Curse Breaker Omnibus

by Melinda Kucsera

  Sarn turned his back on Nolo and let his silence speak for him.

  “A confidence for a confidence—you have to give me something. I don’t think you realize how serious this is. Jerlo could have you flogged for dereliction of duty until your back is a bloody ruin. Give me something—anything—to explain your absence.”

  Stuck in a no-win situation, Sarn shook his head and remained silent. The thing lighting his eyes also prevented him from lying. But if I mention my son, they’ll take him away from me.

  A flogging was a small price to pay for the child who brightened his days. Sarn bit his lip to keep the truth prisoned behind his teeth and tasted blood.

  Nolo refused to give up on him. “Were you sick?”

  Sarn shook his head refusing to speak. One word could undo everything his silence safeguarded.

  Nolo searched for another reason. “Did you check on your brother?”

  Sarn nodded. Since his primary reason for his visit below ground had nothing to do with Miren, he bit down hard on the urge to speak. But the truth struggled to break free, slicing the inside of his mouth as he fought to let the partial lie stand. Sarn mashed his lips into a thin line to keep from screaming.

  “Alright, why didn’t you say so? It's a reason I can understand, and one Jerlo can work with. How is your brother?”

  “Fine," Sarn said in a hoarse whisper as he struggled to find words. "I surprised him. He hadn't expected to see me before dawn.”

  Which was true, so the magic retracted its blades. Sarn swallowed the metallic taste of blood wishing for a sip of water.

  “Why’d you return?”

  Sarn shrugged. “I gave my word. I must come back.”

  No one, including his own brother, had thought he’d keep said promise. He'd indentured himself at sixteen to free Miren from the cycle of poverty and had lived up to its terms no matter what. Why’s everyone waiting for me to shirk it?

  “What about the border?” Sarn asked, unwilling to let the subject drop.

  “What about it?”

  “Why would anyone want to come here?”

  What could make a magical wonderland sound like a nice place to live?

  Sarn studied Death’s Marksman, aka, the Black Ranger’s face seeking signs of foreignness but found none. Shayarins came in all colors from coal black to subterranean pasty, and Shayari was so damned big every corner of it had a different accent. But outside—Fates above, did the outside world still exist?

  “A confidence for a confidence—you know where I went. Tell me what you know about the border. When did you cross it? How did you cross it? What’s out there—”

  Nolo chopped his hand through the air cutting off the questions. Turning, he cast blank eyes away from Sarn. As the past weighed on Nolo, an ebony quiver flickered on his back then faded.

  “Tell me what you know.”

  Nolo shook his head.

  Did talk of the border remind my master of something he’d spent years forgetting? What did I glimpse right before Nolo turned his back? Was it a desperate man trying to hide his pain?

  The truth ripped away the gag held in place by secrecy and fear. The need for one person to know about the son he’d give his life to protect mastered Sarn. He opened his mouth, but Nolo turned and the moment died in silence.

  The Black Ranger showed no sign of ever having known suffering. Sarn shut his mouth before the truth could escape. The Nolo who stood before him now would never understand.

  “Another time perhaps. If you don’t want a whipping, then I need to speak to Jerlo. And you—you need to—” Nolo flailed around for a task and found none.

  Because the Rangers never let me do anything. Not that it matters. I have a ghost to help and a mystery to solve. Sarn felt the hollow stare of the ghost boy and a lingering unease.

  There was another group unaccounted for. Who did I leave out?

  The question faded as Sarn caught the glare of a skunk too interested in the conversation to be natural.

  “You need to go with Spar and Grellin,” Jerlo put in startling Nolo and the skunk. The creature retreated into the shadows but stayed within earshot.

  Sarn dismissed it as another coincidence. Magic tended to make everyone, even the local fauna, edgy. Of course, it had come to check him out. I would too if I were it.

  The commander jerked a thumb at the semi-retired Rangers lumbering up behind him. Given the hour, neither Grellin nor Spar would be working at their trade. What will the pair do with me other than get in my way?

  Sarn ground his teeth. There are questions in need of answers, but I must find them on the sly. Nolo already closed the case in his mind. I’m on my own on this one.

  Grizzled and wiry, Spar, the fiftyish bowyer, armed the Rangers. Age bent his back, giving it the curve of his beloved longbow. He gave Grellin a look, and Grellin, the fletcher, held both his calloused palms up in surrender. He had a longbow man’s top-heavy physique and looked like he might tip over on his chicken legs.

  Jerlo ignored their exchange. Those under him, retirees included, followed his orders no matter how strange they might be.

  “Well, come on, boy. We haven’t got all night.” Spar gestured toward Mount Eredren.

  Neither of his minders spoke until they’d walked out of Jerlo’s ever-expanding earshot. Grellin elbowed Sarn, catching him in the stomach since he towered over both artisans.

  “What’d you do now?”

  “I didn’t do anything.”

  Grellin and Spar shared a disbelieving look.

  “You must've done something. Think hard, boy.”

  “I’m not a child,” Sarn muttered, but no one believed it. At least the men bracketing him had three decades and change on him. Still, it was the principle of the thing.

  “So you say.” Grellin spread his hands wide and shrugged.

  Sarn folded his arms over his chest to hide his clenched fists. He wanted to pummel something. Anything would do.

  They hit the trail leading up the mountain and followed one of its side branches. The trail rose as it curved around the mountain’s east face and bent toward its northern one. Another hundred-feet on, it straightened out as much as the topography allowed, and the terrain turned rocky before they peeled off along a dirt path into a patch of spindly trees.

  The pines on the mountainside extended their branches toward the light and life flowing through their enchanted brethren a mile or so away. But they remained non-magical because no enchantments could cross the twin circles of menhirs standing between the forest and the meadow.

  Tonight, I had difficulty passing their cordon as well—might there be a connection?

  Sarn probed the question as Spar called a halt. An outcropping of rock made a perfect vantage point, and Sarn commandeered it. Uncounted miles of enchanted forestry melted into the dark horizon. From this angle, it looked sinister. Even with his map superimposed over it, he could spot no sign of either murder site from this distance.

  Damn, there went that avenue of investigation.

  An inky gloom hid the forest's twinkling lights, and above his perch, the sky was a star-less indigo.

  Where’d the stars go? Is that black stuff from the murder sites spreading?

  It must be because its malevolence concentrated on the mountain where he sat. Sarn shivered.

  My son is safe. Her seeds will protect him until I can. Morning isn't far off.

  But it would bring no relief. Even the animals sensed it.

  Further down the slope, sheep and other herd beasts milled about too restive to graze and too tense to sleep. Shepherds kept watch but they must have felt it too because the slightest sound sent them running. Two dogs barked as they circled a stray sheep and even it seemed to know.

  It’s not over, not by a longshot. How can I find out what it is or what’ll come of it without breaking my word?

  Sarn rested his chin on his knee and grappled with that problem. His magic wouldn’t allow him to go against Jerlo's orders no matter what was
brewing in the forest.

  “I heard some funny rumors.”

  The bowyer tossed something, and its point stuck fast in a pine tree.

  “Good toss,” Grellin grunted. “Watch this.”

  The fletcher produced a dirk, took aim, and threw. His dagger knocked Spar’s out of the tree, and both fell into a bush.

  Spar whistled at his luck then took a sip from his hip flask. “Up with your young bones, go fetch them, and maybe we’ll let you take a turn.”

  Sarn just nodded and obeyed before the promises he’d sworn turned Spar’s statement into a command. Both dirks had a gemstone set in their hilts—garnet for Grellin and quartz for Spar, and the stupid things called to him, whispering their whereabouts. A shiver passed down his spine as Sarn set his mind to ignore the stones’ voices. Now wasn’t the time to let his wayward gift get out of control.

  As he straightened, blades in hand, he met the eyes of the ghost boy. Its translucent hand turned Spar’s knife until it pricked his finger. Blood welled up flecked with shining green and dripped onto a small, limpid hand. The specter’s fingers closed around it, and his blood passed into the creature, but it had no visible effect.

  "Will you hurry up and fetch those?"

  Sarn backed away and handed the dirks to their owners before fleeing to his rock. Clinging to its reassuring solidity, he stared at the apparition following him.

  What do you want? How can I help you? Is that even what you want?

  The air chilled and his eyes lost some of their luminescence as darkness bore down on Sarn. His magic muttered its usual complaint—unnatural—but Sarn ignored it.

  Nothing about tonight has been natural. He rubbed his arms to warm them.

  The ghost waved, frantic for him to move, so Sarn pivoted and scanned the area. His minders had fallen into a deep discussion about a friendly wager, so no danger was forthcoming from those two.

  His breath misted as the cold bit through his clothes just like at the murder sites. Sarn sent his magic through the boulder under his rump, and it radiated out in concentric rings. Before it went too far and became entangled in whatever was going on out there in the forest, Sarn retracted it. His magic fought him, angry its explorations were cut short.

  I can't risk it. What if it traps me? Who’ll take care of my son? Miren will try, but Ran isn't his responsibility. He's mine and so are you.

  One last tug sent magic crashing into Sarn, warming him, as the ghost popped up in front of him.

  "What is it?" he asked the ghost in a whisper.

  In answer, the ghost pointed from a patch of shadow to its eyes.

  "Are you saying the shadows have eyes?"

  Sarn crossed to the bush and pushed its branches aside seeking whatever had upset the ghost. Nothing lurked in the shadows except an ant colony. Compound eyes watched Sarn from a nearby branch, but it was just a roach. On the ground, the ants paced around the roach’s shadow, and their paths bent to form a chain of interconnected circles.

  “What is this?” Sarn pointed at the antics of the ants.

  The ghost’s eyes widened, and it dove, missing Sarn by a hair’s breadth.

  “Why’d you do that?”

  Something bit Sarn’s hand, and he let go of the branch. Its tip was red with his blood. Sarn backed away.

  Foliage within the stone circles held no intelligence or enchantments. Neither did shadows have eyes. There’s no evil overlord, and no archmages either. No one’s watching my comings and goings except my masters, and the ghost child haunting me. This is more evidence of my deteriorating sanity.

  Or was it? Is something out there or did shock plus my usual paranoia make me imagine that cold black substance?

  There was no way to know until they let him off work. Then he could go back into the forest and find out what was what if he dared. But until then, he was stuck on this mountain with the ghost gripping his arm with its cold hands.

  "Go away and leave me alone."

  The ghost shook its head making its short illusory hair fly.

  Sarn dropped his head into his hands. His babysitters had forgotten about him, but not the ghost. Its glassy green eyes threw accusations at him: why am I dead and you’re not?

  Sarn squeezed his eyes closed, but the dead child stared at him from inside his mind, and the thing had company. They were all orphans same as him—all dead before any of them had begun to live. Their vacant stares pierced him while their white lips mouthed the one question he could never answer: why you and not us?

  “I don’t know. Leave me alone.”

  “You don’t know what?” Gregori asked startling Sarn.

  The dead didn’t flee back to their holes in his head. They lingered in his peripheral vision.

  “Who’re you talking to?” Gregori made a show of looking around.

  Sarn realized his minders had stopped minding him. Shaking his head, he remained silent. Gregori already thinks I’m an idiot.

  The first gray light of the coming dawn brushed blue streaks into the sky to his left. Maybe daylight will bring some answers. Sarn rubbed his tired eyes.

  “Get off your ass and follow me. I've got work for you to do before you go.”

  “But—” Sarn pointed to the lightening east.

  “But nothing, the sooner you move, the sooner you can go. Your brother can get along without you for one more hour. He’s not an invalid.”

  True, Miren was able-bodied, but Ran was four, and his son would not understand if he was late. Besides, if he stayed any longer, he wouldn't have time to reenter the forest before procuring food for his small family, and the two dozen orphans who depended on him.

  If I don't go now, I can't investigate until late this afternoon. Can what I saw wait that long? I don't think it can, but I don't have any other options unless I take my son with me, but I can't endanger him.

  “Are you coming?”

  “Do I have a choice?”

  Gregori didn't answer, so Sarn rose and followed.

  “Where am I going?”

  “Down to the river, there’s some sensitive cargo Jerlo needs unloaded ASAP.”

  What goods are too important for the dockhands to manage?

  Chapter 6

  Will cut across the meadow searching for a lean figure in a dark cloak. As he rehearsed the speech he’d spent part of the night perfecting, tears pricked his eyes.

  Beku, the mother of Sarn’s adorable little boy, had vanished nearly three months ago, prompting Sarn to take his son and brother and move out. But I found the right argument to bring Sarn back into the fold. Soon everything will return to normal.

  Will scanned the meadow anxious to get this over with. Four mornings out of seven, he ran into Sarn, but not this morning. Did the Rangers let Sarn off early?

  Turning, Will scanned the meadow from one side of the encircling menhirs to the other before he gave up and headed for the trim house serving as office and abode for the harbormaster. It was one of four freestanding structures on the meadow itself. At this early hour, two triremes and one square-rigged vessel lay at anchor, and the low-riding profile of the latter vessel indicated a full hold.

  Looks like I’ll have my hands full today.

  A flash of green caught Will’s eye. Sarn leaned against a wall looking tired and tense—not a good sign. Both those radiant eyes opened and regarded Will as he halted.

  There was tall, and then there was Sarn, who towered over everyone. He was big all over except in the girth department. Technically, he was also two years older than Will but didn’t look it.

  Sarn nodded to Will, his gaze sharpening as he threw off the light doze he’d fallen into.

  “Morning Will, is something wrong?”

  Will blinked a few times. Why’s Sarn standing there? He serves the Rangers, and they don’t have anything to do with the docks or their doings.

  “Is there?” Will asked.

  Talking to Sarn meant dealing with his silences and reading micro expressions because he was an intr
overt, but so was Will.

  “You don’t usually come down this way. Do you need something—a boat maybe? Miren wants to go fishing, right? I can arrange something for this afternoon.” Will hoped for a 'no.' Sarn needed a wash, sleep, and a generous breakfast.

  Sarn shook his head.

  Will nodded and waited for an explanation. Sarn tended to parcel out words as if he had a limited supply in constant danger of depletion.

  “Ranger business?” Will suggested even though he doubted it. Jerlo concerned himself with all things sylvan leaving the nautical issues to the harbormaster.

  Sarn nodded. His strange eyes cast out over the river, and their glow attracted Will. He tried to break off his stare, but that emerald light drew him.

  The sun’s rays angled toward Sarn and arrowed into those incredible eyes. There they gathered before fanning out toward twin wheels of spinning green flame making them burn brighter. Will fell through those fiery emerald rings into the dark center of a blaze stretching out to infinity and beyond.

  Sarn stalked a few paces away breaking the partial gaze lock.

  “I guess. He told me to wait here.”

  Will took a second to re-engage his mind and put the statement into its proper context.

  “Oh right, I guess it's important.”

  Will kicked a stone. It skipped over other stones on its way down the beach toward the river. Damn it. I alienated him.

  “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean—”

  But I did intend to do it. I don’t know how Miren can be around Sarn all the time and not gaze into those incredible eyes. Maybe the one parent they have in common offered Miren some immunity.

  Sarn ignored Will’s feeble attempt at an apology and armored himself in a silence free of any cracks. Great, even if I get Sarn talking, how can I steer the conversation in the right direction?

  He couldn’t, so Will abandoned the attempt. There was always tomorrow or the next day. It’d been months since Sarn had moved out. What was another couple of days of fetching and carrying for everyone?

  A door opened, and a Ranger whose muscles stretched the seams of his green uniform exited. Will backpedaled, alarmed by the huge man approaching them. Sarn was a sapling next to that hulking Ranger.