The Seer's Curse

by J. J. Faulks

  “I’m sorry that you feel that way,” he said. “If there’s anything I can do—”

  “You can see us safely through the Great Forest,” she said.

  Teymos nodded. He rubbed his eyes and sighed. “I’ll take you home, and your friend.”

  Chapter Thirty-Six

  The stone was perfect for skipping: flat, round and smooth. Beighlen weighed it in his hand as he sat by the edge of the rock pool, his fingers turning it over and over. It could go far, skimming smoothly across the water’s surface. All it would take was the neat flick of his wrist and it would bounce off towards the sunset.

  He snapped his arm back and then lobbed the stone into the sea. He reached for another and another, each pebble smashing through the waves and sinking out of sight.

  Something smouldered inside him, both igniting him and suffocating him at the same time.

  Fingertips curled over his shoulder and he froze as his mother lowered herself down onto the boulder beside him, her closeness stifling. Anything nearer to him than the house was too close.

  “Do you want to talk?” she asked.

  He shot her a sideways glance and didn’t reply. It hadn’t taken her long to join him, ready to interfere again. He bent down for another rock, but she grabbed his hand before his fingers could reach it. He shook her loose, scooping up the rock and throwing it anyway. As the rock hit the water, he said, “No. I don’t want to talk.”

  “Are you angry because Orleigh’s gone?” she asked.

  He bit the inside of his cheek, hard. Labelling it ‘anger’ belittled everything that he felt. Anger was red, but this was countless hues of many colours. He clenched his fist around the rock in his hand, uneven edges digging into his fingers and palm.

  “No,” he said again.

  “It was her decision, Beighlen,” his mother said. “You can’t force people to do what you want.”

  He stood up and kicked the pile of unthrown rocks into the rock pool.

  “Then stop having a go at me whenever I fail to be what you want me to be,” he said, tossing the comment over his shoulder as he started to walk away. He didn’t need to listen to her endless preaching.

  “You’re being childish,” she called after him in the same singsong voice that someone would use to address a child. “Every time that you don’t get your own way you revert back to this insolence. You’re an adult, Beighlen. It’s time that you grew up.”

  The directness stung him, enough to make him stop.

  “I’ve always been patient with you, but I’m starting to realise that you’re never going to change,” she said. “Being immortal does not make you superior to anyone, it gives you a responsibility that I don’t think you’re mature enough to appreciate.”

  Gathering her shawl around herself, she walked towards him. She stopped for a moment, her sharp gaze meeting his eye as she spoke. “Your father was a mortal, Beighlen, and not some mighty mortal ruling over his fellow men. He was a humble man, hardworking, kindhearted. I think you ought to remember that when you start thinking that you’re so much better than everyone else.”

  He held her gaze throughout, lips pursed, chin defiant. He was not a child to be looked down upon. He deserved respect.

  She shook her head, a silent show of disappointment more cutting than any words, and brushed past him, her shawl billowing behind her like the foaming waves of a turbulent sea as she strode back to the house.

  He stood alone by the rock pool, his hands hung open and empty at his sides. From the stillness of the water, his reflection peered back at him, marred only by the spurs of those unthrown rocks that peaked through the surface.

  *

  As they walked through the Great Forest, Orleigh listened to Piprin’s tales of the borderland and his adventures on the path to reach the Land of Gods. His eyes shone and his voice burst with life, as though he were seven years old again and reenacting Argentus’s Dance of Fire.

  A buzz of excitement and anticipation coursed through her as they neared the edge of the forest, but it was chased by a bitter aftertaste as Teymos stepped round them and into the lead. Though as tall as ever, he no longer towered over her, and that golden aura that always surrounded him had dimmed. Even the plants that would normally bow to his feet only dipped their heads as he passed.

  “Do you want to talk to him?” Piprin asked in a hushed voice and nodded towards Teymos.

  She shook her head. “No, not yet.”

  When they reached the torch post they came to a halt. Teymos had promised to deliver them to the Land of Mortals but would go no further. Piprin and Orleigh turned to face him.

  “Thank you for your help,” Piprin said to Teymos. He touched Orleigh’s arm and then retreated a few steps, leaving her standing alone with Teymos.

  Teymos reached into his pocket and retrieved a small piece of cloth folded into a neat square. He held it out to Orleigh. “This is for you. Your mother would have wanted you to have it.”

  She hesitated, eyeing the gift and his outstretched hand before accepting it. She opened the cloth to find the gold brooch studded with aquamarine gemstones in the shape of an ‘A’ tucked inside. The gemstones caught the sunlight and they shimmered.

  She clutched the brooch to her chest. “Thank you,” she whispered.

  Teymos nodded, as if to say she was welcome. “If you want to develop your powers, you’ll need to practise them. If there’s anything I can do for you, you know where to find me.”

  She nodded and turned to Piprin. He offered her his hand, and placing her palm in his they stepped over the border together into the Land of Mortals.

  Teymos stayed, watching after Orleigh as she walked away. With every step that she took, the tenuous thread that linked them stretched and grew thinner. When he turned back to the Great Forest, the young blonde-haired boy who guarded the torch post was stood in his way. The boy’s eyes were vacant, staring beyond anything that could be perceived in that world.

  “Teymos,” the boy said. His voice was slow and monotonous. “You have a debt to pay. You have received a very generous gift, and in return you must grant a very generous favour. Any favour at any time, that is what you promised. And one must always keep one’s promises.”

  The boy blinked and stepped out of the way.

  Teymos did not move. He had not forgotten his debt. He had not forgotten the Seer.

  *

  “Piprin!” Meila shouted.

  The sheet in her hands slipped from the washing line and fluttered to the ground, landing in a cloud of dust. She ran towards them, throwing her arms around Piprin and clutching him, his shirt bunched in her fists. She pulled back and, holding his head in her hands, she kissed his forehead.

  “Thank Nestra you’re all right,” she said and she hugged him again.

  Her eyes, watery and red, fell on Orleigh. They widened, as if witnessing a spirit from the Afterworld, and she brushed her tears away.

  “Orleigh! It can’t be,” she said, her voice breathy. “Is that really you?”

  She stepped past Piprin, her hand reaching out and cupping Orleigh’s cheek.

  Orleigh nodded and opened her mouth to speak, but the rivulets of tears that ran down her face left her mouth dry. Meila’s arms wrapped around her in a fierce embrace, her hold so tight that no one could tear her away ever again.

  “I can’t believe it’s you,” Meila whispered. Her fingers tangled through Orleigh’s hair, digging into her back, as if clutching hold of a dream that she was determined not to let slip through her grasp.

  “I can’t believe I’m home,” Orleigh said. She drew back from Meila to drink in the sight of the village around them. The golden fields stretching towards the stream, with the old oak tree at their heart, watching over the crops with the pride of a mother surrounded by her children. The cluster of houses, perfect jumbles of stones, connected by the du
sty web of pathways. The farmhouse with its campfire warmth, every ember another memory.

  “Piprin came all the way to the Land of Gods to rescue me,” she said. “He’s a hero!”

  Piprin blushed and shook his head, scuffing his sandal in the dirt.

  “You are a hero, Piprin,” Meila said. She laid her hand on his messy crop of hair and kissed his forehead again. “I want to hear everything.” She bustled towards the farmhouse, beckoning them to follow. “Come inside. You must be hungry, both of you. I’ll fetch your father. And the twins—they’ll be so pleased that you’re home!”

  Orleigh hesitated. “I’d like to see my father first, if that’s all right.”

  “Of course!” Meila said. “Of course you must. Would you like me to come with you?”

  “Thank you, but I’ll be all right on my own.”

  Later that evening, Orleigh knocked on the door to Piprin’s house, a sharp rap to cut through the laughter that overflowed from inside.

  Ormoss lingered in the darkness behind her. His hand found her shoulder, and he muttered, “Maybe this isn’t a good idea. Maybe I should go home.”

  She rested her hand on top of his, glancing back over her shoulder with a gentle smile. “It’ll be fine. I promise.”

  The door swung open with a loud creak and the warmth of candlelight flooded out, enveloping them and drawing them in.

  Meila beamed at them from the entranceway. “Come in, come in,” she said and ushered them inside. She pulled Orleigh close, pressing a kiss to her hair as she passed, and she laid her hand against Ormoss’s forearm. “It’s good to see you, Ormoss.”

  Meila showed them through to the kitchen. Piprin and the twins were already sat at the table, lost in animated conversation, whilst Pityr fetched a flagon of ale from the side. Piprin patted the seat next to him, and Orleigh sat down, giddy from the buzz of the room.

  “Good to see you, Ormoss,” Pityr said. He pulled back a chair for Ormoss, placing a tankard on the table in front of him and filling it with ale. He walked round the table and filled his own tankard, and then stopped next to Piprin, pausing for a moment before snatching up Piprin’s mug and pouring some ale into it too.

  “Can we have some?” one of the twins asked, his eyes lighting up. He gulped down his water and offered up his mug.

  “No,” Pityr said, swatting the mug away and placing the flagon out of their reach. “It’s not for boys.”

  A hint of pink rose through Piprin’s cheeks and his mouth quirked into a bashful smile. He glanced at his mother, and with her nod of permission, he took a large swig of the ale.

  “That’s all you’re getting so don’t drink it all in one go,” Pityr warned. “You’ve got to get up early in the morning. The cows need milking and we’ve got deliveries to catch up on.”

  Piprin wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, clearing not only the froth from his lips but the smile too.

  Meila’s gaze darted to Piprin and then back to Pityr. “Perhaps Piprin could go on his own,” she suggested. “Orleigh could go too. You’ll help Piprin, won’t you, Orleigh?” She reached for Orleigh’s hand and squeezed. Orleigh nodded and Meila continued, “That way you can get on with mending that fence.”

  Pityr paused. He sank into his seat, and then gave a gruff nod.

  Piprin’s face lit up. Orleigh nudged him and they shared a smile.

  “Come on then,” Meila urged, “Let’s hear the myth of Piprin and his epic journey to the Land of Gods.”

  The twins pounded the table, their heavy drumroll filling the room and stirring up a clamour. Orleigh joined in, grinning so wide that her cheeks ached. Her chest swelled and she burst with laughter as the twins started to chant, “Piprin! Piprin!”

  Piprin had turned crimson, hiding beneath his dark hair. Only when the room fell silent did he sweep his hair back from his eyes, clear his throat, and begin their tale.

  Epilogue

  At the heart of the mountain was a cave that contained the mirror pool. Long before Orleigh’s birth, the Seer had seen her image in the water. When Alea had fled from the Land of Gods, she had cut the bonds of fate. If it were not for the Seer, Orleigh might have lost her path forever. It had taken him seventeen years of manipulation to manoeuvre the players into their current positions, and his task was almost complete.

  The Seer looked into the water and, through the mirror, Orleigh looked back.

  Seventeen years ago the Seer had added a name to the parchment, and that name read:

  “ORLEIGH”

  The Seer dipped the quill into the thick black ink. Beneath her name he added:

  “KEY OF LIFE”

  It was written in the Script, and as the Protector, the Seer would ensure that it happened.

  The End