Curse Breaker Omnibus

by Melinda Kucsera

  Ran smiled up at J.C. and he couldn’t help smiling back despite the gravity of the situation.

  “Good, we can talk as we walk.” Thank you, Father, for an amenable guide. In fact, he liked Sarn and his son quite a bit.

  Sarn nodded and winced when that movement made his head throb. “Sounds good. Just head straight. There’s a trail up the north side—it’s directly in front of us. There’s a door there.”

  Ran’s eyes lit up at the mention. “Yes, it’s a secret. I ‘member where it is.” The boy bounded off dragging his still confused father in his wake.

  Whatever the cost, that sunny boy won’t see the Adversary’s evil. This I swear on my sacred heart. J.C. squeezed his free hand into a fist and allowed a few drops to fall as the enthusiastic boy towed him too.

  Ships and Spells

  “There’s no one there.”

  Startled by the sudden intrusion on her personal mission, Inari halted and took a moment to calm her racing heart. Nothing the young man had said registered, but the figurehead on the boat’s prow did and it swelled to take up all her attention.

  “What do you mean?”

  “Just what I said. A couple hours ago, a guy showed up and they all cleared out leaving no one behind to guard their ship. I mean not that it needs guarding. Our docks are quite secure but—” he trailed off, shrugging at the irregularity.

  She knew what he was thinking. The lack of guards was telling. It meant nothing of value was left aboard the ship. Inari took a deep breath. Guilt surfed on the rising tide of relief souring it. She had escaped the long overdue confrontation with her sister because of ill-timing, or was it fate pushing their paths apart? Was there a more appropriate meeting to come?

  Inari quashed those troublesome thoughts and focused on the young man rolling a barrel up the shore. Sweat soaked through his shirt, and his cutoff sleeves displayed well-muscled arms darkened from toiling in the sun.

  “When did they arrive?” she hurried to catch up to him. His long strides had carried him almost out of earshot.

  “Which time?” he threw over his shoulder. His question stopped Inari in her tracks.

  Aralore had come and gone more than once? Why had no one noticed? She glanced at the ship’s prow and realized the Seekers had updated their symbology. The broken circle still held pride of place, but it was now accompanied by a flame and two interlocking jagged wheels. The arrangement sent a shiver of foreboding up Inari’s spine.

  “Is something wrong?” The young man had stopped to stare at her. He wiped sweat from his brow onto his bare forearm even though there was no sleeve to absorb it.

  “When did that ship arrive the first time?” Inari pointed to the longship last in line.

  “Two weeks ago, Friday why?”

  Inari ignored his question. “Did anyone leave the ship?”

  He nodded. “Yeah, a woman did. She went back and forth a few times. What is this all about? Do you know who owns that ship?”

  Inari gave a slow nod. Her mind raced. The implications of what this young man had reported planted a sick fear in her heart. Aralore must know about Sarn. Why else would she visit at least twice in the last two weeks? Some rumor of him must have reached her magic-hating order and they must have dispatched her to find and destroy him. She must warn Jerlo and her husband right now. Maybe there was still time to save Sarn.

  Before she turned to go, a memory caught her. It was a comment Ranispara had made—something about Sarn having a friend who worked on the docks. Was this man his friend, Will? If he was, he could get a message to Sarn more quickly than she could. How can I find out without compromising the secret of his existence?

  “Have you told anyone else about this?”

  “Should I have? You’ve asked a lot of questions but offered no answers in return. You remind me of someone I know.”

  His offhand comment could describe Sarn. Best if she kept silent about that young man until she was certain. “You haven’t mentioned this ship to the Rangers by any chance?”

  Again, he shook his head, his suspicion mounting. “Who are you?”

  “Inari—I’m the wife of Nolo. He’s second in command of the Rangers.”

  He nodded as the mystery cleared itself up to his satisfaction. “Then you know my friend. He’s tall, taciturn and not talking to me lately.”

  Inari nodded. She guessed the fellow to be in his late teens putting him close in age to Sarn, who was himself only twenty. “If you see him—”

  “As I said before, he’s not talking to me or anyone these days. By the way, I’m Will and if there’s nothing else you need, I have work to do.”

  Without another word, Will turned and kicked the barrel. It rolled five-feet before slowing. Muttering a curse, he bent and gave it a good shove.

  Inari raised her voice, so she’d be heard over the surf and the rattling of whatever was inside that barrel. “If you do see Sarn, tell him the Seekers are here.”

  Will gave her a dismissive wave over his shoulder, but made no other reply. Hopefully, he’d heard and would pass on her warning because Sarn needed to know.

  The Seekers’ vessel drew Inari’s gaze. It was a blight on the beach, and its emptiness perturbed her. What are you up to Aralore?

  Inari pivoted and struck out across the meadow toward the trail snaking up the mountain’s south face. Twin doors, one open and one closed, faced the river. Their forty by twenty-foot expanse refracted the angled sunlight offering a false invitation to all river-going vessels.

  Come here, it said. Enter my shining doors. Find rest in the twisting dark of my maze.

  Reluctance to set foot back inside the stronghold she’d called home for ten years made her steps drag. In her soul the travel song played, urging her to take the path less traveled by—the one leading into the forest, not the mountain.

  Leave all civilization offered in the dust it ground everyone into, whispered the secret voice, the one her heart used to speak to her of its desires. And one day she would go, but not without her son, Nolo and her best friend, Ranispara.

  First, she must warn Jerlo. The Seekers had come calling at last. Maybe it was still early enough to keep them from finding Sarn.

  Sarn staggered, caught himself on a boulder, then pushed on up the thin ribbon of gravel winding up Mount Eredren’s northern flank. Ahead, Ran charged up the slope, all but towing him. Bushes dotting the trail blurred and Sarn blinked to clear his sight, but it didn’t help.

  Everything was shifted just a little to the left of true. If I could just move everything to the right just a hair, my head would stop hurting and everything would make sense.

  Yes. Everything’s off-kilter. We don’t like it, said his magic and it made his head ache anew.

  Sarn winced and touched his forehead. “I’ll be okay,” he told his son and J.C. then he frowned at the blood spotting J.C.’s white tunic. “You’re hurt.”

  “It’s just a flesh wound, it’ll heal.”

  The bells of Mount Eredren rang the hours, and Ran paused to count them on his fingers.

  “Seventeen,” he said, flashing ten then seven fingers at Sarn. “What happened to sixteen?”

  “It must have rung while we were outside.”

  Had the whole episode with the Ægeldar only taken a couple hours to resolve? It was possible since Bear had jumped them around. Surely more had happened than that. I’m forgetting something. Something else happened in between. Sarn massaged his forehead, but no answers came.

  “We’ll get dinner, soon?” Ran waited for a response. His small body blocked the narrow path knifing its way up the steep grade.

  Sarn looked to J.C. for the answer. “What were the terms of our bargain?”

  Before he could answer, the mountain quaked. They struggled to stay upright as another tremor shook the mountain. Rocks broke free and tumbled down the trail. Sarn turned sideways and pulled his son behind him. Then he extended his hand and magic fanned out, erecting a green wall between them and the projectiles. T
he rocks struck his shield and bounced off.

  “Why’s the mountain shaking again?” Ran asked. He gripped Sarn’s pant leg as he peered around him.

  “I don’t know—” Sarn started to say but his map manifested, and it eclipsed everything for a moment. A star kindled on the third level in the library— “Miren.” Oh Fates, I forgot all about my brother.

  Miren didn’t know about the monster in the Ægeldar or the black lumir crystal stealing all the light in the Lower Quarters because Miren had been in school when it happened. But the school day ended a while ago, and Miren would head to the Lower Quarters unless intercepted.

  J.C. laid a hand on Sarn’s shoulder and for a moment, a second pair of eyes regarded the map inside his head then the eerie sensation faded. J.C. squeezed his shoulder.

  “What do you see, Papa?”

  “My brother—your uncle—I must warn him.”

  The mountain shook again and this time, screams split the air.

  “There’s no time.”

  “What aren’t you telling me?” Sarn turned to face J.C. but kept the shield up. More rocks collided with it and careened away from the path.

  “I came here to stop this, but I won’t know what this is until I get inside.” J.C. nodded to the mountain and its continued quaking. “And I’ll need your help. There are rules.”

  “What rules? What are you talking about and what about my brother?”

  There was someone else too. Someone had been with them earlier, but that person was a shadow of a worry Sarn couldn’t call to mind.

  “The mountain’s warded. I can’t see what’s happening in there, but I know who’s causing the shaking.”

  “Who?”

  J.C. shook his head. His face was a mask of regret. “I am. This place is warded against my kind, but I must get inside.”

  Everything J.C. said rang with sincerity, so Sarn nodded. “Stay behind me,” he said to his wide-eyed son, and Ran echoed his nod. Then he led on.

  When no more rocks fell, Sarn let the shield go. It retracted into his hand and rushed back to its den. He must intercept Miren before his brother reached the Lower Quarters.

  “I’m hungry, Papa. Lunch was a long time ago.”

  Of course, it was and there was no meal waiting for them in his cave. Sarn gnashed his teeth in frustration and revised his plan again. Where could he get food and fast?

  His magic fired off a warning triggering his head map. Dirk’s icon was in the Ægeldar. Dirk—the black lumir crystal—gray writhing trees—her branches weaving a complex pattern then white drowning him. Everything came rushing back in too vivid snatches, rocking Sarn on his heels.

  “Papa?”

  “Shit.”

  “You said a bad word.” Ran shook his finger at Sarn.

  “Sorry, I’m not having a good day.”

  “Why not?”

  “Because she stole my memory again, but it’s all back now and I know what I must do.”

  “Help me get inside.” J.C. squeezed his shoulder. “I can help, but not from out here, not without causing more harm than good.”

  Right. That was first on the list, so Sarn nodded then he sank to his knees as he caught the confused look on his son’s face. Oh, surely not, she wouldn’t—she couldn’t—Oh, please not my son.

  “What do you remember?” Sarn watched his son’s eyes.

  “You made a bargain with J.C. We saw the Queen Tree and you told me why bad people hurt the other trees. Then we came back here. Why do you ask?”

  Sarn hugged his still confused son then straightened. She hadn’t harmed his son after all. I knew she wouldn’t.

  “I thought she took the memory away from you.”

  “Is that why we fell when the light went away? I dreamed someone was tugging something away from me, but I pulled hard and woke up. Things were a little confusing after that, but I ‘member everything now.”

  Sarn looked to J.C. who nodded confirming his worst fears. She had tried to take Ran’s memory away and she might have succeeded for a little while. “Why would she do that?”

  “Because he’d jog your memory with comments and questions.” J.C. held both hands up in surrender. “I’m not saying I agree with her decision because I don’t.”

  “But he’s only a child.”

  And knowing she’d do such a thing to someone so innocent cut Sarn to the quick. He felt like a pawn falling through her branches. He pivoted to face the distant forest and knew if he pitched his thoughts to her, she’d hear him. Is that all I am to you—a game piece you can move when it pleases you?

  So Fall We All

  People pushed into the cavern, blank-eyed, led by their sins and that insistent call. It throbbed in their bones and buzzed in their ears driving out all thoughts save one—an offer of surcease.

  “Come, sinner, thy time is nigh.”

  Yes. Oh, how he wanted that. Hands extended to pluck that promise from the air, Jersten strode past his shambling neighbors, weaving through gaps that opened before him as if his passage toward the hooded man who offered everything he wanted was preordained.

  And why shouldn’t it be? That voice whispered in the back of his mind. The one who’d suggested all his best schemes.

  All his life, Jersten had felt Lady Luck’s hand on his shoulder, propelling him toward some great deed. That deed now sparkled before him. It stretched in a wall of coruscating white from floor to ceiling. People threw themselves at it, screaming in ecstasy. They struck that glorious light and writhed, but their exultation turned to shouts of pain as they slumped down.

  On it went—bodies hit that wall of light then fell as new ones replaced them in an endless cycle. After a time, the light-wall stuttered, and Jersten smiled. This was his moment—his triumph. He got a running start and timed it just right. When the light cut out for a moment, he rushed through and jinked left to avoid falling rocks the size of watermelons.

  A malevolent force buffeted him as it swept past. He careened around piles of rubble following the commands of that insistent voice, but he stopped when a thin substance shimmered over a yawning chasm.

  Entranced, Jersten stared at it as he fingered the stone in his pocket.

  Throw me, it seemed to say.

  But Jersten gripped his prize. No, I paid good money for you.

  You have another one in your cave. Throw me.

  Jersten shook his head.

  Within that shifting radiance, patterns emerged. Were those circles? Yes, they were. I’ve seen that pattern somewhere before. As Jersten thought that, the spell pulling him along lessened then broke altogether as he recalled where, but they were green then and those radiant wheels had turned in a young mage’s eyes.

  Jersten blinked. Where under the mountain am I? Because he didn’t recognize this place.

  Where is Sarn? He looked around. Wasn’t that brat here just a moment ago? Yes, he’d said something about needing to go outside. The crowd must have swept him away just as it had done to Jersten.

  I need to talk to him about those strange rocks. I need that brat to identify them. Jersten squeezed the rock in his pocket. Just touching it made his money-hand tingle.

  Jersten fell as a man plowed into his back. He rolled and struggled to get out of the way before he was trampled by the blank-eyed mob surging toward that shining thing. Grabbing hold of the wall, Jersten pulled himself up and stared.

  A hooded man turned his crooked smile on the rank upon ranks of fodder for his schemes. He floated above their heads, his skeletal hands blurring as he directed the shadows herding people into this cavern.

  Saints preserve me, I was almost one of them. Jersten shuddered, glad Lady Luck had delivered him once again from trouble. But the question remained—what Power was that floating thing in the black robes?

  Jersten dredged up the Litany of Allies, Enemies and Other Folk and ran through the stanzas he could recall seeking a match. But the years had degraded his memory of that epic poem. Who knew his life would depend on it one
day? Shayari wasn’t the wild place it had been when that poem was written.

  Too bad Sarn wasn’t around. That mage was still young enough to recall the entire poem. Jersten gripped the black-veined rock in his pocket and the voice stopped murmuring in the back of his mind.

  Beside that hooded skeleton stood a grim-faced Dirk. Now, that was interesting. What’s your angle in all this?

  The Queen of All Trees didn’t answer nor explain her actions. Sarn waited until his son grew restive. His hands fisted at his sides driving the splinter in deeper. Heat chased ice as the marks spread across his shoulder and down his chest. But Sarn ignored it. As he fixated on the thought of someone messing with his son’s mind, his anger grew until he could scarce contain it.

  My son is not a pawn in your game. Interfere with him in any way and I’ll—but he couldn’t complete the threat because, before today, she’d only ever helped him.

  “Papa? I’m okay. It was just a weird dream.”

  Sarn nodded and laid his unmarked hand on his son’s head. A tear traced the scar running down the left side of his face as he shook his left fist out. His nails had bit into his marked palm drawing blood to seal a threat he couldn’t make because, in her own way, she was trying to protect them. Some of the marks on his arm receded, making his skin crawl as he forgave her.

  “I can’t hate her for protecting us from the magic-killer,” Sarn said as he turned to the hidden door. It was just around the next bend in the switchback trail.

  “No, you can’t, nor can you help someone who doesn’t want to be helped. But I do want your help if you’ll give it. You’ve proven to be a very resourceful man.” J.C. held out a hand, and they clasped forearms. And Ran took that moment of inattention to wander off.