Cursebreaker

by Carol A Park

  “Vaughn. Where is here, exactly?”

  “I…guess we made it. To the…heavens.” But his stomach felt sick as he said it. That didn’t seem right. Something had gone wrong. He could feel it in his blood.

  Ivana’s gaze slid over the barren plain, taking in the rock formations, the blood-red sky.

  In the distance, Vaughn heard the first sound other than their own conversation.

  A wolf howled. Distorted. Strangled. And then another. Something crashed.

  Dark shapes began to move against the blood-red sky.

  Vaughn met Ivana’s eyes, and he could tell she had the same thought he did.

  This wasn’t the heavens.

  It was the abyss.

  Chapter Twenty-Nine

  Sky-Fire

  Driskell hurried through the empty streets. He glanced at the sky overhead, anxiously searching for any sign that the sky-fire had begun.

  No streaks of fire yet. He still had time.

  Ugh. What had he been thinking, going to visit Tania tonight, of all nights?

  But she had insisted since he hadn’t been to see her in several weeks. Of course, he hadn’t intended to stay this late tonight of all nights—and then he had been drawn into a mock tapolli tournament and completely lost track of time.

  He should have just stayed with her family, but every moment spent with them as of late had been more than uncomfortable. He had wanted to be back in his room, away from their prying questions about the Xambrian ambassador and secret meetings and rumors of a Conclave army on their border. They knew he had to know something, and even Tania, who was usually so understanding of the sensitive nature of his job, was becoming annoyed that he wouldn’t tell her anything.

  He was sure he could make it back in time if he used the guards’ stair. It was carved into the inside of the mountain, reserved for the Watch and those few with unrestricted access to all eight tiers.

  His hands shook as he unlocked the gate to the entrance on the fourth tier and then shut it firmly behind him, but his long legs carried him swiftly up. He paused at the opening to the fifth tier—the Temple tier—to peer through the gate and check the sky one more time.

  His heart sank. The first embers were streaking across the sky.

  He swore and increased his pace. The sixth tier passed, and then somewhere between the sixth and seventh, his destination, he turned a corner—

  To find a tear forming directly in front of him.

  He tripped in his shock and banged his knee on a step. Temoth, have mercy!

  A shiver ran through his body, cold followed by a rush of warmth—a strange feeling, but he chalked it up to the terror of staring at that horrible tear, waiting for the inevitable.

  He shook his head, flinging off the paralysis. Why wait for the inevitable, idiot?

  The government tier was but a few paces beyond the next corner.

  He took a deep breath and raced past the tear as it continued to lengthen and then open, the black flames almost brushing against his sleeve as he scooted by.

  Ignoring the smarting of his knee, he fled up the final flight of stairs. His heart thudded in time with the slap of his shoes against the steps, every sense vigilant as he listened for some sign that there was a bloodbane behind him, chasing him, about to tear his throat out…

  A cold, shrill shriek knifed through him, but he didn’t look. He couldn’t look, or he’d freeze again.

  He wasn’t cut out for this sort of thing.

  He reached the gate at the government tier, flung it open, and then slammed it shut behind him.

  The lock clicked into place, and only then did he dare to glance behind him.

  A bloodhawk hurled itself against the gate. He stumbled back, holding his hands out as if to stop the creature if it charged him, but though the gate buckled, it held—for now. The bloodhawk screeched in rage, retreated, and then tried again.

  Crash!

  He heard the shouts of nearby Watchmen already, waiting for trouble, so he did the only sensible thing one could do: He ran.

  He passed the Watchmen on the way, but he didn’t stop. Instead, he sprinted until he reached the small government dormitory, wound his way through the corridors, and burst into his room.

  He slammed the door behind him, panting.

  He could have gone to the safe room in the Ri’s manor, but his own room was closer, and they would have already locked and closed it by now.

  Besides, his own quarters were buried deep enough within the stone building that it was an unlikely target for a roaming bloodbane.

  He slumped into his armchair, willing his heart to stop pounding so fiercely, and wiped his sweaty hands on his trousers.

  Only then did he see his knee.

  His trousers had torn, and there, shimmering in the dim light, was a patch of silver, sunk into the scrape on his knee like a metallic scab.

  He stared at it, uncomprehending.

  He touched the wound and rubbed at the silver. Some of it flaked off under his touch.

  Only then did he understand.

  He shot out of his chair, knocking it over backward. No, he thought. No! It couldn’t be.

  Papers and pens and inkwells scattered before his hand as he groped unseeing for his letter opener.

  Finding it, he scraped the rest of the silvery scab away from the wound on his knee.

  Fresh, red blood seeped up beneath, and a shock of relief passed through him. His imagination—maybe the bloodhawk had bled on the stair and he had landed in it, maybe—

  The blood shimmered, and, just like Yaotel’s, it turned into silver.

  He dropped the letter opener with a clatter.

  He…He had been changed. He was a Banebringer.

  He righted the chair and sank back down into it, one hand pressed to his forehead, his mind spinning with the implications.

  I’ll have to fill out my own form, was the only coherent thought that would come to him.

  Then the rest rushed in.

  Would he have to give up his post as attaché? Would he be forced to join this group—these Ichtaca? Did he ever have a hope of being appointed Gan? If ever there was a good time and place to be changed, this was it—but their alliance was only known to a few. He could still be arrested if caught.

  He shuddered. Dealt with. Sedated. And he didn’t know if Tanuac or Nahua would—or could—come to his rescue.

  His heart thudded once and then twisted inside him. And Tania. Would she…?

  He had already planned the proposal. Her family had already sanctioned the union. Everything was in place; he had merely been waiting for the day to come.

  Now her family would never continue to sanction the union. Tania herself might well hate him, might even turn him in. But she wouldn’t do that, would she? She loved him.

  And yet, he had heard enough stories from the Banebringers in Marakyn to know that it wouldn’t be unheard of.

  He felt sick. No. No one needed to know. Even the Ichtaca, even Nahua. He would hide it as long as possible, hoping that the Banebringer plight would soon improve in Marakyn.

  Yes. That was the right course, for now. He would hide it. Maybe, maybe, when Danton got back from wherever he’d gone, he could ask his advice.

  He stood up and went to the washbasin, poured water on a rag, and scrubbed furiously at his knee, removing all the evidence.

  He’d burn the trousers. Scrub the carpet.

  He looked frantically around. He could do this. He. Could. Do. This.

  He had to.

  Chapter Thirty

  God of Fire

  “I’m going to kill you,” Ivana said through clenched teeth. “I am—I am literally going to kill you.”

  Vaughn seemed justifiably alarmed. “All right. Let’s calm down and think this through.”

  “This is your fault! Go visit the gods, you say, like it’s a merry jaunt to your gods-damned kindly grandmother’s house!”

  Vaughn spread his hands. “How was I supposed to know it
would take us to the abyss? None of the texts said anything about that! In fact, quite the opposite—”

  “I’m not even supposed to be here!”

  “That’s not my fault, either!” Vaughn protested.

  The howling drew nearer.

  Ivana drew in a deep breath. Calm. They could worry about the details of how and why later. For now… “Why don’t you make us invisible so we can figure out where in the abyss we’re supposed to go now?” She paused, realizing what she’d just said. “And that was not supposed to be a joke.”

  He didn’t smile. “I can’t.”

  “What do you mean, you can’t?”

  He held out his hand. “I’m trying again right now. It doesn’t work. Not like when I was in Airell’s dungeons. It just…doesn’t work at all.”

  “Oh, gods,” Ivana muttered, running a hand through her hair. All the ways she could have died in her life, and she was going to be torn to shreds by a bloodbane in the abyss itself.

  She eyed the approaching shapes. But she wasn’t going to go out without a fight. “Well, we’re certainly not going to accomplish anything by standing around in the open—except dying.” She pointed toward a particularly large boulder. “Maybe there’s a crevice we can hide in.”

  They jogged over to the rock formation. It was lumpy, mottled brown and grey with red mossy growths all over it, and it was the size of a modest house.

  She shoved him in the opposite direction. “Run around that way and meet me on the other side.”

  He obeyed, and she darted around, looking for anything that might hide them.

  “Over here!” Vaughn shouted.

  She turned and joined him on the other side of the formation. The rock rose at one side, leaving a hole that someone might be able to squirm their way into, underneath the rock, out of sight. Or two someones, though it would be tight.

  “Go on,” Vaughn said, looking behind them. The shapes in the distance had disappeared behind the bulk of the rock, which was good. Maybe the bloodbane wouldn’t see them trying to hide.

  Ivana turned, dropped to her stomach, and squirmed her way under the rock, feet first. Vaughn dropped beside her and did the same, and then pulled his pack and bow in next to him.

  They managed to squeeze themselves far enough back that no body parts were hanging out, but it was by no means perfect.

  The howls sounded closer, and Ivana peered out into the gloom. She was certain she saw a bloodhawk circling in the sky on the horizon.

  Then the thudding of feet. Many feet. The ground began to tremble.

  Then the feet of a bloodwolf charged around the edge of the rock and came to a halt near where they hid.

  The bloodwolf’s nose dipped to the ground, and it snuffled around the rock, coming closer to where they lay, closer…

  It stopped right at the crevice, long, sharp teeth clearly in view, drool dripping off its fangs, down its jaw, onto the ground. It knows we’re here. It can smell us.

  Then it turned its head, and one white, pupil-less eye came into view.

  “Damn,” Vaughn whispered.

  The bloodwolf lifted its head and howled. The ground trembled again, and a few moments later, half a dozen more bloodwolves burst out from around the rock.

  The first one stuck its head into the crevice and wriggled toward them.

  Ivana lashed out at it with her dagger, even though it was ultimately futile, and Vaughn hurled a rock at it.

  She nicked its nose, and it snarled and snapped its teeth.

  She had vivid memories of those same sort of teeth impaling her thigh and nearly ripping off her leg.

  They didn’t stand a chance.

  Beside her, Vaughn caught her other hand, intertwining his fingers in hers, and she didn’t think twice about grasping it back.

  The other bloodwolves now crowded behind the first, snarling and snapping at each other as they jostled to be the next in, while the first drew closer and opened its jaws.

  Ivana threw her arm in front of her face and cringed back—

  And then the rock above their heads heaved.

  Ivana put her arm down, astonished. “What in the—?”

  It heaved again, and then it groaned—like the long, loud creak of a rusty door being slowly inched open.

  The bloodwolves now fought with each other to retreat, and the moment they had space, both she and Vaughn scrambled out of their hole. The rock unfurled itself until it stood on two gigantic legs, now much taller than a modest house. A misshapen head sat on top of what she supposed was its neck, and two burning, white eyes flared in the depths of two deep sockets. It cocked its head and looked down at them, as if considering what sort of curiosity they were before crushing them to death.

  Vaughn slung his bow off his back and started stringing it.

  Ivana admired his effort, but she didn’t know what they could do against such a hoard, without even Vaughn’s magic at his disposal. The bloodwolves had backed away, true, snarling and shaking their heads at the rock creature, but there were at least a dozen of them, and they had surrounded Vaughn, Ivana, and the rock monster. Four bloodhawks also circled in the sky overhead, and the giant rock monster loomed over them.

  Vaughn loosed an arrow at the thing’s chest, but the arrow bounced off.

  “Damn,” he muttered. “Even with beastblood.”

  “The beastblood probably isn’t working…” Ivana reminded him.

  “Damn,” he said again.

  It didn’t seem bothered by the arrow at all. One enormous hand reached slowly down toward them, whether to grab them, smash them, poke them—Ivana didn’t know, but no option could be good, and they had nowhere to run, couldn’t even back away without backing into the waiting bloodwolves.

  The hand paused. The bloodwolves stopped snarling and began to whine.

  Then a giant, flaming sword arced through the air from behind them and sliced the rock monster’s arm clean off.

  Ivana swore and yanked Vaughn back just as the arm fell with a crash right where they had been standing.

  The rock monster howled, picked up its own arm, and shook it at something beyond Vaughn’s and Ivana’s shoulders. Then it turned and stomped off in an almost comically human gesture of offense, kicking one of the lingering bloodwolves out of the way as it went.

  “Well, well, well. What have we here?” a deep, booming voice said from behind them.

  Vaughn turned, looked up, scrambled backward, and then promptly fell onto his rear. He shielded his eyes against the sudden brightness of the being in front of him.

  Ivana crouched next to him, also squinting, and he lowered his hand, gaping at their…rescuer? Or did this just mean a worse fate?

  He’d never seen or heard of a bloodbane that looked like this; it looked human—a human that stood at least as tall as the rock monster—perhaps twenty feet—and was clothed in blue, white, and orange flames.

  A feathered serpent was wrapped around its neck—a live one, by the looks of it—and the creature stared at them curiously, its tongue flicking out into the air in their direction.

  A flaming hand rose to stroke the serpent’s head. “Lohti. You’ll scare our guests.”

  The flames diminished slowly until they were merely a subtle orange-and-yellow flicker around the giant flaming man’s feet. Now that most of the flames were gone, Vaughn could see that the man wore little more than a loincloth—if a handsomely embroidered one—and an odd sort of short cape draped around one shoulder and tied at the neck. His no-longer-flaming sword was back in its sheath belted at his waist.

  “My gods,” Ivana whispered.

  The man tilted his head and pinned her with flickering orange pupils. “Yes. Yes, that’s what they used to say, anyway.” He frowned.

  It couldn’t be. It—this—man—being—was one of the heretic gods?

  Vaughn’s head was spinning. He was dreaming. This was all a dream.

  The bloodwolves were still hanging nearby. One darted toward Vaughn, and the man, with
a single heavy kick, punted it, causing it to yelp as it soared fifty feet across the plain. The rest of the bloodwolves slunk away one by one.

  An irritated look flashed across the man’s face. “Let’s go somewhere we can talk without these annoying creatures nipping about our heels, shall we?” He waved his hands in the air at the bloodhawks. “Shoo. Shoo!” He began to stride off, and then turned back toward Vaughn and Ivana when they hadn’t moved. “Well? Follow me. They’ll return if you tarry.”

  Vaughn and Ivana exchanged a glance.

  There was no decision to be made. They had no choice.

  They followed him.

  The flaming man led them on at a steady clip. They had to alternate between running and walking to keep up with him, and it seemed that he was still walking slower than he might have normally.

  They traveled across miles of the same featureless, barren plain, though now and again they saw it pockmarked with black, burned circles.

  Bloodbane of varying sorts lurked within sight the whole trip, as if waiting for the god to abandon his charges so they could tear them apart. By the time they reached their destination, they had gathered a large entourage.

  That was enough to spur Vaughn on, despite his growing exhaustion.

  Just when Vaughn thought he was about to collapse, a large building came into view.

  It looked exactly like one of the ancient shrines to the heretic gods—only larger and longer. The flaming man was able to walk into the rectangular opening without ducking, and Vaughn felt like an ant in comparison. Before following him in, Vaughn looked back—and all around, he noticed slightly smaller versions of the shrine scattered about in a pattern that almost seemed city-like.

  The inside of the shrine was alight with flame—but this time from lanterns hanging on every wall. The flaming man led them through a cavernous stone hall three times the height of the man himself, and into another opening, and only then did he stop.

  The room was, by all appearances, a large dining hall. A long, low table took up the middle of the room, and a feast was laid out on it.

  But there was no one in the room to feast.