Curse Breaker Omnibus

by Melinda Kucsera

  The Son of Man adjusted the cross He bore. Its heavy beam weighed Him down, but He was used to carrying the world’s balance on his shoulders. Under his sandals, the ferry rocked as the queue shuffled forward.

  Clad in white, J.C. fit right in with the disembarking crowd. To keep from baking on this hot, sunny, June afternoon, nearly everyone wore light-colored garments and some type of head-covering, preferably with a brim since there was no shade on the ferry. Sunlight coruscated on the fat ribbon of the River Nirthal, making everyone squint.

  Since Shayarins historically came in all heights, weights and skin colors, no one gave his brown skin a second glance. If you were a mundane, non-magical human, you were accepted.

  If you weren’t, then you might have a problem depending on where you lived in Shayari’s enchanted green miles. Some parts were more accepting of magic, mages and magical races than others. But this wasn’t a sightseeing trip, so J.C. turned his mind to the mountain sulking amid a lush meadow. Where are you, my Adversary, and what are you doing?

  A veiled girl with appreciative golden-brown eyes watched him, and a fine-boned middle-aged woman in a rose gown smiled shyly as he joined the queue. He nodded to both women.

  Did these good people see—a thirtyish man on an errand or a savior come to save their souls? Did you know the enemy is under your mountain?

  J.C. searched their dark eyes. Everyone in Shayari, except the magic-touched, had brown eyes.

  No, they didn’t know a spiritual war was brewing in their home. He sighed and shuffled a few feet closer to his goal—Mount Eredren. Its bent cone sparkled in the sunlight playing on its snow-capped peak.

  “Have your papers handy if you’ve goods to sell,” announced the ferryman as he walked the deck. “There’s a fellow on shore who needs to see ‘em.”

  Three other ships lay at anchor. One belonged to the Seekers, but He’d deal with that misguided order another time.

  The Adversary was the greater threat to the men and women stepping one by one onto the narrow gangplank. At least this one had guide ropes for the unsteady to grab onto. A stout woman helped a teenage girl onto the gangplank then it was his turn to disembark.

  She had a horsey face, but her eyes were kind, and the hand she extended offered to help him. He accepted because aid freely given should never be spurned.

  “Take care. That first step’s a doozy. There you go. It’s all downhill now. Thank you for traveling with us.”

  J.C. smiled his thanks then strode down the plank, which jiggled with every step. Grooves kept it from becoming slick where the tide washed over the bottom third. Thank you, Father, for them.

  A youth loitered at the other end of the plank, checking things off on his clipboard and writing the occasional note. Sweat beaded his face and ran into his eyes. “Do you have anything to declare?” he asked.

  J.C. shook his head. “I’m just visiting.”

  “Enjoy your visit.” The young man nodded, added a tick mark to his checklist and waved him on.

  Rocks slipped and slid under J.C. as he walked toward the two lines of menhirs. They encircled the meadow and the mountain in its middle.

  A fell voice whispered on the wind, “come, sinner, thy time is nigh.”

  And its evil power sent sparks skipping between those menhirs, activating the protections left behind by a vanished race. Those Litherians had built their constructs tough.

  Ancient power wove between them, cordoning off the meadow. J.C. touched the shield, and it bowed under his hand. He could break it but doing so would leave the people of this mountain vulnerable, so he retracted his hand.

  A face appeared in its light. A heavy brow leaned hard on a pair of emerald eyes.

  “You’re not invited. Only the invited may enter,” it said as the shield became permeable, allowing a woman to pass.

  Of course, she couldn’t see the shield. All her attention fixed on the crate she carried and its clinking cargo. It was half her size. Inside, lay something breakable—pottery maybe—and she was determined to deliver it, undamaged, to its new home. But she didn’t possess a drop of Litherian blood. So even if she’d had a hand free, she couldn’t have helped him cross.

  She froze between the two circles of menhirs as its spells scanned her from head to toe, recognized her as a resident and let her pass. After a moment’s pause, she continued without any recollection of the stop.

  J.C. scanned the beach for another likely prospect, but not a single person within sight or sensing distance was descended from the ancient race of distrustful mages that built this place. Unfortunately, he couldn’t see beyond the spells weaving between the two circles of standing stones. Their shields blurred the mountain they protected.

  People milled about the beach or sat on boulders to take in the sun or the view while they waited. Some snacked while others dozed or smoked pipes.

  “Yes,” said the youth waving to the three squat houses occupying the beachhead. He raised his voice, so he cut across the conversations buzzing around him. “The next ferry to Jacora arrives in forty-five minutes. Its first stop is Racine, twenty miles downriver. There are refreshments in that hut there. They cost a copper a cup. Tell them Will sent you. Any other questions? No? Good, you there. What’s in that barrel?”

  Will charged after a man rolling a metal drum. No one else approached the standing stones or their cordon or looked likely to anytime soon. God, my Father, will provide all that I need. Though, it couldn’t hurt to stretch his legs a bit.

  J.C. strode around the outer circle of menhirs toward the enchanted forest. Perhaps there’d be more foot traffic over there since the forest bordered the meadow on three sides. If not, there was another ferry due in under an hour.

  The Litherians had once occupied all the mountains in the western parts of Shayari. Even though they were a race of misanthropes, they’d left more than a few heirs lying around, and those descendants would be attracted to a mountain-turned-city.

  “Come, sinners, thy time is nigh,” sang the Adversary.

  The menhirs oscillated at just the right frequency to reduce the compulsion, but not counteract it. So it was more of a suggestion when it reached the people waiting for the next ferry, and none acted on it.

  Clever, very clever, those Litherians knew their mage-craft.

  A fiery figure appeared in the rainbow moiré of the shield and followed J.C.

  “I’m not the enemy. I won’t call someone out just to invite me in.”

  “Why not?”

  “Because they have free will. I would never do anything to violate that. I’ll wait for someone to come and invite me in of their own accord or for you to drop your shields.”

  The golem shook its head and faded into the rainbow-hued light weaving between the stones. “I can’t do that.”

  “Unless the conditions change, I know. You’re as bound to your purpose as I am to mine.” Salvation without choice was no salvation at all. So, J.C. walked and waited. Someone would come, hopefully soon enough to make a difference.

  To Your Dark Father Fly

  Sarn staggered into a wall clutching his throbbing hand. There was a black hole in his palm and inky lines radiated out from it. He stared at it. What the hell is happening to me?

  Gentle fingers turned his hand so the invisible angel standing next to him could examine the wound. Cold lips touched his ear followed by her voice.

  “The Adversary must have infected you with his taint when you fell earlier. He was close by. Our talk ended so abruptly, it knocked me for a loop. By the time I was myself again, you were under the mountain.” Sovvan paused and Sarn slid down the wall. His legs refused to hold him up anymore. Every word she spoke leeched more of his heat and strength.

  “Who or what is this ‘Adversary?’”

  “It’s too complicated to explain now. Sarn, listen to me. I’ll do what I can to slow this.” Sovvan shook his affected hand. “Thank God mom baptized us. She gave me a base to work from. I won’t be able to talk to you a
gain. It drains you too much because you don’t have the right gifts for it. Sarn?”

  He could hear her but not see her, and even that was becoming difficult. Ice was crawling through his veins numbing everything.

  “I hear you, Auntie Sovvan,” Ran said from somewhere nearby. “I see you too.”

  “You—but that’s not possible.”

  Ran shrugged and his shoulder bumped Sarn as he examined Sarn’s hand. “Something bad’s happening to Papa.”

  “Yes, but we’ll find a way to fix it.” Saveen laid a hand on Ran’s shoulder and squeezed it.

  “Yes, we will. But you must stay away from the Adversary. He—oh God, he’s coming. Run!” Sovvan shouted then a fireball struck Sarn and every muscle unfroze as the drain on his resources ceased.

  Saveen helped Sarn up.

  “What’s happening?” Sarn blinked at the receding crowd in confusion. He couldn’t see what had spooked Sovvan. “Where are they going?”

  Ran shrugged. “They’re not right, Papa.”

  “Not right, how?”

  “They’re all wide-eyed and staring—well most of them. There are some people trying to turn them.”

  “What do you mean—"

  A scream broke through the white noise of the crowd, cutting Sarn off mid-sentence and he flinched. As that scream attenuated, more and more lumir crystals screamed for his touch, his light.

  Kindle us, they shouted, and their demands reverberated off every wall as more people turned around and marched in the opposite direction as if called. Soon the tunnel was filled with people going the wrong way. They were a wall of bodies shoving everyone and everything in their path out of their way. They squeezed Sarn and his charges to the edges of the tunnel as they hurried in the opposite direction. A voice danced at the edge of hearing.

  “When lusting loins rise—come, sinner, thy time is nigh. Come, sinners with envious minds. At my side, thy time is nigh. Despondent sinners, don't you sigh. Come, sinners, thy time is nigh.”

  The ground softened under Sarn’s boots, and it sucked at his feet. An invisible force wove around him, spinning Sarn about so he faced the same direction as the crowd.

  He jerked forward as something cold tore out of his back. An arm, black as a subterranean cave, wrapped around his throat and pulled him into a headlock—again.

  “I’ve got you now,” a familiar voice said.

  But it couldn’t be one of Dirk’s cronies. This thing was shadow made solid. Sarn struggled to break his hold.

  “This I, your only ally, say to the sky: come, sinner, thy time is nigh.” The creature choking Sarn froze.

  Come, sinners, thy time is nigh. It shuddered and let go right before something sent it flying. The shadow-man merged with a huge black winged thing bearing down on them. It filled the cavern. So that’s what Sovvan had seen.

  “Come, sinner, to your dark Father fly. At my side, thy time is nigh,” it said as it extended its ebony wings.

  “Run, Papa!” Ran tugged his hand. Why was Papa just standing there? His eyes were open, and their green glow was lightening to white, but the giant black thing was gaining on them. It had no eyes, but its head, and its sharp beak, turned in their direction.

  “Don’t you hear the voice?”

  “What voice? I don’t hear anything.” Ran listened hard and heard a dark murmur almost drowned out by the padding of many feet.

  Papa just stood there, transfixed by the voice in his head.

  “It’s calling me.”

  “Don't listen to it.” Ran tugged Papa’s hand, but he didn't move.

  A shadow-creature swooped over the crowd. Ran shivered as the giant black thing winged to the top of the cavern clutching bodies in its fore- and hind- claws. Two teenagers leaned out of its elongated beak. It was flying away, but there were more shadow-creatures lining the walls, and they herded the people toward another tunnel.

  Ran tried again, but Papa still didn't move.

  “What’s the voice saying?”

  “Come, sinner, to your dark Father fly. At his side, thy time is nigh.”

  ‘Sinner’ sounded like a bad thing and Papa was not bad so, “you’re not a sinner. Don't go to this ‘dark Father’ either.”

  “What’s a sinner?” Saveen asked. “I hear something, but I can’t make out what it is.”

  “Hey, that’s my question.” Ran scowled at his friend for beating him to it.

  As another shadow fell over them, everyone stopped. There were tiny flames dancing on the foreheads of the people who were trying to stop their loved ones. Some of those flames extinguished when the shadow fell over them, then their bearers' eyes rolled back until their whites showed. Entranced now, they shuffled on with the other blank-eyed marchers.

  So those flames are important. Ran bit his lip. Does Papa have one?

  Yes, something inside him said.

  Ran tilted his head back to check, and there—a small fire flickered in Papa’s heart. I must protect it.

  Ran tugged Papa’s hand. “Up, please.”

  Papa nodded and lifted him into his arms just as that thing made another pass. But Ran held tight to Papa and kept his little body between the shadow and the guttering flame inside Papa.

  You can’t have him. Papa belongs to me. Papa’s not a sinner. He's a good person and good people only do good things.

  But the shadow kept coming, growing larger as it neared. Ran squeezed his eyes closed and pictured Ghost Bear talking to the Queen Tree in that place of light and shiny, shiny leaves. He inhaled the earthy scent of the forest still clinging to Papa’s clothes and called to Bear because Auntie Sovvan was busy keeping the black thing from spreading up Papa’s arm. She couldn't manifest without hurting Papa, but Bear could.

  Help me, Bear, Please!

  Bear lay forgotten on the ground. The spirit blinked its button eyes, but that didn’t improve the view. A stalactite wept on him. That cold peck on his furry cheek brought the ghost’s situation home. Looks like I’m stuck here until the level of magic rises to what it was. Damn.

  ‘Here’ was Sarn’s cave, but neither the young mage nor his adorable son was home. Where did they go? I swear I only closed my eyes for a moment.

  Even ghosts needed a nap every now and again, especially after being drained by a rogue black lumir crystal. That showdown with the Ægeldar had taken far more out of the ghost than he’d realized.

  Rolling on his belly, Bear pushed to a stand then flopped onto his bottom and glared at his stubby legs. His cloth home wasn’t anatomically correct. Without access to magic, he couldn’t tailor his pudgy torso into something better suited for a walk about under the mountain either. Double damn.

  And right on cue, Ran called for him. You have the worst timing, kid. Bear shook his head and made another attempt at getting vertical. It ended the same way as the last time. Well, maybe he could crawl to the lad.

  Hang on Ran, I’m coming. It just might take a while.

  Bear scooted across the uneven floor on his bum but stopped by a familiar set of circles. Maybe she could help this time. Bear touched those silver curves. There were one hundred and forty-four in total. Maybe there was enough magic in them for one last call. Through the cloth covering his paw, he extended his spirit into the circle that circumscribed the other one hundred and forty-three. Pale light ran around those curves, lighting up the chains within chains forming her sigil.

  Hear me, Queen of All Trees, but that was as far as he got before the light in his button eyes winked out. Bear flopped forward onto his belly, inanimate as before. His stitched nose touched her sign and Bear fell through it, into a light so pure, it hurt his eyes.

  The Queen of All Trees jerked in surprise. A fell voice whispered on the wind:

  “Come, sinner, thy time is nigh. Coins buy the apple of your eye. Come, sinner, thy time is nigh.”

  No, it couldn’t be. But what if it was? She stretched her thoughts out to the white blur marching across the mile-wide trail of devastation. “Shayari, we
have a problem.”

  Shayari paused, but her sister-queen didn’t turn. Her thoughts winged back as clear and loud as if she stood next to the Queen of All Trees instead of several miles away. “What problem?”

  “The Adversary.”

  “You deal with him. He doesn’t know I exist as an independent entity and I’d like to keep it that way.”

  Shayari resumed her march, but her steps were slower than before. The magic-less ground was draining her and so was that rogue black lumir crystal. The more it drew off her power the slower her progress became. The very land she traversed sucked at her feet and tried to stop her. But Shayari trudged onward, one step at a time. She was miles behind the crazy cleric, but that nutty woman and her entourage would stop to rest and refuel eventually. And when they did, Shayari would catch up.

  The Queen of All Trees laid a branch over the cracks spider-webbing her bark. It was a physical manifestation of the damage the black lumir crystal was doing to her and the underpinning of this world. But she remained on the brow of a hill, surrounded by the wounded and the dying instead of fleeing.

  I can’t leave them, or they’ll die. The Queen of All Trees caressed a convulsing oak tree with her silver branches. Her will held it to life.

  Her sign blazed on the ground at her roots. White light licked up from it, and a stuffed bear regarded her with button eyes. She waited, but the ghost didn’t speak. Maybe he couldn’t. His fuzzy spirit-home fell forward as she sent a root through the fading portal. When she retracted her root, a ghost Bear came with it, clinging to her bark.

  “You’ve got to help them,” Bear said as she put him down. He morphed into a proper bear and reared up on his hind legs.

  “Them, who?” But her thoughts were already bending toward Mount Eredren.

  “I’m sure you can guess—our potential curse breaker and his sweet enigma of a son. Who else is constantly in danger?”

  The Queen of All Trees thought of Shayari for a moment but didn’t mention her iron-willed sister-Queen.