by Todd Shryock
Chrysala circled the hill, picking up a beneficial warm air current as she gained altitude. The students continued to stare upwards, but they had shrunk to a tiny dark dot on one of the many gently rolling hills in the area. When she reached the height she wanted, she started to the south, flapping her long wings. The eagle form flew quickly, and the excellent eyesight of the bird quickly picked up the distant dark trail cutting across the waist-high brown grass of late summer. In some areas, the trail, which averaged probably ten feet wide, flared out a bit where the flames had continued on their own before dying out.
She followed the trail for several miles, not being sure whether she was heading the right direction. Had the beast come from the south, or was it heading south? She should have asked Tark if he knew before she left. Small patches of white smoke drifted through the grass ahead, and a small locust tree stood burning near the trail. She decided she was close, so swooped in low near the tree and landed in the grass. The smell of smoke burned her nostrils as she retook her human form. From ground level, the trails of destruction were worse than they looked from the air. The boy's description had been accurate, for it did appear a giant ball of fire had rolled through here. At the center of the trail, everything was burned to the ground and still smoldered. Five feet on either side of the center, the landscape was blackened and burned, and even beyond that, the heat had dried up the nearby plants.
She examined the burned plants and the grass around it. The source of the fire must be magical, because normal fire would have torched the entire prairie. This seemed to have burned only what it came in contact with, then went out. She knew from her own magic that once the enchantment was gone, the fire usually died. The magic was the source of heat, and without it, there was no flame.
She followed the trail on foot, looking for any clues that would tell her what had done this. The trail disappeared onto a rocky patch of ground, but the weeds around the stones were scorched, and she could sense something was near. She unsheathed the dagger from her belt and began concentrating on the earth around her to fuel the druid magic.
"I wouldn't come any closer," called a voice from behind a stony outcrop forty paces ahead. The voice sounded human, and was definitely male.
She studied the terrain looking for a glimpse of the creature, but couldn't see it. Was it the boulder itself, perhaps?
"You will get burned," the voice called, its mood more depressed than anything. "If that was your land, I'm sorry. I can't help it."
The voice reminded her of her students. There wasn't much confidence there, and this one had a hint of sadness.
"Why can't you help it?" she asked, still alert for trouble.
A man, probably in his early twenties, jumped up onto the boulder ahead of her. "I dunno. I just can't. I'd like it to go away, but it won't."
"The burning won't go away?"
"Yea." The man sat down on the boulder and began casting stones at another large rock across from him.
Chrysala started forward, but the stranger ignored her. She could see the heat undulating and distorting the air around the man's body.
"You'll get burned," he said dejectedly, skipping another rock across the ground.
She drew strength and protection from the ground as she walked, deflecting the heat away from her. The man glanced at her, then stopped casting stones as she drew closer. His eyebrows knitted together as she came and stood before him. He stood in amazement. "How did you do that?"
"Magic."
The man took a full step backwards on his rock, and for a moment, she thought he was going to run. He watched her for a moment more before sitting back down. "Magic is what did this to me."
She looked at the body of a man, but his demeanor was that of a boy. His hair was unkempt and his clothes were dirty and ragged.
"Why can't you make it stop," she asked as he began skipping stones across the dusty ground.
"I told you, I don't know."
"When did this start?"
The man looked up in the air in thought before throwing his next stone. "At least ten summers."
"What were you doing when this started?" Perhaps the boy stumbled across some magic artifact and was somehow warped. Stranger things had happened. Magic, especially wizard magic, was unpredictable at best.
"Picking apples," he answered flatly.
Her eyebrows raised in surprise. "That's it?" She had expected something far more bizarre than that. Picking apples usually didn't cause one to super heat and torch everything within reach.
"Yep." He threw the last of his rocks and dropped his arms to his lap in boredom.
She studied him as he stared down the hillside. "You're not telling me everything, are you?"
The man glanced at her, then quickly looked away.
"Where were these apples? What aren't you telling me?"
He sighed and stared down at the boulder he was sitting on. "I was picking apples from the orchard near old man Curthor's manor. He had caught me before and warned me to never do it again."
Chrysala was shocked. "Old man Curthor? You mean Curthor the great? Curthor the annihilator? Curthor the dragon slayer?" She laughed out loud, drawing an angry look from the man. "Curthor is rumored to have single-handedly taken on three dragons in his lifetime with nothing more than his magic. Needless to say, the dragons got the worst of it."
"Look, all I know is this old man lived in this great big manor house with all these orchards around it. I was hungry because it wasn't such a good year on the farm. I figured he wouldn't miss a few apples."
"How many did you take?"
"Three."
"Then what happened?"
"When I turned around, old man Curthor was standing there. His face was twisted and red. He screamed at me. He said he would make sure that I would never take anyone's apples ever again. This green lightning came from his hands and shot into me, knocking me out. When I woke up, the heat had started. At first it wasn't much to speak of, but it grew every day." The man stopped talking and began absentmindedly tracing patterns on the rock with his finger.
"What happened then?"
A tear ran down from the corner of the man's eye. It quickly evaporated. "I had to leave my home, for my parents said I was cursed. I couldn't go near them or my home because of the heat. I had to leave the village. I was burning up all the crops."
Tears ran freely down his cheek and evaporated.
"And you've been wandering ever since?"
The man nodded. "I haven't eaten since I left. I never get hungry."
"The magic will do that," Chrysala said, her tone subdued. A decade of cursed wandering for stealing three apples? She wondered if there was more to the story than what she was being told. Maybe the wizard was mentally unstable, or just plain cruel. The length of time the magic lasted was staggering. Chrysala understood the principles of both earth magic and wizard magic, as well as that of the gods. This curse was either being fueled by some sort of enchanted object, or the wizard was still funneling energy to support it.
She looked at the man's ragged clothes, but there was no sign of a charmed amulet, button or broach. Could the wizard be channeling energy from a distance for all these years? The strain would be tremendous. Only a true master wizard would be able to accomplish such a feat. But Curthor, from everything she had heard, was indeed all powerful.
"Has the heat changed at all during the years?" she asked, following a hunch.
The man thought for a moment, then picked up another rock. "Awhile back, the burn area got larger. It used to be just whatever I touched, but now it's everything I come near."
Chrysala nodded in understanding. "The magic has gone wild." The man looked at her in confusion. "You see, when magic stays in one place, or in your case, on one thing, for a long enough period of time, it tends to warp. In some cases, the magic takes on a life of its own. Your curse has done just that. It's growing in size, and will continue to do so."
"Can you make it go away?" he asked, his voice
soft and broken.
"My power is no match for that of Curthor." He hung is head.
"Then there is no hope."
"There is always hope. Come, we will go seek out Curthor and have him remove his curse. You have served more than enough time for your theft."
He looked up at her and almost smiled. "Do you think he'll do it?"
She shrugged. "All we can do is try. Do you remember the way back?"
"Just follow the burns," he said.
She scooped up two handfuls of earth and sprinkled it over both of them. Within moments, she was airborne in the form of the eagle, with a small rabbit held gently in her talons. The trail wound through the countryside for many miles. The man--she realized she had never asked his name--had stayed in basically the same area all these years. The ground around several rocky outcrops was completely scorched, showing his tendency to head for rocks, where there would be less of a reminder of his curse.
After an hour of flight, her enhanced vision spotted a dilapidated manor house amongst many acres of orchards. Weeds grew unchecked throughout the trees, and vines had killed off many of them. Insects had decimated several acres and were spreading to the rest. She glided to a landing on an overgrown brick walkway leading to a large wooden door with a single ring mounted in the middle of it.
Chrysala returned them both to their human form. The man nervously looked around, and stared at the door as if he expected a herd of demons to come thundering through it.
Chrysala walked up to the door and reached for the ring that hung from an iron wolf's head. Before she could touch it, the ring slammed itself against the door three times. The wolf's head bent up to look at her.
"What do you want?" it growled.
"I am Chrysala, a druid. And this man you should know."
The wolf's head looked to her right at the cursed man. "Never seen him before."
"You cursed him, you should."
The wolf's head looked at him again. "I cursed lots of people. What's special about this one?"
Chrysala was growing impatient. "He stole three apples."
"So?"
"You cursed him with a burning touch. Ten years ago."
"Don't remember it," the wolf growled.
"See if this refreshes your memory." Chrysala dropped the magic shield around the man. The door immediately started to smolder, then caught fire. The wolf recoiled, but couldn't escape the heat. His detailed features started to blur as the metal softened then melted all together. "Touch the door."
The man placed his hand against the now blackened door. The last of the wood was incinerated, and the few remaining pieces fell of the hinges. Chrysala raised her heat shield again and stepped through the door into a large room filled with overstuffed furniture. The man stepped through behind her. "I don't even know your name."
"My name is Cal."
"My name is Chrysala."
"Hold it right there," called a voice. A man stood on the stairs that ran parallel to the far wall holding a loaded crossbow in his hand.
"We want to see Curthor," she demanded.
"I am he."
Chrysala laughed. "Curthor the annihilator wouldn't need a crossbow for protection."
"I don't want to waste my power on the likes of you," he retorted.
Chrysala shook her head. "Lies." The crossbow the man was holding was in poor shape, and she wondered if it would even fire. A bolt suddenly whizzed by her shoulder and stuck in the door frame.
"Oops," said the man on the stairs as he studied the crossbow, trying to figure out how he fired it and how to reload it.
Chrysala walked up the stairs and motioned Cal to follow. "Now will you take us to see Curthor?"
The man set the crossbow down in frustration. "I never did quite get the knack of weaponry." He was older, and had the demeanor of some sort of servant. He sighed and looked at the two visitors. "Curthor doesn't like guests." The druid's stare turned angry, so he quickly reconsidered. "Curthor is quite ill. In fact, I'm not sure how many days he has left. He is very weak and often cannot even talk."
"Please take us to see him. His curse on this man has gone wild. If he dies, the curse will be with him forever."
The servant sighed again. "Very well." He turned and walked upstairs, leading them down plush carpeted halls lined with tapestries and paintings. Gold gild work decorated the moldings, and rare woods framed each mahogany door.
"So this is what a dragon's treasure will buy," said Chrysala, her head turning in every direction to take in all the work. The servant shot her a nasty glance as he continued down the hall. It was impressive, but to her, it was a waste. Too many material things tied one down and robbed you of the exhilaration of communing with nature.
The man stopped at the last door and told them to wait as he lightly knocked and stepped inside. After a few moments delay, the servant stepped out into the hall. "My lord will see you now." He opened the door and ushered them in, closing it behind them as he left.
The room was less lavish than the other rooms she had seen, but no less impressive. A giant four-posted bed dominated the room. The wood was probably oak, something that made her cringe, and the sheets were definitely silk. Several ornate elven paintings decorated the walls, and a complex roll top desk was along one wall.
Curthor the annihilator lie on the bed covered with the white sheets. His blue eyes were half open, and he seemed only vaguely aware of their presence. His hair was gray, all hint of color being lost to the ages, and the room smelled of an infirmary. Chrysala approached the bed and bowed. "My lord wizard," she stated.
The man's head rolled to the side to get a better look at her. His eyes seemed to acknowledge her, but he did not speak. She could hear his breathing rasping through his lungs as he forced each breath through his body.
"I come to ask that this man's curse be lifted," she said, using her best formal voice. "Ten or so years ago, you caught him stealing apples from one of your orchards. As punishment, he was given a burning curse, in which everything he touched caught fire. During those years, the magic has gone wild and even now grows." The wizard glanced at the boy, who still stood safely by the door. "I am shielding his heat with magic of my own." The wizard looked back at her and eyed her green and brown traveling clothes.
"Druid?" he rasped. She nodded and thought she saw contempt in his eyes, but his face remained stoic.
"I think ten years of cursed existence is enough for the theft of three apples. I hope you will agree."
The wizard rolled his head back to the center of the deep pillow and stared at the ornate plaster carvings on his ceiling. Chrysala waited a few moments until he looked back at her and nodded. He pointed to the desk. She walked over to the desk and looked back at the wizard, who pointed to a bowl of fruit that rested next to an oil lamp. A pear, several plums, cherries and an apple were in the bowl. She picked up the apple and looked back at Curthor the annihilator, who nodded again. There was almost always logic in magic. A curse set on by the theft of apples would of course be broken by eating one. Maybe it was a magic apple from Curthor or maybe any apple would have worked, either way, the end result was the same. She tossed the apple to Cal, and told him to eat it. Cal ate the apple and looked at the druid. She lowered her heat shield and waited.
"It is done," she told Cal. "My magic protects you no longer."
He held out his hands near the wall, but nothing happened. The carpet under his feet did not burn, and the air around him remained cool. He smiled in exhilaration.
"Thank you lord wizard," Chrysala said. The old man simply motioned them towards the door. The druid walked to the door and out into the hallway. Cal followed, but stopped her.
"I would like to go back and apologize to the wizard for stealing his apples. It is my fault that this curse was ever placed."
Chrysala nodded. "I will wait downstairs."
Cal walked back into the room and shut the door behind him. The wizard looked up, but said nothing. The young man walked over to th
e desk and picked up the oil lamp, removing its top and pulling out the wick. Curthor watched him, but his eyes showed no emotion. Cal dumped the oil over the silk sheets, creating dark patches where the oil soaked them. He smiled as he pulled out a rock and a piece of metal from his pocket.
His hands moved quickly together, and a spark dropped onto the oil spot.
***
Chrysala was waiting near the front door, looking out on the overgrown orchard. It must have been a glorious sight many years ago, but now, like most attempts by humans to control nature, it looked worse than if it were completely wild. It looked unnatural. She thought she saw someone walking through the orchard in the distance, heading away from the house, but the foliage made it difficult to tell.
"You may go now," came the servant's voice from behind her. She turned and saw the man standing with a bag of belongings in each hand.
"I'm waiting for Cal. He wanted to apologize to the wizard."
The servant's face soured. "Apologize indeed. You don't know the half of it. That little renegade was stealing apples with his six-year-old brother. When his brother told on him, he pushed him down a well. Curthor saw him do it, and set the curse on him as punishment."
Chrysala recoiled in shock. The servant pushed past her to step over the burnt remains of the front door. Smoke started spilling down the stair well into the room. She looked up the stairs and back to the servant.
"Curthor knew he would try to kill him. His days were over, but he thought that after all these years, he might have repented for what he had done."
"But..." she started, but the servant cut her off.
