Until All Curses Are Lifted

by Tim Frankovich

“Not now.” Together, they pulled the final piece of tongue loose from Marshal’s face. The pain erupted worse than before, like liquid fire pouring through his head and down into the rest of his body. He tried to look for the shadow in the trees, but his vision swam.

  Victor made a sound of disgust. “That’s not going to help his looks.” He got to his feet and looked back at the carcass of the curse-stalker.

  Marshal felt the pain and his vision dimming. He heard his mother whispering words of comfort, but his last clear memory was of Victor looking down at him and saying, “The Binding is still there. I hate you so much.”

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  “IT’S COMING FOR you, Curse Boy.”

  Titus had been right. The monster had come for him.

  Marshal pulled himself up and blinked several times. A moment passed before he felt throbbing pain all over his face and palms. He lifted one hand and saw bandages. He didn’t remember that happening.

  He glanced around at their campsite. Victor sat across the fire from him, watching. He opened his mouth to say something, then closed it. His face looked more empathetic than Marshal ever recalled. No, that wasn’t the right word. He looked… pitying.

  Marshal felt drained, as if he had been working hard for several days straight. It wasn’t a new feeling, but he was surprised at its intensity.

  Aelia entered the campsite, still carrying the short sword. She sheathed it and set it beside her pack. Then she knelt beside Marshal.

  “Hello, my treasure.” She reached up for his face, hesitated, then brushed his chin with the gentleness he had always known from her. “Are you in much pain now?”

  Marshal reached toward his face. Aelia stopped him. “Wait.” She dug in her pack, and pulled out her looking-glass. Marshal had often admired the glass as a child. Its value must have been far higher than anything else in their small village. Aelia never talked about where it had come from.

  Then he saw his reflection.

  Bright red wounds criss-crossed his face where the curse-stalker’s tongues had latched on. Aelia had treated them with some kind of ointment, but the blood looked brighter, closer to the surface on every wound. In places, he could even see blood flowing through his veins. It was like the tongues had pulled all his blood to the outer layer of his skin.

  That seemed strange. Aelia said the curse-stalker fed on magic itself. Did it also suck blood? Or did blood itself contain the magic? Did his curse permeate his blood?

  He felt the back of his head. Where the beast’s tongues had wrapped around him, his hair had been ripped out. He wasn’t overly concerned about the scarring, but it felt wrong that he might have hairless spots back there.

  The shadowy figure that had watched troubled him even more. It wasn’t the first time he had seen it. The villagers called such things eidolons or apparitions. Some claimed they were spirits of the dead returned to roam the earth. Others thought they were creatures of the underworld. But only one or two villagers claimed to have ever seen one. Marshal had seen them five times now that he could remember, all within the past three years. They always seemed to be watching him.

  Victor took Marshal’s hand and dropped several serrated teeth into it. “From the curse-stalker,” he said. “You might be able to… um… never mind.” He scrambled back to the other side of the fire and looked away.

  Marshal stuffed the teeth into his pocket. The thought of Victor smashing the creature’s teeth out, probably with his flail, almost made Marshal smile. Instead, he winced as a throb of pain startled him with its power.

  “Look at me, Marshal,” Aelia said.

  Marshal didn’t move. He didn’t want to do this in front of Victor.

  Aelia frowned. She gripped his shoulders and looked him full in the face.

  “Look at me,” she commanded.

  He tried to look away, gritting his teeth against the pain.

  “Look at me.”

  Finally, he met her eyes. He had admired those eyes, full of golden warmth, for all his eighteen years. No one else in the village had eyes quite like hers.

  “You are greatly loved, Marshal. Do you believe me?”

  Nod is yes. He never questioned her love. Of all the people he knew in Drusa’s Crossing, he couldn’t imagine any of them raising a cursed child alone for all these years.

  “You are valuable, Marshal. Do you believe me?”

  That one was harder. He nodded again.

  “You have a purpose in this world, Marshal. Do you believe me?”

  Purpose? Cursed men had no purpose. He scowled and shook his head.

  Aelia sighed. “Two out of three will have to do for now, I suppose. But whether you believe it or not, Marshal, it doesn’t change the truth. We all have a purpose, and yours…” She trailed off and looked away for a moment. “Yours is greater than most,” she finally whispered.

  A long silence followed.

  “I… didn’t know you had a sword.” Victor said.

  Aelia smiled and touched the sheathed blade. “It belonged to my father,” she said. “That’s all that really matters.”

  “And that you really know how to use it.”

  Marshal smiled in spite of his pain. His gentle mother had charged into battle wielding a sword on his behalf, killing a monster all on her own.

  “We’re only a few hours away from home,” Victor said. “Should we turn back?”

  “No.” Aelia looked down the road. “We can’t go back. And we’re losing time, but Marshal is exhausted. We’ll have to wait here a few hours. This afternoon we’ll try to make some progress.”

  Victor stood. “Then I’m going to go break off a few more teeth from that monster. I want to have plenty of proof when I tell the story.”

  Aelia chuckled. But as Victor stepped past the fire, she frowned. “Did you happen to notice the most troubling thing about it?” she asked.

  “Most troubling? Besides the teeth and the freaky tongues?”

  Aelia pointed to her own neck. “It had rope burns around its neck. Someone captured it and it got loose… or was let go.”

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  SERI TOOK THE tray of food from the chef and made her way to the nearest open table. Everything looked edible, if somewhat boring. It couldn’t be easy to keep up with food supplies on a small island. She felt that Binding pull toward home again, where she enjoyed much more elaborate meals. She allowed herself one sigh and then firmed up her resolve. She would have to get used to simple fare.

  She had barely taken two bites when two young men sat down across the table from her. “Welcome to Zes Sivas!” exclaimed one with the biggest smile she had seen since leaving home. Their light orange robes, like her own, marked them as her fellow acolytes. Seri had difficulty getting used to the flow of the thing while at the desk today, not to mention the color. It still made her feel awkward. These two seemed perfectly at home in them. They both let their hoods fall back, revealing heads that had been shaved almost to the scalp. Seri whispered a quick thanks to Theon that no one had asked her to do likewise. She enjoyed having hair that reached her shoulders.

  “Thank you,” she said politely. “I am happy to be here.”

  “Aren’t we all?” said the second acolyte. His skin, a little darker than Seri’s own, looked smooth and creamy. An irrational desire to lick it popped into her head, which she suppressed with horror. “I’m Dravid, from Kuktarma.” His voice had a slight lilt to it, adding to his exotic appeal. He gestured to his friend. “This is Jamana, from Mandiata.”

  Jamana, the one with the huge smile, had skin darker than the table on which he rested his hands. Of course he had to be from Mandiata. No other people group had skin that dark, as far as Seri knew. She found it quite beautiful in a way that almost embarrassed her. Her own olive-colored skin seemed ridiculously pale in comparison.

  “We know who you are,” Jamana said. “You’re Se–”

  “I’m Seri,” she interrupted before he could blurt out the full version. “I was wondering when I
would meet any of the other acolytes. I am very pleased to meet you both.” She felt safe within formality. Though it seemed the most normal thing in the world, talking to someone her own age thrilled her. Everything else had been so bizarre since she boarded the rowboat to reach the island.

  “I assume they have you copying scrolls?” Dravid asked. He pushed a couple of green vegetables to the edge of his plate and scowled at them before looking up for Seri’s answer.

  “Yes!” she exclaimed. “So the other acolytes really have done that job? It’s not just me?”

  “Jamana had it last,” Dravid said. His friend rolled his eyes while chewing. “Everyone gets stuck there at first, apparently. I had it before him.”

  “But only for a few days!” Jamana said. “It’s hardly fair.”

  “So you’re the two newest besides me.” Seri looked around the dining hall. Less than a handful of other people occupied the tables. “How many others are there?”

  “We’re the only ones,” Dravid answered. “New acolytes are very rare. The Masters don’t train new people until they start thinking about their own departure.”

  Seri thought about that a moment. “One doesn’t go directly from acolyte to Master, though,” she said. “Aren’t there other stages?”

  “Oh, yes,” Jamana said, speaking up before Dravid could finish chewing. “You move from acolyte to apprentice to journeyman to Master.”

  “No one calls them journeymen!” Dravid chimed in. “They’re just mages. They serve in the Lords’ courts and sometimes travel a lot, before they become Masters. Didn’t anyone tell you all of this?”

  Seri shook her head. “This is what I have wanted all my life, but the doings of the Conclave of Mages is kept in strictest secrecy from the people, at least in Arazu.” She glanced around. “Are there any apprentices here, then?”

  “Four, I think.” Jamana looked to Dravid, who nodded. “Four, yes. We don’t know them very well. They’re always busy about something. Far busier than the Masters.”

  “I think they’re only busy when it’s time for the Passing,” Dravid said. “It’s like the only thing they have left to do.” He pushed his tray away, clearly not pleased with the remaining food. “So, Seri. What can we do to help you get settled in here?”

  “I need help finding my way around,” she admitted. “This place is a maze!”

  “We can do that!” Dravid said. “In fact, we’ll–” He broke off and looked at Jamana, who grinned even larger than before. “We’ll show you some secrets we’ve discovered.”

  Jamana nodded. “You have much to learn.” He tried to say it in a grim voice, but couldn’t erase his smile.

  •••••

  Dravid and Jamana’s promised tour did not happen that evening. Master Hain showed up as they finished eating and instructed Seri to come with him. He led the way to his quarters, substantially larger than Seri’s. The first of his two rooms appeared to be an office of sorts. Seri assumed the Master used the the second room, which she couldn’t see, as his actual bedroom. The Master mage gestured for her to sit at his desk, an oak construction significantly newer than the one she had been using.

  “I saw your work today. Your handwriting is very neat and precise,” he explained. “I’d like you to take down my letters to the court. Lord Enuru often complains that my writing is too difficult to read.”

  Seri agreed and took up the pen, reminding herself to write a letter of her own to her parents later. At the thought, she felt the pull of the Binding toward home. Master Hain made sure she was ready and then began dictating, walking about his quarters with aimless movements.

  For the most part, Master Hain filled his letter with procedural exposition and observations on politics throughout the six lands. Seri found most of it intricate but boring. Rasna and Varioch were threatening war with each other, though the causes were confusing. Ch’olan had broken off some of its trade with Mandiata and no one entirely knew why. One of Lord Meluhha’s sons had gotten married in Kuktarma. And so on.

  Seri only found herself interested when Master Hain discussed the earth shaking event from her arrival. “As you well know, the loss of the King and the Heart of Fire make the annual Passing incomplete,” Hain said. “It is the concern of the Conclave that this is causing a systemic breakdown in the very fiber of Antises.” He paused to let Seri catch up. “We urge once more that strenuous efforts be made to locate the heirs of the kingship. They must be out there somewhere.

  “Warmest regards to the Lady Lilitu and your household, your loyal servant, Hain.”

  Seri finished the writing and looked up. “The Heart of Fire?” she asked.

  Master Hain seemed distracted. Seri was beginning to recognize that as one of his default positions. “Eh? What’s that?”

  “You mentioned the loss of the Heart of Fire,” she repeated. “What is that?”

  “The power of the King, of course,” Hain said, as if he couldn’t believe the question. “It’s the very thing you talked about before the Conclave yesterday.”

  “I’ve never heard it called that before.”

  “Genuinely?” Hain appeared taken aback. Then he seemed to reconsider. “I suppose… yes, hmm. It is the term used among the mages and Lords, but I suppose there is little reason for it to have spread elsewhere.”

  “I don’t understand,” Seri said. “Why would you have a term that isn’t used, um, elsewhere?”

  “It’s the appearance,” Hain said. When he saw her uncomprehending expression, he went on, “The way it looks when… ah, yes. I see. Of course you wouldn’t know. You would have no reason to know.”

  Seri waited patiently while Hain tried to illustrate a shape of some kind with his hands. Finally, he gave up.

  “When the rite of Passing takes place in the Inner Sanctum, the Lords surrender their powers one by one,” he explained. “On the central dais, the powers each have a visual representation as they flow back into the land. There are six lands, six Lords, six matrices of power. Each matrix forms one side of a large cube of… light. That doesn’t describe it anywhere near well enough, but it’s suitable for present purposes.

  “When the King would surrender his power, last of all, it filled the cube. It was a fire, a brilliant, pulsating fire. And thus, the term became ‘Heart of Fire.’” Hain made a gesture as if to communicate the rest should be obvious.

  Seri frowned. “I thought all the power passed back into the land, to heal it,” she said.

  “And so it does,” Hain agreed. “As I said, the Heart of Fire is just the visual representation of it happening. I’m not entirely sure why the original Conclave thought a visual representation was necessary, but that’s the way they set it up. I suppose it helps prevent falsehoods.”

  “How so?”

  “You tell me,” Hain challenged.

  Seri thought for a minute. “I suppose if a false Lord or King were to pretend he was Passing, or if a real one only pretended to pass on his power, the visual representation would not happen,” she said.

  Hain nodded approvingly. “And thus, if a true heir to the Kings returns to us, he will be known by the Heart of Fire alone. No one else can make it appear.”

  Hain swept up the letter Seri had transcribed and began reading it over. After a moment, he waved over his shoulder. “You may go now.”

  Seri returned to her own modest quarters after only two wrong turns. Along the way, she tried to visualize the Heart of Fire as Master Hain had described it. Yet the only way she would ever see it for herself is if the King returned… and she became one of the Masters herself. Acolyte. Apprentice. Journeyman Mage. Master. She had a long way to go. Unless she did so well she skipped one of the stages. A new resolve took its place in her heart - not just the first female Master, but the fastest to achieve that status.

  CHAPTER NINE

  MARSHAL FELT WELL enough to travel after lunch. The rest of that day and the following progressed much the same. The three travelers hiked down the road at a brisk pa
ce, pausing only when necessary. The sun shone warm, but only just enough to keep the air from being too chilly. When it began to set, the temperature dropped rapidly.

  Toward evening on the third day, Victor stopped in the middle of the road and looked back. Marshal stopped and watched him. He looked troubled.

  “I don’t understand this,” he said.

  “What is it?” Aelia asked.

  “I’ve never felt like this before. All day long, this ache inside” –he patted his chest– “has been growing. I keep thinking about home and wanting to go back. It’s almost as if I… were being pulled.”

  “Is it like what you felt when Marshal was in danger from the curse-stalker?”

  Victor frowned. “Yeah, a little bit like that, but not as strong. When Marshal’s in danger, it’s almost as if someone yanks me and spins me around. It’s impossible to ignore.”

  “It’s the Bindings,” Aelia said. “The Binding between you and Marshal is the strongest that can be formed, but everyone has Bindings to their home, their family, their friends. That’s what you’re feeling.”

  Marshal felt nothing pulling him back. He had no attachment to Drusa’s Crossing or anyone in it any more. He supposed that was a good thing, at least now.

  “Is it always going to be this way?” Victor’s voice took on a plaintive sound Marshal didn’t remember hearing from him before.

  “Not always.” Aelia patted him on the shoulder. “The Bindings are there to keep the people of Antises together, because our community is our strength. But… given enough time, the lesser Bindings lose their potency. I suspect you will feel it for a long time. But it will fade.”

  Victor didn’t look comforted and Marshal couldn’t blame him. The whole thing sounded horribly inconvenient. All his life, Marshal had hated the curses, but the Bindings didn’t seem that much better.

  As it grew colder, Aelia found a hollow not far from the road, next to a tiny rivulet. Marshal marveled at the flowing water, not frozen. The end of winter drew nearer than he had thought.