The Curse Giver

by Dora Machado

  The Curse Giver

  By Dora Machado

  Twilight Times Books

  Kingsport Tennessee

  The Curse Giver

  This is a work of fiction. All concepts, characters and events portrayed in this book are used fictitiously and any resemblance to real people or events is purely coincidental.

  Copyright © 2013 Dora Machado

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system or transmitted in any form by any means electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise, except brief extracts for the purpose of review, without the permission of the publisher and copyright owner.

  Twilight Times Books

  P O Box 3340

  Kingsport TN 37664

  http://twilighttimesbooks.com/

  First Edition, July 2013

  Cover art by Brad Fraunfelter

  Illustrated map by Dora Machado

  Published in the United States of America.

  For my sisters, with love.

  Praise for Dora’s Stonewiser series:

  [The Call of the Stone] “Machado’s descriptions are rich in detail – you’ll feel the eels nipping at your toes – and her characterization is strong. Sariah is well developed and faces brutal conflicts in this story of adventure, politics and magic.” ~ Romantic Times

  [The Call of the Stone] “This thought-provoking look into oppression, love, and what leads the human spirit to fight back will appeal to lovers of the fantasy genre. And the cliffhanger ending will have readers in line to buy the next book.” ~ ForeWord Magazine

  [The Call of the Stone] “Machado has created a complex world, without reusing generic fantasy elements, even while using the standard hero quest motif. One of the few Hispanic women writing in this genre, she brings a welcome change to “boy finds sword/dragon/gem and sets off with dwarves/dragon/wiz ard/elves to slay evil king/dragon/wizard” storylines.” ~ San Francisco Book Review

  [The Call of the Stone] “This is intelligent, thought-provoking and entertaining fiction.” ~ SFFMedia.com

  [The Heart of the Stone] “Machado’s writing is as competent as her characterization… vivid and often poetic.” ~ Speculative Horizons.com

  [The Heart of the Stone] “Stonewiser is a finely crafted fantasy with unique concepts, and a vivid living world that will draw readers in and not let go.” ~ Midwest Book Review

  [The Lament of the Stone] “A must for fans of previous volumes and an excellent work of original fantasy that must be considered for everyone else, Stonewiser: The Lament of the Stone is not to be overlooked.” ~ Midwest Book Review

  [The Lament of the Stone] “...a fitting conclusion to the series, skillfully weaving the threads of the previous novels together into a complex, dramatic, vivid and beautifully finished tapestry. And in Sariah’s fate, Machado demonstrates once and for all her commitment to a gritty realism... Highly recommended original fantasy fiction.” ~ Science Fiction World

  Acknowledgments

  A book is always a team effort, requiring thoughts and work from a host of talented folks who share in my love for writing and reading. I want to thank Linda Parker and Peter Gelfan for tackling the story early on and helping me prepare the manuscript for submission. You guys are the best.

  A special shout of gratitude goes out to all my alpha readers who fearlessly trudged through the unpolished versions of The Curse Giver to give me valuable feedback. In particular, I want to thank the first wave, John Paul, Yvonne Stephens and Myriam Sambuceti for their thoughtful and soulful comments.

  In addition, I’d like to thank Lida Quillen at Twilight Times Books for taking me on and for all of her hard work putting together The Curse Giver. I really appreciate the opportunity. For a small press, TTB sure knows how to put together a great book. Special kudos to my editor at TTB, Barb Caffrey, whose insightful comments and suggestions proved to be invaluable to the final version of the story.

  In the technical assistance category, I’d like to thank Jane Ryder, Beth Justino and the folks at The Editorial Department for sharing their expertise and cheering me on; Mariana Marshall for her assistance with social media and public relations; and Chris Bowyer for providing outstanding technical support for the website and entertaining my questions even when they make absolutely no sense.

  As always, I have to profusely thank my friends and family, who are such an important part of my life, for all of their support and encouragement, including the ladies of the GNODC, my girlfriends—who keep me sane—my amazing sisters, nieces and nephews, and my parents, who taught me the joy of the story.

  A special thanks to my kids, who put up with my writer’s idiosyncrasies with such love and grace, and to my husband whose encouragement, patience and support allows me to indulge in this sweet craft.

  Finally I’d like to thank you, the reader, for sharing in my mind’s adventures. Without you, these stories would not be told.

  Table of Contents

  map

  Prologue

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  Chapter Twenty

  Chapter Twenty-one

  Chapter Twenty-two

  Chapter Twenty-three

  Chapter Twenty-four

  Chapter Twenty-five

  Chapter Twenty-six

  Chapter Twenty-seven

  Chapter Twenty-eight

  Chapter Twenty-nine

  Chapter Thirty

  Chapter Thirty-one

  Chapter Thirty-two

  Chapter Thirty-three

  Chapter Thirty-four

  Chapter Thirty-five

  Chapter Thirty-six

  Chapter Thirty-seven

  Chapter Thirty-eight

  Chapter Thirty-nine

  Chapter Forty

  Chapter Forty-one

  Chapter Forty-two

  Chapter Forty-three

  Chapter Forty-four

  Chapter Forty-five

  Chapter Forty-six

  Chapter Forty-seven

  Chapter Forty-eight

  Chapter Forty-nine

  Chapter Fifty

  Chapter Fifty-one

  Chapter Fifty-two

  Chapter Fifty-three

  Chapter Fifty-four

  Chapter Fifty-five

  Chapter Fifty-six

  Chapter Fifty-seven

  Chapter Fifty-eight

  Chapter Fifty-nine

  Chapter Sixty

  Chapter Sixty-one

  Chapter Sixty-two

  Chapter Sixty-three

  Chapter Sixty-four

  Chapter Sixty-five

  Chapter Sixty-six

  Chapter Sixty-seven

  Chapter Sixty-eight

  Chapter Sixty-nine

  Chapter Seventy

  Chapter Seventy-one

  Chapter Seventy-two

  Chapter Seventy-three

  Chapter Seventy-four

  Chapter Seventy-five

  Chapter Seventy-six

  Chapter Seventy-seven

  Chapter Seventy-eight

  Chapter Seventy-nine

  Chapter Eighty

  Chapter Eighty-one

  Chapter Eighty-two

  Chapter Eighty-three


  Chapter Eighty-four

  Chapter Eighty-five

  Chapter Eighty-six

  Chapter Eighty-seven

  Chapter Eighty-eight

  Chapter Eighty-nine

  Chapter Ninety

  Chapter Ninety-one

  Chapter Ninety-two

  Chapter Ninety-three

  Chapter Ninety-four

  Chapter Ninety-five

  Chapter Ninety-six

  Chapter Ninety-seven

  Chapter Ninety-eight

  Chapter Ninety-nine

  Epilogue

  About the author

  Glossary

  Prologue

  THE CURSE GIVER SLITHERED OUT OF the basin and glided among the counter wares, surveying the tidy kitchen. Tonight, she favored the serpent’s sleek shape. When she was sure she was alone, she grew herself into a watery semblance of the human form that defined her current existence. Her face’s reflection, coalescing into something tangible on the windowpane, might have been considered beautiful if one cared about such things.

  She didn’t. Beauty implied good and good entailed virtue, all spoilers to the evil she practiced.

  The evening storm agreed with her mood. It had been a busy night. She was on the last leg of her three-part errand. First, she had paid a visit to the arrogant fool who had provoked her wrath nearly ten years ago. Why had he been surprised to see her? He should have known that she would be back to avenge his treachery. Nothing could protect him from her rage.

  True, he had provided her with a rare opportunity. Betrayal was rare when one was a recluse of gods and mortals. Revenge was an elusive treat. The man’s misdeeds were unforgivable and yet his offense had freed her to indulge in her greatest compulsion.

  A curse was serious work, precision’s highest aim. A curse was challenge and duel, battle and victory, the maker’s highest praise. And this night, after ten years of careful planning, she had returned to cast the perfect curse, a layered trap of death, suffering, ruin and catastrophe; a cruel, complex, and horrific work of art.

  Her best and most satisfying creation yet.

  Had the proud lord really thought he had avoided retribution? Had he expected any less than what he got? He must have, because he pleaded with his eyes and wailed like a pathetic fool while she wrote the curse with his blood.

  The pleasure she got from casting the curse was so obscene it should have been forbidden. The enjoyment she would get in the years to come thrilled in advance. She had been meticulous in her preparations, deliberate in her provisions, fierce like the Goddess herself.

  That’s why prior to traveling to the kitchen, she had visited a second victim that night, lulling the young woman to sleep with a peaceful lullaby, cursing her with a kiss on the shoulder, where a tiny mark would grow over time to play a small but entertaining part in the curse’s expanding evil.

  Practicality was a sign of genius. Diligence upfront saved time.

  And now, to the last part of the plan. The need for preemptive action had brought her to this orderly kitchen, where a thousand scents mingled to entice the nose, including the lingering perfume of sweat, toil and exhaustion.

  What would it be like to live in a place like this? How would it feel to welcome guests every day, catering to their needs and listening to their stories? How would her life have turned out if she had devoted her talents to cooking, tending to the gardens, laundering the linens, mixing this, testing that, catching a few hours of sleep only to begin the same backbreaking routine all over again the next day?

  She shook her head, knowing the answer—it would be boring, tedious and dull. A waste of time, a squandering of her creative genius. A dreary existence that no one could possibly relish, let alone want.

  Destroying a life condemned to such a fate could have been seen as merciful, if one believed in such a thing as mercy. But she didn’t. Good was to bad as seed was to sprout. Mercy was a waste of time.

  She went about the kitchen, lighting the lamp, stuffing it with drying rags, until a nice little fire burned on the tabletop. She felt quite diligent as she fed the fire more kindling, a bundle of dried flowers, a bunch of rushes from the floor, some logs and twigs from the stack by the fireplace, and a jug of oil, which she splattered liberally over the place, until the fire was large enough to lick the ceiling beams and ignite the walls.

  How simple it was to ensure the curse’s future with a little forethought and the roaring flames. Nobody in this place would survive the fire. She wasn’t about to leave anything to chance. Call it overkill, because the casting had been done and death was the only possible outcome.

  With the smoke growing thick and the curse’s loose ends firmly knotted, she splashed back into the basin and, making the quick trip home, returned to her lair. She was in a mood to celebrate.

  She sat at her desk and smiled. After rubbing her hands together, she dipped her precious quill in the ink pot and pressed it against the vellum. The realms needed to beware. Her best curse was now loose upon the world. A warning, that’s what she needed to compose, the opening for a new masterwork, a battle cry and a victory song.

  And so, she began.

  I am the curse giver.

  Spawn of the fickle gods’ whims,

  Scorned by virtue, spurned by faith,

  Shudder when you hear my name.

  Chapter One

  DREAD STARED AT LUSIELLE FROM THE depths of the rowdy crowd. Concealed under a heavy hood, only the stranger’s black eyes dared to meet her gaze among the growing throng. The man’s eyes refused to flinch or shift from her face. His stare was free of the hatred she had gotten from the others, but also devoid of mercy. He held on to her gaze like an anchor to her soul, testing her fortitude, knowing full well her fears’ vast range.

  She had always been meant for the fire. Even as she had escaped the blaze that killed her parents and burned the inn to the ground, Lusielle had known that the flame’s greedy god would return to claim her life. But she hadn’t expected it to happen after days of torture, surrounded by the raging mob, found guilty of a crime she didn’t commit, betrayed and condemned.

  The town’s cobbler, one of her husband’s best customers, tightened the noose around her neck until it cut off her breath. She had waited on him countless times at the shop, and had always padded his order with a free measure of coriander to help with his wife’s cough.

  But none of the town’s inhabitants seemed to remember any of her kindnesses as of late. On the contrary, the crowd was booing and jeering when they weren’t pelting her with rotten fruit. They treated her as if she were a common thief.

  The brute who had conducted her torture shoved the cobbler aside, tying her elbows and wrists around the wooden stake. Orell. She remembered his name. His bearded face might have been handsome if not for the permanent leer. Like the magistrate, he wore the king’s burgundy colors, but his role had been more vicious. Had he been granted more time, he might have succeeded at extracting the false confession he wanted, but the magistrate was in a hurry, afraid of any possible unrest.

  Orell yanked on the ropes, tightening her bonds. The wound on her back broke open all over again. She swallowed a strangled hiss. It was as if the thug wanted her to suffer, as if he had a private reason to profit from her pain.

  But she had never seen him until three days ago, when he and the magistrate had shown up unannounced, making random accusations.

  Lusielle couldn’t understand any of this.

  She knew that the king’s justice was notoriously arbitrary. It was one of the main reasons why she loathed living under King Riva’s rule. But she also knew better than to express her opinion. Ruin and tragedy trailed those who dared to criticize the king. That’s why she had never mentioned her misgivings to anyone.

  What had she done to deserve this fate? And why did they continue to be so cruel? After all, she wasn’t fighting them anymore.

  True, she had resisted at first. Out of fear and pride, she had tried to defend herself. But i
n the end, it hadn’t mattered. Her accusers had relied on the testimony of the devious liar who had turned her in—Aponte Rummins—her own husband.

  The mock hearing had been too painful to bear, too absurd to believe. Aponte swore before the magistrate that Lusielle was a secret practitioner of the forbidden odd arts. It was ridiculous. How could anyone believe that she, who had always relied on logic, measure and observation to mix her remedies, could possibly serve the Odd God’s dark purposes? And how could anyone believe Aponte’s lies?

  But they did, they believed him as he called on his paid witnesses and presented fabricated evidence, swearing that he himself had caught her at the shop, worshipping the Odd God. In the end, it had been her husband’s false testimony that provided the ultimate proof of the heinous charge for which Lusielle was about to die.

  Burning torch in hand, the magistrate stepped forward. Still in shock, Lusielle swallowed a gulp of bitter horror and steeled for the flames’ excruciating pain. She didn’t want to die like a shrieking coward. But nothing could have prepared her for what happened next.

  The magistrate offered the torch to Aponte.

  “The king upholds a husband’s authority over his wife in the kingdom,” the magistrate shouted for the crowd to hear. “There can be no protests, no doubt of the wisdom of royal justice if a husband does as he’s entitled to do by his marital rights.”

  Aponte could have forgone her execution. Considering the magistrate’s proclamation, he could have chosen a different punishment for her. Instead, he accepted the torch and, without hesitation, put the flame to the tinder and blew over the kindling to start the fire.

  “Go now,” he said, grinning like a hog about to gorge. “Go find your dark lord.”