Malediction (Scars of the Sundering Book 1)

by Hans Cummings

  The image shifted again. Endless graves surrounded Gil-Li. The drak fell to her knees as rain poured down around her. The image of Gil-Li in the graveyard grew distant, revealing the area around it to be a scorched plain.

  The message the grimoire conveyed was clear.

  Delilah turned the page. The letters and marking on the page swirled together, forming a new set of images. Gil-Li faced yet another shadowy assailant. Her tattoos glowed, and tendrils of swirling of blue, red, gold, and green aether surrounded her like a rainbow whirlwind. She spoke while weaving her arms in an intricate pattern, wispy aetheric tendrils trailing her movements, until spikes of earth erupted from the ground, impaling her attackers. The image shifted, focusing on Gil-Li's lips as she chanted. Delilah tried to mimic the patterns Gil-Li's mouth made as she studied the image.

  "A… koda… geo… sea…" She knew those weren't quite the words Gil-Li recited. The language of magic was exact. The wrong intonation could yield no result or a catastrophic failure. "That's not right, Deli-girl." This wasn't the first time Delilah mastered new words to learn new arcane effects. Most of what she knew she taught herself from scrolls and books liberated from invaders of their home before the foundation of Drak-Anor.

  "A… kida… geo… sis." She felt the words were closer but still not right. She nodded, glad she had not channeled arcane energy while she tried to decipher Gil-Li's words. Mispronunciation in the heat of the moment killed many hedge wizards and other self-taught practitioners of the arcane arts.

  "Akeeda! That's it! Akeeda… something. Gee… oh—Geiosis!" Every fiber of her being told Delilah that was correct. She knew it. She was excited, but disappointed at the same time. The snow covering the ground would make any demonstration she might offer less than impressive, and she doubted either the prince or the princess would appreciate her tearing up the palace grounds just to show off.

  After a month of diligent study, her dedication to the grimoire paid off. It was different magic than that to which she was accustomed. She snapped the book shut and hopped off the chair, running off to tell Pancras or Kale about her accomplishment. Some things are just too good to keep to yourself!

  * * *

  The needle darted in and out, trailing shimmery, silken thread as Pancras put the final stiches in the fetish. It was oblong, phallic, almost obscene, and looked the part it was to play. He hoped the abjurations with which he planned to infuse it would hold. The construction of arcane fetishes was an exact art. One suitable for necromantic curses was more often than not completely unsuitable for protective abjurations such as one might use to protect a child. The minotaur hoped the construction he incorporated into the interior of the fetish would prove more than its outward cosmetic appearance.

  He heard a thud and cursing from outside. The noise broke his concentration and caused him to jab the needle into his finger. He put the fetish down and sucked on the injured digit as he entered the parlor to see what the commotion was about.

  Delilah was sprawled out on the floor, her legs tangled in Edric's and Kale's. Her grimoire lay open, face down, and Kali regarded the writhing pile of limbs as she held her snout shut with her hands, her quivering sides betraying her laughter.

  "Is everything all right out here?"

  "Stupid Kale and Edric!" Delilah extracted herself from the pile and picked up her grimoire. "I return with news, and they're in the middle of the floor doing… something!"

  "We were wrestling, Deli. Edric said even with my wings, no drak could pull down a dwarf who braced himself."

  Edric dusted himself off and stood. "It wasn't a fair contest. Yer sister interfered."

  "I had you. You were going down even before she ran into us!"

  Pancras tried to ignore their bickering as they continued to argue whether or not Kale won the contest. He turned to Delilah. "You have news?"

  She held the grimoire aloft. "I did it! I actually learned something from this book!"

  The news didn't surprise Pancras, but Delilah's enthusiasm about it did. "I should think an ancient tome like that holds many secrets in its pages."

  "Earth magic, Pancras. You don't understand. This isn't like reading a set of instructions. It showed me how to make spikes of rock erupt under my enemies!"

  “Earth magic? Are you sure? I thought it was lost during The Sundering.”

  She set the book on the table and opened it. Pancras leaned forward to examine it. Instead of finding arcane text, however, he saw swirling patterns and eddies that made no sense to him. Even a brief glance threatened to cause his head to throb and vision to swim.

  "Does it always look like that?" Pancras had never encountered a tome so ensorcelled, but he trusted the Earth Dragon would not pass on a gift if it were harmful to Delilah.

  "Until you learn how to concentrate and look at what the pages are trying to show you." She turned the page to show him another set of swirling, shifting symbols. He blinked and looked away. He put his hand on her shoulder. "I'm sure you will unlock all its secrets in time."

  His eyes returned to the grimoire, as if drawn to it. A tome of lost magic—The bell on the food lift rang, signifying the arrival of another dinner time. For a brief moment, Pancras considered returning to work, but the tight rumble in his belly reminded him he had been working nonstop since breaking his fast earlier that morning.

  Dinner was dominated with bravado from Edric. It was obvious to Pancras that everyone had been indoors for far too long. He wished for some way to speed up time or alter the weather so they could be on their way again; yet, what awaited him in Muncifer filled him with trepidation. Traveling on the open road was one of his least favorite activities. Almeria, snow, and political scheming wore him down.

  He put the final touches on his fetish before turning in for the evening. The ritual to infuse it would start tomorrow. He hoped the draks and the dwarf would allow him some uninterrupted peace for however long it would take.

  Chapter 20

  The next day, Pancras kicked them all out after breaking their fasts. He handed each of them twenty talons. "I need to be free from all interruptions for rest of the day. I don't want anyone coming in here until after dusk!"

  "What are we supposed to do all day?" Kale dropped the silver coins into his pouch with a satisfying jingle.

  "Drink, gamble, go to the market. I don't care!" He shut the door and locked it.

  Edric counted the coins in his hand, put them in his pouch, and saluted as he left them. "I know just the place. I'll come back with triple his money!"

  "Fat chance of that." Kali snorted and shoved the coins in her pouch. She looked at the drak twins. "Well?"

  Delilah held up her book. "I am going to study."

  "Oh, come on! We have all day and sixty talons between the three of us." Kali pulled on Delilah's arm. "Don't be boring."

  Delilah dropped her handful of talons into Kale's hand. "Sixty talons between the two of you. You'll thank me when I unlock magic that will enable me to teleport us all to Muncifer with the snap of my fingers."

  Kale grabbed his sister. She pulled against him, but the combined might of Kale and Kali kept her in place. "You really need to stop touching me, both of you."

  "Deli! Take a day off! There's so much of Almeria we haven't seen yet."

  Delilah shook herself loose. "Go jump off a tower!"

  Delilah's suggestion gave Kale an idea. He ran to get in front of her. "If I jump off the wall, will you come with us?"

  "What? Are you insane?"

  Kale spread his wings and shook his head. "I've been practicing." It was a lie, but Delilah didn't know that. He climbed up on the wall, holding onto a column to steady himself. A gust of wind threatened to catch his hat and blow it off, so he handed it to Kali. "I'll be back in a flash!"

  The snowy ground seemed much further away now that he stood above it, about to throw himself off the palace wall. I can't back out now. I'll look really stupid. He stepped away from the column and shuffled sideways to give himself enoug
h room to spread his wings to their full span. Kale inhaled the brisk morning air, the chill lingering and burning his lungs.

  Then he jumped.

  For a moment, Kale fell, the ground rushing toward him, promising to envelop him in powdery white fluff before thrashing him against the unyielding ground. A gust of wind caught his wings and stretched the leathery skin like sails on a ship. His fall turned into upward flight. As he gained altitude, Almeria lay before him. Like a relief map painted white, he saw the zigzag of the city streets, the walls separating the districts, and the plains beyond the walls of the city.

  People in the streets looked up and pointed. He waved and banked, wheeling around to return to the palace. Flapping his wings propelled him upward and gave him more altitude, but despite his elation at being able to fly, he felt tightness in his back and fatigue in barely-used muscles. The discomfort made the palace seem miles away and as he flapped, he descended, unable to maintain altitude.

  Kale plowed into the snow drifts in the palace garden, sending a plume of white powder into the air. He tried to tuck and roll, but his speed was too great, and he tumbled through the cold precipitate. He stopped when he slammed into the base of a snow-covered fountain, looking up at a frozen waterfall of ice pouring from the cherub's vase like a moment suspended in time. The snow hissed and steamed as his body melted its way to the ground, leaving him in a soggy, muddy puddle.

  * * *

  Delilah and Kali watched wide-eyed as Kale jumped, dropped, and then soared above Almeria. Kale waved at someone below. Delilah imagined it was probably a person in the street who noticed the creature flying above was clearly not a bird. She was surprised the guards in the watchtowers didn't shoot arrows at him. He turned back toward the palace and plummeted.

  As he fell, Kali ran for the stairs. Delilah followed, watching her brother crash into the ground and send up a cloud of snow. They stumbled and almost fell down the stairs in their rush to reach Kale, only pausing long enough for the guards to open the palace doors.

  When they reached him, Kale was seated in a puddle of mud at the base of a fountain. His wing tips drooped as he rubbed the top of his head.

  "Are you hurt?" Delilah offered him a hand and pulled him up.

  "Not really." He looked down at his muddy feet and shook off the muck.

  "I brought your hat." Kali giggled and handed Kale his feathered hat. He put it on his head and sighed.

  "I almost had it there for a minute."

  Delilah wanted to berate him for being irresponsible enough to jump off the palace wall, but since she was outside and that was what he wanted in the first place, she reconsidered. It may have been foolish, but he got what he wanted. She settled for patting his shoulder. "I'm sure you'll figure it out with practice."

  "I guess I should practice more while there's still snow, huh? I imagine crashing into the ground once it all melts will hurt a lot more."

  "Yes, but not today." Delilah pulled up the hood of her cloak. "You wanted me outside, so here I am. Where are we going?"

  Kali put her arms around the drak twins. "I know this place in Old Town. It's run by a drak, and she makes the most amazing pies. Meat pies, sweet pies, you'll be in Cybele’s Pastures with one bite."

  * * *

  With the draks and Edric out from underhoof, Pancras relished the quiet. He briefly considered bathing and spending the entire day drinking wine in front of a crackling fire but decided to be true to his purpose and complete the fetish. It was crucial to their plan to expose Prince Gavril, and he didn't want to be the weak link in the chain.

  Shutting the door behind him, Pancras approached his makeshift workbench and set the fetish upon it. Aesthetically, it revolted him, and the more he looked at it, the more it resembled a dried-up piece of excrement. The art of creating an aesthetically-pleasing fetish was not something in which Pancras was skilled; he crafted magic, not art. However, it needn't look pretty to do its job.

  Infusing a fetish with the precise arcane energies to function properly was a time-consuming and pain-staking task. Pancras picked up the fetish and held it like one of the hollowed-out, painted bird eggs artisans sold at Muncifer's spring market. Closing his eyes, he concentrated. Despite his best effort, Pancras did not feel the threads of arcane energy.

  His eyes snapped open, and he chuckled as he picked up his rod. He was not yet accustomed to consciously holding his arcane focus. Pancras closed his eyes and tried again.

  Arcane energies flowed through his focus and into him. Pancras spoke the words of protection under his breath as he directed the energies into the fetish. Concentrating on the intonation of repetitive words while directing energy could be uninspiring, but Pancras found the repetition relaxing. He knew his goal, and he knew what steps to take to achieve it. That sort of certainty made the minotaur confident and motivated.

  The words became a mantra for Pancras. He felt the magic swirl and twist around him, pouring into his focus, through him, and into the fetish. Protective abjurations felt bright, clean, and pure. On the periphery, Pancras sensed darkness. Probably from all the necromantic research I've been doing.

  Though his eyes were closed, he perceived colors as he worked the magic. Gold, silver, the azure of a clear sky. Darkness seeped in at the edge of his vision, like claws reaching from behind him. The darkness clouded his vision, and a haze blotted out the colors of the abjuration with which Pancras attempted to infuse the fetish.

  Pancras chanted the words louder, hoping to drown out the hiss that now accompanied the dark haze. A miasma of shadow filled the room, coalescing from the magic he drew together. Burning eyes stared at him from the mist, and shadowy claws reached for his throat.

  With a strangled gasp, Pancras stopped chanting. He staggered backward, clutching at his neck as the eyes followed him, boring into his head.

  "You have resisted too long, Necromancer. No more."

  Pancras coughed and fell to his knees. An icy chill crawled down his back as the shadow enveloped him. In his hand, the rod turned to ice, freezing the flesh of his hand. He cried out, choking, gasping, and tossed the rod across the room. It clattered to a stop against the far wall. The shadowy mist vanished as Pancras collapsed and darkness took him.

  When he regained consciousness, his head rested on a pillow, and a blanket covered most of his body. He groaned and rolled over. His bed had been stripped of pillows and blankets, and Kale sat on its edge, fiddling with his puzzle box.

  "Oh hey, you're awake. We found you on the floor. No one was strong enough to get you into the bed, so we just covered you up there."

  "What happened? What time is it?"

  Kale set down his puzzle box and hopped off the bed. He helped Pancras into a sitting position. "Mid-afternoon, I guess. We were hoping you could tell us what happened. Delilah and Kali went to find a healer."

  "Mid-afternoon?" Pancras rubbed the crick in his neck. Sleeping on the floor gave him a bevy of aches and pains in muscles he didn't often use. His head felt like an army of dwarves marched inside his skull. "Only a few hours, then."

  Kale snorted. "It's been a day since we found you there."

  "Oh." Pancras crawled over to his bed and used it to pull himself up. He looked over at his workbench. The fetish, now twisted mass of blackened goo, sat on top of it. Hesitant to touch it, he retrieved his rod from its resting place on the floor. "How did this get here?"

  "I don't know. Except for the blankets and pillows, we left the room the way we found it. Don't you remember what happened?"

  Pancras thought for a moment. The last thing he remembered was being glad for the peace and quiet and starting the ritual to create the fetish. He looked around the room and shoved the rod into his belt. Save for the ruined fetish, everything was as he remembered. He shook his head.

  "Nothing. Something must have gone wrong, but I have no idea what." He rubbed the base of his horn and staggered out into the parlor. Kale followed him.

  "Have a seat. The girls should be back with a
healer soon."

  Pancras sat in an armchair. He realized he felt cold as the warmth of the crackling hearth heated his bones. Wisps of fragrant smoke wafted from the fire, and he noticed the curling, black remnants of an aromatic sachet someone had tossed into the fire.

  "Where's Edric?"

  Kale climbed into the armchair his sister normally claimed. "He said he was going down to the public baths. Kali was using ours, and he didn't want to wait."

  Pancras leaned his head back and closed his eyes. He was certain the ritual he attempted was correct. Perhaps I made an error constructing the fetish? The warmth of the fire lulled him into a fitful sleep and he next awoke to a human poking him.

  "Well, he's not dead."

  Pancras rubbed his eyes and yawned. The throbbing in his head lessened, and when his eyes were able to focus, he saw the human priest, Arnost, peering over a pair of thin spectacles at him.

  "I can see that." Delilah shoved Arnost to the side and wiped Pancras's chin with a rag. "You had us worried. How do you feel?"

  Pancras yawned again and stretched, narrowly missing Kale's head as the drak ducked under his arm and looked up at him over the side of the chair. "Not bad, actually." He stood up. "Yes, pretty good. Did I sleep long?"

  Kale offered him a goblet of wine. "No, just a few hours. This time."

  "Let's not be hasty." Arnost took the goblet of wine before Pancras could drink. "Your scaly friends said you were unresponsive when they found you. That is a matter for some concern."