The Seer's Curse

by J. J. Faulks

  Rejoining the trade route, he marched on.

  Making his way through the grove of pine trees, Piprin approached the rockface. His arms shielded his head from the low-hanging branches with their needling leaves, his eyes scouted for roots or rubble that might cause him to stumble.

  As he emerged from the cover of the trees and unfolded from his stooped posture, he gazed up at the mountain looming overhead. His eyes widened, his lips parted. Though he had passed the mountain many times on his travels with his father, never before had he been this close. The rock stretched up and up and up, disappearing into a foggy halo of clouds. Standing beneath it, he was so fragile, so insignificant.

  How had this mountain, tyrannical in its isolation, come to be? The Creator wove the mountaintops from coarse grey threads, and atop it she balanced the sky, his mother had told him when he was only a young boy. And so it was. The mountains were made to hold up the sky. But not this mountain; there was something different about this mountain. It did not hold up the sky. It pierced the heart of it.

  As he searched for an entrance into the mountainside, he trailed his hand along the rock. Despite the warmth of the sun spilling down upon it, the rock was cool beneath his fingers. It was by touch, not sight, that he discovered the inscription. Flowing strokes cut deep grooves in the rock; it was only when he stepped back that he recognised them as words. The inscription guided him to the narrow entrance, and it relayed to him one of the great myths.

  Though the water was pleasantly calm, there were few other boats at sea that day. Rumours of a mighty sea monster lurking in the depths were enough to discourage even the most experienced of fishermen. Aqualas had heard the rumours too, and though he was fearful, he had a family to feed. With his usual crew unwilling to accompany him, Aqualas set out alone. It was hard work, and with so many tasks to attend to, Aqualas failed to notice the water bubbling around his boat. It was not until the boat began to rock back and forth that Aqualas realised something was gravely wrong.

  Aqualas peered over the edge of the boat into the water, clutching so tightly to the side that his knuckles turned white and he could feel splinters of wood driving themselves into his palms. Out of the waves rose a giant creature, with row upon row of jagged teeth protruding from its mighty jaws. The monster was huge, even bigger than the tales had led Aqualas to believe. He was only a small fisherman; he stood no chance against such a gargantuan creature.

  With Aqualas frozen by fear, the monster took the opportunity to attack. Its tail twisted and writhed around the boat, crushing the wood beneath it. The sail was toppled and it tumbled towards Aqualas. The fisherman fell to his knees, shielding himself from the surrounding devastation. In that position, he prayed. He prayed to the goddess of Water, asking for strength, asking for protection, asking for a miracle to return him safely to his family. Then, without further thought, he leapt from the boat, brandishing his knife.

  Aqualas stabbed wildly at the monster, driving his knife into its throat again and again and again. The monster let out a thunderous roar, but Aqualas did not stop. With all his strength he slashed and stabbed until the monster finally fell quiet and sank back into the depths, leaving behind only a bloom of inky black blood.

  Aqualas might have been only a meagre fisherman, puny compared to the beast, but no challenge was a match for his courage. Despite his size and the unfavourable odds, he defeated the monster and returned home victorious.

  Piprin had heard the myth before, but it was not one that his mother told often. Too violent, she said and wrinkled her nose, not like Amphion and the Lion. Only when he and the twins begged her and promised her that they would not reenact the killing of the sea monster would she tell the tale of Aqualas.

  Buoyed by the courage and strength of Aqualas, Piprin edged through the narrow gap into the enveloping darkness of the mountain. The walls of the passageway pressed in on him, cold and sharp, their closeness suffocating. The sound of lapping waves seeped through the rock, calling to him like a whisper in the night.

  The tunnel opened into an expanse of murky light. He took a deep breath, filling his lungs with the damp air. Torches mounted on the walls of the cave reflected dimly in the black waters of the lake, and he was reminded of the inky bloom that surrounded the sea monster as it succumbed to the waves. In the water itself, stretching across from one beach to the other, was a series of wooden platforms. It looked as though someone had intended to build a walkway spanning the lake, but it had never been completed.

  On the beach ahead lay a small wooden boat. Though hauled clear of the water, it was still tethered to a pole by a thinning rope. A cavernous hole devoured the hull, as if something had taken a large bite out of it. With the boat not fit for purpose, the only way to reach the other side of the cave was by jumping from platform to platform, just like crossing the river at home using the stepping stones.

  Piprin stood at the edge of the water. The gap between the shore and the first platform loomed ahead of him, growing bigger and bigger the longer he stared. His stomach twisted itself into knots. The twins could make the jump easily, striding across the lake as if it were no more than a puddle. But he wasn’t the twins. Strength isn’t everything, his mother had told him, but sometimes it came in handy.

  Shaking his head, he retreated onto the beach. He faced the water and took in a deep breath, puffing out his chest. He sprinted at the lake, his arms pumping at his sides. Everything around him reduced to a blur, only the first platform remained sharp. As his toes hit the lapping water he leapt into the air. He sailed over the gentle peaks of the waves and landed clumsily on the first platform. The structure was stable, but the wooden boards were slick with algae.

  Rising from his hands and knees and brushing himself down, he walked to the edge of the wooden islet, his toes hanging over the water. The second gap gaped before him, larger than the first. His stomach sank. He felt like the little water nymph struggling to reach the neighbouring lily pads.

  Taking the greatest run-up possible, he hurtled towards the gap and sprang to the next platform. He cleared the water, landing awkwardly once again. Each jump was more difficult than the previous. His legs were screaming and his sides ached as he strained for breath, but he kept rising to his feet, running, leaping and landing until finally he reached the centre of the lake. He collapsed on the damp wood, stretching his legs out in front of him and leaning back on his hands.

  Small bubbles fizzled up around the central platform, breaking the surface of the water with a gulch. At first they arrived on their own, slow and infrequent. But their regularity grew, individual pops merging into a hissing stream. Crawling to the edge of the platform, Piprin peered over the side. He had not imagined the bubbles. The tale of Aqualas resurfaced in his mind and his stomach lurched.

  He scrambled to his feet, the rush of fear silencing his protesting limbs. He had to get clear of the water.

  The next jump was panicked but stronger than before. The power behind it did not matter though. In mid-flight something cold and slimy, a tentacle or a tail, darted out from the water and caught hold of his trailing ankle. Its grasp was fleeting, his ankle soon slipping free, but it was enough to dull his momentum.

  He landed short. His torso had made it to the next set of boards, but his legs hung over the water. Scrabbling and scraping, he forced his fingertips into the gaps between the planks and hauled himself onto the platform. His heart was fit to burst free from his chest, but he took no time to pause. There was a monstrous serpentine creature undulating through the waves.

  Driving himself forward, he leapt from one platform to the next, not stopping until he reached the safety of the far beach. A frantic crawl carried him as far as possible from the water’s edge. There he collapsed on the sand, his breath coming ragged and fast. Turning his head back to the lake, he watched out over the water. All he saw of the beast was a thick, muscular tail glistening with red and black scales that cut throu
gh the surface of the waves as the creature dived back to the depths.

  Rising to all fours, Piprin looked at the rear wall of the cave. There was no obvious path, no door or tunnel, just a large rift in the rock that ran from floor to ceiling. It reminded him of a passage from the legend of the Guardians of the Sanctuary. The Outer Wall, the wall that enclosed the realm of the Sanctuary in the days of the Guardians, had no gate. It was a test: only those who had the faith to knock were granted access.

  The rock bit into his knuckles as he rapped against the wall. The knock echoed, clunking around the cavern. But the sound grew louder rather than dying out as an echo should, just like the chimes of the Great Bell in the Realm of the Sanctuary. Closing his eyes, he could almost pretend that it was the cascading chime of the bell. In his mind, he stood beneath the bell tower at the edge of the Sanctuary, letting the waves of noise ripple through him. He marvelled at the sound. Only when the cave fell silent did he return from his daydream.

  “Enter!” A voice called out.

  The word was repeated in a multitude of soft cries, the susurration surrounding him like an incoming tide. It washed over him, and he offered no resistance. As the others fell silent, one final voice beckoned into the curve of his ear, “Enter!”

  A shiver rippled up his neck.

  With a thunderous rumble, the wall of the cave began to part.

  Chapter Eighteen

  The Seer dragged his finger across the spines of the books, his nail jumping from one tome to the next with a thunk. “Every hero needs a quest,” he said to himself. “And this quest, a journey to the Land of Gods to rescue the girl and return her to her fate, is fraught with dangers and difficulties. It requires a very particular type of hero.”

  A set of scales perched on the shelf, the copper dishes green with tarnish.

  “Our hero needs courage,” the Seer said, and waved his hand over one side of the scales.

  “And caution.” He waved his hand over the opposite side.

  “Too much courage gives you arrogance.” One finger pushed down the dish representing courage.

  “Too much caution gives you inaction.” One finger pushed down the dish representing caution.

  He let go, and the scales teetered back to centre. “Just right.”

  His collection of artefacts and curiosities filled the main cave and spilled over into the surrounding rooms. Though they looked haphazard, thrown into the cave and left wheresoever they might land, they were selected and arranged so that his visitor would navigate a carefully constructed path before reaching him behind the altar. Whether or not the visitor’s attention was drawn by these items did not matter; they would be seen by the subconscious mind, with its power to influence and its vulnerability to suggestion. He relished the symmetry: people came to him to discover their fate, but in order to reach him they had to tread a predetermined course.

  Piprin’s path was no different, punctuated with hand-picked items. Next to a board game he placed a small figurine of a girl, carved from bone, set with ice blue gemstones for eyes. A pile of flat stones, like those Orleigh had used when teaching Piprin how to skip stones on the river, surrounded the base of a shield. Entwined with a golden sail was a length of rope, like the rope Piprin and Orleigh had used to make the swing that hung from the old oak tree.

  “A measure of courage and a measure of caution,” he said. Patting the head of the blue-eyed figurine, he added, “And a good dose of motivation.”

  Immediately upon entering the room, Piprin’s eyes were drawn to the Seer. The old man sat at the far end of the cave, half hidden by a stone altar. His cloudy eyes stared forward vacantly, his grey hair was matted into dreadlocks that hung across his face.

  The path that led to the back of the room was littered with obstacles. With the rush from escaping the lake monster still coursing through him, mingling with the smell of burning incense and making his head swim, Piprin took shaky steps onto the path.

  Progress was slow, not only because he walked the path as if balancing on a tightrope, but also because he was so readily distracted by the treasures he found on his way.

  Atop a stack of wooden trunks sat a Board of Triangles, the board game played by Yustus in order to save his city from destruction. Intelligence, his mother’s voice reminded him, an invaluable trait. Peeking out from behind a three-legged stool was a shield emblazoned with the heraldic symbols of the Guardians, used to defend the Sanctuary and the Key of Life. Courage, honour. Furled amongst a bundle of materials was a fine golden cloth, just like the golden sail that carried Kraion across the water for thirty days and thirty nights in order to rescue his daughter from her captor. Perseverance. He stopped to wonder at each object, fascinated by their splendour. They looked as if they had been plucked straight from the myths.

  Piprin presented himself before the altar. The Seer’s opaque eyes bore through him, but he did not falter. He felt like one of the Guardians, about to swear his allegiance to the Key of Life. Standing solemn and proud, he was filled with determination to save Orleigh.

  “Come closer,” beckoned the Seer. “Sit.”

  Mirroring the Seer across the altar, he sat with his legs crossed, his hands coming to rest in his lap. His pale blue eyes fought to hold their own against the Seer’s uncompromising clouds.

  “Talk to me, child,” the Seer said. “Tell me what brings you here.”

  “Ten years ago, my friend was taken from our village and she was delivered to the Land of Gods as a sacrifice to Teymos.” Piprin hid his nerves behind a level voice and straight back, speaking to the Seer just as his teacher had instructed him to speak when addressing the class. “The man who took her told me that you arranged the exchange. He said that my friend might still be alive.” His palms were damp but he resisted the urge to wipe them on his shirt; that was the action of a timid boy, not a young man. “I want to find my friend and bring her home. And I want you to help me.”

  The Seer sat with the stillness of a tree on a breezeless day, and his silence spread through the room, swallowing sound like roots drink up water.

  Piprin’s eyes watered under the Seer’s gaze. It was like staring into fire. His eyes flickered, looking down to the altar for just a second. When he found the Seer’s face again, he saw that his lips had tweaked into a smile.

  “Yes, I remember your friend. Orleigh. Correct? Orleigh?” the Seer said. His voice had a vague, translucent quality, as if his memory were as foggy as his eyes, but his smile was sharp. “The man you spoke to was right: the girl is still alive.”

  “She’s alive?” Piprin said. “She’s really alive?”

  The Seer nodded. “But,” he said, “You cannot bring her home.”

  Piprin’s face fell. “Wh-what do you mean?” His tongue tripped over the words.

  “You cannot bring her home,” the Seer repeated, paused, and then added, “Not without travelling to the Land of Gods.”

  “Then I’ll travel to the Land of Gods,” Piprin said. “I’ll do whatever it takes.”

  The Seer placed his hands on the altar, fingers spread like the legs of a spider. Leaning into them, he rose to his feet and shuffled towards one of the many stacks of books that lined the shelves. He dragged a ladder over, balancing it next to the stack, and then gave it a slight shake before beginning his ascent.

  He stopped halfway up the towering pile, tapping the spine of a particularly hefty tome. He plucked the book from the embrace of its neighbours and tucked it beneath one arm. His thin body swayed on the ladder as his feet slipped down from rung to rung.

  The Seer dropped the book onto the altar with a thump. A cloud of dust flew up from the stone and into Piprin’s mouth, causing him to cough. Hunching over the book, the Seer thumbed through the leaves of paper so quickly that all Piprin could see was the blur of text and the flash of pictures. The whirlwind of pages came to an abrupt stop with the Seer stabbing one fing
er at his selected chapter. He pushed the book closer to Piprin.

  The chapter’s title read: Fauna of the Land of Gods. Its pages depicted a menagerie of grotesque creatures. Claws, talons, horns and teeth jutted out from the paper. Piprin flinched and his throat squeezed shut, as if one of the inked tentacles had reached out and wrapped itself around his neck.

  “If you travel to the Land of Gods,” the Seer warned, “These beasts will be waiting there to greet you. They will be quite welcoming, I can assure you. It’s not often that a mortal willingly offers up his flesh.”

  Piprin swallowed. “There must be a way to get past them,” he said. “Surely?”

  He swivelled round to face the cave. Shelves strained under the weight of flasks filled with potions of every colour, from the milky pink of the palest rose to the shadowy blue of the sea at night. His eyes narrowed, hopping from one flask to the next. “What about a sleeping draught? Or something that will calm them down?”

  “Potions won’t help you,” the Seer said. “Only those with immortal blood can pass into the Land of Gods unchallenged.” He paused. “Do you have immortal blood, child?”

  Piprin shook his head, heat rushing to his cheeks. “No.”

  “No,” the Seer echoed. “You are just a farmer’s son from a small village.”

  Piprin’s head whipped up. “H-how—?”

  The Seer taunted him with his smile. It was a smile that said: Child, I know everything.

  “You are not strong, you are not powerful and you certainly are not immortal. It will serve you well to remember that when you leave here,” the Seer said. “But remember this too: you have courage and determination, you know how to listen, you can see the things that others miss. And you are smart. Or at least, you are smarter than the people you will encounter. Know your strengths, know your weaknesses, act accordingly.”