Curse Breaker: Sundered

by Melinda Kucsera

  “That’s the beauty of this. You don’t have to believe anything I say. Just come and see for yourself.”

  “And if I don’t?”

  “Your friends can’t survive long in the pit. So, I’d come if you care for their well-being.”

  Gore stiffened at the implied threat. His friends wouldn’t last long under those conditions. But what if that creature was lying? So much of the incident where he'd freed the monster he was talking to was lost during his transformation.

  “Which friends? Give me some proof of life.”

  “Come and see for yourself.”

  The Ægeldar’s presence receded before he could ask any more questions.

  Gore slumped onto a table next to an array of pipes. He’d been so caught up in everything, it’d never occurred to him he could return to the pit. But my friends can’t walk through solid stone. That was a complication, but one he could deal with later.

  I need a plan or better yet a trump card in case that creature turns on me. I don’t trust it. That Foundling Girl floated back into his thoughts. Her dark eyes sparkled, and a mocking smile turned up the corners of her cupid’s bow lips.

  “Come, sinners, darkness rises. Do what your desires advise! I recommend you comply. Come, sinners, our time is nigh,” the Adversary said. His summons whispered through the empty market as a black mist stole through the stalls.

  Gore smiled at the idea nosing around the recesses of his mind then he sank into the stone floor and passed swift and silent as a shadow out of the market. He headed not for the Ægeldar where his damnation had begun, but for the cave where he’d befriended Dirk all those years ago when they were Foundlings too.

  A feast of souls awaited him. He’d partake of it then see about saving his friends.

  What the Bells Say

  A black cloud shot through the tunnel filling it. Sarn coughed until the air cleared. But it did no other harm. He was just as tired as he was before.

  The black mist settled at waist-height and thickened as it clawed at his cloak, but there wasn’t any magic in its fabric anymore. Sarn straightened, holding his son above that magic-stealing mist so no part of it touched Ran or his bear. Because they might still be magical. Without his other sight, he couldn't check.

  “What’s happening?” Ran whispered in Sarn’s ear.

  “Either there are more black lumir crystals exposed to the air or there’s only one and the more magic it eats, the stronger it gets.”

  “I don’t like the sound of that.” Ran shivered.

  “Me either.”

  “How can we tell which it is?”

  “We find it and take a look, assuming there’s something to see.”

  Sarn climbed over a pile of rocks, ducked under a leaning column and grimaced at the obstacle course ahead.

  “If we can get to it.”

  “Must we do that?” Ran asked in a small voice. His eyes pleaded for a ‘no.’ He’d had enough adventures for one day.

  “Yes, I promised to help J.C.”

  “Oh, by the Final Fate’s flaming webs—get it off me!” Jersten slapped at his clothes.

  “Calm down. It's not on you. It's on the floor.”

  In his arms, Ran shivered and pressed in as close as he dared to Sarn’s pendant. Its steady white glow calmed his son. No darkness could steal its light.

  No darkness could steal its light—that thought repeated, and each time it did, its significance grew. Could it be that simple? Bear had said everything had an opposite. Maybe he’d always possessed the black lumir crystal’s antithesis.

  Was that why the Queen of All Trees wanted me here? Because Mount Eredren is somehow the source of those black lumir crystals? If so, then Mount Eredren must also be the source of its antithesis.

  ‘Because every bloody thing must balance,' according to Sovvan. Bear had also said something about that and J.C. too.

  “What is it, Papa?”

  “I’ve got an idea.”

  “You know how to fix this?”

  Ran gestured to the collapsed column Sarn picked his way over and the oppressive darkness outside the crystal’s nimbus. Hope crept into his son's voice.

  “Maybe.”

  But I only have one crystal and two foes. Which one should I use it on? What will cause the biggest ripple? Sarn tripped when the stones under his feet gave way, and he stumbled to the bottom of the pyramidal pile clutching his son who had a death grip on his cloak.

  “How will you fix things?” Ran asked when they’d reached solid ground again.

  But Sarn wasn’t ready to explain not while his plan lacked a lot of critical details.

  I need to find more crystals like my pendant. If I could access my magic, I could do it. And I could figure out what's so different about it. But Sarn suppressed that thought. He wasn't ready to face the Question again, not when it meant leaving his son unattended in a dangerous situation for Fates knew how long.

  “Wait, Sarn. It’s not that way.” Jersten shouted.

  But the bells of Mount Eredren cut him off. Sarn froze. He was a tuning fork homing in on the message those bells were sending—the one message he dreaded receiving every night.

  They stood under one of the tubes piping those bells, and their summons, to every corner under the mountain. Ran covered one ear and pressed the other against Sarn’s chest to muffle that too-loud ringing, leaving one hand free to count the bells.

  Each peal struck Sarn and vibrated his bones. His heart slowed to beat in time with their measured tolling, and that made his vision go all wonky.

  “One,” Ran said as a deep bong reverberated through the Lower Quarters.

  For some reason, the bells were louder under the mountain than up near its apex where they were located. That probably had something to do with the layout of the Lower Quarters. They were a perfect echo chamber. No one knew why the Litherians had made it that way nor what they'd used this sprawling warren of dark tunnels for.

  Ran uncovered his ears, but those bells weren’t done. Neither was time. It had been marching on without making its progress known.

  “Bong.”

  Ran clapped his hands over his ears again and left them there, not trusting those bells to cease because they couldn’t.

  They must ring my doom. Sarn felt them building up to that fateful hour, and there was nothing he could do to stop them. He was out of time.

  “Two,” Ran said, holding two fingers up.

  “Bong.”

  “Three.”

  The promise stirred as it did every night, knocking Sarn off balance. He leaned into the wall. It can’t be time yet. It just can’t.

  “Bong.”

  Ran held up four fingers.

  Pressure built inside Sarn as his map roused. That damned Question blocked its connection to his magic but not the promise. No, that thing rose inside him, wrapping him in another man’s purpose as it warped his will, bending it like the clay it was in his master’s hands.

  “Five.”

  Voices from the past murmured, soft at first but they grew in volume, changing that interminable ding-donging into words.

  “Swear.”

  “Six.”

  “You’ll obey.”

  “Seven, eight.”

  They tolled faster now, their song bearing down on Sarn as the bells counted down to the one number he dreaded. No. The denial stuck in his throat. He couldn’t say it because he’d already agreed to this before the son he clutched close to his heart was born.

  “Obey. Obey. Obey.”

  “Nine, ten, eleven.”

  Then a pause because an answer was required. It didn’t matter that it’d been given almost five years ago. His knees were bending as that pause lengthened, dragging Sarn emotionally back to the best and worst decision of his life.

  “Obey.”

  “Twelve.”

  “Swear you'll obey,” Lord Joranth said from memory as Sarn’s knees hit the ground hard, sending a sharp pain through them. A small foot landed
on his thigh as Ran shifted in his arms.

  “Thirteen. Papa are you okay?”

  But Sarn couldn’t move or reply. The past had him in its claws, and it was crushing him, grinding away his will to resist because there was no resisting inevitability.

  “Papa? Fourteen.”

  The promise reached out. Even blunted by the question, it could still dig its claws into his psyche and rip.

  “Fifteen.”

  The promise spun Sarn until he faced away from the slowly moving Jersten toward a dark bend. Everything inside Sarn screamed at him to rise and go:

  “Find your master now, now, now.”

  “Sixteen.”

  The wall to his left buckled. But it wasn’t his magic thrusting through it. His magic was caged somewhere beyond his reach but not gone, and it was fighting to return to his hand.

  We are one. Take us back! It screamed.

  “Seventeen. Papa?”

  Ran huddled against his chest as a tentacle broke through the wall.

  “Eighteen.”

  Rocks fell, but Sarn couldn't dodge or shove his son aside. The promise rooted him to the spot, but he had no magic to deflect the debris hurtling toward them. I must answer its call. The promise wouldn’t release him unless he did what it wanted, and it wanted him to go to his master.

  Which master? I have three of them. Which master do I go to? He asked that shadowed nobleman sinking into his throne in his mind.

  Lord Joranth Nalshira’s shadow didn’t answer. Neither did the promise, but time did. It dilated, attenuating the pause between peals and froze those rocks mid-air. Everything hinged on the answer to that question.

  Not Lord Joranth because he gave me to Jerlo, and Jerlo handed me over to Nolo.

  Nolo. Death’s Marksman’s name echoed in his mind. He was both the answer and the destination. Time resumed, and those rocks dropped to the ground and landed just a few inches shy of them. Maybe that was the promise’s doing. After all, he had to be alive to fulfill its terms.

  The bells of Mount Eredren spoke again, “Nolo.”

  “Nineteen,” Ran said from where he sheltered against Sarn’s chest. Too bad naming the hours couldn't rewind them or silence their summons.

  Two more tentacles punched through the wall widening the hole. Ran screamed, but his voice was drowned out by that maddening tolling.

  Somewhere, Nolo repeated the words ‘twentieth bell,’ and that command levered Sarn up. Invisible hands propelled him forward, away from one danger and headlong into a more complicated one.

  “Nolo!”

  “Twenty,” Ran said as that last peal freed Sarn.

  He shouldered Jersten out of the way of a whipping tentacle and shot around the bend.

  Rocks fell, and the ground shook, but Sarn kept running. he couldn’t have stopped if he’d wanted to. The promise had him in its claws, and it yanked him into the darkness. Behind him, echoes of the bells faded out as they ceased tolling. Their job was done for another hour.

  “Where are we going?”

  Ran gripped his tunic, pulling the collar taut against the back of Sarn’s neck.

  “Sarn? You’re going the wrong way.” Jersten puffed to a halt and gestured to the right where a tunnel trembled from the assault its neighbor took. “We have to go that way. It's the last transverse before the river surfaces.”

  Across from them, a doorway led to a stairwell, and the promise forced Sarn into it. His master was up there on one of the floors above, waiting for him. I must go to him.

  Three levels above, on a dragon-shaped end table, a clock ticked. It nestled in the belly of a pewter dragon and was quite the expensive marvel—one the commander of the Rangers never tired of looking it nor did he have a single regret about purchasing it. One month’s salary was a small price to pay for an accurate clock.

  Its minute hand pointed to five minutes past the hour as Jerlo looked up from the papers he was stacking. Footsteps resounded in the antechamber. He regarded the door expecting Sarn, Nolo or both to appear as the door opened.

  The Trouble with Paperwork

  “Commander?”

  “What now? Can’t you see I’m busy?”

  Jerlo dropped a messy stack of papers onto his chair. Maybe they’d stay there for a few minutes, so he could get somewhere with the sea of papers still covering the floor thanks to that earthquake earlier.

  Ranispara raised an eyebrow at the mess. “Did I miss something?”

  “Just another earthquake,” Jallister called from Jerlo’s outer office. “What else is new? We seem to have them every couple of weeks. They keep life interesting, not that we need it since as Rangers we have—”

  “Enough,” Jerlo shouted.

  He’d banished the loquacious youth of middle twenties to his outer office to make copies of next week’s schedule because the Ranger couldn’t do anything without running his mouth. At least out there, Jallister could put that gift for gab to good use screening his visitors. In theory, anyway. In practice, it hadn’t quite worked out that way since a constant stream of interruptions kept appearing in his office.

  “Well, don’t just gawk at the mess. Deliver your report. Letters don’t write themselves.” Jerlo snapped his fingers.

  “Oh, right, sorry I saw the mountain jiggle, but it didn’t look all that severe from the meadow.”

  “It was a short one but still a nuisance,” Jerlo said before Jallister could wax eloquent on that subject again. He’d heard enough on that score over the last couple of hours to last him a lifetime.

  Voices in the passage beyond sent Jerlo running for the door, which he slammed. Hopefully Jallister would take a hint and intercept whomever was headed this way now. Messages were easier to deal with than living, breathing people. With so much paper around, a message could easily get lost for a few hours. It could happen. Jallister was an intelligent young man with a mouth that never stopped moving. He could take a message and send those visitors on their way, but he likely wouldn’t.

  “And I have bad news to heap on top of that. I hope no one was hurt.”

  Ranispara rocked back on her heels, something she only did when she had vexing news to deliver. Jerlo suppressed a sigh.

  “None that I know of, but I haven’t left my office since the quake. Let’s hear your news.”

  Jerlo plopped onto his chair then levered himself up so he could remove the papers trapped under his rump and set them on his desk where they belonged.

  “We’ve got a report of a lost boy.”

  “A runner?”

  Just saying the word aloud raised the specters of the past, but Jerlo squashed them. He hadn’t sent his Rangers out to catch a runaway in five years, which was a good thing since the last one had been Sarn, and they’d made a real mess of that situation.

  We're lucky that green-eyed pain in my ass survived. Though perhaps he was being a tad harsh. Sarn was a good kid, and that was the problem. At twenty, he wasn't a kid anymore, but neither was he an adult. He was still trapped in that awkward teenage mindset of ‘trust no one' and ‘act like there are no consequences.’ It was maddening because Sarn was a bright young man. If he'd only use that intellect for something other than rebelling against authority figures.

  Jerlo sighed. Thoughts like these weren't completing the forms due today or getting rid of his current visitor.

  “No, this boy got separated from his friends in the enchanted forest. And we need Sarn to locate him.”

  Jerlo almost laughed at the irony of that, but a knock sounded at his door. Jallister poked his curly head in.

  “Commander? There’s a Lord and Lady Veychanze here to see you—”

  “About their missing son?” Jerlo suggested. Please, let me be wrong, God. I’ll donate my next paycheck to charity if you’ll send them away.

  “Yes sir, should I show them in?”

  “No.”

  “No? But sir—”

  “No.”

  Flustered by his repeated refusals, Jallister glanced a
t Ranispara for help. But she held both hands up in surrender and backed slowly away from the door and the subject.

  “I said ‘no.’”

  Jerlo scrubbed both hands over his face then let them fall onto his cluttered desk. Oh God, why? Why me? Why must that missing boy be a nobleman’s son? If God heard, he didn’t reply. Maybe that was for the best.

  “But sir,” Jallister tried again certain he'd heard wrong.

  “No. Send someone to fetch Nolo. Diplomacy is his thing. Paperwork is mine.”

  “I'll get right on that.” Ranispara saluted then slipped past Jallister to carry out orders he hadn’t given her.

  If she was at all relieved to hand off the problem, she didn’t show it. She was too much of a professional to let her feelings about the noble set show.

  “What about the concerned parents?” Jallister jerked a thumb at the antechamber behind him. “I put them in a conference room. Should I fetch them?”

  Jerlo waved both hands striking that idea down before it could take root.

  “No, no, leave them there. Send for tea and brandy and whatever else might calm them down. Let Nolo deal with them.”

  Nolo was the people-person. Handling nobles was his job as second-in-command, and the man had serious skills in that department.

  “But they want to speak to you, sir. They were most adamant about that.”

  “Wait for Nolo.”

  “But—”

  “I said, wait for Nolo. Go entertain them until he comes. Don’t let them out of your sight and don’t show them to my office. Don’t even tell them I’m in. Is that clear?”

  “Crystal, sir.”

  Jallister exited, not at all thrilled with his assignment. Before he closed the door, he ventured one last question.

  “What do I do in the meantime?"

  “Talk to them. You’re good at that. Find out everything there is to know about this missing brat. Nolo will need the info. Now shoo.”

  Jerlo waved the young Ranger off and slumped in his chair after the door closed. He could only escape dealing with this Lord and Lady What’s-their-name for so long. Eventually, they’d end up in his office. Everyone always did for every damned thing. Jerlo chucked his letter opener at the wall, and it bounced off a dragon statue. Its crystal eyes mirrored his unease.