Curse Breaker: Books 1-4

by Melinda Kucsera

  Shade’s smaller hand had grasped his, tugging Sarn through that dreaded infirmary to a cradle. The glow of his eyes had lit a tiny thing with stubby arms. Turning its lemon-shaped head, the baby looked right at him.

  Those milky-green eyes said in the language of blood and magic—I’m yours, and you're mine—then the baby howled.

  Tiny fingers had reached for Sarn, then he was sliding down a wall clutching the baby in his shaking arms. One thought had beat in his brain—hold onto the baby. And he had.

  Nearby someone was talking, the healer maybe. He was saying crazy things. How could this child have been dying before I came here? It didn’t make sense, nor could he focus on it because the baby’s pale green eyes were locked onto his, and nothing else mattered.

  Sarn blinked away the memory. Somehow, my presence that night saved my son's life. I still don’t understand why. I just know it did. Maybe the reason no longer mattered since he didn't plan on having any more children. Still, he owed Shade an unpayable debt.

  Once Sarn had the red lumir crystals stowed out of Ran’s reach, Sarn brought the stew to his friend. He traded food for his son and collapsed onto the mattress.

  “I haven't seen you in three months.”

  His head felt stuffed with metal. There was something off about Shade. It scratched at the back of his mind, but he was too exhausted to figure out what.

  “Fine keep your damned secrets.”

  “You didn’t ask my name.”

  Something in Shade’s quiet reply made Sarn bite back the scathing retort he'd had ready. Playing the usual game might net me some answers if I can stay awake long enough to play it to its conclusion.

  “Fine. How are you called tonight?”

  “I’m the whispered word the wind sends forward. I’m the rumor scored by a dive downward.”

  Shade paused and mimed someone falling from a great height.

  It took a moment for Shade's words to click. Sarn had almost forgotten about going AWOL last night and the seven witnesses to his swan dive.

  “Who saw?”

  Shade waved a hand.

  “Seen by those who’re bored, reported and stored, word of angel soared—”

  “What? No, I fell. I can’t fly. What are you talking about—”

  But Shade had run away with the rhyme and ignored him.

  “Eye of green not sky, you fell from on high; gravity denied, you swim but stay dry—”

  “No, water soaks me while it tries to drown me like everyone else.”

  Sarn glanced at his son, the calm center in all this. Ran listened with half-closed eyes as Shade continued to wax poetic.

  “Angel they all sigh, man’s only ally, he who cannot die. Though many do try, no one can say why—the Green Eyed can’t die.”

  Shade regarded Sarn, and a strange emotion crossed his friend’s eyes. Was it fervor?

  Sarn looked away. Weights pushed on his eyelids trying to close them.

  “They’re wrong. I’m not any of those things.”

  “A fall doesn’t break you.”

  “Who saw me jump? Did they belong to a gang? Which one? And what were they doing there? There’s nothing over there.”

  “I told you—the bored and rumor has soared. Soon it will be lore. All know you are poor—”

  “Speak sense damn it.”

  Sarn fought the urge to kick his best friend. He missed the old Shade, the one he could talk to about anything. But that Shade was gone thanks to Aliel or Angel’s Dust or whatever they called that powerful hallucinogen now.

  “I can’t fix you.”

  The Fates know I’ve tried. Sarn looked away.

  Shade prattled on about angels oblivious to his pain. But Ran had heard his comment, and he curled into Sarn, reminding him not everyone needed fixing, just care.

  “Wake me when you’re ready to make sense.”

  Lying flat felt good, too good. Muscles tense from running ached for relaxation and release. But Shade’s rhyme rattled around in Sarn's head, making his jaw clench and his teeth grind. The Lower Quarters had too many eyes to see stupid stunts. And too many tongues ready to blab to too many warlord wannabes who listened for such tall tales.

  Maybe nothing would come of this. A yawn broke the thoughts picking Sarn apart, and sleep snatched him away before anger could congeal into harsh words.

  “They’ll come to your door, seeking for a sword. They search for one to lead the horde out of chains debt scored to their reward,” Shade warned. But only the gathering shadows and a dozing child heard the warning.

  When Shade’s story ended without a proper ending, Ran frowned at Shade. He opened his mouth to ask what happens next but stopped when Shade touched Papa’s boot.

  Magic sang its sleep-song. A deep thrum vibrated Papa’s bones, and emerald light pushed past his skin, wrapping Ran in bright wings of power and protection. It excluded Uncle Miren as usual.

  No playing with the magic now, Papa slept too deeply to allow it. His magic was in full sentry mode keeping a glowing eye on everything.

  Where Papa’s fingertips brushed the ground, emerald light pooled. Sparks leaped up his fingers and streaked across his arm, jumping from him to Ran. It worked its way into muscles, bones, and organs, making Ran’s skin tingle as magic dripped into a reservoir carved at birth to store it. Papa’s magic filled him up, but he still didn’t glow. Maybe tomorrow I will.

  Yawning, Ran listened to Papa’s heart beat an accompaniment to the magic’s song. That rhythmic beating changed to voices swelling as they chanted the same word. Ran tried to parse the word syllable by syllable, but each repetition dragged sleep a little nearer.

  Movement in the corner of his eye startled Ran. Had the thing he'd sensed coming finally arrived? It might have. There’d been an awful lot of visitors tonight.

  Footsteps interrupted the quiet. Someone else was awake. Who? Ran squirmed then blinked tired eyes at Shade. Papa's strange friend held one of his boots.

  Shade should stop. The magic preferred people to keep their hands off Papa. While Shade removed a sock spotted with red, the magic readied itself to strike.

  “What’re you doing?”

  “Sleep little one loved. Fly to dreamland dove. There to soar above, little one so loved.”

  Ran yawned. “You didn't answer me.”

  Though the rhyme did tell a lovely story, especially the ‘little one loved’ part. It made the corners of Ran’s lips turn up.

  “Making amends, friends to the end, I do defend.” Shade gave a mock bow then dipped a corner of his—her—its cloak into the pail collecting their water.

  “Papa said not to touch.”

  Ran tried on one of Uncle Miren’s glares, but his eyelids sagged sleep-ward ruining the effect. Papa made a comfy pillow and the magic, a warm blanket. But his tummy twisted, and he opened his eyes as cold air buffeted him.

  Behind Shade, the not-boy thing coalesced. A pile of clothes Papa had forgotten to tidy up poked through the boy’s transparent feet. The specter pointed at Ran, who struggled to sit up. But Papa’s arm snugged him in close, and the magic wove a cocoon of protective light around him. It didn't like the situation.

  “What is he?” Ran asked around a yawn. He pointed at the boy-thing, and it mimicked him.

  Shade ignored his question and touched Papa’s foot. But the magic had tolerated Shade’s presence for long enough. It slapped the interloper’s hands away. Shade yelped and withdrew to a safe distance.

  “I told you not to touch Papa.”

  Ran shook his head. Adults should listen to me. I always tell the truth.

  Ran rested his head against Papa’s chest and listened to the magic rushing around inside him. He wondered what it was doing until the luminous bubble lengthened to include all of Papa. Craning his neck Ran looked to see where it ended and nodded when he saw Uncle Miren, the not-boy-thing and Shade remained outside the magic.

  “What are you doing?”

  Shade rooted around in a pocket and w
ithdrew a box. Ran rubbed his eyes. Did I just see a claw where a five-fingered hand should be?

  Ran looked again, squinting through the magic’s barrier. Shade’s fingers fused into three digits ending in talons. They scratched something onto the floor then blurred as a gray five-fingered glove replaced the claw. A small box rested in Shade’s hand.

  Before Shade could open it, the not-boy-thing batted it away, and the box flew from Shade’s hand. White powder puffed out as the lid opened spilling the box’s contents.

  “You dropped bad stuff.”

  Ran pointed to the eddies of white powder kicked up by the not-boy-thing blowing to disperse it.

  “You told Papa you don’t eat bad things anymore.”

  This had spiraled into the adult realm, and either Papa or Uncle Miren should wake up and deal with it. Ran shook Papa’s arm, but he didn’t wake.

  Shade yelped and tried to scoop the powder back into the box but gave up when the task proved impossible. The not-boy-thing made certain of it, and Ran gave the translucent thing a nod of approval.

  “What are you?”

  The creature ignored Ran’s question. Behind it, a shadow rose and dove at the not-boy-thing.

  “Look out!”

  Ran hid his face in Papa’s chest and bit his lip as his stomach roiled in sudden nausea. The bad thing was here. He strained to reach Bear, who had fallen between Papa and the wall.

  Bear’s button eyes reflected the glow of Papa’s magic, calming Ran. But he still wanted Bear. Staring at his stuffed companion, Ran wriggled, but Papa held him too tight to permit escape.

  “Bear!”

  Ran willed Bear to come to him. Bear extended a fuzzy arm, and Ran pulled him into a tight hug.

  Papa jerked in a sudden spasm. His magic flared, and green light obliterated the shadows, but not their whispers.

  “Damn it, I’m trying to sleep.”

  Uncle Miren shook Papa’s shoulder.

  “Enough with the light shows. Knock it off.”

  When Uncle Miren quit muttering about 'inconsiderate brothers,' Ran dared to look, but there was no trace of the shadow or the not-boy-thing. How rude, that’s the second time it disappeared without answering my questions.

  “We’ll ask Papa tomorrow.”

  Bear’s head tilted in a slight nod. Ran closed his eyes as a gray silhouette slunk into the tunnel, and the door clicked as it settled against an uneven jamb.

  Something bad was still coming. With Shade gone, that feeling only intensified. Ran snuggled up close to Papa and hoped the bad thing wouldn’t come until Papa was awake enough to deal with it.

  Chapter 14

  Orange-robed men stalked through the enchanted forest, and it ignored them. They prowled, eyes darting here and there seeking out magic to destroy. Sarn fled, but they followed. I must go somewhere and do something.

  Inside him, a restless white fire rattled its cage in quiet rage.

  What do you want me to do? I must get away from those Seekers. They’ll kill me if they catch me.

  Sarn skidded to a halt as those orange-robed fanatics melted into a river of ichor. Black waves surged as he turned and fled. Through the trees flashing by, he caught glimpses of hikers.

  A boy turned, and his pale green eyes met Sarn’s, freezing him in place. The viscous black fluid flowed around his ankles, screaming for his blood as it sunk claws into his flesh. But the boy held him hostage with a glance.

  I can’t fix you—his words from last night replayed, and their horrible truth slammed into Sarn, knocking him down into the receding ichor. The earth groaned and heaved, raining dirt and corpses on him. Sarn rolled and scrabbled for a handhold as the ground sloped into a ravine, and the dead boy tumbled into it. His pale eyes begged for help.

  Darkness fountained out of that chasm in a frigid torrent. It clawed at the sky, scratching until it tore a hole in the shimmering fabric underlying all unleashing a swarm of cockroaches. Every tree they bit darkened and turned on Sarn as he climbed out of the ravine. Branches sliced through the air missing him by a hair’s breadth as he twisted and tumbled.

  Overriding every other sound, a million bees droned—eam’meye erator—until he stuffed his fingers into his ears to block it out.

  Broken circles gleamed and hovered in the air, sketched by a different type of magic. They sought to trap him, but he evaded them and ran on trailing glowing gossamer threads. More circles appeared. Some floated, and others extruded from the ground. Sarn veered around one set rising in his path and skidded to a halt as the enchanted forest divided.

  She waited at the other end of a sylvan gauntlet—the Queen of All Trees. Her light extended silver hands to him in welcome.

  “Come deeper into the magic’s thrall,” she seemed to say.

  No, I've gone too far already.

  Sarn woke with a start and scanned his immediate surroundings for threats. Two icons glowed—his son asleep in his arms and his brother moving about the cave. A third icon stained his map. It was so dark, he almost missed it when that feeling of impending doom crashed over him.

  Ran stirred, but Sarn held the scamp still while he sussed out the threat. What did I sense?

  Ran poked him, but Sarn didn’t react. The third icon was small and moving. He almost had a lock on it. Ran giggled and poked a sore spot this time, making Sarn wince and he lost the watcher. Ran froze, but his apology was muffled by Sarn’s chest.

  “I know you’re awake.” Miren threw something—a book maybe—onto the floor.

  Sarn glared at his brother. “What’s with the tantrum? Are you four or fourteen today?”

  Ran opened his mouth to add his observation, but Sarn covered it.

  “I got this. You go wash up for breakfast, okay?”

  His assurance earned him a nod, and a much too compliant child gained his feet. Sarn accompanied him, still searching for the third entity in their room.

  Could it be the ghost boy? His head map hadn’t included that specter before. Why would it start now?

  “I’m still waiting for an answer.”

  Sarn scanned his cave. Nothing looked out of place. But something was watching them, and it raised his hackles.

  “Are you mad at your school work or at me?”

  Miren glared at Sarn as he passed within range of a fist. None swung at him. White knuckling the book in his hands, Miren stoked his anger, building up to an explosion, but why?

  “Do you want to go fishing? I’ll get a Sunday off, and we’ll go—just the three of us. After yesterday they owe me, and I owe you. You do so much for me.” And I do so little to repay you, damn the Rangers.

  Miren stood there with his mouth hanging open for a moment longer before his whole manner changed.

  “You mean it? But you hate fishing—”

  Sarn suppressed a shudder at the thought of gutting and eating fish.

  “But you enjoy it, so we’ll go as soon as I can wrangle a day off.”

  “And swimming?” Ran bounced up and down, smiling when Sarn nodded.

  “Yes, we’ll go swimming, and maybe my brother will teach you a new stroke.”

  Miren nodded, pleased with the plan. “Sure, I can show him the backstroke or the breast stroke.” Miren’s eyes narrowed as he ran through the list of swim strokes he knew.

  “Anything, to make him a strong swimmer—you decide.”

  Sarn still hadn’t found that elusive watcher—damn it—nor spotted the remains of last night's dinner, not even a single empty jar. Maybe I'm losing my mind. That would explain everything that had happened yesterday, the watcher and the feeling of impending doom increasing every moment he stood there.

  “Did you already breakfast?”

  “Yeah, I ate the last of the stew and peaches. They weren’t bad cold. Sorry, but there wasn’t enough left to share.” Miren shrugged. “There might be a piece of flatbread left, but it tastes like sawdust.”

  Miren had left Sarn with a dilemma: go back to his not-so-secret stash or trek upstairs for b
reakfast. Ran gave the white crumbs dotting the table a longing glance. Upstairs won since stolen food required no preparation and the walk might shake loose an overlooked fact or reveal their spy. But up there came with its own set of dangers. We'll be quick and careful.

  “Sorry,” Miren offered as he limped to the door, rucksack, and crutch in hand.

  Sarn waved off the apology. “Not your fault there wasn’t enough for us all. We’ll get something upstairs.” Then, I'll get some answers.

  Miren nodded and headed out for class. Since his brother refrained from slamming the door, his mood must have improved. Now, I just need to wrangle a Sunday off to keep him happy. Nolo will just love that. Sarn rubbed the bridge of his nose where the beginnings of a headache prodded him.

  “We get breakfast and go on an ad-ven-ture now?”

  Ran bobbed up and down because the boy already knew the answer was ‘yes.'

  Sarn regarded his son. Ran's clothes looked clean enough, but his weren't. Later, when his son wasn’t looking, he'd take care of that. Bad enough Ran could see the scar marring the left side of his face.

  “Breakfast first, then we’ll see.”

  Sarn swirled his cloak around his shoulders and kept an eye out for the watcher. It would be easier to protect his son if they were on the move.

  “Put your cloak and boots on. I’ll tie them for you.”

  Ran scampered off to find both articles while Sarn pulled his boots on and tied them. After picking up the books and papers discarded during Miren’s tantrum, he stepped through a floating cold spot. His skin prickled, and he shivered. Sarn set the pile on the table and scanned the cave for the source of the cold.

  Was it connected to the watcher? A finger of foreboding dragged its icy claw up his spine. In response, his magic flared, and his eyes blazed, eradicating the shadows. What the hell is watching us? Not something from the mundane side of things which meant it most likely had something to do with the murders, and the general insanity of yesterday.

  Ran paused, caught in the act of stuffing his sock covered foot into a boot. The boy threw a curious glance at Sarn who shook his head. In the last thirty-six hours, he’d stumbled across multiple homicides, been kidnapped, stalked by a ghost, chased by trees and mud creatures and party to all manner of odd happenings. And he still had no idea why. It was time to change that.