Curse Breaker: Sundered

by Melinda Kucsera

  “I do stay away from him when my master lets me.”

  “You should tell your master. Chances are, you’re not that leech’s only victim. Don’t even try to take him on yourself. A leech can use your own body against you. Only a real healer can safely dispatch a leech.”

  “I didn’t think of that.” And now that he had, Sarn shivered at the very idea of that creature preying on others.

  “Please speak up and keep speaking up until someone listens. Leeches are predators.”

  “I will.”

  But would Nolo listen? Sarn reached to collect his dozing son. His arms ached to carry the boy, but the world wobbled, and he teetered until the Guardian slung an arm around his shoulders to hold him up. The shield contracted until it was just a disc floating above their heads. It shuddered and emitted a cascade of sparks as it shook apart.

  “Papa, are you okay now?”

  “He’s better but not completely okay, so no more heroics. Are we clear on that?”

  Ran sat up and pointed. “Okay, but you should tell the monster that.”

  A tentacle sailed toward them, and its chitinous hooks gleamed in the collapsing shield’s green glow. The Guardian-Healer yanked Sarn aside, and Ran flung himself at Sarn and huddled close to his legs while he hugged Bear. A ghostly apparition of a knight leaped between them and the tentacle and shoved it, knocking it off course, so it struck the ground just inches from where they’d just been standing.

  “Gentlemen, we cannot hold this abomination off forever since we are without corporeal bodies,” said another Guardian in the old tongue. “Mayhap you should do whatever you are going to do without any further delays.”

  “What did he say?” Ran asked, and his face was the picture of puzzlement.

  It took Sarn a moment to translate what the Guardian in crystal armor had said. He’d had to learn the Litany in the Old Tongue, so on the Day of Testing when the Angel of Death passed over the land, it wouldn’t take him and everyone he’d ever known. But he’d learned that by rote, not by learning the language.

  Ran needed to learn that Litany too; Sarn realized as he translated for his son. The Day of Testing came for everyone, no matter their station in life. Thank Fate, Ran still had about nine and a half years until that day—plenty of time to learn the Litany.

  But his savior had no such difficulty in understanding what his comrade-in-arms had said. He was already moving before Sarn had worked it out for himself, and he dragged Sarn in his wake. But the promise snapped invisible chains around his legs, tripping Sarn, and he went down on one knee.

  Those chains anchored him to Jersten, but he couldn’t see the man in all that mist. When the tentacle retracted itself to strike again, Ran flung himself at Sarn, and he caught the boy, and Bear in a fierce hug.

  “Where’s Jersten?”

  Ran just shrugged.

  Another Guardian stepped up beside their healer. They both wore antique armor like many of the statues littered about Mount Eredren.

  “Your magic is like mine was before I lost it,” Sarn said in awe. He felt it coursing through the spirit.

  That apparition just pointed at him and an instant connection sprang up between them. For the first time in his life, Sarn didn’t feel like a freak. How could he when not one but three of his heroes were magical too?

  The Guardian-Mage reached for him, and Sarn freed a hand from his son and extended it. There was a buzzing in his ears, and his vision got wavy as that hand became corporeal enough to slide over his palm and go for a forearm clasp instead. Sarn felt the magic rising off the ghost of his dead hero as he pulled Sarn to his feet, and he was parched for it. His whole body thirsted for the magic he was so used to lighting up every part of him.

  Ran had stayed put, preferring to stay on the ground where the monster would have trouble spotting him, and his gambit paid off. “Papa, the monster’s coming!”

  Ran's warning came a second too late. A tentacle slammed into Sarn, and he fell. Ghostly hands arrested his fall before he could face-plant and earn another concussion. The instant he came within reach, Ran grabbed on and went for a ride, as usual, when the Guardian righted him. Sarn clutched the boy who’d gave his days meaning to his chest to keep him close.

  “Papa, who are they really? You said they were Guardians, but in all the stories they were like you and me, and we can’t walk through stuff.” Which explained his son’s perplexity, but Ran continued before Sarn could answer his question. “I mean—they’re not like Ghost Bear. They’re different—good different not bad. But I’m not sure how.”

  “They’re my heroes, the Guardians of Shayari.” For that’s what his heart proclaimed these ghostly men to be however improbable that might be, and Sarn knew that was true.

  “They’re the people you called.” Ran nodded as that mystery cleared itself up to his satisfaction. Maybe he even believed it. The tyke could be maddeningly hard to read sometimes.

  “Yes, we are. No force in Heaven or Hell can stop us from helping a soul in need.”

  “A soul in need?” Sarn stared at them dumbfounded as they half-carried and half-dragged him away from the river and the loud booms and the tentacles doing Fates knew what above and behind them. He should probably check on them but surrounded as he was by heroes he’d only dreamt of, he couldn’t look away from them lest they vanish.

  Debris passed right through Sarn as if he were as incorporeal as they were. Ran found that particularly interesting. He stuck his hands out at every opportunity and reveled when they passed through the seemingly endless piles of broken stones.

  “Look, Papa! They’re fighting the monster.”

  Sarn glanced over his shoulder and this time, that move didn’t send pain throbbing along the back of his head, and that was a welcome change. Ran was right.

  Every time a tentacle shot toward them, those ghostly Guardians massed in front of it, and they held fast against it. Their line refused to break or bend, but they weren’t corporeal. Neither were their weapons, yet those tentacles writhed as if they’d hit an invisible barrier, or a shield, and that was perfect actually.

  It’s what I would do if I had my magic back. And seeing that was heartening somehow. Maybe he was just a little like his heroes.

  “Are they winning?” Ran wanted to know as he hiked himself up higher in Sarn’s grip, so he could see better. He rested his chin on Sarn’s shoulder and Bear’s too.

  “They’re slowing it down so we can escape. So yes, in a sense we’re winning.”

  Ran gave him a confused look then resumed watching the show, and he was glad his son was distracted because this was all too much.

  “What about Jersten?” Sarn asked as he remembered the con man and the pact they’d made. It wasn’t pulling on him again, and that was a good thing.

  “He's here too. They have him,” Ran said. His eyes were still locked on the one-sided battle behind them.

  “Why are you helping me now? Why didn’t you come any of the other times I needed help?” Like when Hadrovel had tried to kill me? I was a ‘soul in need’ then too. But that was his inner child talking. Growing up orphaned and abandoned was hard.

  “Because you called us. Everyone deserves help especially you. You carry the hopes of us all. All the living do, and that’s a tough burden to bear.”

  “What are you talking about?”

  “You weave your fate by living moment to moment, choice by choice. Every choice you make defines you and your corner of the world. We’re no longer players in that game. We can only hope you make the best of it as we did.”

  “Choices—you’re talking about magic and about me taking it up again."

  Not the green one of the earth and growing things, but the other power, that white flame in his heart. It was there now burning away, but he couldn't touch it only feel it and its warmth radiating through him, or maybe that was the ghost's touch he felt.

  Instead of answering, the Guardians flickered, and their translucent bodies began to unravel as t
heir summons faded. Before they vanished, they set Sarn, his son and Jersten down in what must be an adjacent tunnel. A slightly-built Guardian laid down his makeshift walking stick and winked when he—no—she caught him staring.

  There were no female Guardians in the bards' tales. But there had been women in that order because he'd just met one, and she reminded him a lot of Ranispara. She was also a woman doing what most considered to be a man’s job, and she was damned good at it. Point made, the female Guardian bowed and departed leaving a speechless Sarn behind.

  Only the Guardian-Healer remained, and he rested his hand on Sarn’s head in a silent blessing. Sarn searched for words to thank him and all the Guardians for their help, but he found none adequate enough to do the job. So he went with the truth.

  “I don’t know how to thank you.”

  “No thanks are necessary. Just Remember us as we were, and our tradition will live on through you. That is the greatest thanks you can give us,” said the Guardian-Healer then he too was gone, and the tunnel was all the darker for his absence.

  Jersten stirred like a dreamer awakening from a nightmare. He blinked at their surroundings and was startled to find the monster was gone and the river too.

  “How did we get here?”

  “We had help, but they’re gone now.”

  Sarn pushed himself up and this time, neither dizziness nor nausea stopped him. Both were still gone, and he could walk on his own as long as he leaned on his walking stick for support. But he couldn’t carry Ran now that the Guardians weren’t holding him up anymore, so he raised Ran to his feet, and his son freed a hand from his death-grip on Bear.

  “Can you walk for a bit?”

  Ran nodded distractedly. “Did they really fix you?”

  “Not all of me, but I feel a lot better. I just don’t have enough energy left to walk and carry you.”

  “That’s okay. I can walk with you. Are we going to help J.C. now?” Ran asked, but his eyes asked a different question: can you still help J.C. in the state you’re in?

  Sarn didn’t have an answer to either question. He didn’t know where J.C. was, and he needed more time to recuperate. A concussion was a serious problem, and according to the ghosts of his heroes, he still had one. I’ll just go slow, fulfil my promise to Jersten then see what else I can do. That sounded like a workable plan.

  Sarn glanced at Jersten and was glad the movement didn’t hurt his head. That was definitely progress.

  “Where is this safe place you mentioned, and where is this thing you wanted me to see?” Sarn had an unshakable feeling that ‘something’ was important otherwise Jersten wouldn’t have sought him out multiple times over the last two days.

  “Yes, you must come.”

  Jersten glanced around trying to get his bearings, but there were no landmarks or signs of any kind. One tunnel looked much the same as another in the Lower Quarters. That was part of its charm. For some reason, the Litherians had chosen not to install statues at every twist and turn down here.

  Right now, Sarn wished they had because they would have given him some way to identify where they were. Without magic, it would be difficult to figure out their current location, but he pulled up his mental map and gritted his teeth in preparation for the pain to strike him down, but it didn’t.

  His map ghosted to the fore of his mind like it always did but without magic, it had no idea where they were either, so it just zoomed out to display an overview of the Lower Quarters, which wasn’t helpful right now because none of its lines conformed to what Sarn could see.

  “Do you know where we are?” he asked Jersten.

  “No, but—” Jersten trailed off then cocked his head as if listening to voices Sarn couldn’t hear

  “What do you hear?”

  “Nothing but the wind,” Jersten said cryptically then he did an about-face and headed off into the darkness without a light to guide him.

  Ran watched him go. His little face was pensive as he clasped Sarn’s free hand tight in his little fist. “Do we have to follow him? Can’t we go another way?”

  “Why? What do you see?”

  “Those black squiggles are back.”

  And that meant the Adversary was too.

  “Where do you see those black squiggles?”

  But Sarn already knew before Ran pointed at Jersten’s disappearing back.

  “What have you done?” Sarn asked, but Jersten didn’t answer, and the promise Sarn had made to the man tugged him along in his wake.

  I wish the promise I made to J.C. would trump this one. Sarn would much prefer to be heading toward a friend than an enemy, but He had no choice in the matter, and he might have damned them both. Ran yawned but stayed awake as they trod onward toward whatever was waiting for them.

  Through the Wall

  It took ten more strikes before the hole was large enough for them to rush through en masse. And that last one had come in at such an oblique angle, it had almost taken Iraine out. By some miracle, she’d managed to get out of the way just in time, so she’d just taken a glancing blow to the shoulder instead. But she nearly gave Nulthir a heart attack in the process.

  Two more guards had been wounded when they didn’t move fast enough, but they only managed to retrieve one man. The monster had swooped in and speared the second one before anyone could react. Nulthha stared after him until Iraine shoved him through the hole in the wall.

  Nulthir nearly tripped over the six tentacles piled up in front of it. They were either dead or stunned, but he couldn’t tell which nor was there time to find out.

  “At least Anthanen won't be alone any longer—if he was even still alive. I don't know whether to pray he is or hope he isn't.”

  “Pray that he isn’t. I would slit my own throat before I let a monster eat me. So would you.” Iraine squeezed his shoulder after delivering that cheery thought.

  “I can’t. I lost my sword somewhere down here, so I’d have to go down its throat punching and kicking.” Not a pleasant thought, but anything was possible with a giant monster on the loose.

  “I could lend you one of my sais, but you’re doing well with your nightstick. So stick with what you’re good at.” Iraine handed him back his rune-covered nightstick. “I thought you might need it,” was all she said at his incredulous look.

  “Thank you.”

  “Don’t mention it. I’m only looking out for our wellbeing. We might need some more of those runes before we’re done.”

  “Find me some magic, and they’re all yours.”

  “One step at a time.” Iraine steadied Nulthir when he tripped on the debris slipping and sliding around underfoot.

  Exhaustion was taking its toll, so were the hours without adequate food or water, but at least that last one was no longer a concern. They’d entered a cavern so large, a river ran through its center.

  “I think that's the Palwyn,” Agalthar said.

  “How can you tell?”

  “It doesn’t smell like piss and vinegar.”

  “Good point,” Draya said as she passed Nulthir.

  And by all that was holy, Nulthir wanted that to be the Palwyn because that river would take them out to the Nirthal, and away from the centers of habitation, faster than the Anwyn. Maybe we could lead the monster away from the Indentured. God knows; their lives are hard enough without a monster destroying their homes.

  Why me? Nulthir rubbed his eyes in a vain attempt to wipe away the exhaustion fogging his brain. The river’s unruffled surface contrasted with the chaos teeming on its shores. Of course, the monster had already breached this cavern. Why did I think it hadn’t?

  Mistakes were fatal down here, and he might have just made a big one. A black colloidal substance rolled over Nulthir’s boots and extruded wispy tentacles as it climbed his legs in search of the smoldering ember keeping him alive. But it had extinguished when the shock-and-awe rune had fired. I remember that rune snuffed it out.

  But that ember was back but guttering, and there was som
ething he was forgetting. A hole had opened up in his mind between that rune firing and the slap that had brought him around. What am I forgetting? Nulthir had a feeling that something was important.

  “What the hell is this stuff?” Agalthar batted at the offending substance stealing over the shore.

  It stopped at the water's edge, which was strange because a true fog would have originated on the water and seeped onto shore, not the other way around. But Nulthir couldn't fathom why he was seeing the reverse. Is this the same black stuff that snuffed out our lumir crystals? It might be, but it seemed changed somehow.

  “The Shining One comes,” Thing One announced at a volume that made the remaining Guards—six in all—cringe. Perhaps Lurston had a point about the mind-talking thing. It was giving Nulthir a headache.

  “Where is he?” Nulthir scanned the debris-covered shore but found nothing except more broken stones. Their fruitless search had stretched on for too many bells at this point.

  “I don't see anything,” Huwain said.

  “Maybe this ‘Shining One’ doesn't want us to find him.” Lurston lobbed a rock into the river. The ripples spreading around it glowed softly like a set of nested halos.

  Thing One flew in a wide circuit, chirping in increasing alarm as he winged back to Nulthir's side. His large eyes were frantic and as wide as throwing stars—not a good sign.

  “Let me guess. He’s not here either.”

  Nulthir dropped his aching head into his hands. He needed to get his people moving, but that rock just ahead looked like a great place to sit down for a moment and regroup.

  “Go back. The Shining One is—” Thing One broke off his mental shout and screeched a warning then he slammed into Nulthir and knocked him down.

  A shadow passed over Nulthir, and he struggled to see what it was, but he needn’t have bothered. It was another tentacle. At least a dozen of them pounded on the cathedral ceiling while more pushed through the hole they had just escaped through. We're trapped.

  “Captain, look out!”

  A tentacle smashed through one of the columns holding up the ceiling sending giant chunks flying their way. Nulthir rolled aside, and Thing One flapped his wings as he struggled to hold on. His little friend gripped his mail shirt with his talons. A knot of panicked voices shouted over each other as exhaustion gave way to animal fear.