips. One hand closed over her mouth and she turned her head into the pillow.

 
Beighlen balanced the orb in his palm and blew it into the air. The dream drifted towards the woman and hovered over her shaking body. The threads unwound, one by one breaking loose and soaring into the air. They danced around the room, spinning faster and faster as they wove themselves into the vision that enveloped the woman.

  A single thread broke free from the dream and sank down into the woman’s mind, like a leaf parting from its tree and swaying down to the cushion of the earth. Once settled, it radiated with a bright pink glow. It reminded him of the orange glimmer he had seen in Orleigh’s mind on the day that they had first met.

  The conversation that Beighlen had witnessed turned over and over in his mind as he marched back to the Land of Gods. With each loop it circled tighter and tighter, like a ship twisting into the centre of a maelstrom. And then there was the orange glimmer, forever swimming across the horizon, even when he closed his eyes.

  The geese honked and pecked at him as soon as he stepped foot on Teymos’s estate.

  He flapped them away and muttered, “Get off.” He didn’t have time for this. He had to speak to Teymos, he had to let Orleigh know that she could go home.

  He let himself into the house and ran up the stairs, taking two steps at a time. Teymos was sat at the desk in his study, a quill in hand. Beighlen clutched either side of the doorframe, steadying himself as he panted for breath.

  Teymos glanced up. “Hello, Beighlen,” he said. “I think Orleigh is in the garden.”

  “I wasn’t looking for Orleigh,” Beighlen said, “I was looking for you. I need to speak to you about something.”

  Teymos set the quill down and motioned for Beighlen to come in. His elbows rested on top of the desk, one hand folded over the other, as he waited for Beighlen to take a seat. “What can I help you with, Beighlen?”

  The weight of Beighlen’s limbs hit him, and he slumped into one of the armchairs. “I went to Orleigh’s village. It hasn’t been destroyed! The people are still alive!” A smile spread across his tired face. He leant forward, running one hand through his hair as he laughed to himself. “All this time she thought that they had died in a fire, meanwhile they thought that she was dead.”