The Seer's Curse

by J. J. Faulks

  Teymos didn’t share in his amusement. His jaw was clenched, his eyes sparking. With the wave of his hand, a thick wall of brambles erupted from the ground, surging up to the ceiling and obscuring the door. The room bowed into sullen darkness, like the gloom before a storm.

  Beighlen’s smile wilted. His heart thudded in his chest. “Tey—”

  “What were you doing going to that village?” Teymos demanded.

  “I—My mother sent me,” Beighlen said. His eyebrows pinched together. “She wanted me to deliver a dream.”

  “A dream?” Teymos repeated. “To whom?”

  “To some woman.” Beighlen gave a small shrug. Why did it matter? All that mattered was that Orleigh could go home, could see her father again. “She had prayed for her son. The dream was just meant to comfort her, that’s all. Why—”

  “And what makes you think that this woman knew Orleigh?” Teymos’s dark eyes bore into him.

  “Because she was talking about her, with her husband,” Beighlen said. “I overheard them. She thought that Orleigh was dead, but the man said that she was cursed and that she had been taken to the Land of Gods and that it was good for them that she had gone.”

  Teymos’s fists clenched on top of the table, his knuckles turning white. “Cursed,” he spat. “How can anyone think that girl is cursed?”

  Beighlen’s eyes narrowed. “Teymos?” he said, his voice barely breaking a whisper. “You knew, didn’t you?”

  Teymos’s gaze flickered down to the desk and it lingered there.

  Beighlen edged forward in his seat. The strength returned to his voice as he spoke again. “You knew that Orleigh’s home hadn’t been destroyed, didn’t you? You knew that she had been taken.” He jumped up from the chair, pointing his finger at Teymos, a spear aimed at his heart. “And that dream trace, the orange glow I can see in her mind, that was you, wasn’t it?”

  Teymos shook his head. “No,” he said, but did not look Beighlen in the eye.

  “Don’t lie to me!” Beighlen shouted. He slammed his hands on top of the desk and leant in towards Teymos.

  Teymos looked up at him. His eyes softened as their dark clouds dispersed, and his hands relaxed, his fingers stretching and spreading out of their fists. “I didn’t make that dream, Beighlen,” he said, as calm and as clear as the summer sky, “You did.”

  Beighlen frowned and shook his head. “No, no I didn’t.” He withdrew his hands from the table, folding his arms across his chest.

  “You used to make dreams for me all the time when you were a child,” Teymos said. “One of them was a dream about a fire. I gave that one to Orleigh.”

  “But why?” Beighlen’s eyes widened. “Why would you do that?”

  “To convince her that what I told her was true.”

  “You lied to her.” Lied was too weak; lied was him telling his mother that he hadn’t been to the Land of Mortals without her permission. “You…you deceived her.” Deception, that was how Orleigh had described his dreamspinning. His nostrils flared. “And you used my dream to do it.”

  “I did what I had to do in order to protect her.” Teymos’s tone was smooth and even, as if years of rehearsal had stripped it of any knots of emotion.

  Beighlen snorted. “To protect her. Just like my mother protected me by taking me away from my father. I thought that you were different, but you’re just like her.”

  “You heard for yourself, the people in Orleigh’s village think that she’s cursed. Do you know what mortals do to people who are cursed? They sacrifice them. That’s what would have happened to her if I hadn’t brought her here.”

  Beighlen threw his arms into the air. “Then why didn’t you tell her that?”

  Teymos considered his answer, his brow drawing into a subtle frown. “I thought this way was kinder,” he said. “I thought that if she knew there was nothing left to go back to then she wouldn’t try to run away or dream about some other life that she can’t have.” His mouth twisted, pulling tight as if he had decided to smile but his lips wouldn’t comply. “She’s safe here. Her life is here. I never wanted her to doubt that.”

  “She has the right to know the truth,” Beighlen said.

  Teymos pursed his lips and sank back into his chair, his arms coming to rest across his broad chest. “This is her truth now.”

  “Not if I tell her everything.” Beighlen pointed to the window, gesturing to the garden outside. “I could go out there right now and tell her everything that I know.”

  “If you do that, Beighlen, you will put her in danger, and I know that you don’t want that.” Teymos paused. He narrowed his eyes on Beighlen and stared so hard that it was as though he could read his thoughts as easily as Beighlen had recognised the old dream trace in Orleigh’s mind. “No. You care about her just as I do, and you will lie to her just as I have. We will both do what’s necessary to keep her safe.”

  Beighlen shook his head and turned away from Teymos, his hands finding his hips. He scowled at the brambles that still blocked the door and, after a long silence, he muttered, “Fine.”

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  The gate slammed shut, only to bounce back open like a fighter reeling from a punch, and a shadowy figure disappeared into the Great Forest beyond. Orleigh gripped the cornerstones as she peered around the wall. Long trains of ivy snaked out from the hedge and wrapped themselves around the jarring wood, calming it and guiding it back into its frame.

  Orleigh slipped up the stairs and sauntered into the library. She ran her hand over the books on the shelf, but her focus concentrated on Teymos as he sat behind his desk across the hall. She pulled a book down, flipping it open in her palm. The spine cracked. She watched Teymos over the top of the page. His gaze did not stray from the desk.

  “Who was that?” she asked, her voice floating into the chasm of the hallway.

  Teymos remained silent for a long time. She was about to repeat the question, when he replied, “Beighlen.”

  “Oh.” Her face fell and she hugged the open book to her chest.

  Teymos stopped writing, the quill poised over the parchment, and he glanced up at her. “Did he not say hello?”

  She shook her head, her lips pursed.

  “Well, I’m sure he’ll be back once he’s calmed down.” Teymos flashed her a tight smile that faded as quickly as it had arisen, and he lowered his gaze back to the parchment.

  Orleigh paused, her head bobbing ever so slightly, mulling over Teymos’s words like a player in Board of Triangles plotting her next move.

  Casting the book aside, she took a single, long stride towards the study. “Is he angry about something?”

  “You could say that.” Teymos’s eyebrows lifted. He signed off the page with a flourish, put the quill down on the table and folded the parchment in two, his movements fast but precise.

  Orleigh edged closer, leaning against her shoulder in the doorway to the library. “What’s he angry about?”

  Teymos shook his head. “A situation that’s far too complex, far too nuanced, for him to understand.”

  Her brow pinched. “What do you mean?”

  “When you’re young—” he waved his hand towards her “—everything is so black and white. It’s only when you get older—” he brought his hand back to himself “—that you start to see the grey in-between. Sometimes things that seem bad can achieve something good.”

  Sunlight streaming through the leaves of the old oak tree, the chattering of young voices and the warmth of Meila’s smile filtered through her mind.

  “Like when the wood nymph saved the animals of the forest but sacrificed the old bear in doing so?”

  “Yes, like that.” He nodded.

  “So Beighlen’s angry at you because you did a bad thing in order to achieve something good?” She folded her arms over her chest, her fingertips digging into her skin. “Wha
t did you do?”

  Teymos shook his head, his eyes lowering beneath a heavy frown, and he shooed her away from the door. “I think that’s enough questions for today.”

  “You told me that I should never stop asking questions.”

  Teymos chuckled, a brief chuckle like a rumble of thunder. “I also told you that some things are best left unknown.”

  “And this is one of them?” She held her breath.

  “I believe so.” His gaze whistled through her like a well-honed arrow. “A healthy curiosity is a good thing, but too much can be dangerous.”

  Many years ago, when one of the gods was travelling through the Land of Mortals he fell in love with a young mortal woman. The woman was beautiful, as though the Creator had reserved the most precious threads just for her; even the gold and silver woven into the Key of Life looked dull in comparison. But more entrancing than her beauty was the spark of curiosity that lit her eyes.

  The god thought that he knew everything there was to know about the world, but sharing in the woman’s inquisitive gaze he saw the world again for the first time, beholding its startling depth with all the wonder of a child. Before he had been no more than a spectator, the world buffeting against him, but now the world moved through him, every gust of wind filling him with its breath.

  Under the god’s protection, the woman was free to travel throughout the Land of Gods. But no matter how much she explored, there were always more sights that she wanted to see, more knowledge that she wanted to master. Above all else, she wished to visit the Sanctuary, for the Sanctuary held secrets and treasures that had been hidden from the rest of the world.

  However, the Sanctuary was home to something else. It was home to the voice of the Creator, whose will was passed down through the Key of Life and was bound within the Script. Knowledge of fate was a heavy responsibility, one that the gods alone had been tasked to bear. There was nothing more haunting than to hear of one’s own intolerable fate and to be forced to live through it, knowing it could not be changed.

  The god was hesitant to grant her request, but how could he deny her anything after she had opened his eyes to the beauty of the world? Reluctantly, he took her to the Sanctuary, but he warned her of the perils of reading from the Script, of the madness it could cause.

  The woman kept her promise and, as she explored the Sanctuary, she stayed away from the Script. However, as she was leafing through one of the ancient texts, something that shimmered like sunlight on water glinted in the corner of her eye. She turned to see a woman stood before her, her skin glistening with silver and gold.

  The god froze, powerless even to speak, when he saw the woman bowing before the Key of Life. The Key of Life laid her hands on the woman’s head and the woman’s eyes rolled back to reveal two slits of white. When the woman returned, she would not tell the god what she had seen, but something in her had changed, the glimmer of curiosity that had lit up her eyes had died.

  Not long after her visit to the Sanctuary, the woman fled from the Land of Gods and disappeared into hiding, trying to escape whatever unliveable fate she had seen.

  The god descended back into the darkness, but having basked in the brilliance of the light, it felt even colder and more desolate than before. Had he not given in to her curiosity, had he not tried to satisfy that unquenchable thirst, they would still have been together. Curiosity had born their love, and with the knowledge of fatality it died.

  Orleigh clutched the arms of the chair. She was perched so close to the edge of the seat that even the slightest movement might see her slip off.

  “Who was the woman?” she asked. Her heart pounded so fast that the beats ran together. Could this woman, the woman in hiding, be the one who wrote the unsigned letters?

  Teymos stared out of the window, his gaze so distant that it was as though he could see beyond the Great Forest and was searching the world for the woman who yearned to escape her fate.

  “No one,” he said with a strangled voice. He cleared his throat. “She’s no one. It’s just a story.”

  A creaking sound cut through the hush of the night. Orleigh’s eyes flew open and she held her breath. The house sank into a lull, but this too was broken by the groan of floorboards underfoot. Orleigh crept to the bedroom door and eased it open. A stream of moonlight spooled in through the crack. Footsteps ascended the stairs, fading towards the top floor. In the silence she imagined Teymos padding down the hallway, heading towards the tapestry on the wall. There was a clunk and then a sigh as the door to the secret room opened.

  If it was just a story, what had made him return to the room that night?

  Chapter Twenty-Nine

  Beighlen paused at the edge of the Great Forest, resting his clasped hands atop the gate. The knot in his stomach tightened as if tugged by a puppeteer’s strings. Perhaps he should have disappeared, never returned after his conversation with Teymos, perhaps that would have been kinder to Orleigh than lying.

  A low growl rumbled out from behind the trees, followed by the rustle of leaves and a stifled howl. Hungry and too impatient for mortal flesh, the animals had turned on the weakest of their own kind. Teeth ripped into the carcass and the animals snarled at one another as they fought for scraps. If only the creature had kept its head down and blended into the pack.

  Beighlen ran one hand through his hair and, taking a deep breath, he opened the gate.

  Like a watcher in a tower, Orleigh sat at the edge of the fountain. The beacon of her eyes fell on him as soon as he stepped onto the grass.

  “Beighlen!” she shouted, beaming at him. But the flash of her smile was ousted by an abrupt scowl. “Where’ve you been?”

  Beighlen held his hands close to his chest as he navigated his way through the roses and their hooked thorns. Each time that he glanced up, Orleigh’s scowl and her bitter blue eyes cut through him like the howl of winter.

  “I was busy. I had to do some work for my mother,” he said. He forced a smile so false that it made his mouth twitch. “Spinning dreams. Travelling. Delivering messages.”

  She raised her eyebrows at him and folded her arms over her chest. “I saw you when you came to visit Teymos,” she said, and cocked her head to one side. “I might not be some big, important demigod, but you could at least have said ‘hello’.”

  Beighlen swallowed and he looked to the floor. “I’m sorry?” His gaze snuck back to Orleigh. Was that the right thing to say?

  Orleigh shook her head. Her long curls trembled like the boughs of a willow shivering in the wind. “Fine,” she said, and her face softened, the corners of her mouth lifting into the whisper of a smile.

  Beighlen let out a long breath. He sat down beside her, curling his fingers over the edge of the stone, and he bumped his elbow against hers. “Did you miss me?”

  “No!” she said and jabbed her elbow into his arm. She pressed the backs of her hands to her flushed cheeks, as if feeling their heat or trying to hide her embarrassment.

  When her blush had faded, she repeated, “No.” This time quieter, more controlled. She glanced towards the house and then leant in closer to him. Her lips barely moved as she spoke. “I wanted to talk to you about something.”

  He frowned. “About what?”

  “I need your help,” she said. “I think that Teymos is hiding something.”

  His mouth turned dry and the knot in his stomach twisted even tighter. “What—” he cleared his throat. “What do you mean?”

  “There’s something not quite right about the story he told me about the fire in my village,” she said. Her gaze flitted to the house again.

  His heart pounded so hard that he was sure that she would hear it. She knew! She knew that Teymos had lied to her!

  She continued, “He told me that when he rescued me from the ruins I was on my own, but I know that my friend was staying at my house that night.”

  A whoosh
of relief coursed through him and escaped as a low whistle. She didn’t know. He forced a chuckle, but it sounded stiff. “Is that all?” He shrugged. “Maybe your friend went home before the fire, or maybe…maybe Teymos just didn’t look hard enough.”

  Orleigh shook her head, the furrows of her brow deepening. “No, there’s more.”

  His stomach dropped.

  “Teymos said that he didn’t know me before the fire,” she said. “But I found letters addressed to him discussing my birth. Someone else was there—whoever it was saw my birth and saw my mother die.”

  Teymos hadn’t mentioned anything about that.

  “Can I see the letters?” Beighlen asked.

  Orleigh paused. “They’ve gone. I think they were destroyed.”

  Telling her the truth would put her in danger, that’s what Teymos had said. And then there were the creatures in the Great Forest, tearing apart their weakest. He was an immortal, and he had to stick with his pack.

  “Are you sure you didn’t imagine them?” Beighlen almost winced at his own question.

  Orleigh’s face flushed scarlet. She jumped up from the fountain and rounded on him, her arms hugging her chest. “Of course I didn’t imagine them!” she hissed. “They were real. I saw them!”

  He opened his mouth to speak again, but she cut him off.

  “And I found a secret room filled with a woman’s things. There was a brooch with the letter ‘A’. Or did I imagine that too?” Her lips pressed together in a tight line, and her lower eyelids tensed, flattening the ovals of her eyes. “Someone else was here, Beighlen. Teymos isn’t telling me the truth, I’m sure of it.”

  “Orleigh,” Beighlen said, drawing her name out with a long sigh. “I know Teymos, I trust him. If he says he found you on your own, I believe him. If he says he didn’t know you before the fire, he didn’t know you.” He reached out to touch her hand. “You said yourself, there’s not much to do here apart from reading stories. Maybe all this, this mystery, is just another story, just your imagination tricking you. I understand.”