Curse Breaker Omnibus

by Melinda Kucsera

  “Bear, help us!” Ran shouted at the top of his lungs.

  Come, sinner, thy time is nigh, the Adversary sang, pitching his call below the level of thought where instinct ruled.

  “If I call him, the Adversary will notice.” The Queen of All Trees shifted her roots. She had plans for that gifted young man, but only if he survived his twenty-first birthday, five months hence. On November 2nd, he would finally have full access to the curse breaking half of his gift. If the awakening of that gift didn’t kill him and the son whose life depended on him.

  “If you don’t call him, you might lose them both.” Bear held both his paws up imitating a triple beam balance.

  He was right. Sarn was damned no matter what she did.

  “Call him. We might lose him in five months anyway.” Shayari insisted, but she didn’t turn back.

  Shayari was a woman on a mission. Once the Queen of All Trees had been that fired up over things, but she’d lived so long that flame had burned down. Only embers remained.

  “I can call too. He’s a distant descendant, so I might have some pull.”

  Bear glanced around. “Who said that?”

  Shayari had projected her voice so Bear would hear it. The Queen of All Trees waved a dismissive branch.

  “If you do that, the Adversary will know you exist,” she sent but only the queen striding away from her heard.

  Shayari turned, but only long enough to signal her agreement. Holding a long-distance tête-à-tête was taxing her. Even from this distance, it was obvious her energy was flagging. Somehow, Aralore and her acolytes were still outpacing her.

  “I’ll call him. Pray he comes.”

  “Will do. And you pray I get that black lumir crystal under wraps before it becomes too powerful to contain.” Shayari’s response was no more than a fading whisper when it reached the Queen of All Trees. “That box won't hold it for long.”

  The more magic the black lumir crystal consumed, the stronger its nullification field would become. Already its reach on the astral plane far outstripped its reach on the material one. How long before its influence reached Mount Eredren and the secrets she and her sister-queen had buried there?

  That box constrained it on the material plane only. Nothing could stop the black lumir crystal’s voracious hunger on the astral plane where magic flowed into this world and her roots.

  The Queen of All Trees didn’t respond to Shayari’s barb. Digging her roots deep into the earth, she sent out her call and the ground magnified it as it carried her summons under the mountain.

  Come to me. It was a dangerous gamble, but she sent out her call anyway, and the cracks in her bark widened revealing the softer wood inside. Come to me, Child of Magic.

  Caught in a Dark Web

  “Thieves and beggars, your love I buy. At my side, thy time is nigh. Toss your shame sinners, don't deny. At my side, thy time is nigh.”

  A dark shape rose, arms outstretched, offering understanding. His black eyes reflected all the things Sarn had stolen—food, clothes, shoes and even some baubles to fence in his youth—anything to get by.

  Come, sinner, to your dark Father fly. At my side, thy time is nigh, whispered a voice below the level of thought.

  The summons hooked Sarn and pulled him with the slack-faced crowd. Their eyes were rolled back until the whites showed, but the glow of his eyes died them green.

  His map tried to spawn, but the voice spoke louder, and it fragmented. The red arrow pointing to a double upside-down pentacle disintegrated as the voice swelled. It filled his head leaving no room for thought as it painted pictures of his sins.

  Shadows plucked at Sarn’s cloak then drew back shaking their smarting hands. It was a gift from a Knight Quester almost seven years ago, and the damned thing kept catching his boots. A tarnished brooch held it closed. It was a silver leaf and it kept attracting his gaze. Something about it was familiar, but the voice drove the thought away.

  Beku’s face swam out of the shadows, sallow and concerned. Green light from his eyes highlighted every crow’s foot and laugh line as she reached out.

  “I’ll help you escape, but I want something in return.”

  Her gaze turned hungry as it scanned him from head to toe. At the time, he was a gangly fifteen and desperate to escape the Orphan Master, Hadrovel. Almost nine months to the day from that failed escape attempt, Ran was born.

  Ran, my son—Sarn shook his head but the voice boomed louder.

  “Come, sinners, from one-night stands rise. At my side, thy time is nigh. Come one, come all, tell your bastards, ‘stand tall!’ At my side, their time is nigh.”

  Something moved in his arms. Am I holding someone? Everything was so jumbled.

  “Papa?”

  A small hand patted his face, but when Sarn looked down, he could see only a green blur.

  “Fruit of a deadly deal deny. Come, sinner, thy time is nigh,” said the voice. “You won’t die, nor in my fire fry. Come, sinner, thy time is nigh.”

  “Papa, say something, please. You’re scaring me.”

  Arms wrapped around his neck and greasy hair tickled his chin as a small head rested on his shoulder. His arms tightened on reflex. They knew what to do even if he didn’t. Something is messing with my head.

  “I’m here, Papa. Come back to me. Don’t let the dark think take you away from me.”

  “I won't.”

  White light cut through his clothes and reflected off his brooch. His pendant flared up shoving the shadows back and the crowd too. Blank eyes filled with sense and the men and women nearest him, threw their arms over their faces to shield their eyes.

  Come to me, Child of Magic, said his Queen, and her light burned away the darkness wreathing his mind. Her summons wrapped around Sarn and blocked out that fell voice.

  Sarn stumbled into a run. I must go to her.

  Before she faded out, the glow of his eyes lit a staircase corkscrewing through the mountain. Then he was taking the stairs three at a time until Ran shouted.

  “Papa, you must stop so Saveen can catch up.”

  “Ran—”

  “I’m here.” Ran patted the arm holding him. “But are you here? You just ran off. Why?”

  “She’s calling me.”

  “Who’s calling you?” Saveen asked between pants.

  “The Queen of All Trees.” Sarn hit the catch revealing a secret exit.

  “She’s real?”

  “The Queen Tree? Yes, and we’ll see her, now.”

  Sarn nodded and stepped onto a precipice overlooking the meadow. “She’s calling me.”

  “Have you ever seen her before?” Saveen goggled at Ran, who nodded and grinned at his friend.

  “Yes, earlier when we fought a monster. I wanted to tell you but—” Ran shrugged.

  “You fought a monster—a real one?” Saveen stared at Ran, who nodded.

  “Bear helped too.”

  “What kind of monster?” Saveen looked back and forth between them until Ran patted his hand.

  Ran shrugged. “It had many arms.”

  “He means tentacles.”

  Saveen just stared at them. The poor teen had no idea how to react to that intelligence.

  “Don’t worry. The monster’s gone now, right Papa?”

  “It’s locked up, but I don't know if it’s gone. Maybe that’s why she’s calling me.”

  Sarn hit the trail winding down the north face of the mountain at a jog. Saveen hurried to keep up, determined not to be left behind, not with the Queen of All Trees waiting for them.

  “Because of the monster?”

  “I don’t know, son. Let's go find out.”

  Her call was weakening as they descended. Was she under attack, or did she know he would come no matter what obstacle lay between them?

  No one who’d ever seen the Wild Hunt had lived to tell of it. But then, no one had ever seen the Queen of All Trees before today either. If I can draw her out, then I can draw them out too.

  Aralore
ruminated on how to draw out a pack of supernatural psychos while her acolytes packed away the remains of their meal and readied themselves to move out. A new determination fired their souls, but she still needed proof of her claims. Aralore paced and brooded on the proof part.

  Her acolytes didn’t see her dead twin. They didn’t hear the stories Ayoma told about her ‘perfect love’—the one that had fired an arrow through her starry-eyed sister's heart.

  Oh, Aralore, you must meet him. He’s the most wonderful man in the world—even better than Inari’s beau. Ayoma had gushed, years ago while spinning around in a filmy new frock.

  Three months later, Ayoma had lain dead in the snow. And where was Inari? Not out there tracking down Ayoma’s killer as she should have been.

  Aralore rubbed her face and tried to scrub away the memories. But they wouldn’t go. She felt a cold hand on her arm and knew Ayoma stood by her, urging her on.

  Avenge me, sis. Make them pay for what they did. Make them all pay.

  I will, sis, you know I will. I’ll raze the enchanted forest to the ground. Aralore shivered as that cold hand squeezed her arm then her sister’s shade receded.

  “They took my brother.” Somnya held a thick slice of bread piled high with cheese, meat and tomato slices out to Aralore, startling her out of her thoughts. She hadn’t noticed Somnya’s approach.

  “I didn’t want to believe it at first. Who does? The Wild Hunt is just a story, but it’s not. It’s real and its seducing young girls and boys right now. In just a few months, they’ll be slaughtered. It makes me sick just thinking about it.” Somnya dashed the tears from her eyes with her free hand while the one holding the offer of food shook. “Eat something, please. You can’t do all the great things I know you’ll do if you starve yourself.”

  Somnya had a point, so Aralore took the bread and nibbled on it. Hunger roused at the first bite and within minutes, she’d eaten the entire snack and drained the cup of water Somnya handed her.

  “Thank you. I needed that.”

  “And we need you,” Somnya squeezed her hand in passing. “Shall I get everyone ready to move out?”

  “Not yet. I still haven’t found what created that damned sky-beam we saw last month. I wanted to test this rock against it.” Aralore tapped the box in frustration as she scanned the stumps of her victims. “It has to be here.”

  Don’t be hasty, my dear one, chided her lying Mama. You’re always so quick to jump to conclusions. Why can’t you be more patient like your sister?

  Yes, like her perfect sister Inari who never put a foot or a word wrong in her life. Inari the paragon, how she hated her. Aralore ground her teeth. Stop that. You’re a grown woman. Jealousy doesn’t become you, and it’s against the Lord’s edicts.

  And yet, her mother had a point. Perhaps she was being a bit too hasty. Aralore cocked her head to one side as she considered the trees dying around her. “If they can moan, can they speak too?”

  Somnya shrugged. “How will you make them talk?”

  Aralore ignored the question as she approached a writhing oak tree. “What happened here last month? Tell me, and I might leave your friends alone.” Aralore waved to the enchanted trees still standing, but they were more than a mile away.

  She hadn’t knocked all of them down, though not for lack of trying. There was a limit to how far the black lumir crystal’s rays could reach, but that limit was increasing each time she used it. Of course, the tree didn’t need to know that. She needed to keep some information to herself.

  “Well? No human mage could have created that eyesore last month, so what was its true cause?”

  The tree moaned but formed no actual words.

  “Tell me!” Aralore struck it, but her fists didn’t do any damage. She pulled her fist back for another blow, but a hand landed on her arm, stopping her.

  “Allow me.” The look in Velor’s eyes convinced her to back away and let him try. He nodded to her and raised his sword.

  Aralore rubbed her hands together unable to contain her glee as his sword flash down and severed a limb. The black branch landed on the magic-leeched ground and rolled while the tree screamed in protest. Other trees screamed and, in the distance, a few trees still upright and animated with magic, charged forward, but they stopped when Aralore laid her hand on the box.

  “Give me a reason to open it,” she hissed. “Or tell us what we want to know, and we’ll go.”

  A soft sound drew Aralore’s attention as Velor hacked off another branch. She pivoted but nothing new met her searching gaze. Behind her was flattened foliage drained of its enchantments. But she’d heard something—a snatch of song on the wind maybe, but it was gone now.

  Enchanted trees glared at her with their eyeless trunks, but none dared raise a branch to stop her—the fools! They remained stock-still despite the breeze ruffling Aralore’s braid. God, they were so unnatural!

  They must be purged. She stroked the lacquered lid of the box resting on the boulder. Velor didn’t raise his sword again. There were no more branches to cut off and the tree was no longer writhing. A gray shape floated out of the oak as its trunk collapsed in on itself. Who knew trees had ghosts?

  A smile cleaved her lips as Aralore opened the box and unleashed the devil’s rock. It caught the gray shape and gobbled it up as Aralore held back laughter. Who cares if this is the right spot? I’ll make Mount Eredren my test. I’ll drain its rocks of magic and see how long that monstrosity stands.

  Yes, eradicate it.

  Aralore started at the strange voice in her head and lowered the lid. Was the Queen of All Trees in her mind again? Spinning on her heel, she scanned the clearing.

  Grass grew, and shrubs soaked in the sun. But there was nothing indicating a column of white light had speared the sky from this spot nor was there a certain thousand-foot tall silver monstrosity either. Pity, she couldn’t wait to turn the black lumir stone on her.

  Could her calculations be off? Aralore chewed her lip. It was possible since she’d viewed the sky-beam from a considerable distance away. What was the harm in walking for a few more miles?

  With a shrug, Aralore opened the box again. Darkness hammered the trees across from her. They screamed as they fell, and she laughed until she remembered this was just the warm-up. The main event couldn't commence until the guest of honor arrived—Prelate Zyantalus Arron. Aralore faced southward, but there was still no signal yet.

  Mount Eredren’s snowpack flashed in the westering sun until something occluded it. A black shape circled the peak. It was too large to be any bird she’d ever seen, and its profile was all wrong. Aralore shaded her eyes.

  “What is that?” she asked as Somnya flanked her.

  “It looks man-shaped, but I see wings. It must be a mirage.”

  But as Somnya stopped speaking, a dark voice whispered on the wind. “Come, sinners, to your dark Father fly. At my side, thy time is nigh.”

  Somnya took a step toward Mount Eredren and Aralore almost did too, so strong was the pull of that voice. It was a magnet drawing them back.

  “I know what that thing is.”

  “What?” Somnya asked in a daze.

  “The enemy of our God—the last war is upon us! Don’t you see? We’re called to fight.” Aralore crowed with glee. At last, the war all her teachers had spoken of was here. She drew her sword then stopped when its mirrored length reflected a large white box.

  A cold hand gripped her wrist. She tried to shake it off. It was manacling her sword hand and preventing her from rushing off to join the war to end all wars.

  Avenge me, my sister, my twin, Ayoma whispered in her ear. So long as a single enchanted tree stands, the hunt will have a refuge. I can’t rest until they’re all dead. Kill them, my sister, my twin. Avenge all those loved and lost to their insatiable bloodlust. Kill them all, for me.

  That cold stole down her arm numbing it as a translucent hand forced Aralore to sheathe her blade. More and more ghosts flocked to her. They gripped her arms and tu
rned her toward the boulder and the box. It swelled until she could see only the box and its dark passenger.

  Avenge us. Kill the Wild Hunt. They urged.

  Aralore nodded and reached for the box.

  Unnatural, murmured his magic as Sarn regarded the menhirs towering over him, and he agreed.

  Those pale stones standing sentinel at the edge of the meadow were altered somehow since he’d last saw them a month ago. Sarn touched the nearest one, and it oscillated under his hand. Were they emitting the low hum vibrating his bones?

  Had they done that last month? Sarn searched his memory, but Shade’s veiled face surfaced and fixed sorrowful eyes on him until he stopped. It was no good. His friend’s death loomed too large in his memory of that day obscuring everything else.

  “Papa? What are you doing?” Ran tugged his pant leg, and the sight disoriented Sarn who was used to seeing his son at close range.

  Halfway across the meadow, Ran had decided to run alongside him and Saveen like an eager puppy. Saveen was also looking at him, waiting for answers. Sarn scrubbed a hand over his face then regarded those stones again. They didn’t feel right, but neither did he. His hand still hurt, but it was down to a dull, ignorable throb now. With luck, it would stay that way until he found his Queen and asked her to fix it.

  Her call was high and sweet, lilting just on the edge of perception as her song tugged him along in its wake but under it, dark voices throbbed, and they too had their hooks in him.

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

  That voice—it seized his marked hand and jerked Sarn hard to the left. He almost fell as the command lacing it mastered him until her wordless summon muted that fell voice. Sarn shook his aching head. Blood dripped from his nose onto his hand—not a good sign. Getting outside was supposed to quiet the voices tearing his sanity apart, but their tug-of-war only increased with every step he took away from the mountain.

  What the hell is wrong with me? His head was so crowded, but he stepped between his son and those damned stones just in the nick of time. His ever-curious son walked into the backs of his legs instead of into the field those stones generated. It hovered on the edge of sight, but squinting didn’t bring its rainbow-hued moiré into focus.