Until All Curses Are Lifted

by Tim Frankovich

  Seri’s heart sank. Poor Dravid. She wandered out of the citadel and made her way to the gates that led outside the wall. The long walk gave her time to think over Master Hain’s words, but Dravid’s plight filled her thoughts instead

  She instinctively turned to the east, toward Arazu. A haphazard grove of cypress trees grew on this side of the island. Seri hadn’t seen them since the first day she arrived. She walked with care, forced to watch her step among dozens of cypress knees protruding from the ground. She didn’t recall seeing this curious method of growth on any other kind of tree.

  Growth. Life. Master Hain wanted her to learn to sense it. But how could she focus on the life of plants while one of her only friends was having his life radically altered? In fact, he might be losing it entirely. There was no guarantee he would live through this. She had known others to die from less.

  She put her back to one of the cypress trunks and leaned against it. She looked up through the emerging greenery at the sky and sighed. Everything had happened so fast in the past few days. The earthquake had been less than a week ago. Since then, everything had changed. Dravid. Curasir. Magic.

  She closed her eyes and let her head rest against the rough bark. Maybe she would feel the life of the tree through her back. What difference did it make?

  Dravid would need her support more than ever. Seri tried to imagine what it would be like to have one leg. The nurse said it was the only way to save his life. He wouldn’t be in this situation if Master Simmar had not been killed. Too many mysteries! The deaths. The earthquakes. Even the missing King.

  She pushed away from the tree. Her eyes flew open and everything changed.

  She saw two worlds at once. They overlapped each other, coinciding in some ways, vastly different in others. It was jarring, bizarre, and somewhat nauseating. Curasir saw this all the time? She closed her eyes and steadied herself. She put one hand over her left eye and opened her right.

  Everything returned to normal. The fresh green cypress leaves swayed in a light breeze. The sea lapped against the shore and numerous cypress knees. The wall of the citadel stood strong not far away. She closed her eyes again and covered the right this time. She took a deep breath and opened the left eye.

  The Otherworld appeared so much darker, lit by the giant stars that dotted the sky. No sun. No moon. And no water.

  That was perhaps the most bizarre thing of all. Instead of the sea that surrounded Zes Sivas, here in the Otherworld, a vast wasteland stretched in all directions. She could see dim shapes moving around in the distance.

  The cypress trees were gone. The wall of the citadel and the citadels themselves were in ruins, as she had seen in her previous vision. Smoke still rose from somewhere within it, toward the north side of the island.

  No beams of light erupted from the ground. She had a full view of the Otherworld, not the half-sight she had discovered that showed her magic. Did that make it impossible to do magic in the Otherworld? But she wasn’t actually in the Otherworld herself; she was merely seeing into it. Without even realizing it, she uncovered her right eye. Her vision didn’t change.

  A clatter of rocks drew her attention back toward the citadel wall. Its ruins reached only about six feet tall here. As she watched, an enormous three-clawed hand or foot rose over the wall and grasped the top. It tore away a huge chunk, pulling brick and stone apart as easily as she might tear down a sand castle’s wall.

  A hairless head rose up over the ruined wall. Roughly triangular with a curved snout, it sniffed the air and slowly turned cat-like eyes toward Seri. It acted as if it could see her! The creature growled, revealing a huge mouth lined with sharp teeth, including a pair of lengthy fangs overlapping its bottom lip.

  The monster lunged over the remains of the wall, bringing more of it down. A creature of tightly-packed muscle and massive claws, it stood on all fours, eight feet tall at the shoulder. If it had a tail, Seri couldn’t see it from this angle. Even as she pushed back against the tree in terror, Seri analyzed the creature, trying to classify it. Its body structure seemed somewhat similar to the giant ground sloth of Ch’olan, but this was no slow-moving herbivore. It was a predator and it was coming right toward her.

  She blinked, hoping to shed the second sight. Nothing changed. Desperate, she blinked again and again. She moved around the tree, putting it between her and the monster, though that didn’t make sense. The tree was in a different world. But so was she! If the tree didn’t affect the monster, could it harm her? Or did her vision place her within both worlds? At this point, she had no desire to find out.

  She closed her eyes and tore at the tree’s stringy bark. She could hear the heavy tread of the creature’s foot, hear the raspy sound of its heavy breathing, feel its hot breath upon her face. But none of it could be real, none of it could be here! The tree! The tree was real! The tree was here! She ripped a piece of bark loose and opened her eyes.

  The vision was gone. The creature was gone. Everything of the Otherworld was gone. She breathed a sigh of relief and knelt next to the tree, holding on to its solidity.

  And then she felt it. The tree was alive. She could sense it, feel it beneath her fingertips. Life flowed through it like blood, pulsing with its own beat. It wasn’t a powerful thing. It felt fragile, like she might lose it at any moment, or like the tree itself might lose it. The feeling was somewhat like sensing the magic stored within an item, but… not. Magic stored in an item felt static, waiting. This life felt moving, pulsing… alive.

  Seri reached up and broke off a small twig. Time for the true test. She held it up and concentrated. Yes, she could feel the life inside, though it no longer had room to flow. It was slowing, congealing, dying. But it was still there.

  This wasn’t the place to test magic, though. If she tried to activate her star-sight, she might see the Otherworld and that creature again. The courtyard wasn’t safe, either. She had glimpsed the creature, or one like it, in the courtyard during the earthquake. Better to move inside the citadel where the risks seemed somewhat lessened.

  Only when she made it inside and alone in one of the practice rooms did Seri risk activating her star-sight. She had no difficulty, and immediately saw beams of light everywhere. She selected a yellow one and absorbed it. Then she focused on the twig.

  Master Hain said he channeled the magic “in between” the life of the stick. Seri concentrated on sensing the slow life of the twig. Sure enough, she could feel something there, like gaps between the flow of life. She focused on them, willing the magic into those gaps.

  The twig burst apart in her hand. Seri let out a yelp as a splinter pierced her palm. That wasn’t part of the plan. She winced and pulled it out. She held her thumb over the puncture mark to stop the bleeding.

  Master Hain had called this a higher level in magic. She had learned it in one day, thanks to some help from an Otherworldly monster. As delighted as she felt by the progress, Seri couldn’t help but feel a little worried. Was everything supposed to come to her this easily?

  CHAPTER FORTY-TWO

  DESPITE HIS WORDS, Talinir’s paths from then on never seemed to follow a straight line. Everywhere they went, they climbed up and down, pushed branches aside, and cut through undergrowth. He seemed determined to make their path as difficult as possible for the follower they knew still stalked them.

  Three times a day, he insisted Victor and Marshal practice their swordplay. Both of them advanced at a steady pace, but Marshal still led Victor in almost every way. It was more than Aelia’s training. Marshal continued to show a natural affinity for the stances, moves and grips, while Victor had to work hard on each and every step. It was the first time in his life Marshal had been truly good at something.

  Victor did not take this well, at first. For all his life, he had been the first, the best at virtually everything in their little town. Marshal, to whom he was reluctantly bound, had always been last. To have the roles reversed, even for a single thing, galled him. But it also motivated him. Whenever Talin
ir would end the training session, Victor kept going. Sometimes, he would get out his flail and work at spinning it with his left hand while practicing sword strokes with his right. Talinir watched and occasionally gave him a few pointers.

  Marshal didn’t know what to think of it. It felt exhilarating to find something he was good at, but it also felt pointless. He had no ambition or desire to be a warrior. Even if, by some miracle, Aelia removed his curse, he wouldn’t be heading off to join the army or anything. And with his curse, what was the point? To defend himself against the assassin? Small chance of that. Besides, he had magic, both to protect him and, as he got better at it, to attack.

  Still, he could not deny the enjoyment he found in performing a set of maneuvers Talinir gave them. The purity of the form and smoothness of the movements appealed to him on more than simply an aesthetic level. And he adored the palpable relief from tingling hands he found just by holding a sword.

  He also couldn’t deny the slight thrill he felt in testing his skills against Victor. As they circled each other, swords at ready, he already knew the outcome. He could win this duel. He could already tell from Victor’s stance and movements that he had not caught up to Marshal’s own level yet. It wouldn’t be difficult.

  Victor made a clumsy swing not intended to connect, merely to test Marshal’s defenses. He pivoted his stance back and to the left to avoid it. He could have used it as an opening for his own attack, but he didn’t. It wasn’t a real test of his skill.

  So what would be? How could he use this duel to test or improve his own abilities?

  The next time Victor made an attack, Marshal blocked it and spun in for his own attack. Except instead of connecting, he deliberately kept his swing in too close to his own body and missed Victor.

  “Close one!” Victor noted.

  That was it. A true test would be letting Victor win without making it seem like he had done so. Marshal smiled.

  “Aw, don’t do that!” Victor said. “You look scary when you smile.”

  Marshal feinted high, then swung a crossing blow down low. Victor narrowly spun his sword down in time to block it.

  “Faster, Victor,” Talinir called from the side. “You got lucky that time. Dodge, don’t block, if you can.”

  The two young men both moved faster, shifting stances, lunging, swinging, spinning. Marshal managed to elude or parry every one of Victor’s attacks, but made a couple of them look sloppy. Talinir reproved him on both. For his own attacks, he worked hard at making it look like he fell barely short of success each time. It was far harder than he had expected, but he kept it going.

  Eventually, he had to let Victor win so the match would end. He watched for the opportunity to do it in a dramatic fashion. A simple tag from Victor’s sword wouldn’t be enough.

  His moment came when Victor switched to two-handed swings to power his way forward. Marshal pretended to be driven back, then spun to the outside of Victor’s attack, extending his blade all the way as he approached Victor’s back. In the process, he shifted his stance, putting himself off-balance.

  As he had expected, Victor spun to his own left in a desperate attempt to block Marshal’s swing. Their blades met with only a slight impact, but it was enough to throw Marshal’s already feeble stance completely off. Seeing this, Victor stepped in with his left shoulder and Marshal went to the ground. Victor’s blade came down and stopped an inch or two shy of Marshal’s chest.

  “Hold!” Talinir said. He clapped a few times and approached them. “Well done, both of you.”

  Victor’s face split in an impressive grin. Marshal kept himself from smiling and rolled to his feet.

  “Victor, you continue to improve overall,” Talinir said. “Be careful of trying to go for too much power over form. Marshal could have taken advantage of you in that last exchange if he hadn’t botched his own stance.” He clapped him on the back. “Now go clean up at the brook, while I talk with Marshal.”

  Victor nodded, sheathed his sword, and took off at a trot. Talinir waited until he was out of earshot, then turned back to Marshal.

  “Now, what do you call that?”

  Marshal looked at his sword. It wasn’t like he could answer.

  “I know what you were doing. Victor couldn’t tell, because of his own ego, but it was obvious from my point of view. You let him win, and you did so very creatively.”

  Marshal couldn’t tell if Talinir was reproving him or praising him.

  “That was a good test, and done very well. However, it’s not something you should continue to do. As Victor’s skill level grows, he will start to recognize what you are doing. And then he will hate you for it.”

  That would not be good.

  “No one wants to be allowed to win,” Talinir explained. “They want to win on their own merits, by their own skills and strengths. If Victor thinks, for just a moment, that you are allowing him to win, he will resent you far more than he will if you’re just better than him.”

  That was something to think about.

  “Now go get cleaned up. And next time, beat him, even if you can do it in the first few seconds. I need him to be improving, too. The assassin may not be the only difficulty we face on this journey.”

  Difficulties? That was one way to describe it. How much simpler life had been back in Drusa’s Crossing! Even though everyone else ignored him or hated him, at least he had a mother he could trust, depend on, and love. Then Volraag had shown up, and now he had…

  Actually, in a sense, he had something more now.

  Talinir didn’t ignore him or hate him. In fact, he seemed genuinely committed to helping him. Marshal still didn’t understand why. It seemed to have something to do with Aelia and his grandfather, best he could tell. At any rate, it made Talinir a strong ally, if not outright friend.

  And then there was Victor. Before they left home, Victor had made no secret of his disdain for Marshal. Then they had been forced to leave, and thanks to the Bonding, Victor had to come. Despite this, over time and travel, the two young men had become something more than bound by magic. They were actually becoming friends.

  All of them would probably be better off if he weren’t around, Marshal told himself. But even so, it felt… good to be a part of a group. To belong. Even if it was only for a little while. In a few weeks, they would reach Reman. Since Aelia would not reveal her plan, he had no idea what might happen next.

  In the meantime, Marshal resolved to stop being so withdrawn and actually enjoy his time with these people. It probably wouldn’t last, so why not enjoy it while he could?

  CHAPTER FORTY-THREE

  SERI WOKE TO an insistent knocking at her door. “One moment,” she called. She sat up and blinked. Had she really slept in her mage robes?

  “Who is it?” she asked, hoping not to hear Curasir’s voice. If it was him, at least he had learned to knock.

  “It is Jamana.”

  Seri tried to straighten her hair then gave up. If she looked horrible, she looked horrible. Jamana would understand.

  She opened the door. “Sorry,” she said. “I fell asleep in my robes.”

  Jamana barely glanced at her appearance. “Then you must get ready as quickly as you can,” he said. “Things have happened.”

  “What about Dravid? Is he okay?”

  “I have seen him, but he is not awake. But that is not all.”

  “Just tell me,” Seri sighed. “I’m still not fully awake.”

  “There has been another murder.”

  “What? Who?”

  “Another one of the Masters is dead. I haven’t heard who yet. Everyone is to gather for the Conclave.”

  “Give me just a minute.”

  Seri rushed through changing her clothes and pulling a brush through her hair. That would have to do for now. She joined Jamana and they hurried to the gathering.

  If anything, even more people crowded into the room than the day after the earthquake. Seri and Jamana found seats in the back and watched anxiously with
everyone else.

  The Master Mages entered one at a time. Plecu of Rasna came in first, followed by Tzoyet of Ch’olan. Master Korda came next, and finally, Master Hain brought up the rear. Seri found she had been holding her breath.

  “Master Alpin, then,” Jamana whispered.

  Master Hain waited until the other three took their places behind the podiums, then he stepped to the center and banged his staff on the floor. “This Conclave of Mages is called to order,” he announced. “Four Masters are in attendance.”

  “Because the other two are dead!” someone in the crowd called. A murmur followed.

  Master Hain remained unmoved. “It is true that Master Alpin’s body was discovered this morning in his chambers. A message has been dispatched to Varioch, informing them of his death.”

  “Tell them the rest of it!” Master Plecu said.

  “Master Alpin’s body was… in a similar state to that of Master Simmar,” Master Hain said after a moment’s hesitation. “It appears they both died from the same malady.”

  “They were murdered!” Plecu insisted.

  “We have not yet determined the cause of death.”

  “Was this related to the earthquake?” an apprentice asked. All the rules of formality seemed to have been tossed out the window.

  “We have no evidence that points us in that direction,” Master Hain answered.

  “Let us be clear,” Master Korda spoke up. “We have no evidence of any kind. We do not know if these deaths are related to Zes Sivas itself, the decay of magic, experiments these Masters were undertaking, or… whether they were murdered.”

  “Which raises the obvious question,” Master Plecu said. “Who would want to kill a Master? Or two?”

  “There’s only one person here who isn’t usually here,” the vocal apprentice pointed out.

  All eyes shifted to Curasir, who sat in his usual spot. When Master Simmar had been killed, which seemed like ages ago, Seri had wondered if the Eldanim had done it. Now a second Master had died in similar fashion. She had no doubt Curasir had the capability to kill a Master. But… he claimed she was the reason he had come. What would killing masters have to do with her?