Curse of the Ice Dragon

by Tara West

  He gasped as the old man's eyes shot open. Deep within his sunken orbs, Markus thought he saw red. Dafuar's incantations grew louder, until Markus could finally discern the lyrics of a poem.

  “One fell shot from the bow

  And many will know Madhea's curse has descended

  Omens will fall to family

  And all the cruel hunter has befriended

  For each life he claims

  His kin suffers the same death by similar strand

  For she will allow no beast nor fowl

  To be hunted by his hand

  To the hunter who reaps his fill of kill

  And nary none from need

  Beware her beast who wakens to feast

  On avarice and greed

  Eyes that glow like burning coals

  In the embers of demon’s fury

  Breath so cold, Lydra freezes the souls

  Of any at her mercy

  Sad is the tale that is known so well

  The hunter who slaughtered with pleasure

  His heartless crime was recompensed

  For discarding the forest's treasure”

  Once again the healer closed his eyes, and when they reopened he shook his head and blinked several times, acting as if he'd woken from a dream.

  Markus remained standing, his feet like granite stones planted firmly on the ground. Fear had sent ice through his limbs and weighted his body to the spot. Had Dafuar really had some kind of vision? If the man's intentions were to spook him, he'd clearly succeeded.

  With clenched fists, he spoke through gritted teeth, “Your parables are not amusing.”

  Dafuar's shoulders slumped, and he cast his gaze upon the logs of the fire. “I do not speak to amuse. Beware the hunter who kills for the sake of killing. The Goddess will unleash upon him a curse. For every animal he slaughters, one he cares for will die the same death.”

  “Nonsense!” Markus roared.

  The prophet sighed. “She shall free Lydra, her great dragon, from her icy prison. The hunter will become the hunted. And, though The Mighty Hunter possesses the skill to pierce the solid scales of the dragon, if he fells the beast, the one he loves most will breathe his last breath.”

  Markus finally found the courage to move, marching up to the healer, bearing down upon him with a scowl. “It is a fool's tale you weave!”

  “It is a fool who does not heed my warning,” the healer responded, rising to his feet.

  His elderly body seemed more fragile than when he'd approached the fire. Dafuar resembled the twisted root of a tree, fighting the confines of his worldly prison. With his features hung low, his aged eyes belied his sadness.

  Turning a weak smile upon Markus, the healer placed bony fingers on his thick shoulder and patted once, before his hand fell to his side. “I thank you for the warmth of your fire, Mighty Hunter. These old bones have rested too long.”

  Without another word, Dafuar walked away slowly, rhythmically, as if marching to the drum of a funeral procession. Into the night he went, until his ancient form was shrouded in darkness.

  Chapter Four

  “Damn that healer! Damn Father! Damn everyone!”

  Following the direction of the wounded hare, Markus stomped through the tangled overgrowth of roots and leaves, chasing after the piercing screams of his victim.

  Dawn had barely broken and only a few shards of light had pierced the dark canopy of tree branches. But Markus did not need the light. His hunter's eyes could see through a winter storm in the dead of night. Besides, the rabbit had left a thick trail of blood for him to follow.

  Damn the stupid animal!

  Markus dodged branches and hacked through bushes. How had the little beast managed to hop so far with his entrails lagging a foot's length behind him? He'd never aimed his arrow at the stomach before. How interesting it would be, he thought, to see how long it took an animal to die.

  Too long.

  Reminding himself to always aim for the lungs, Markus swore as overgrown vines and limbs swatted him in the face. Never had the forest vegetation seemed so thick. It was as if the trees had extended their limbs to prevent him from catching his prey. If the animal was not dead now, he would be soon enough.

  As blood poured from its bulging entrails, the shrill screams of the hare weakened. Finally, Markus was upon him. The rabbit had dragged his body out into a clearing. Lying there on his back, one leg thumping against the cold ground, eyes wide, ears twitching, the cords of his entrails hung beside him in a pool of blood.

  When the rabbit turned his gaze on Markus, the funny creature screamed louder than before. By the Goddess, the pitch was almost deafening. Shaking his head, Markus covered his ears, deciding to wait out the animal's death. Aye, shooting animals in the lungs was by far much easier and faster.

  Markus needed to do this. Watching the beast suffer made his own problems seem much less significant. If the rabbit could endure the agony of death then he could face a beating from his father. Besides, he needed a way to vent his frustration—his rage. Dianna had scorned him and the whole town knew him for a coward. Though he knew he was more to blame than anyone for not standing up to Father, he couldn't exactly shoot himself in the stomach.

  What better way to relieve vexation than killing a stupid rabbit?

  “Markus, what have you done?” A voice behind him rasped.

  Whipping around, Markus locked eyes with Alec.

  Beneath bruised eyes, a swollen lower lip and several purple splotches on his face, Alec fixed Markus with a familiar scowl; the one he always used when he was about to lecture. Eyes narrowing, nostrils flaring, Alec's mouth set in a grim line.

  All the while, the animal continued to scream.

  Markus shifted on his feet under the pressure of his brother's glare. “I shot a rabbit. What does it look like I've done?”

  “Brother, he suffers.” Alec raised his palms, pleading. “Will you not put him out of his misery?”

  Thinking of the arrows in his quiver, Markus did not want to bloody another newly polished broadhead. Looking over his shoulder, he spied a large rock near an overgrowth of bushes. Pulling it free from the dirt, he stepped up to the wounded rabbit and raised the rock above his head.

  In one heavy blow, the animal's head was smashed.

  The forest was quiet once more. Save for the shrieking in Markus’s ears. Shaking his head, he struggled to clear the echo of the rabbit, which had seemed to penetrate his skull. After a long moment the screams stopped and he exhaled a sigh of relief.

  He had heard many grunts and groans after felling an animal, but none like this. No kill had ever been so... strange.

  The blood loss of the rabbit could have filled three buckets. And its endurance? It hopped through thick brush and tangled roots for several steps with its guts trailing behind.

  What of its screams? Shrill and harsh, sounding almost like his mother the night she birthed a still-born child.

  It was not like he felled a beast.

  But like he felled a human.

  Alec cleared his throat, pulling Markus from his reverie.

  Markus looked into his brother's eyes, and was met with the same hardened glare. Why was he always so determined to judge?

  “Do not look at me that way, Alec.”

  Placing a hand to his chest, Alec's breathing came in short gasps. “Who is this monster you've become?” He spoke on an exhale.

  A sudden realization struck Markus. Was his brother feigning his illness like Dianna's brother had feigned injury last eve? Was he passing judgment, knowing Markus would take pity on his infirmity and bear his censure?

  Not today.

  Hunting was his calling, his gift. Markus should not be ashamed because the Goddess blessed him and cursed his brother. “I am no monster.” Arms folded across his chest, Markus raised his chin. “I am a hunter. I've always been a hunter.”

  Alec shook his head, his widened eyes glossing over with pools of moisture. “A hunter need not be cruel.�
� Alec ended with a wheezing cry, sounding as though he, too, had felt the rabbit's suffering.

  Markus’s confidence faltered and his gaze dropped to the ground. How was it that Alec always managed to shame him? “I did not mean to disembowel him.”

  “Your arrow always strikes true,” Alec cried. “You could have ended his life swiftly.”

  Enough! The rage infused his skull once again. Why was Alec always determined to make him feel of less consequence than dirt? It was time Alec swallowed the same medicine.

  “You've always been jealous of my skill, that I can feed an entire village while all you do is snivel and cough in your bed.”

  Alec's jaw dropped. Pain flashed in his eyes before he turned his back on Markus. “Jealous? No," he spoke on a hoarse whisper. "Disappointed? Aye. All that I have taught you was out of love, Markus, not jealousy.”

  “Damn it, brother!” Markus yelled, grabbing Alec by the shoulder and spinning him around. “Must you always be so good? Must you always pretend to be better than everyone around you? Now I see why our father strikes you!”

  In an instant, Markus regretted his words.

  Tears welled up in Alec's bruised eyes as his lower lip trembled. “I see your impulse to wound is no longer limited to hunting. The venom of your words struck my heart with more pain than any arrow.”

  Spinning on his heel, Alec marched down the shaded path to the hut.

  Markus trailed after him, feeling like the whole world was sinking beneath his feet, the image of Alec's watery eyes etched in his mind. Why did he allow his anger toward Alec to spiral out of control?

  “Alec, wait,” he called at his brother's retreating back. “I did not mean it. I was only angry, is all.”

  Even through the coughing and wheezing, Alec did not slow his pace. “Do not try to take back your words now, Markus,” he called over his shoulder.

  But Markus refused to let up. He would hate himself for all eternity if his hasty words turned his brother from him. Alec was the only good thing he had left in this world, and he would not give him up without a fight.

  Looking ahead, Markus saw that the path through the forest was almost at an end. They would soon reach the hut and he knew he would have to deal with his father, leaving him no time to settle things with his brother. In several long strides, he caught up with Alec.

  Reaching out, Markus sought to turn his brother around and make him face him, listen to his apology and see the sincerity in his eyes. But he froze at the unmistakable sound of his mother's shrill scream, which sliced through the air with the explosive force of an ice glacier being crushed by a giant's fist. Alec stopped suddenly, glancing at Markus with wide, frightened eyes.

  Their mother screamed again, this shrill more terrifying than the first. The brothers raced toward the hut.

  That his mother was in agony, Markus had no doubt. What had happened? Had Father struck her? No, she would not have cried out with such force. Maimed her? Or mayhap she was under attack by a snow bear. A million possibilities raced through his mind as he bolted toward the sound of his mother, passing his brother with long, urgent strides.

  As soon as Markus was out of the clearing, he drew out his boning knife, keenly looking around for some sign of his mother's attacker. A plume of gray rose up from the smoke hole in their hut. Since it was morn, Mother would be inside, preparing porridge to break their fast.

  Crouching down, he crept swiftly, but silently, up to the hut and peered into a small, open window. His mother was on a cot, curled into the fetal position, and his father was standing over her.

  Markus’s heart leapt into his throat, every muscle in his body tensed, and his veins surged with ice-cold rage.

  Monster!

  This time, Markus had no second thoughts. No longer would he cower while Father abused the family. He slipped his quiver and bow to the ground, then clenched his knife and braced himself for battle. Thrusting open the door, he stormed into the hut, knowing that he would be placing himself in the pit of his father's wrath.

  “What have you done to her?!”

  Father spun around, red rage shining through his hooded eyes. “I did not touch her!” he bellowed.

  He'd seen similar aggression in his father's eyes whenever he beat Alec, but never before had a look conveyed such anger as the one his father was giving him now. Gripping the knife tighter, Markus knew the weapon was his only lifeline. Though his legs felt as if they were about to give way, he would not stand down.

  All the while, Mother cried out behind his father. Markus knew he could not go to her and render her the care she needed unless Rowlen stepped aside, or he forced him to. Markus braced himself for an attack.

  At the sound of the door whooshing behind him, he knew Alec had entered the hut. He was only vaguely aware of his brother's thin shadow slipping past him and kneeling at Mother's cot.

  Sneering, Rowlen turned to Alec and Mother. Markus held his place, knife at the ready in case his father unleashed his wrath upon his family again.

  “Mother!” Alec cried. “What has happened?”

  All color had drained from her already pale face, making her look as transparent as a sheet of ice during the spring thaw.

  “The prophecy,” she breathed.

  “What prophecy?” Alec implored.

  Removing her hand from her stomach, she wagged a shaky finger at Markus.

  Alec cried out.

  Father cursed.

  Markus sucked in a gasp as his gaze was drawn to his mother's center, at the widening, crimson bullseye on her stomach, and to the blood dripping off her quivering arm and hand.

  “Dafuar told me your brother would bring a curse upon our heads for his cruelty.” Her hand dropped back to her stomach, cradling the wound there.

  “What?” Alec choked on a sob. “When did he tell you this?”

  She looked at him with glazed-over eyes. “On the eve of your brother's birth.”

  “Why did you not speak of this to me, woman?!” Father bellowed.

  Mother did not pay him heed. Her gaze was locked with Alec’s, and she lifted a limp hand to tenderly caress his cheek while offering him a weak smile. But in that smile, Markus read her true meaning, that she loved Alec, and only Alec, with every last breath in her body.

  Her hand dropped, her eyes sinking into their sockets, while her mouth fell agape. She was gone.

  Markus thought his ribs would crush from the weight of the stagnant air that smelled and tasted of his mother's bloody death—of his bloody curse. He knew now that the healer's words were true. He had killed his own mother and he feared the worst was yet to come.

  “You fool! She was all the good I had in this world and now she's gone!”

  Markus jerked as his brother advanced upon him, white hot rage shining through the depths of his blood-shot eyes.

  Markus held out his hands, pleading through a constricted throat. “I didn’t mean for this to happen.”

  “I warned you of your greed, of your brutality!” Alec backed Markus into a corner; his hands were fists at his sides, looking ready to tear Markus in two. “Now look at the monster you've become! You are no better than him!” Alec waved a hand at his father, casting him a heated glare through his tear-soaked face.

  “Hold your tongue, you filthy maggot!” Father reached out with one long, powerful arm, and grabbed Alec by the front of his shirt. In the next instant, he dragged Alec out of the door and threw him in the dirt.

  Markus was right behind, racing to Alec's side. Father rolled up his sleeves, scowling like a demon. “Move out of the way, Markus,” he growled, while never shifting his hateful glare from Alec’s face.

  “Go ahead and kill me this time,” Alec spat. “I've nothing to live for now.”

  Markus did not need to think twice about his next move. He rounded on his father, slamming a fist into his father’s jaw with a primal roar.

  Father staggered back, his eyes wide with bewilderment.

  Markus attacked again, feeling his
knuckle bones crack as his fist struck Father's nose. But his mind did not register pain. Only hate.

  Covering his bloodied face with one beefy hand, Father moaned, staggering backward until he tripped on the threshold to the hut. He landed on his haunches with a thud, just inside the doorway.

  But Markus was not finished. Stalking his father, he laughed bitterly at his retreating form. Father had scooted into a corner of their small hut and lay curled up on the floor beside the cot that held Mother's lifeless body.

  “My brother is no maggot,” Markus said through a clenched jaw. “He is brave and strong. You, old man, are the lowest, dirtiest filth I've ever known and if you ever strike him again I will kill you!”

  Vaguely aware of the flood of tears that were cascading freely down his face, Markus paid them no heed. No longer would he hide his emotions because Father thought them unmanly. Turning, he climbed up the small ladder to the alcove above, which he and Alec had shared to sleep in each night. Grabbing his hunting satchel, which was nothing more than an oversized quiver, always kept ready with supplies and arrows, Markus hurried back down the ladder and out of the hut. Then, he spied his bow beside the door and slung it over his shoulder. He stuffed his new arrows into his satchel as well.

  Alec was still lying in the dirt, weeping into his shirt sleeve. Markus’s heart clenched and a new flood of tears constricted his throat with raw emotion. Alec did not deserve this. More than anything, Markus wanted to offer his brother a hand and tell him that everything would be alright.

  But it wouldn't. Their mother was gone. Alec would never forgive him and Markus would never forgive himself. With one final look at his brother, Markus marched toward the forest. He had to make haste before he brought the dragon to Alec.

  “Where are you going?”

  Markus froze in his tracks at the sound of Alec's pleading voice. Turning back, he lowered his gaze to the dirt. “I have to leave.”

  “No, you don't,” Alec cried, staggering to his feet. Wiping away a new wave of tears with the back of his shirt sleeve, he spoke with a shaky voice. “It was an accident, Markus. You did not know she would die.”

  A bitter-sweet sense of relief washed over Markus. He still had his brother's love. And though he did not deserve it, he would cradle that love in his heart for whatever time he had left in this world. It was comforting to know that when the dragon defeated him, at least one person would mourn his death.