Curse Breaker: Books 1-4

by Melinda Kucsera

  No, the new voice was wrong. Gore could see them, touch their cold, hard facets, feel those diamonds dig into his palms. A bloody smear interrupted their perfect shine.

  “They are mine. Do you hear me? Mine.”

  This new voice sounded a lot like his old friend, the con artist. Gore whirled expecting to see Dirk standing there with some new con in mind. But it wasn't Dirk.

  A frown slashed across the darkness beneath the cold fire knifing through the hooded man’s eyes. He floated in the dark chasm an arm's length away.

  Under the greed, fear reared its ugly head and tendered a warning, but Gore ignored it. The Ægeldar, the Adversary—they were just words. They weren’t real.

  Stop this now or you’ll wake—but the sepulchral figure never finished his sentence.

  Me. A giant eye appeared inside the crystal wall of the pit and it opened. The slit in its pupil stood a head taller than Gore.

  “I don't believe in monsters.” Gore punched the eye, but his fist connected with solid rock instead. Pain shot across his knuckles and fanned out until it engulfed his entire fist.

  What the hell? Gore backpedaled in alarm while shaking his smarting hand. He stared at the mote in the massive creature’s eye—his diamond in the rough. It wiggled, and he rushed forward to catch it.

  No!

  A crystal spar punched through his chest then retracted leaving a bloody hole behind. Gore slumped to the ground, falling through the hooded man’s grasp.

  He opened his mouth to scream, but those glorious coins were falling again. Gems sparkled and twirled as they too blanketed him, filling the hole in his chest. This time they didn't disappear.

  Gore reached toward the cloak fluttering just beyond his winnowing sight. Then his limp hand fell to his side. A red stain spread around his broken body.

  Damn it all to hell and back. You weren’t supposed to die yet. The Adversary shook his head as the last embers of Gore’s life burned out leaving a stiffening husk behind.

  Felled by desire, what a waste. Has mankind really become so weak that a whispered word destroys them?

  The Adversary toed the hand still grasping after the illusion of money. Why didn’t you rage against the Ægeldar’s influence? He stomped on that hand, breaking the bones. But the wet crunch didn’t soothe him.

  The Adversary shook himself out of his reverie and set his barefoot on Gore's lifeless body, claiming it. Why waste a death even one as ignoble as this one?

  A gray man-shape, fuzzy from his recent demise, wriggled out of the corpse. From the bottom of the pit, an ill-wind blew, and invisible hands plucked at the confused ghost.

  “Get your own prey. This one’s mine.”

  The Adversary breathed in deep, sucking that lost soul into himself before the Ægeldar could. It didn’t fill the aching void inside him. There weren’t enough souls in the world to sate that black hole, but it was a start.

  “That one was mine,” said the thing once known as the Ægeldar.

  “Not anymore.”

  But not even this exchange could lighten the Adversary’s mood. He still needed eleven more souls to break this seal. As the old anger washed over him, the Adversary shook his head.

  Where is my challenge?

  And there it was, right on cue—that same disturbance in the magic. The Adversary turned, tracking its fading song. Where are you?

  “Right here.”

  A giant eye reappeared in the rock. It was the ghost of a once fearsome creature long ago calcified by time, heat and pressure. At least its bones were still useful.

  “I think not. You’re nothing but a hole in the ground and a haunting presence.”

  The Adversary kicked Gore's corpse off the precipice, spilling illusory gems and coins down the Ægeldar’s throat. They vanished into its gloom. The Adversary dropped a pawn on the spot where Gore had died. It was a white slash amid a puddle of red, perfectly placed to catch the meager light falling into the pit.

  If she came, she’d see it and know whose hand was once again on the board. The sight almost made him smile.

  “And what are you? All you can do is watch and whisper.” The Ægeldar laughed and waved a tentacle. “I’m at least corporeal.”

  “But you're stuck in this pit. I'm at least mobile.” The Adversary smiled. “I cannot be stopped or silenced. I am that whisper of doubt echoing through time. Every ear hears me. Every heart invites me. And every mind calls me home.”

  Somewhere out there, a cosmic scoreboard added two ticks to his column and the Balance, the dumbest thing the All-Father had ever created, tilted a little closer to the end of all things. But the Adversary ignored it in favor of collecting his prize and the souls tethered to her.

  Tentacles waved around, seeking prey, but they didn't impede his upward progress until something disturbed the magic.

  The Adversary cocked his head to one side and listened while scores of tentacles shot past him. Yes, there it was again. She was coming. He smiled as he rose on a tide of darkness to meet the only opponent worthy of him. Let the game begin!

  Sarn blinked to clear his sight. Afterimages of the Queen of All Trees vied with the shadows blanketing the rocky shore. When they finally receded, he slumped against a rock. The Queen of All Trees was gone. So too was whatever had attacked them. But that black mist was still there, and it was more virulent than before. It was also creeping toward the island and the pink lumir. In moments, it would overrun them.

  I should get up and do something about that. Instead, Sarn sat there glaring at the thing that had stolen part of his magic. “Will it hurt them?” He nodded to the encroaching gloom.

  If it’s what I think it is, then no. It won’t do any lasting damage. It’ll just sap their energy. But you, on the other hand, are another problem. You, it will harm.

  Bear hauled Sarn to his feet, and Ran twined his legs and arms around Sarn ensuring he went for a ride. Since he couldn’t verbalize the reassurance his son sought, Sarn just hugged the boy, and that contented his jewel of a son.

  “What do you think that black stuff is?”

  Something I’d thought was gone forever. Bear shook his head. I won’t say what in case I’m wrong, so don’t ask.

  Sarn rolled his eyes. Bear was as cryptic as his damned magic at times. “Why will it hurt me and not them? Don’t get me wrong. I’m glad it won’t hurt them, but—”

  It would be nice if, for once, something affected him the same way it affected everyone else. Perhaps that was too much to ask of a magical menace.

  “Because you’re made of light and they aren’t,” Ran replied as if that should have been obvious.

  Smart boy. You got it in one. And as much as I’d like to stand around debating magical menaces with you, let’s not forget I’m magical too.

  Bear tapped Ran’s nose to make his point, but Ran didn’t grin at the compliment. No, his little brow only crinkled as new questions occurred to him. Hopefully, Bear would field those because Sarn didn't feel equal to the task right now, and his darling boy had a habit of asking hard questions.

  “What happened? Why did everything go white? Why did the Queen Tree leave? Is the monster dead? What is—”

  Woah, little man, one question at a time. Bear held up a paw to stop the flow of questions. I’m not omniscient. I know only what you know.

  Ran scowled disliking the sound of that. “What’s om-ni-scient mean?”

  All-knowing—I am not that Bear. Let’s get out of here.

  Bear glanced around but the mist had coated everything. Nothing was visible beyond the shrinking nimbus of pink thrown by the rose lumir crystal. The survivors huddled around it.

  “Did we win?” Sarn rubbed his aching head. There was a hollow feeling where the bulk of his earth magic usually dwelt, and its reduced state knocked him off-kilter.

  I don’t know, but I’m not sticking around to find out and neither are you. Bear pivoted to scan the opposite shore, but it too was hidden. Ah, a little help here—is there somewhere
we can go? I can’t see anything in this gloom.

  “Let me check.” Sarn reached for his map. Only a few embers remained of his usually robust green magic, but they couldn’t spawn even a simple line drawing. The pink lumir called to him again.

  Use my light to see and my eyes to view, it seemed to whisper in Sarn’s ear, and he was reaching toward its pulsating promise of answers before he realized it.

  A woman trailing two children stepped between him and the stone. Anger tightened her shoulders and accusations sparked in her dark eyes. “This is your fault. Why can’t you leave well enough alone? I know your kind—always pushing their limits and playing with powers beyond their comprehension. You did this to us.”

  She threw a punch at Sarn, but he twisted sideways, and she missed.

  “No! Papa didn’t do this. The bad guys did. We were following them, but—”

  “Then why didn’t you stop them!” she bellowed cutting off Ran’s hurried explanation.

  “Because we didn’t know. We’re not om-ni-scient. Neither is Bear, but he saved us anyway.” Ran nodded, satisfied he’d said his piece and employed his new word.

  The woman just stared at him dumbfounded. There was a lot to unpack in Ran's explanation, though most of it likely made no sense to her.

  We’re wasting time. Bear was gathering itself for one of those ground-devouring leaps. But before Bear could jump them, Sarn slipped from its paws.

  “What about them?” Sarn tripped over his feet. Pins and needles stabbed them, and he stumbled until Bear caught him again. Before Sarn could protest a second time, Bear jumped.

  They’re safe enough for now. Bear landed on a stalagmite and surveyed the sea of black for another break in the mist.

  “Wait!” another woman called from behind them. It was the soprano who’d sung for the Queen of All Trees.

  Just thinking of her made his worries rise. Was the Queen of All Trees okay? Had she escaped before the mist overran her position? Sarn hoped she had. She was too wondrous to die, snuffed out by a light-stealing mist.

  An inhuman bellow rattled the walls and shook loose pebbles from the ceiling. Everyone turned seeking the source of that rage, but there was only darkness, and it was fast-closing in on them. Was the monster returning?

  “Will that thing come back?” the soprano shouted in her high sweet voice.

  Sarn searched the shore for her, but she was still hidden in the crowd milling around the rose lumir stone. There was something familiar about her voice. He couldn’t place it, nor could he shake the feeling he knew her.

  Sarn looked to Bear for the answer, but Bear just shrugged. Apparently, the ghost had given out all the answers it had for the day.

  How the hell should I know? I’m not omniscient.

  “But you’re a ghost.” Ran frowned unwilling to accept Bear’s claims of ignorance. “Don't you know things?”

  Yes, but just because I’m a spirit, it doesn’t mean I’m privy to the secrets of the universe.

  “You’re not?”

  Sarn tried not to laugh at his son’s disbelief. Bear just rolled his button eyes and muttered something about ‘impertinent children.’ Now wasn’t the time for levity even though Ran was adorable when he was indignant. And the crowd was waiting for an answer. Their frightened eyes bored into Sarn the longer he stood there mute.

  “The Queen of All Trees wouldn’t have left if anyone was still in danger,” Sarn said to the woman who had called to him. Bear nodded, conceding the point.

  “What if it comes back?”

  Sarn opened his mouth to reply, but Bear jumped again, and they passed through a wall.

  “Then you run,” Sarn said to an empty tunnel. His words echoed as they landed hip-deep in that foul black mist. Its coldness seeped into Sarn, seeking more magic to steal.

  Damn it. I thought for certain this would still be clear. It’s spreading faster than I thought it would. Bear marshaled its resources for another jump, but the darkness held on to them. It yanked them back when Bear tried to shift their location.

  “Why’d we stop?” Ran looked around, anxious to get out of here.

  Because that stuff is interfering with my magic. Bear toed the mist in disgust.

  Sarn sagged against a wall. His strength was waning, and there was a fire under his tunic. He freed a hand from his son and felt for the brand burning his chest. His fingers closed on the crystal. Startled, Sarn withdrew his pendant, and its silver glow cut through the mist.

  Well, well, what have we here? Bear peered at the finger-long prism, and the ghost's eyes widened at what it saw. You certainly are full of surprises.

  “It’s just lumir.” Sarn shook his head.

  And so is that. Bear pointed to the dark crystals overhead.

  Their glow was gone. So was their magic. Just looking at them made Sarn shiver. What could steal lumir’s light and his magic too?

  Eam’eritol neem’eye, whispered the white magic hunkered down in his soul.

  What does that mean?

  What does what mean? Bear asked.

  “Eam’eritol neem’eye,” Sarn tried to say, but the word, which had been so clear in his mind twisted into “black lumir” before it tripped off his tongue.

  The stone in his hand jerked. Sarn stared at it certain he must have imagined the movement.

  Did you just say black lumir? Bear spun Sarn to face him. Please tell me I misheard that.

  Before Sarn could reply, his pendant shot forward dragging him around a bend. Its light cleaved through the dark revealing the red tint of the puddles he splashed through. Sarn grimaced but couldn't stop. The leather thong attached to his crystal was digging into the back of his neck.

  “Papa, where are we going?”

  “I don't know.” Sarn gripped his son tighter as the crystal zigged and zagged without rhyme or reason. It was seeking something, but what could it possibly be homing in on down here?

  Dueling Queens

  Villar woke to a blood-curdling scream and blinked, certain he was seeing things. A shining woman knelt by that terrible maw cradling a small body. Oh, my God, there’s a hole in her chest as wide as my fist, and it's leaking light. He opened his mouth to warn her, but no words came out.

  She swayed and flickered between a begowned beauty and a warrior in antique armor. Crystals were sewn cheek by jowl with metal plates on her white, boiled leather armor creating intricate patterns. The formfitting ensemble reflected her radiance as she rocked the dead child.

  Silver light pumped out of her. It pushed back the darkness revealing dozens of razor-tipped tentacles reaching out of the Ægeldar. They locked onto her. Blood drenched them and coated the rim of the pit. It stained the reflective ground red.

  Oh, God, no—there were body parts strewn across the cavern. Shimmering threads arced from each corpse to the glowing hand of the warrior gathering herself for battle.

  Villar pushed up to hands and knees. The sight and stench of all that blood and death made his stomach heave. But he couldn't look away. As she rose, the hole in her chest closed and her waist-length hair braided itself down her back. She resembled the battle queens of old and a certain painting in the Hall of Justice.

  Shock quelled his roiling stomach. She was the spitting image of an artist's rendering of the first Queen of Shayari.

  “You can't destroy me,” she said to the tentacles diving at her. She beat the hand holding those shining cords against her armored breast and the corpses juddered. “I am Shayari.”

  Her other hand bladed as she swept past Villar. But when her light fell on him, it wasn't harsh or cruel. No, her light was soft and calming, like the first rays of a new dawn come to chase the night’s monsters away. And he'd done nothing to deserve it.

  Villar wiped his mouth and watched as those tentacles shot toward a walking myth. How could she even be here? The Queen of Shayari—if that’s who she was—had died so long ago, few details survived about her. But she was here, and she met each thrust with her gauntleted ha
nds as a black mist roiled around her, darkening her aura and weakening her.

  No, oh, no, no, no—his thoughts disintegrated into a horrified gibbering as she staggered. Villar felt around for something—anything he could throw to help her, his proud and beautiful Queen. Forgive me, I thought you were just a myth.

  But she wasn’t. It didn't matter how or why she was here. The Queen of Shayari was real. Maybe the Queen of All Trees was too. Both mythological entities were captured in that iconic painting.

  As her light waned, her thrusts weakened and so did her guard. Tentacles stabbed her, and a white-glowing liquid wept from dozens of open wounds. It mixed with the blood staining her perfection turning her light pink. Something was draining her radiance—no, her power. Was it that vile mist climbing her legs?

  Villar tossed everything that came to hand without stopping to identify it. He had to help her, his Queen. She needed him.

  A light flared behind him just as he ran out of rocks to hurl. Villar pivoted and his mouth dropped open. A massive silver tree reached a radiant branch into the cavern. He dove aside as that huge limb stabbed into the pit. Something screamed, but he couldn't see what as he rolled to avoid another branch. It wove between the Queen of Shayari and the seven tentacles pummeling her, giving her a momentary respite.

  Rage radiated off the Queen of All Trees in palpable waves. It scorched the air he breathed.

  “Calm down before you bring the whole place down on our people,” ordered the Queen of Shayari.

  She sagged against a stalagmite that looked entirely too much like a giant tooth for comfort. Her cracked armor fell in sparkling pieces at her feet as a skeletal hand wrapped around her throat. A hooded man materialized behind her while she struggled. They both dematerialized as a silver branch reached for them.

  Oh, God, he had no legs. The hooded man has no legs! Villar stared at the pool of shadow where the hooded man’s legs and torso should be. There was nothing there but a black blob. A sickle smile cleaved the darkness under his hood revealing a black hole where his face should be. Oh, God, the legless man had no face.