It was as thick as pea soup, ice cold and reeking of rot. Wraiths tried to pry his son from his arms, but he held fast to the boy feeling around for something. His magic was also searching, hopefully for a way to help.
Ran found what he sought first—a white star hanging around Sarn’s neck. Brandishing it, Ran waved the pendant around like a mini-wand, forgetting it was attached to Sarn. Its leather cord choked Sarn as its light cleaved through the mist spilling them, coughing, into the clear air.
Sarn lay there gasping for breath. Inside him, his magic was mobilizing. Was it trying to save his life?
The edges of his vision were darkening again. I didn't use any magic just now. But that mist was still stealing from him as it circled them. Ran moved with it keeping the crystal between them and the rogue black wave rising to devour them.
“Bear, where are you?”
Hang on. I'm tied up now. Corporeality sucks. Fend for yourselves until I get free.
Stunned by the reply, Ran looked to Sarn for an explanation. But he just shrugged and tugged the leather thong, but it refused to budge from around his neck.
“I already tried that. It won't come off,” Ran said. And his son didn't want to mess with the crystal while it was saving their lives.
Sarn didn't blame him but relying on a crystal for salvation felt wrong. Anger sparked. What was the point in having magic if he couldn't depend on it?
Another wraith surfaced. It rode the rogue wave, smiling that annoying sickle smile as it circled like a hungry cat. It opened its mouth and out fell a discordant song.
It twisted the language of stone, perverting its song of hearth, home, and protection into a destructive chorus. The ground shook. Sarn clapped both hands over his ears when Mount Eredren screamed, but its wordless pleas for help echoed in his soul.
An inhuman wail of pain and rage rattled the tunnel.
“What was that?” Ran glanced around. His eyes were wide with fear. “Is it a monster?”
Sarn shook his head. “I don’t know.”
Worse, I think that was the Queen of All Trees. She must be in trouble, Bear said. His mind-voice went in and out. The wraiths or the mist were interfering with the ghost’s ability to project its thoughts to them.
“No, not the Queen Tree. She can’t get hurt. We have to help her, Papa.”
Sarn nodded but couldn’t see a way past the wraiths or the animated banners. Did he have to go to her to help? An idea sparked in his tired mind, but before it could fully form, fissures opened, belching steam.
Sarn dove aside pulling his son with him. Ran kept the crystal angled so its light held back the mist, and the wraiths floating in it. But both were pouring through the cracks into the roots of Mount Eredren. And the mountain screamed and shook in response.
I don’t know what to do. But the Queen of All Trees would know how to fix this—how to help the mountain calling his name. His soul hungered for her perfect light.
Every thought led back to the Queen of All Trees. Could I help her from here? The idea kept repeating.
Did proximity matter when magic was involved? Last month, he’d done something and ended up in two places at once by accident. Could he do that on purpose and help her now? Sarn took stock of himself.
No, he was too spent for that. But there was nothing she couldn’t do. No foe she couldn’t defeat. Her symbol blazed against his closing eyes. Why shouldn’t he call her?
If she was here, then she wasn’t there. Here was less dangerous than the Ægeldar.
You can do anything, my Queen. I believe in you.
Maybe that had always been the key. As those words ‘I believe in you’ repeated like a refrain, white magic unfurled inside him.
No, Bear shouted. Are you trying to kill yourself?
No, but the ghost’s mind-voice came from a long, long way off. And white light was spilling through Sarn, lighting him up. I believe in you.
“Papa, no!”
A flash of silver drew Villar’s gaze away from the wraiths sucking his life force out of him. They drank from everywhere they could bite. He was covered with them and cold was stealing through his body.
A silver root creeping through the murk. Villar called to it.
Come to me, little root. Hope hangs by your hair-fine shaft.
It turned as if it heard his silent call. When it wrapped around his wrist, he knew it was real. I don’t deserve salvation, but I can’t make right what I put wrong if you don't save me. He grasped that root. Salvation had come to him at last.
I believe in you, my Queen.
The root pulled tight and flung Villar out of the mist. He flopped onto that island in the mist and wiped the blood off his smarting neck. A bite wound marred it courtesy of those ghoulish things. He shuddered as three ghouls swam by his perch, heading for his Queen.
But she whipped her branches and mowed them down then she amputated six tentacles in one lightning-fast slash. Before another batch could spawn, the Queen of All Trees bent and touched two branches to the ground. A silver sheet shot out from her, covering that yawning maw. It suffused this wretched place with her luminance and the ghouls screamed as they evaporated with that mist. She was burning it off and he cheered her on.
Villar punched the sky in triumph then let his hand fall to his side as her light lit the dead. There were so many corpses.
His stomach roiled at the grisly sight. They were all dead because he and his friends had played with the devil’s rocks. Oh, God, what have I done?
The Queen of All Trees’ starry crown brushed the ceiling as she straightened, but she was not as bright as she was before. The fight had taken a toll on her. Still, she tugged the luminous threads wrapped around one of her branches, releasing shimmering figures from each corpse.
Oh, God, the tales are true. “I didn't know we had souls.” What must his be like after the life he’d led?
Villar gazed at his Queen begging her to understand. “This wasn’t supposed to happen. I—we—never intended to hurt anyone.”
But he was lying, and they both knew it. None of his friends had cared who this scheme might hurt. Only the con had mattered and the promise of gold at its conclusion. And he’d just jumped a defenseless young man and choked him out in front of his son.
He deserved her scorn, but she didn’t give it, nor did she even acknowledge his presence. All her attention focused on reclaiming the innocent dead. They were her sole concern, and they deserved her care.
Guilt weighed Villar down, and so did all the tomorrows the souls processing after the Queen of All Trees would never see. That was the price for his greed.
Round the pit, she went collecting lost souls. They followed her in a sparkling mass until she stopped and sliced the air. Light streamed through that tear and within it, a far green country sprawled.
Was that heaven? After spending hours in hell was he now glimpsing paradise? A sob ripped up his windpipe as the ghosts crossed over and the portal shrank into a star before winking out.
“I thought you were just a myth, but you're not. You're real,” Villar said as she faded. “Wait! Don’t go. Please stay.”
Maybe his entreaty had moved her, for the Queen of All Trees paused. Her light reached into Villar illuminating all his misdeeds, but she didn’t draw back in horror at what she found. Instead, the light pulsing in her bark softened as she forgave him.
Where light still reined, a soprano sang of the Queens of old, and the echoes of her song stirred Villar’s inmost soul:
“Night has no hold o’er you, your bark burns bright.
Our queen of light, in love, you hold us tight.
You’re our delight, our champion of Light,
Keep us in your sight, safe from every fright.
O, Queen of All Trees, who makes all things right.”
The voice grew softer with each repetition until only fading echoes remained.
The Queen of All Trees’ numinous beauty enflamed Villar’s heart. He must follow her. For she was all that was good an
d noble in the world. There was no one more deserving of his service than her—if she would have him.
Pushing up to his knees, Villar wished he had a sword to lay at her lacy roots. Alas, all he had was a gold sovereign and thirty pieces of silver in a velvet purse inside his tunic—payment for Dirk's last con. By God, he’d lay it all at her roots if she’d accept it.
She tipped her crown in a nod then froze at the sound of clapping.
“What a show! You almost brought me to my knees.” A man-shaped shadow separated from the wall. “Nice job on the floors, but you didn't have to. I rather liked all that blood. It gave the place character. Ah, but you never could appreciate the macabre.”
The newcomer kicked a black object as he approached her—his Queen. Villar bristled at this affront and the hooded man's flippant tone. He narrowed his eyes at the mysterious man. Something about him was familiar—was it his voice, his robes or his manner triggering the warnings in his inmost soul?
“Oh, and nice work on the mirror shield, but like all pretty things, it won’t last. Nothing lasts forever, not even your august self. You wasted your move on a shield with an expiry date. Tsk, tsk, you can bet I won’t be wasting mine on such a silly thing.” He bowed and placed a small object on the ground before vanishing.
Villar stared at a pawn carved from white quartz then everything went white. When the light receded, she was gone, so was the chess piece and his friends. With dawning horror, Villar ran to what had been the edge of the pit.
Her light had scoured it clean just as that strange man had said. All trace of the massacre was gone as if it had never happened. But it did happen, and Villar would carry their deaths for the rest of his life.
Their mangled corpses were seared into his psyche. So were the last cries of his missing friends. Villar glanced around.
“Rags? Cris? Gore? Dirk? Anybody?” His voice rose in fear as Villar turned in a circle taking in the encroaching darkness. “Dirk? Where are you?”
The air above that terrible hole shimmered. Villar extended a hand to touch it, then let his hand fall back to his side. “You went into the pit, didn’t you? Even after I warned you. You stupid, stupid fool!” Villar punched the ground and the ring he wore chimed against cold crystal, sending weak sparks cascading into the gloom. They faded before they reached the rim of that terrible chasm.
His friends were trapped inside the pit, and it was his fault. He should have stopped them.
“Come back! Queen of All Trees, I beg you, come back! You’ve made a terrible mistake!”
Villar kept beseeching her until his voice dried up in his parched throat. But she didn’t return. I must do something. He scanned the ground seeking anything he could use to pierce that shield. Never mind the fact that it was magic-made and all he had were mundane tools at hand.
“Ah, but everything has a breakpoint. You just need to know where to strike it.”
Villar pivoted to face a shadow floating above the sparkling shield. It—no—he held out a hand. The pickax rose out of the shadows concealing it and floated into the faceless man's outstretched hand.
“What would you give to release your friends? Would you release the so-called light-stealer?”
“The light-stealer?” Villar backpedaled in alarm. “You mean black lumir.”
The shadow man shrugged. “A rock by any other name is just as hard. If you dig down far enough, it’s all semantics.”
“No, it’s not.” Villar shivered at the mere mention of black lumir. “Black lumir takes light, but all other varieties give it. They are not the same.”
The shadow nodded and beside him, the darkness morphed into a second man-shape. This one stepped forward until light falling through a crack overhead illuminated his grizzled face. It looked like his boyhood friend Gore, but that doppelganger wasn’t the same Gore who’d entered the pit. Were his friends already dead?
“Yeah, but if that stuff is black lumir as you claim, how come it failed to steal our light? It’s all an old wives’ tale if you ask me.” Gore spun a black stone on the palm of his hand.
“You’re not Gore.”
“Aren’t I?” said Gore’s doppelganger.
Villar backed into a wall halting his retreat. Its solidity reassured him. At least the walls were what they seemed to be even if everything else wasn’t. “Who are you? What are you?”
Gore’s doppelganger shook his head. “Maybe I’m your guilt talking. You did let the Witch Tree imprison me.” Gore stepped back and became a man-shaped hunk of shadow again.
Shouts echoed from the pit—Ragnes, Cris, and Gore were alive but trapped. Villar could still save them, somehow.
“What will you give to release your friends? What ransom will you pay? How much do their lives mean to you?” asked the two shadow-creatures speaking in a discordant chorus.
“Who are you?”
“Who do you think I am?” The two shadow-men merged into one, and it towered over Villar. His friends' screams shattered the silence.
There was only one being this thing could be, but it was impossible. The adversary was locked out of their world.
“Who am I? Say it. Name me.” The shadow-man beat a melon-sized fist against his rippling breast.
Villar shook his head. His bowels loosened, and urine ran down his leg.
The Adversary shrugged and shrank to human proportions. “It matters not. You know who I am. I see it in your eyes. Oh, how, they glitter, like a cornered animal and that scent—” the Adversary drew in a deep breath. “I love the stink of fear. So, what will your ransom be? Will you play with the devil’s rocks to set your friends free?” From hand to hand, the Adversary tossed a black object.
Villar quailed at the sight of it. His thoughts spun in a tight circle. My Queen, why have you abandoned me?
Light Circles Round Us
Time to go while that mist is busy leeching off someone else. Bear landed beside Sarn and shook his massive head. I can’t leave you alone for one damned minute. I told you not to do any more magic. Spending the thing that’s keeping you alive is a recipe for a premature death.
“Did we win?” Sarn pushed to his knees then flopped back onto his belly.
Wraiths circled them, but they stayed outside the glow of his pendant. But indeed, the mist was receding—or rather sinking into the widening chasm. Its tide pulled at the wraiths, but they were resisting its undertow. If only that tide would increase its strength, they too might be swept away.
Of course, the mist was already climbing the walls, but they had a little time before it reached the top again. Not much, but maybe enough to find safety or somewhere out of its reach. If such a place existed anymore.
With a sigh, the ghost picked Sarn up. I said I didn’t want to peel you off the floor.
“Papa are you okay?”
No, he’s not, but he will be if he stops magicking and starts recuperating. Bear shot Sarn a warning look.
But green lightning was zigzagging across the ground and shattering into disappearing sparks as old spells broke down spilling torrents of energy into the sinking darkness. Sarn broke from Bear’s grasp. He dropped to his knees grasping after the magic the mist had stolen from him. The earth called to him, begging him to take its power into himself. Oh, how he wanted it.
Help me, son of stones and bones, cried the earth under his feet.
Sarn touched their fading sparks and the mountain’s power slid through his hands like silk, wrapping around him until a grinning wraith launched itself at him. Its skeletal fingers dug into his flesh before he threw it off.
We're just like you—only magic-less. It seemed to say.
“Stay back!”
Ran stabbed another wraith with Sarn’s pendant, and they retreated out of reach, laughing all the while.
Under their guffaws, Mount Eredren was calling Sarn by name. And he was reaching for the dregs of his earth magic.
No, Bear screamed in his mind.
“No Papa! Don’t touch it.” Ran shook his
head once, and it was enough to break the spell.
Screams echoed. Shrieking people darted out of their caves and packed into an intersecting tunnel, seeking an exit. They were a drab river of grays, browns and dark greens each blurring into the next, but they had the right idea.
Sarn blinked but his sight refused to clear. The mist was climbing out of the widening chasm. It extruded proboscises, and they lapped up the spilled magic.
We must go now, Bear urged. Before that mist reaches us.
But Sarn didn't have any strength left to stand or push on. “Where are we going?”
To somewhere you can recuperate. You still need to do that.
Bear seized the back of Sarn’s tunic but didn't lift him. In fact, Bear looked a little ragged around the edges. The ghost’s glow brightened as they turned a bend.
White light poured through the tunnel, blinding them. It was sunlight on Sarn’s parched soul and his magic was opening like a flower in her light.
When it backed down, Ran poked his head around the corner before they could stop him.
“Look! It's going away.” Ran pointed at the thinning mist.
It was retreating. Did its maker recall it? The tunnel seemed to inhale the black mist and exhale inanimate shadows. The wraiths were gone too.
“The Queen Tree defeated the monster!” Ran smiled, certain he had the right of things.
“Is it really over?” Sarn looked to Bear for an answer, but Bear shrugged
As I said before, I'm not omniscient.
“But?” Sarn prompted, hoping Bear was about to qualify that with a reassuring statement.
Bear shot him an unreadable look. There are no ‘buts.’ I don’t know what’s going on any more than you do. But I know who might have a guess.
“The Queen of All Trees. That was her light we just saw.”
Probably, she does put on a good show. Bear corralled Ran and ushered them down the tunnel before any more trouble could manifest.
Overhead, a familiar stripe of piss colored lumir winked out. It shrieked for his touch to reignite it. Before Sarn could, Bear dragged him away from it.
Curse Breaker: Books 1-4 Page 79
