The Legacy of Skur: Volume One

by L. F. Falconer

  “It was not phony.” I did my best to convince the witch of my powers. “It just wasn’t strong enough. I can cast a spell, but it takes some time and we’ll need a fire.”

  “Will it work?”

  I did not answer immediately, Fith’s words echoing in my memory: “A wizard is only as powerful as his conviction. Even the most potent spell can be negated by a doubtful mind.”

  “It will work.” For Jink’s sake, I tried to cast my doubts aside as we set about making a small fire.

  Once the flames were gone, leaving only glowing coals, I placed a flat stone beside the fire and bade Jink to sit. I pulled a vial of dried fern from my pouch of spells and sprinkled a pinch across the coals. “Il aheala erst mhertin!” These were the only appropriate words I could remember, and again, I spoke them with flourish. With a forked stick, I removed a single ember and placed it upon the flat stone in front of Jink, then poured the powder of harefoot upon it to smolder. “Breathe in the smoke,” I instructed and he bent forward, inhaling the incense. As he did, I repeated the words and sprinkled upon his head a pinch of unicorn root. I repeated the words and sprinkled upon his head a pinch of horseradish root. I repeated the words and sprinkled upon his head a pinch of yarrow. Jink continued to breathe the harefoot incense and once more I tossed a pinch of fern into the fire pit. We continued to repeat this ritual until the coals completely died and with the fire’s death came the expectation that the witch was dead as well.

  Throughout the remainder of the day, Jink was quiet. That night as I sat by the rekindled fire trying to banish the chill, I glanced over the flickering flame and Jink’s unabashed stare froze my bones, removing any warmth the fire had provided. Removing any hope that my afternoon spell had worked, for there was a hunger in Jink’s eyes—the hunger of Larque.

  “Fane,” he whispered. “Do you want me?”

  I didn’t answer, not sure I’d heard the question right.

  He gave me a sly, crooked smile—Larque’s smile. “You can have me anytime you want, Fane. I’m right here, waiting for you.”

  The words were coming from Jink’s mouth, but this was not Jink talking. I leapt to my feet. “Shut your damned box, Jink!” I was shaking all the way to my core.

  His voice continued, soft and melodic. “I do so enjoy the games of big, strong men. I want to introduce you to pleasures you’ve never before experienced.” He stood up and took a slow step forward.

  “Stop it.” I warned. “Stay back.” The voice, the mannerisms, the lust in his eyes were all pure Larque, and it was bloody scaring me!

  He took another step forward, intent upon this turpitude. “Play with me, Fane. I have a new game—”

  I gave his jaw a good clout and he toppled backwards, nearly into the fire.

  With a grimace, I massaged the biting pain in my fist as he pulled himself to his knees and clutched his head in his hands. “Waesucks, Fane. Forgive me! I am so ashamed.” Moist eyes looked up at me. “She’s growing stronger all the time. I don’t know how bloody long it’ll be before she possesses me completely.”

  I could not move. I could not speak. What had I done? It was as if my spell had merely given her more power.

  “Wae, Jink.” It was my turn to cry. “Pray, forgive me! I only sought to save us from her. Instead, I have cursed you as her thrall, and I don’t know how to set you free.”

  “You only did what you had to do. I don’t blame you. I only blame my own bloody weakness.” He staggered back to his feet. “I’ve never been very strong.”

  “Balderdash. You’re one of the strongest men in all Avar.”

  He turned and faced me. “My will, my will is bloody weak. I didn’t have a good home life like you did.”

  “But you had Rook. He gave you a good home.”

  “Some bloody good home Rook gave me.” Jink curled his upper lip. “My mother was a public ledger, Fane, and I don’t know who my father was. I only know that I’m the son of a whore, and when I was seven, Rook decided he could use a boy. He could really use a boy. And yes, he taught me how to be a smith and I worked like a bloody dog in the smithy, swinging the hammers and sweating over the forge and breathing soot and smoke every day. And every night—almost every bloody night, Rook would take me to his quarters behind the smithy … and bend me over the table.”

  His voice grew quiet, barely a whisper. “What could I do? No one else wanted anything to do with the bastard son of a whore. So Selma would comfort me. She’d fill me with ale to help me forget and she would take me to her bed to help me remember that I was still a bloody man. And I despised Rook. Oh, how I bloody despised him, but I stayed because I had nowhere else to go. So I worked like a dog during the day and was Rook’s bitch in the evening, and then I’d go to Selma and the pub to remember and forget.”

  I thought I was going to be sick, horrified by this tale, recalling those silent, odd looks Rook had always given me.

  “You have no idea how many nights I spent sleeping in the dirt behind the pub, just so I wouldn’t have to go back to Rook’s.”

  “Why didn’t you tell anyone,” I stuttered, “what kind of man … he was?”

  “Selma knew. When I was thirteen years old she saw me crying behind the smithy one night. She asked me what was wrong and at first I didn’t tell her. I was too bloody ashamed. But I think she knew, or at least suspected, and finally I broke down and told her. And she hugged me and cried with me and told me it didn’t make me any less a man. Then she took me to her room … and taught me how to be a man. Then she bloody sent me back to him! Told me not to betray him because no one else would ever take me in. ‘Endure it and laugh,’ she said. ‘Endure it and laugh because we all got to live and we all got to die and life is too damned short to bloody cry.’ Well, Rook never made me cry again. No one ever made me cry again, until now, and of all things, it’s a bloody witch!”

  He sank to the ground and the tears crept from the corners of his blue eyes, trickling down his beard, causing the hairs to glisten.

  I really didn’t know what to say to him. I was too heartsick and numb.

  He raised his shimmering eyes to meet mine and spoke again. “You’ve always been a good friend to me. You never wanted anything from me except my company. You didn’t despise me for being the bloody son of a whore. You always made me feel like I bloody belonged. More than anyone else, you made me feel like a bloody man, Fane, and you have no idea how much that means to me.”

  I sat beside him, laying my hand upon his shoulder. “It wasn’t your fault.” I wanted to console him but my words seemed lame and useless. As lame and useless as my knowledge of magic.

  He pushed my hand away and jumped up, shouting, “Do you know what she wants from me? Do you? I’m not a bloody molly and I know you’re not either. I don’t want to do that. Not ever. Ever! But I’m not bloody strong enough to fight her. Promise me. Promise me you won’t ever let her do that to me. To you.”

  “Believe me, Jink, I don’t want that any more than you do.” Could my words have been more true?

  “She’s growing stronger every bloody moment. She knows she’ll possess me soon because I am so bloody weak. I am too bloody weak.”

  “You’re not weak, Jink. The life you’ve lived has only made you stronger. Can’t you see that?”

  He shook his head. “The life I’ve lived has only made me weak. She knows how weak I really am and she preys on that weakness.” With that, he turned and disappeared into the darkness. All I could do was watch him go, and Snorts brayed as if trying to call him back.

  Sinking to the ground beside the fire, I gawked at the flames. The smoke circled like a serpent and I shuddered. Is this why he finally decided to come with me? To escape Rook? Yet he had escaped nothing. Nothing at all.

  My head ached and my stomach ached and all I could do was stare at the fire as it merrily danced and I wondered how dangerous Larque would become. How could I ever trust Jink as long as she dwelt within him?

  “Fith, you blasted scoundrel
,” I shouted at the darkness. “You failed to teach me how to counter the evils of demons! Why did you not teach me more of your magics before you let me come this far?”

  I held my aching head in despair. I couldn’t help Jink. I had brought him to this and couldn’t undo it. How could I continue this quest? I couldn’t. Not now. We had to go back, but where had he gone? At this moment, all I could do was wait for him to return. If he would.

  At some point in the night I had fallen asleep for I awoke at sunrise. Jink sat beside me wrapped in his cloak, arms hugging his upraised knees. The jaw beneath his beard was swollen where I had hit him. Musky and unkempt, he appeared to have aged ten years in one night.

  Giving him a cautious eye, I sat up, rubbing the sleep from my eyes. Jink’s own red-rimmed eyes were listless and hollow, his skin crusted with blood and dirt.

  “What happened to you?”

  A flat, dusky voice with an unmistakable haunted quality answered. “I couldn’t stop her. I tried. I bloody tried, but I couldn’t stop her.” He gave a grimace, stared up at the morning sky, and whispered, “She took me into Shadowland, Fane.”

  I shuddered. Something inside him had been broken—that truth came through with his whispered words and vacant eyes.

  Those eyes avoided mine. “The evil.” It was more like a rush of breath from his throat than words.

  I knelt beside him and gave his shoulder a reassuring pat. That action seemed to bring a little life back, for he looked at me then and those eyes welled with tears. “I couldn’t stop her. Shadowland just empowered the witch. I couldn’t …” He began to tremble and clutched onto my hand so hard I feared he’d break it. “There’s no redemption for me now, Fane. The horrors she forced me to endure.” He released my hand as his forehead came to rest upon his upraised knees. His body quaked beneath his sobs.

  I was at a loss as how to comfort him. “She couldn’t have taken you to Shadowland, Jink. Mortals cannot pass into Shadowland.”

  He snuffed back his tears and raised a bleary gaze in my direction. His voice became firm. “The tales are wrong, Fane, for she took me there. She made me perform the most vulgar acts and I will never recover. Never.”

  “It was a dream, that’s all. It couldn’t have been anything more than a dream.” I desperately clung to a belief in my words, but all belief flew to the clouds and beyond, never to return when Jink pulled back his cloak.

  Cradled within his lap amid a mound of matted red hair was a severed head! A young dell, as far as I could ascertain from the minute glimpse I caught before I scuttled back and away from my friend in revulsion.

  “She made me perform the most vulgar acts!” It was a primal wail, torn from his very soul. “This is not a dream.” He stood and the girl’s head fell to the ground with a thick thuck. My stomach wrenched and I fell to my knees and heaved while Jink stomped about our campsite, tearing at his hair and wailing like a bound spirit.

  Finally, he went silent and sank to the ground, vacant once more. I had no wish to know what vulgar deeds she’d compelled him to do against his will in a land no mortal has a right to be in. But I knew I had brought him to this, and it was up to me to undo it.

  I stared at the head. I stared at Jink. I forced myself to return to his side.

  “We will return to Avar, Jink. We will return to Avar where Fith can drive this evil madness from you. He has the power.”

  He made no move except to shake his head. “Wae, Fane, she will not allow it. She would have me kill you first.”

  “What does she bloody want? I can’t stand by and do nothing!”

  The pain in his eyes when he stared up at me wrenched my heart. “There is nothing you can do. Nothing at all.”

  “I can’t continue this quest. Not as long as she’s inside you, desecrating you. You are far more valuable to me than gold.”

  Jink sat up. “She won’t let you help me. She’s become too strong.” He laughed then, a tearful laugh. “And I thought Rook was bad. Rook was nothing compared to Larque. There comes a time in a man’s bloody life, Fane, when he can no longer ignore the reality of his existence and he must choose to either accept it or change it. That’s why I left Avar. To change my bloody existence. I chose to change it, believing that nothing Skur could inflict upon me would be less tolerable than the indignities I suffered in Avar, but I was wrong. I was so bloody wrong, and I’d gladly return to Avar and submit to Rook before the entire village if it could release me from the perdition I brought to myself last night.

  “But I can’t go back. She won’t let me. She wants the gold, too. She wants eternal life.” He fell silent for a moment, gazing down at the maiden’s head beside him. The tears fell from his eyes freely and he began to laugh again, his voice laced with tears and remorse. “Laugh and endure, Fane. I must laugh and bloody endure. I can’t go back so I must go on.”

  I dug a hole in which to bury the maiden’s head. As I picked the thing up, I tried not to look at her face, but my eyes were too curious to obey and I turned it over in my hands. She had been young. Not beautiful, but not ugly either. Rather plain and rustic.

  After brushing the dirt from her cheeks and pulling the wayward hair from her face, I gently placed the head into the hole and covered it with grass and stones before refilling the hole with dirt.

  I still could not shake the ever-present cold. And I began to doubt I ever would.

  6

  The Hulg

  The thought crossed my mind to return to Avar alone. I could bring Fith back with me, or at least have him teach me a spell powerful enough to drive the witch out, but dismissed the thought as useless. If I left Jink alone, would I ever find him again? Would she allow that? I thought not, so my only choice was to remain by his side.

  We went on in silence, Jink being mute and morose, and I watched him warily from the corner of my eye, my defenses alert. I couldn’t trust him anymore. If Larque had enough power to make him submit to whatever vulgar acts he’d performed last night, what more could she force him to do against his will?

  The terrain about us was as silent as we were. No birds sang in the distance. No rats or squirrels scampered before us. Scraggly herbs clung to the dormant ground, determined to blossom and grow. Even the air was eerily calm.

  I fingered the talisman at my chest, warm and comforting in my hand. Could it help Jink? Larque had been determined to get it from me. Was it merely a pretty bauble she desired, or could it be that she couldn’t thoroughly bewitch me while I wore it? Could its power be strong enough to drive her from Jink? Or could it only protect me from Ragg?

  I dropped my hand back to my side. Nothing I had was strong enough to fight her and she would continue to crush Jink’s mettle with her barbarous bondage. I couldn’t absolve him and the resentment of my impotence started to fester like a boil.

  He was trying to fight her. I could see it as I watched him throughout the day, the silent, unspoken anger evident with every grimace of his face, the constant clenching and unclenching of his fists, the perpetual kicking of stones beneath his feet. But his anger was merely tiring him. He needed something to strengthen his spirit, not diminish it and when our path led me upon a patch of henbane, I snatched up the foul-smelling herb with glee. “Jink! Come over here, quick!”

  As he came beside me, I thrust the stinking plant at him. It wasn’t the most potent herb, but it was much more powerful than fleabane.

  “What is this?” he asked.

  “It is magic, Jink. To help banish the witch.”

  He laughed, but not with mirth. “Not another phony amulet, Fane.”

  “No. Not an amulet. We brew it and you drink it.”

  “And how do you propose we brew it? We have no pots.”

  I was disgusted with myself. Why hadn’t I thought to bring more supplies with me? Except for my tinderbox and my belt of seemingly useless pouches of magical herbs, Snorts bore four empty saddle packs and two fur cloaks. I could’ve discarded any unnecessary burdens after I got the gold. But alas,
I do not always think things through before acting.

  With a frown, I scanned the landscape searching for an answer. At that moment the henbane was our best hope. I had to find a way to make use of it yet feared to attempt censing again, dreading to mistakenly empower that witch still more.

  “Would it work if I just eat it?” Jink asked.

  I didn’t know the answer, but his spirits were rising and I couldn’t destroy them now. “Perhaps,” I told him. “Though it is quite distasteful.”

  “Nothing could be more distasteful than having a bloody witch inside me.” He grabbed the prickly herb and crammed it into his mouth before I could even make a move to stop him and I watched in awe as he fought to keep from gagging as he chewed and swallowed.

  “We must make camp now.” I knew that if it worked, the herb would soon make him senseless.

  “Fane? Do you think it’ll work?”

  While I had little myself, I had to keep his hopes up. “It will work.”

  I tied Snorts to a bramble and began to forage for a few meager scraps of firewood and Jink withered to the ground. He scratched his beard and stared up at the gathering clouds. After a few moments, he disturbed the quiet. “Do you remember the first time we met?”

  I nodded, recalling that day eight years ago. I had been eight and Jink had been eleven. Kael and I had accompanied our mother to the marketplace. “You were stealing apples from a costermonger’s basket.”

  “And your mother caught me the same time the costermonger did and when he grabbed my ear, your mother slapped his hand away and made him turn me loose. Then she paid for the apples I’d taken.”

  “Kael called you a dirty little thief. Said you should’ve been horse-whipped.”

  Jink chuckled. “And all you did was pilfer a couple of those bloody apples for yourself while your mother paid for the ones I’d taken.”

  “And you made me give those to you, telling me you’d tell my mother I’d stolen them if I didn’t hand them over.”