“What could have done this?” Victor asked. “Did you see anything, Marshal?”
Aelia examined Marshal’s face. “He knows exactly what happened,” she said.
“What was it?”
“He did this himself.”
“What do you mean?” Victor asked.
Aelia knelt beside Marshal and took his hands into hers, looking at them briefly before she held them tight. Marshal winced. “Volraag told you, didn’t he?”
“Told him what?”
Aelia ignored Victor and looked at Marshal’s right hand more carefully. “Bruises are beginning to form, my son. You were reckless. I think you will be in more pain for a day or two.”
“What do you mean? What is going on?”
Aelia stood. “I don’t think we’ll be going any further today,” she said. “Let’s set up a fire and then I’ll explain all. To both of you.”
•••••
Once they had a new campsite set up, Aelia took out a salve and massaged both of Marshal’s hands with it. He tried not to react too much, but her every touch of his fingers hurt. She also examined the knot on the back of his head. Apparently, it had slammed back against the oak tree.
“At this rate, you’re going to lose both hands and your head on this journey,” Aelia said. “You seem determined to keep injuring them.”
Several hours remained until sundown, but Victor started a fire. It felt nice to receive warmth from both sun and fire. Marshal closed his eyes as Aelia began her story.
“Before the two of you were born, I came to Drusa’s Crossing with my father. He was very sick, despite his own great skill as a healer. Everything I know, I learned from him in my early years. Unfortunately, we had very little time remaining together when we came here.”
“Where did you come from?” Victor asked.
Aelia ignored the question and went on with her story. “One day, Lord Varion and his entourage came through the town. They were on a hunting expedition or something - I never learned the full story. The major offered them shelter and the best the town had to offer. And they took it.
“In fact, Lord Varion took everything he wanted, which included me.”
“Oh,” Victor responded in a whisper. He looked around uneasily.
“Now you understand,” Aelia said. “My father, barely able to stand on his own, was furious and tried to confront Varion. The Lord killed him without a thought, blasting him with his magic. He did not even leave behind a body for me to bury. My father was simply gone.”
Aelia paused and took a deep breath.
“Varion raped and murdered. And because the Lords of Antises twisted the Laws, the curse for this fell on his first-born son: Marshal.”
Marshal felt uncomfortable for multiple reasons. He knew Aelia was explaining the truth, but to hear such horrible things said so calmly seemed unnatural. His mother had endured such hardships even before his birth. Yet somehow she had poured her love into his life for all his years and worked so hard to take care of him. Maybe she blocked the pain out by devoting herself to him. It didn’t seem right.
“But because Marshal is Varion’s oldest child, he also inherits the Lord’s magical power, that which helps bind Antises together.”
“So, the Lords’ children get cursed for their actions, but then get the magic?” Victor said. “That’s insane.”
“It’s not what they intended when they betrayed Akhenadom and twisted the Laws of magic,” Aelia said. “But it was all they could do, I suppose, in their selfish quest to protect themselves from consequences.”
“But what happened over there–” Victor gestured to where Marshal had experimented. “How can he have power already?”
“He does and he doesn’t,” Aelia said. “Lord Varion is getting old. The older he gets, the more the power bleeds away from him and toward his son. But Marshal…” She turned to him. “Because of your curse, there are complications.”
Complications? It seemed a little worse than that. Even though he had magic flowing through him, the stupid curse would not let him use it.
“I cannot begin to explain, or even understand, how this all works,” Aelia admitted. “I know some things about curses and some things about magic, but how this all combines in your body… that I do not know.”
Marshal wondered, too. Something had felt different back there. The power in his left hand had felt good, but the power in his right hand had felt incredible. And they had been different from each other. Was that part of the magic? A complication of the curse? He wondered how many of his other infirmities through the years were caused by the curse and how many by the magic.
“Were you trying to control it?” Aelia asked.
Marshal tried to concentrate.
“Nod is yes, shake is no,” she said gently.
Marshal nodded.
“I do not think that will be possible.” Aelia sighed. “I have heard stories of past Lords who fathered cursed children who inherited the power. The Lords either arranged to have them die somehow, or else made sure they quickly fathered an uncursed child of their own, so as to continue the line. I have never heard a story of a Lord controlling his magic in spite of a curse.”
Victor had that pitying look again. Marshal hated it. People always looked at him with either scorn or pity. He preferred the scorn. He could return that in kind. Pity? Yes, he had a horrible life. They were right. But pity did no good. Pity was nothing more than a variation of scorn that allowed people to feel better about themselves. Scorning people was morally wrong, according to the teachings of Theon, but pitying someone was morally acceptable. Yet they both said the same thing: you are worth less than me.
Marshal picked up a clod of dirt and threw it at Victor. He dodged out of the way.
“What was that for?” he demanded.
“He doesn’t want your pity, Victor,” Aelia said gently. “He wants to be treated as an equal. He wants your friendship.”
“Friendship? He– I’m only here– Ahghhh!” Victor jumped to his feet and stalked a few steps away. He appeared to think for a moment and then came back.
“You said there might be a way to lift Marshal’s curse,” he told Aelia. “Does that mean he’ll fully inherit the Lord’s power and become the next Lord of Varioch?”
“He will inherit the power, yes,” Aelia answered. “The Lordship is another issue. I don’t know what will happen.”
“This is just insane.” Victor seemed to use that word a lot.
Marshal found himself growing sleepy again. Whatever he had done with the magic, it had taken a lot out of him. Aelia noticed.
“You should get some more rest.” She handed him his blanket.
Marshal did not disagree. He curled up and pulled the blanket over him. The fire danced in his eyes until they lost their ability to stay open.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
IT HAD TAKEN only two careful questions in the street to narrow down the home of the town gossip. Kishin waited until no one watched and then slipped through the door into the blacksmith’s home. A portly woman stood beside a table, slicing meat while a pan of oil heated over the fire. She looked up at his entrance. Seeing a stranger, she peered at him uncertainly and stiffened.
Kishin knew appearances could speak louder than words. His own clothing, bearing, and even voice timbre were adaptable, depending on the identity he wished to convey at any given time. Simplicity itself in moments like this. He kept his hood up and stood with his back bent, shuffling his weight from one foot to the other. “Is this the blacksmith’s?” he asked in a quavering tone. It communicated nervousness and weakness, just what the woman needed to set her mind at ease.
She relaxed. “My husband’s shop is around the side,” she said. “I’m sure he’ll be pleased to help with your need, whatever it might be. Are you passing through?”
Kishin inclined his head in a slight nod. “I’m in need of some chains,” he said.
The woman raised an eyebrow. As a request, it sounded unc
ommon enough to raise curiosity without being too strange. “Balaes doesn’t get much call for that kind of job, but he can handle it,” she said. She took a halting step away from the table to get a better look at him. “What kind of chain, might I ask? What do you need it for?”
Kishin made a weak gesture. The cold weather gave him legitimate excuse to keep his gloves on, hiding his skin. “My poor son. He’s cursed, ya see.” He let a regional Ch’olan accent drip through a bit stronger. “Sometimes he ha’ these fits. Chains is all that can keep him from hurtin’ us.”
“You poor man.” She tilted her head, trying to see under his hood. Kishin turned a bit to increase her curiosity and make it more difficult. “We had a cursed young man here in this town, too. Sad thing, it was.”
“Had?”
“He and his mother left about a week ago, poor things. And that was right after that noble showed up. Such a commotion!”
“Cursings are never easy.” Kishin turned back to the door. He had all the information he needed. “I’ll talk to your husband now.”
Before he even reached for the door handle, the door itself flew open and an immense man, dripping with sweat, stepped inside. “Here he is now!” the woman called out. “Balaes! This poor man needs some chains for his cursed son. Maybe that’s what Aelia should have used, you think?”
Balaes stared down at Kishin with a curious expression. “How long a chain are you wanting?” he asked in a booming voice. “I have a couple forged a’ready that might suit your need.” He stepped into the room, forcing Kishin to step backward as the blacksmith shut the door behind him.
“I would think four feet should be sufficient.” Kishin took another step back. Suspicion radiated off the blacksmith like the heat from his forge. He must be used to looking his clients in the eye. The weak and nervous act would not suffice for him, but too drastic of a change would throw off the wife.
Before Kishin anticipated it, the blacksmith reached an enormous arm forward and flipped his hood back. His wife’s sharp intake of breath split the silence that followed.
Kishin straightened to his full height, nearly the equal of the blacksmith. His eyes narrowed and he mentally prepared for what he might have to do.
The blacksmith touched an index finger to his opposite palm. “What are you?”
“Can’t you see? He’s the cursed one!” the woman exclaimed. “Theon preserve us! Look at him!”
Kishin knew what the sight of his face did to people, but it never failed to irritate him. He turned to the woman, reached up and peeled a long shred of dead skin from his cheek. She shrieked.
“That’s no curse,” Balaes said, a hoarseness entering his voice. “It’s leprosy!”
Kishin hesitated, but he knew what he had to do. “Tell me your curse.”
“We’re not cursed,” the woman answered, a baffled look crossing her face.
The blacksmith’s face hardened instead. He took a step away, grabbed the knife his wife had been using and brandished it. Kishin glanced at the meat on the table. If he ended up killing them both, he could fry it up himself. He hadn’t eaten well since leaving home. One of the frequent hazards of his occupation.
“Tell me your curse,” he repeated.
“Why did you come into my house?” Balaes demanded. He took a step closer, knife at the ready.
Kishin’s right arm flashed out. The blacksmith didn’t even see the hidden blade that sliced across his outstretched forearm. The knife clattered to the floor. Balaes grabbed his forearm and sank to his knees, trying desperately to stop the spurting blood from escaping. His wife stood with mouth open, apparently unsure whether to scream or faint.
“Your wife has already given me everything that I wanted,” Kishin said. “She has my gratitude. As do you.” He bent over and kissed the blacksmith on the forehead. He found the horrified looks on the couple’s faces immensely satisfying.
He pointed his blade at the wife. “Now. Tell me your curse.”
The woman looked at her bleeding husband and back at Kishin. He took a step closer. She took a step back and her mouth moved without words. He lifted his blade.
Kishin left Drusa’s Crossing certain of his course. His target had departed after a visit from a noble. Volraag himself perhaps? Since the road north had been clear, the target must have gone south, but not in Volraag’s footsteps. It wouldn’t take long to determine the correct road and catch up. Every so often, he lucked out into the simplest of jobs.
CHAPTER TWELVE
“CAN’T YOU JUST draw me a map?” Seri asked. Her third evening on Zes Sivas had been greatly improved by another meal with the other two acolytes.
Dravid and Jamana exchanged skeptical glances. “I don’t know if anyone’s ever done that,” Dravid said. “At least not a full map.”
“It took me twenty minutes to make it from my work space to the dining hall,” Seri said. “And I’ve been here before! I need to get better at this. I don’t even know when I’ve moved from one citadel to the other!”
“Well,” Jamana said as if thinking carefully, “if you get to the gold-trimmed area, you’ve left the Citadel of Mages and moved into the Citadel of Kings…”
“Gold-trimmed?”
“Notice how everything here is trimmed in purple?” Dravid pointed to a tapestry hanging on one wall and then a set of curtains pulled back from the windows on the opposite wall. “Purple is the mage color, like the Masters’ robes. Gold is the King color, I guess. So if you notice things trimmed in gold, you’ve crossed over. Usually, you would already know, because you can see where you cross a bridge between towers, but I guess there are places where it’s more closely connected than that.”
“That’s something, I guess.”
“We’re on the ground floor here,” Dravid went on. He attempted to draw shapes in the air to illustrate. “But there are a couple of levels below us. The Inner Sanctum, where the Passing takes place, is one level down. There are also the special quarters for each of the Lords. And there are storage areas below that.”
“My work space is two floors up,” Seri moaned. “How many levels are there?”
The boys exchanged glances again.
“Four above ground?” Dravid said.
“Three,” Jamana argued.
“It depends on whether you count the towers. Or the center circle.”
“If you count the towers, it’s six.”
“How do you get six?”
Jamana pointed up. “The library is on the top regular floor, and that’s three levels up from here–”
“Then it’s on level four!”
“No, I meant it’s three levels up, not three above us now.”
“Wait, wait, wait!” Seri interrupted. They both looked at her.
Her eyes sparkled. “There’s a library?”
•••••
Seri did not love books for themselves. She loved them for the knowledge she could acquire from them. She had no interest in reading for pleasure, though she knew friends back home who did so on a regular basis. She wanted to learn everything she could, and the library of the Conclave was the perfect spot for that.
Master Korda summoned Jamana, so Dravid happily escorted Seri two levels up to the library. She caught her breath upon entering. Books of all shapes and sizes lined the walls. The shelves rose to slightly above her reach, but they wrapped into book-lined corridors in multiple directions. She took a few steps down one and stopped.
“You could get lost in here!” she exclaimed.
“It’s like the citadels themselves,” Dravid said, joining her. “But on a smaller scale. It’s really not as big as it looks.”
“How do you find your way around? How are the books organized?”
Dravid chuckled. “Don’t ask me. I’ve only been up here a few times to fetch a book for Master Simmar. He always explains to me exactly where to find it.”
“So there must be a system of some kind.”
Dravid shrugged. “I’m sure there is,
but the Masters don’t seem too keen on sharing it with us yet.”
“Then I’ll just have to explore on my own.”
“What are you looking for?”
Seri tried to keep her smile from showing too much excitement. “Everything. I want to know everything.”
“That might take a while.”
“What else am I going to do?” Seri pulled a book off the shelf and looked it over. “Copy names of dead people over and over?”
Dravid furrowed his brow. “You do realize that the copying job is kind of a test, right? To see if you’re willing to do the work assigned to you?”
Seri rolled her eyes and put the book back. “Of course I know that. I’ll keep up with it, but at the same time, I’ll be learning more…” She scanned the titles and took another book.
Dravid looked at it. “About wild magic? Why?”
“The Vicissitudes of Wild Magic and its Practitioners by Master Sekou.” Seri flipped to the first chapter and glanced at the opening line: “Wild magic can crop up anywhere in Antises, though it seems to favor three specific regions.” She smiled and shut the book, though she wanted to read on right away.
“Because it’s a start. I came here to learn magic and so far I’ve learned nothing. At least this way, I’ll be educating myself. And maybe I can help figure out why the earth is shaking.” Actually, Master Hain had gone on a big rant about wild magic earlier today. He seemed to despise the practice, which made Seri even more interested. She looked around. “Is there some kind of system for borrowing the books?”
“Not here,” Dravid said. “I think they just trust to your honor. There’s only about thirty people on this island total. As long as the books don’t leave the island, I don’t think anyone cares who has them or how long.”
Seri moved to the next set of shelves and began perusing. Dravid glanced around and scratched his head.
Until All Curses Are Lifted Page 7