Keys and Curses (Shadow Book 2)

by Nina Smith

  Keys and Curses

  Nina Smith

  Copyright © 2015 Nina Smith

  All rights reserved. This book or any portion thereof may not be reproduced or used in any manner whatsoever without the express written permission of the publisher except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

  First Printing, 2015

  All rights reserved.

  ISBN: 978-1-943274-93-2

  NOVELS BY NINA SMITH:

  Thrillers:

  Hailstone

  Dead Silent

  Fantasy:

  Shadow Book 1: Bloody Fairies

  Shadow Book 2: Keys and Curses

  For Richard and Hazel, who filled my head with stories.

  A very special thank you to the people who have been a part of bringing my characters to life in the Shadow Project for this book: Laura Raabe, Jez Bos, Lara Bos, Christine Bluett, Lee-Anne Spencer, Tess Indigo, Belle Oxenham and Walter Smith.

  ONCE upon a time, a man who was neither God nor mortal unleashed a great evil, tipping the balance between order and chaos. The Goddess of Chaos herself stepped in, as the only being who could create a prison strong enough to hold this man and all whom he had corrupted: a bubble world, existing outside of time and space. This world came to be known as Shadow.

  Thousands of years passed. The ancient evil lived on, while the descendants of the original exiles established tribes, cultures, religions and traditions. The tiny world grew into a thriving civilisation.

  While an official census has never been undertaken, it is believed the following is a comprehensive list of all the peoples living in Shadow.

  Muses: Work hard to inspire creativity in the world of humans, which they call Dream. They prize physical beauty, learning and art, and are sternly loyal to their king. They see themselves as Shadow’s ruling class.

  Bloody Fairies: Enjoy shiny things and war. While they have historically been known to abandon battles because they saw something shiny, for the most part they are a formidable fighting force.

  Freakin Fairies: Obsessed with quicksilver, an abundant, toxic and very shiny element found in their territory. They maintain a monopoly over it, creating a constant shortage elsewhere in Shadow. Rogue Freakin Fairies have been known to run a black market sideline in vibe, a drug deadly to muses.

  Bloomin Fairies: Often live in giant pumpkin shells. Avid vegetable growers. These farming tribes are fiercely independent and very good at hiding whole villages amongst their crops.

  Blasted Fairies: A reclusive clan famous for their penchant for blowing things up. Nobody’s seen one for a while. Their origins are shrouded in as much mystery as their actual location.

  Forest People: Serious types with hooves for feet. Very territorial, fond of big axes and known as political dissidents. They are referred to colloquially as forest people not so much because they live deep in forests, as because nobody can ever remember their proper names. The two known tribes are the Fish-Tailed Green Dragon Dancer Tribe and the Three-Headed Red Elephant Tribe.

  Vampires: They like blood. Mostly they prefer fairy blood, although pixies will do at a stretch. They’re not so hot on muse blood, which can send them into anaphylactic shock.

  Pixies: Fond of darkness, depressing music, heavy makeup and writing poems about their endless pits of despair. Most people try not to have anything to do with them.

  Dwarves: Artisans, artists and architects who disdain hierarchy in favour of forming anarchist collectives for decision making. Easily the most intelligent citizens in all Shadow.

  Fire Elves: A tall, willowy people who have devoted three thousand years to their love affair with fire. They fight it, they dance with it, they juggle and create with it. Their reputation for being hot tempered and violent is well-deserved.

  CHAPTER ONE

  His flesh hissed under the white-hot brand.

  A scar. A livid nine-pointed star of shame. He clawed at his own skin with broken, filthy fingernails as if one pain could make him forget the other.

  “Weakness is disloyalty.”

  The voice made his skin crawl. He clutched his burned wrist to his ribs. Every breath tore at his throat, but he would escape. The terror could not hold him. He ran, feet sliding on long, wet grass, his own blood hammering like drums of war. There were no more walls. The prison was gone. He was free.

  He ran face-first into a tree trunk, bounced off, tripped on a rock and sprawled on his back in the grass.

  A thousand Moon Troopers marched through his pounding head. The burn throbbed. He pressed his wrist into the cool grass, rolled over, dragged himself forward. His shirt soaked through in seconds. A great weight dragged at his neck. He closed his hand around the chain that held that weight and yanked.

  A single voice broke through the clamour in his mind.

  “Nikifor, if you don’t tell me where you are right this minute I swear to Mnemosyne I’ll leave you here to find the Freakin Fairies on your own!”

  He yanked again. The chain broke. He collapsed, only to find himself head and shoulders over the drop-off. The sheer, chalky cliff face tilted. The flat ocean, far, far below, looked like oblivion.

  “Nikifor I mean it! Where are you?”

  He didn’t shrink away from the drop. Instead he opened his hand and took one last look at the key. So small, so innocuous, two tiny intertwined rings that made him a monster, that had threatened to destroy his last tenuous grip on sanity ever since-

  No.

  No, he couldn’t think about that, not yet. He twisted the two halves to break them so nobody could find and use the cursed thing. Then he let them tumble, tiny deadly streaks of light, far, far down into the uncaring ocean.

  A gasp behind his shoulder. “Nikifor, what have you done?”

  A coughing fit racked his ribs so hard he almost tumbled off the cliff. Strong hands grasped him by the scruff of the neck and dragged him back from the edge. Some of the hardness went from her tone. “Come on, get up out of the grass, it’s not good for you to get cold. It can’t be far now.”

  His voice came out like a rusty hinge. “You’ve been saying that for days.”

  “In that case we’re days closer than we were. I can’t believe you just threw away your key!”

  Nikifor sat up and curled over on himself, trying to stifle the shuddering in his ribs. “I’m sorry.”

  “Sorry? That’s it? What kind of a muse just tosses his link between the worlds into the sea? What happened was tragic, but there will be other artists!”

  “I will never inflict myself on another artist.”

  “You’re a muse, it’s in your nature to inspire! What would the king say if he could see you now?”

  Nikifor flinched. “Don’t let him, Flower. Don’t let him see me like this.”

  She gave a gusty, long-suffering sigh. “I won’t. I promised you we’d find the Freakin Fairies, didn’t I? When they’ve cured you we’ll find the king. Come on, we need to keep moving.”

  He didn’t move. He’d caught sight of the scar. On his knees on cold flagstones. Unable to flinch or beg for mercy or feel anything but the pain.

  “Weakness is disloyalty,” said the voice.

  His breath came shallow and fast. He raised the red, throbbing scar before his eyes.

  “Nikifor!”

  This time she was really angry. He got to his feet and swayed there, struggling to keep her in his sight. “The scar,” he said. “It burns.”

  She laid cool fingers over his wrist and tapped him on the forehead. “It’s all in there, remember? You’re hallucinating. You’ve had that old scar for twenty-five years.”

  “Who gave it to me?” The familiar fear gripped his ribs.

  “I don
’t know. But we’ll find out. The king will help us, but first you have to get well. Look.” She moved her fingers away from his wrist. “Look at it Nikifor, it’s just a scar.”

  He looked at the pink outline on his skin. His shoulders drooped with relief. “Just a scar.”

  “Now come on.” Flower walked away.

  Nikifor took two halting steps after her. He shuddered when a cold wind knifed through his wet shirt, rippled the long grass that swept from the forest to the cliff edge, quivered the branches of the Ghost Figs reaching their naked, cracked limbs into the unforgiving sky. His breath rattled in his throat. The scar. The scar was bright red, red like molten lava. Smoke curled up from his skin. He yelled in fright and fled for the safety of the trees.

  A definitive twang. His foot snagged on something taut and thin and he sprawled face-first into the grass. A wicked little chuckle erupted from the trees.

  Nikifor clawed at the grass and raised himself up on his elbows, confused. “Flower?”

  Flower walked slowly towards him, her hands in the air, palms up to show she was unarmed. “It’s alright,” she said. “I think we found the Freakin Fairies.”

  Nikifor struggled into a sitting position. Five men and three women, all not much more than half his height, emerged from amongst the skeletal Ghost Figs. Their dark hair was tangled in knots and dreadlocks, from which hung objects he suspected had started life in the mouth of a snake. Every one of them wore pants and long-sleeved shirts of tough black leather etched with curling silver designs. Silver dots traced intricate patterns over the women’s faces. “Are you Freakin Fairies?” he blurted.

  One of the women loosened a knife at her belt. “Who’s asking?”

  Flower began to reply, but the woman shook her head and pointed at Nikifor. “Let the crazy man tell us.”

  Nikifor looked up and up and up. The Tormentor’s shadow made him cold. The brand glowed. His eyes hurt in its light. Flagstones hard and cold beneath his knees. He forced words through frozen lips. “No. No don’t do it, it’s madness, please, no, don’t do it-”

  A small, leathery hand curled into his hair and yanked his head back. The Freakin Fairy woman’s black eyes loomed so close he could see the flecks of silver in them. She clicked her fingers in front of his eyes. Each tiny sound hit him like a thunderclap.

  She looked over her shoulder at Flower. “What’s wrong with your husband?”

  Flower’s voice took on the familiar thread of steel. “Do I look like the kind of fool who’d marry a vibe addict?”

  “I don’t know what you muses get up to in private. Vibe addict, you say?”

  Flower’s sigh was palpable. The contempt in it cut him like a dagger. “Correct.”

  Silence. The Freakin Fairy turned his face this way and that, studying him. “Hmph. For how long?”

  “Twenty or thirty years now, on and off. He’s tried to get off, but-”

  “But he didn’t, blah, blah, blah, spare me, Muse. Thirty years on the vibe, why isn’t he dead?”

  “I don’t know. I brought him to seek your help.”

  “I know. We’ve been watching you blunder around our forest for days.”

  Flower’s voice rose, laid bare the anxiety he knew she’d hidden under layers of hard, stubborn determination all these weeks. “Why didn’t you make yourself known sooner?”

  “It was too much fun watching.” The Freakin Fairy tugged on Nikifor’s ear. “Don’t have long, do you sonny? You’ll be dead in two days.”

  “Dead?” Nikifor tried to focus on the fairy, but all he could see was the shadow of the Tormentor. The creature who haunted him would never release him that easily. Death was very, very far away.

  The Freakin Fairy snorted. “Pathetic.”

  “Will you help us?” Flower didn’t plead, and she didn’t demand. Her words fell on Nikifor’s brain like flat, exhausted silver doves dropping out of the air after a long, long flight.

  “Why should we?”

  Flower dug into the rucksack she carried, pulled out a wooden box and opened it. “I brought payment.”

  The Freakin Fairy went over to look in the box.

  Nikifor couldn’t see the box, but he knew what was in it. He’d traded his last spare shirt and his dead father’s gold ring for the tumbled pile of springs, screws, watch hands, pendulums, shiny beads and nails. He turned his head away. The fairy peered into the box, her eyes wide. Her fingers trembled over it, but she snatched her hand back. “You offer this rubbish? In return for fixing up that great lump?”

  Flower closed the box. “If you don’t want them-”

  The Freakin Fairy snatched the box from her. “They’ll do for now. But he has to do something for us when he’s cured as well.”

  “That is acceptable.”

  Nikifor breathed out. An almost indescribable relief filled him, until he looked up and found the shadow bending over him.

  “Weakness is disloyalty.” The Tormentor raised the glowing brand.

  The flesh on his wrist smoked. Anger flared. He clawed at the scar, determined to dig it out and defy the monster once and for all.

  “You!” The Freakin Fairy shook a fist at him. “Stop that!”

  He took to the scar with his teeth.

  “Is that really necessary?” Flower’s voice asked from far away.

  “You want him fixed or what?”

  A rush of air and a blow to the back of the head.

  Darkness.

  When Nikifor next opened his eyes, five Freakin Fairies dragged him along a forest floor. Flower followed behind; beside her walked the shadow of the Tormentor.

  He closed his eyes again.

  CHAPTER TWO

  Flower had no idea just how exhausted she was until the Freakin Fairies dragged Nikifor out of her sight. She made to follow, only to meet with a terse “stay there, Muse.”

  She obeyed. Freakin Fairies might be short, but they were hot-headed and handy with their blades and she had no intention of ending up a skeleton holding up a `beware of the fairies’ sign in a backwoods like Quicksilver Forest.

  She sank onto one of the tree stumps crowded around the deserted fire pit and put her head in her hands. What she wouldn’t have given a couple of decades ago for a chance to study a Freakin Fairy tribe up close. Not now. Now all she wanted to do was curl up under a blanket in an actual bed and sleep. Warmth from the smouldering fire barely reached her. She clenched her teeth to keep them from chattering.

  This was madness. She’d got Nikifor this far, but the Freakin Fairies could still take it into their heads to kill him. The one muse who could have helped him had been missing for months, maybe years, who knew? King Pierus had always preferred solitude. Anything might have happened to him.

  She let out a long sigh. Her breath warmed her palms. Nikifor had been half-dead and out of his mind when she found him three weeks ago. Getting him off her hands was both a blessing and a curse, because now she had to think about what to do next.

  “Muse.”

  Flower lowered her hands. A very old Freakin Fairy watched her from across the fire. He had a full head of dreadlocks, every one of them quite white. A map of lines ran across skin stretched taut over prominent cheekbones and a hooked nose. A thick grey rabbit pelt covered his shoulders and he carried a staff topped with a goat’s skull that had been coated in hardened quicksilver.

  Flower put her hand to her forehead to show respect. “Elder.”

  The wrinkles around the old fairy’s eyes deepened. “Who are you calling old?”

  Flower inwardly cursed the mistake. Anyone would think she was an amateur, not a seasoned diplomat. “I’m sorry, I-”

  “You’re sorry? That’s what your friend kept saying. What have you both done?”

  Exasperation set in. “We did nothing!”

  “I doubt that.” He leaned forward and grinned, revealing incisors as silver as his goat skull. “Muses are rarely innocent.”

  Flower kept silent rather than get herself in any deeper trou
ble.

  After a moment or two of waiting for her reply, the elder gave a deep chuckle. “What’s your name?”

  “Flower.”

  He raised an eyebrow.

  Her cheeks reddened with embarrassment and for the seven millionth time she cursed her mother’s obsession with places. Other muses had good, decent names that described the kinds of things they inspired. She didn’t. “Flower of the Great North Island Beyond the Night Flickered Sea.”

  “I can see why you’re sorry,” the Freakin Fairy said. “I would be too with a name like that.” He gave her a long, hard stare.

  Flower squirmed. She was tired, hungry, fed up and not in the mood to kowtow to fairies right now.

  “I am Coalfire Quicksilver,” he finally said. “Head of the Quicksilver clan. Not elder. We’re not Bloody Fairies, we don’t go in for all that council of elders rubbish. I’m the boss and that’s the end of it.”

  Flower’s cheeks burned with embarrassment. She hadn’t dealt with Bloody Fairies since the Vampire War ended twenty-five years ago. “I apologise,” she said. “We have travelled far and I must plead exhaustion.”

  Coalfire raised a finger. “You’re not finished yet.”

  Flower shook her head. “No, I’m not finished. If you will agree to care for my friend, I must travel on.”

  “Why?”

  “To find my king.”

  The ghost of a grimace crossed his face. “Why?”

  “Because-” she looked about, even though there was nobody but Freakin Fairies about to hear the conversation. Looking over her shoulder had become second nature lately. “-I think he is in terrible danger.”