Curse Breaker: Books 1-4

by Melinda Kucsera

  Sarn tightened the arm clamping his precious son to him and held the boy out of that black tide’s reach. His promise echoed in his ears. But all those people—those tentacles must have found one of the main centers of habitation. Which one was nearby?

  The Lower Quarter’s geography was all jumbled up in his mind because something had stolen the magic that maintained his map. Without it, the damned thing refused to spawn. Was he looking at the cave with the underground lake and the island of pink lumir? Maybe, and that maybe gave him pause.

  Out of the shadows, pale figures rose. They raised their misty swords, saluting Sarn as they passed. Sarn blinked at the ghosts of his heroes marching toward those soul-shattering screams. They vanished into the darkness. Maybe he’d imagined them validating what his heart already yearned to do.

  I will save you, Sarn squeezed his son, but not yet. Sarn wriggled out of Bear's grasp before that entity jumped them any further away. He shoved his son into Bear’s dinner plate-sized paws.

  What are you doing?

  Bear’s voice boomed in his head bowling Sarn over. He caught himself on a stalagmite.

  “Papa!” Ran reached for him, but Sarn shook his head and backed away from the tears sliding down his son’s cheeks.

  “I can't leave them. I have to do something to help them.”

  How could he look his son in the eye, if he didn’t at least try to help?

  It's what his heroes would do. Sarn fell sideways dodging a speeding bullet of black, dragging behind it a fetid, stygian hell.

  When it passed on, he pushed off the wall. Sarn wiped the blood dripping from his nose on his sleeve and staggered toward those panicked screams hoping his son understood. Each step away tore new holes in his heart and left him feeling as empty as a wind-tossed bag.

  Something wet crawled down the inside of Sarn’s arms and sparked white flames on his fingertips. Now the white magic wanted to help. It figured.

  Oh, for the love of God, save me from martyrs. A paw caught Sarn's arm as he toppled. You know you can't defeat this thing, right?

  “What?” Sarn held up a glowing hand, but Bear shook his massive head. “Why not?”

  “Because the monster took your light,” Ran said as he wrapped his arms and legs around Sarn. Ran squeezed just hard enough to ensure they wouldn't be separated again.

  “What light?” Sarn tried to stagger faster, but it was no good. His legs were lead weights dragging behind him as Ghost Bear lumbered toward the cavern and the screams.

  He means your magic. Bear said as they entered a nightmare. Something stole it—well part of it anyway, enough that your body is having a hard time coping with the loss. It’s making you slow and stupid. But that tentacular horror show can't do that. There’s something more at work here.

  “It can’t?” Ran said echoing Sarn’s surprise.

  “Then what did?” Sarn craned his neck to look up at Bear, who just shook its head then dove sideways to avoid an oncoming tentacle. Sarn rolled, protecting his son with his rapidly numbing body.

  Crystal spines punched through a wall on the far side of the shore sending a shower of rocks clattering across the deserted beach. Ran squirmed, but Sarn held his son tight beneath him hoping he wasn’t squashing the boy too much. Screams cut off just as Sarn covered his son’s staring eyes. Four of the spines had impaled people running for cover. Their bodies jerked like marionettes, drumming their heels on the stone. The spines bent into a hook then they retracted, punching new holes as their dying captives hit the weakened wall, and it crumbled revealing more tentacles charging toward them.

  People ran around the lake searching for an exit, but there was none. Rocks had tumbled down blocking one tunnel and tentacles snaked in through the other. A few hardy graybeards, teens and women hefted makeshift weapons made from broken furniture and rusted implements. They swatted the tentacles feeling around for more victims.

  Children lay flat on the ground sobbing and hoping they would go unseen. And in the center of it all, an island of lumir glowed a welcoming pink amid calm waters undisturbed by the mayhem on its shores.

  “What do we do?” Sarn looked to Bear for an answer, and so did his son.

  I'm a spirit guide, not a spirit avenger. You tell me. Bear folded its fuzzy arms over its chest.

  “You’re certain magic won’t work?”

  You’re in no shape to wield it, so it’s a moot point.

  “I want to go home, Papa. I want to go home.”

  “I know, and we will, just not yet.” Sarn scanned the cavern. There had to be a way to save them all. Think damn it. Find a way.

  “Kid, there’s always a way out. The trick is finding it,” Jerlo said and hearing the commander’s voice iced the fear eating away at Sarn. But it didn't banish the doubt that he’d once again made the wrong decision.

  What would Jerlo do if he were here? He would change the dynamics, of course, but how?

  A new spike pushed through a previously made hole. Sarn flattened himself and held tight to his son, willing the thing not to find any prey. Not to find any prey—the thought repeated over and over kindling a glimmer of an idea.

  “That thing you did when we passed through the wall—”

  You mean when I made you incorporeal? Bear cocked a bushy eyebrow in inquiry.

  “Yes, could you do it again but include everyone here?”

  Bear considered for a beat, long enough for a tentacle to sweep past them missing them by a nose. But its tip stayed far from the underground lake. So, did the spines. Both arced well over the lake and the lumir island.

  Sarn let out the breath he’d been holding as Bear nodded. You’d need to gather everyone so they’re within touching distance, but yes, I could do it.

  Was that a look of respect in Bear’s black eyes? Sarn pushed the question aside. “Then help me.” Sarn freed an arm and extended it to Bear who pulled him to his feet. Sarn maintained his one-arm grip on Ran with help from his clinging son. “Land or water? Does it matter?”

  What do you—oh, I see what you mean. Water would be best. Get everyone into the water. The Ægeldar is earth-based.

  “So, it doesn’t like water.” Sarn nodded.

  The magic the Ægeldar had stolen from him didn’t like water either. But the white one, limning his hands, didn’t mind getting wet. It meant something important, but Sarn put that nugget of information aside. He’d think about it later.

  Again, that odd look passed over Bear’s bulbous features. Was it pride? Did it matter if he pleased this spirit creature?

  “Get into the water!” Sarn shouted. He ducked down as a spike embedded itself in the rock at his feet then lifted to make another strike.

  We’d best make tracks ourselves. Bear jumped but not before Sarn caught a huddled girl by the back of her dress.

  Aralore strode across the sun-drenched meadow with her acolytes in tow and the Queen of All Trees’ box clutched in her arms. A lifetime of dreams carried her toward the box in Dirk’s hands. When she focused on her prize, her head exploded with dark voices. A shadowy bubble surrounded Dirk wilting the grass he trod.

  Laughter bubbled up inside Aralore. It was larger than she’d hoped and so potent. Dirk tried to stop her, but she flipped open the box before it was out of reach. Nothing else mattered but that matte black gem. Her hands craved its cold, magic-nullifying touch. To be free of magic’s taint—oh, how she had hoped and prayed for this moment.

  Dirk froze. His eyes glazed over as he held the box out to her. Aralore whisked a heavy silver cloth aside and the world dimmed. Sunbeams bent until they struck the stygian stone, and it drank them in. A shadow engulfed the meadow. Dirk woke from his trance.

  “What in God’s name are you doing? Are you mad, woman?” Dirk tossed a special, reflective cloth over the stone, and the sky brightened. “You can’t go about with it uncovered. Queer things happen when you do.”

  “And it’s mine now.” Mirth cracked her reserve, but Aralore suppressed it as she hugged the c
overed stone to her breasts.

  Box it up. Do not cross the circles of standing stones with the Eam’eritol neem’eye uncovered, whispered the Queen of All Trees destroying Aralore’s moment of triumph.

  A promise tugged at her hands moving them like marionettes to the Bitch Plant Queen’s will. I’ll get you for this. There’s nowhere you can hide that I won’t go. This means war between us. Aralore fought the White Witch’s control but to no avail. Her hands opened the lead-lined box revealing its reflective interior. Dirk lifted the cocooned gem into the Queen of All Trees’ box but didn't withdraw the cloth.

  Out there, beyond the second circle of standing stones encircling the meadow and its mountain companion, the enchanted forest parted. The Queen of All Trees posed regal as ever in the gap between them. Her silver glow flared then died down revealing a woman wearing a gown of pure light. Her eyes were diamond chips, cold and unyielding as she watched the proceedings.

  Time breaks upon my boughs. My roots are twined throughout the ages. Come for me if you wish, but I will stand until the breaking of the world. Nothing you do can change that. The Queen of All Trees turned in a silver swirl. As she processed away, her human shell melted, becoming once again a thousand-foot-tall monstrosity.

  “I hate her with all my soul,” Aralore muttered. I will destroy you, Witch.

  Aralore squeezed the box she could neither put down nor open until she crossed the second circle of menhirs a mile yonder. The Bitch Plant Queen had bound her to that. None of her acolytes commented. They all kept their faces schooled into neutrality, but the same fervor burned in their eyes and seeing it cheered her. She was not alone in her holy quest.

  “Where’s my payment?” Dirk demanded.

  Where were his friends? Aralore had looked forward to seeing the fat one she’d used for target practice earlier. Her fingers itched to throw again. But the box—its contents were precious—she could not part with it. No matter, she had other weapons at her disposal. Aralore tapped the toe of her right boot on the ground and a blade snicked out.

  If you kill him, where will you acquire more black lumir?

  A good question though it sounded as if it had come from outside her. Aralore pivoted, scanning the bowed heads of her hooded acolytes. None met her eyes. If not them, then who had spoken to her?

  Aralore turned to regard Dirk. Behind him, four shadowy wraiths appeared. The wind buffeted them, fanning them like gray flames until they dispersed. She shivered at the sight.

  What have we here? Something white amid a tuft of grass near those wavering man-shapes caught her eye. It was a small statue carved from milky-quartz. What the devil was it doing there? Who had dropped it? Aralore scanned the meadow.

  Two wagons drew up and a dockhand approached its disembarking driver. Not them, they were a mile away. Then who? Another quarter turn removed the tessellated river from her sight and replaced it with Mount Eredren’s bent cone. Silhouettes moved on the trail winding down the mountain’s south face, but they were too far away.

  Had one of those wraiths dropped it? Aralore rolled the chess piece in her hand. Its polished crystal was icy against her palm.

  Pay him. What is gold to a warrior of God, asked that voice again, and it was right.

  The coin purse weighed Aralore’s belt down. She must get rid of it. I must travel light and swiftly before the Bitch Plant Queen interferes again.

  “Well? I brought the goods—” Dirk trailed off though before calling her a psycho bitch, but his silence implied the insult. “Where’s my money?”

  “Preceptor?” asked one of her acolytes with careful deference.

  Aralore nodded. She tossed her coin purse to Velor and felt lighter. “Pay him.”

  Still, she felt eyes on her. Aralore turned seeking them but there was no one close by except her acolytes and Dirk. The chess piece bothered her. It was the bishop, of course—a rank closed to her because of her sex. Was it God’s way of acknowledging her good work?

  Aralore pocketed it and put it out of mind for now so she could concentrate on the only game worth playing—the one against magic and its evils.

  The wind whipped the tall grasses and the daisies played peek-a-boo as Aralore led her acolytes into the forest. Let the cleansing begin.

  Bear to the Rescue

  Bear splashed down in the lake kicking up waves. Sarn released the girl. Her eyes were glassy, but a quick slap brought her around.

  “You’re okay now. Swim to the island. Ran, go with her.” Sarn let go of his son but Ran shook his head and clung on.

  “Not without you.”

  “I can’t. I must—” But what he must do went unsaid as Sarn slumped onto a boulder and blinked away the gray veil falling over his sight.

  You must swim to that island or float to it. I’ll fetch them.

  Bear shoved Sarn, and he tipped backward into the lake narrowly missing the swimming girl. Cold water closed over his head. But this time, his dominant magic, green like grass in the sunshine, didn’t complain. Nor did it hide inside him far from the water’s frigid touch, because it was gone, stolen by a monstrous thief. And he missed it.

  “Papa?” Ran grasped his arm but didn’t voice his usual concern. Maybe it was obvious his father wasn’t all right.

  “Hmmm?”

  Ran patted his arm. “I’ll tow you like you did when I was a baby.” Another spike hurled past them. Ran cringed but relaxed when it stayed high overhead.

  “You mean when I taught you how to swim.”

  Ran nodded, his eyes sparkling at those happy memories before their situation wiped away that gleam. Ran took off, swimming as if he was part fish and Sarn followed, alternating shouts with strokes.

  They reached the beach at about the same time Bear arrived with the last survivor—a mother clutching two small children. Her rigid posture proclaimed she’d do anything to protect her kids. Her husband was a lucky man. Sarn hoped he knew what a woman he had in her.

  And if he doesn’t? Are you volunteering for the job? Sarn silenced the voice of reason interrupting his study of the woman. She was a little older than him with broad features and an ax-blade nose, but her maternal devotion transformed her from bland to beautiful. She was exactly what his son needed, a cool head under pressure.

  But what do you need? Asked the voice of reason.

  A woman who doesn't play mind games. Thoughts of Ran’s birth mother depressed Sarn. He pushed them away not wanting to relive them while he was facing certain death.

  Stop woolgathering and help me. Bear seized his collar and yanked Sarn onto the rocky beach. You’d better explain. They can’t see or hear me, and I’m getting tired of ferrying screaming people around.

  Sarn nodded and stumbled up the slope, eyes locking on the pink lumir calling his name. Its roseate light welcomed him. Sarn leaned into the crystal, and its gentle pulse lulled him into a half-trance. Power crackled under that smooth surface. If he just reached in—

  Sarn? Did you hear me? Bear shouted, breaking the crystal’s enchantment.

  Sarn cringed at the bellow caroming around inside his mind. One glance at the pink lumir soothed his aching head and erased any need to reply. The crystal soaked up his worries leaving a pleasant lassitude behind. If he could just fall into the heart of that rose light all would be right again. Sarn felt the crystal part and his fingers delved into it seeking the knot of light pulsing inside.

  “Papa? What are you doing?”

  “I need its light.”

  “Why do you need it?”

  Ran tapped his leg, but Sarn barely felt it. That rose glow swelled to take up all his attention, leaving no room for anything else.

  “Papa!” Ran's voice rose in fear.

  Sarn woke from a trance at his son’s panicked call to find a hundred-people staring at him—no, at his intense green eyes. But they weren’t glowing. Would they stone him now? Sarn pulled his son behind him, but Ran squirmed, ignorant of the danger.

  “Bear says everyone has to stand close
together. And, hold hands so Bear can save you.”

  After delivering his instructions, Ran clasped Sarn’s hand and quit squirming. A loud crash startled the survivors. Before they could flee, Sarn pushed a series of instructions past the fear choking him. Later they still might stone him, but for now, the mage in their midst was the lesser danger.

  “Everyone get close and hold tight to your neighbor. Do what my son said if you want to live,” Sarn shouted not expecting anyone to trust him.

  She was watching him—the last woman Bear had saved. Her dark eyes searched him, seeking the truth in his words. Sarn fought the urge to drop her intense gaze and stare at the ground.

  But it was too late to hide his too remarkable eyes. Too late to pull his hood down until it touched the bridge of his nose and slink away before the rocks and insults flew his way. They were all staring at him, some out of fear, others with accusations, and a few with hope shining like naked flames in their eyes.

  Ran squeezed his hand. Sarn looked from the woman whose chin was set in defiance to the mixed group of mothers, graybeards, and teenagers. Children also milled around the island, but they were looking at his son.

  Maybe it was the way Ran clung to him that decided them or the loud crash when part of the wall caved in. Whatever the case, they converged on Sarn. He backed up against the crystal, keeping his son behind him just in case they had murder on their minds. Their scared faces gave no indication of their intent.

  Magic sparked in his fingers and flickered out. Sarn bit back a curse. He didn’t have enough power for even the simplest of shields. The crystal called to him again, offering what power it had, and his hand strayed toward its light.

  She reached Sarn first. Her children clung to her gray skirt. “Can you really save us, magicker?” Her lips twisted in disgust at the last word, ‘magicker.’ What she meant was ‘freak.’