Protector's Curse

by Keith Walsh

  Sister held the kiss and Dallious followed suit. She knew what was happening and wanted to make every second count before her love was taken from her and returned to his body. The two floated gracefully above the dying Earth until they were torn apart at last. Dallious reached for her but Sister’s figure rose away, out of his grasp. He heard her voice within his head, “I love you Dallious,” it whispered. He screamed for her as shadows raced towards him. The dark ones almost upon him, his flight failed and he fell into one of the many cracks below. Further and further he plummeted into the Earth, the light above fading more and more until finally it was gone.

  ***

  Dallious woke screaming, his body bolting upright. Pain shot through him. His shoulder throbbed, his right wrist more so. Nausea caused him to retch but nothing came up. His mouth filled with salty wash and he swallowed it back down. His head pounded and he tried to place a hand against it but his arm ended in a stump, wet with blood. He reeled in horror at the sight and this time he vomited violently. When finished he rubbed his mouth with his left hand, relieved to see it where it should be. He made to stand but weakness overwhelmed him and he stumbled sideways into a wall. Bracing himself against it he shuffled his wracked body in the direction of the hearth, stopping occasionally to steady himself against the dizzy sickness.

  Reaching the corner of the wall he could see shadows dancing on the ground caused by the flames within the hearth. A strange smell stung his nostrils but he ignored it, instead looking for the poker. He found it to be resting within the fireplace, and grabbing the handle with his left hand he pulled it clear of the fiery embers. Its tip glowed white mixed with red, blue and orange and Dallious paused for a moment, taking a deep breath. He knew what needed to be done but questioned whether he had the strength to do it.

  He looked around again, desperate to see someone that could help him but he was alone. “Just do it you coward, get it over with,” he shouted. He considered, briefly, cauterising the wound on his shoulder first but figured if he fell unconscious from the pain he would certainly bleed out from the more serious wound on his wrist. He took another deep breath and thought of Kalen. Using his rising anger he forced the glowing poker tip onto the stump. There was a terrible hissing sound as the poker bit deeply into the flesh and Dallious let out an agonised cry. He almost collapsed from the pain but fought against it and rolled the poker back and forth, sealing the wound. Finally his will gave way, his eyes rolled into his head and he collapsed.

  After a short time Dallious opened his eyes and found he was lying on the ground, his legs twisted at an awkward angle beneath him. He noticed it was still dark and although he could see some stars, thick cloud rolled across the sky. He tried to rub his eyes instinctively with his right hand and felt frustration when he saw his stump. Quickly he followed with his left and scrubbed his face, removing the sleepiness from his eyes. That is something I’m going to have to get used to, he thought. Sitting up he looked around and noticed the poker he had used to seal his wrist – it had landed a little to his left, its glow diminishing. He remembered dreaming of Sister briefly. He judged by the fact it was still dark and the poker still having a little glow left that he must not have been out for long.

  Lifting his right arm he examined the wound on his wrist. It had sealed up well and although it pained him, looked revolting and smelled terrible, it had stopped bleeding. The fact that no bone protruded from it caused him to think it had been a clean cut. You sick bastard Kalen, he thought. His mouth felt very dry and the sudden urge to find water overwhelmed him. He looked to the bucket that had discarded horseshoes in it but decided drinking that water would not be the best idea. He remembered the jug in his room but before heading there he replaced the poker in the hearth, aware that his shoulder had yet to be taken care of. With that thought in mind he peeled the cut on his silk shirt open to examine the wound.

  The laceration was deep and gaping, the skin hardened somewhat, but the bleeding had ceased for now. He figured stitching may be enough and felt a wry smile appear on his face at the thought – he didn’t want to go through the pain of the poker again if he could avoid it. The smile subsiding, he set off for his quarters.

  Upon entering the room he walked quickly to the small table upon which sat the goblets and jug, and in his impatience he knocked it over as he tried to pick it up with his missing right hand. His reflexes being what they were he managed to catch it with his left. He did not wait to pour it into a goblet and drank deeply from the jug, not caring as some of it spilled down his cheeks. Once empty he placed it back on the table and glanced again at the wound on his shoulder. Seeing no fresh flow of blood there he decided to go and find the others from the convent.

  He walked through several corridors and down a couple of flights of stairs until finally greeted by a cellar door. He opened it and saw many different shelves packed with various foods and several large barrels on their sides, braced on wooden frames. He walked passed the barrels until he reached an empty wall. Stopping in front of it he looked to the ceiling and saw the familiar crack running through one of the bricks. He counted five down from the crack, and then pushed against a brick. Slowly and with a loud scraping noise the wall moved backwards to reveal a hidden passage.

  Walking into the passage he saw three wrought iron holders on the wall, two of which held torches burning within them, the third empty. He could just make out a staircase at the end of the passage. Sister had shown him how to find this hidden corridor but he had never ventured into it and had no idea what waited at its end. Taking one of the two torches he made to move but the wall sliding closed behind him caused him to pause. He felt a heartbeat of panic as it came closer to sealing shut and thought about jumping passed it before it shut completely, but then he remembered why he came here and instead lifted the torch above his head and pressed on.

  Descending the stairs he felt ill at ease. It was relatively tight and the spiral design meant he couldn’t see very far ahead or behind him even in the flickering torch light. He continued on regardless and finally, after what felt like hours but could have been no more than minutes, he arrived at a large hallway. Several brick pillars with lit torches on them could be seen throughout the space, their tops supporting thick wooden beams that ran across the ceiling to rest on other pillars. The hall itself was unremarkable, no pictures adorned the walls and only a large badly carved table and chairs graced its centre. Upon this sat candleholders and wooden plates surrounded by wooden cutlery. He noticed a large door at the rear of the hall and walked towards it.

  Before opening it he pressed his ear against its wooden panel and listened for any sound emanating from behind. He heard nothing and opening the door he felt a waft of heat blow over him. He entered and found himself in another hall, although this one was smaller than the last. Along its walls were many straw beds and upon them he saw several sleeping orphans and a few of the Sisters. To his left was a large fire and he wondered how the room was not full of smoke. One of the Sisters sat sleeping in a chair close to the hearth and he approached her.

  His movement stealthy and silent, she did not wake and he reached his hand out to rest it on her shoulder, cursing to himself as he realised once again it was nothing but a stump. Looking around he saw an empty stand and placed the torch he was carrying in it before returning to the sleeping Sister and gently shaking her awake. She came to with a start but upon seeing a familiar face she regained her composure and smiled at him before putting her finger to her lips and gesturing towards the door he had just come through.

  Once the pair had walked through she closed it gently and turned to face him. “Dallious, it is good to see you,” she said, reaching out to take his right hand. She recoiled in horror as she realised it was missing, her own hand covering her mouth as if to stifle a cry. “What on Earth happened to you?” she asked, her eyes wide. Suddenly very conscious of his disfigurement he turned to his side, hiding the stump before answering.

  “Please, don’t concern yoursel
f with such things Sister. I have tended to the wound. My shoulder however could use some attention.” He nodded towards the injury while speaking. Sister stretched forward and gently pulled the cut in his shirt apart far enough to see the laceration on his shoulder.

  “Hmm a bad one to be sure but a wash and some stitching should see it taken care of, but your hand Dallious…” she made to query it again and once more he avoided the question, twisting his body defensively away from her. “It is safe to return above if you so please Sister,” he said looking at her in a way that suggested he did not wish to be pressed any further.

  “Very well,” said Sister, understanding the expression. “We will leave the others to sleep and I will see to your shoulder. There is no point in moving them all back to the convent now,” she continued, gesturing for Dallious to take the lead.

  He nodded in agreement and as they moved through the hall he stopped momentarily to take a fresh torch from one of the brick pillars. Sister just behind him, he made sure to keep his stump out of sight in the hopes of avoiding any more questions. He had not yet come to terms with the injury himself, and talking about it would only lead to more despair and anger. He remembered the fire in the second hall, the lack of smoke in the room being a mystery to him, and in an attempt to lighten the mood he decided to ask her about it.

  “I am curious Sister, how do you manage to keep a fire underground hidden without filling the room with smoke?” he asked, aware that the answer was not actually very important to him. Sister was relieved to have the awkward silence between them broken but was still surprised by the question. Nonetheless she humoured it and answered. “There is a chimney in the fireplace Dallious, but it connects to the one from the hearth above and as a result disguises any smoke from below. Dunst keeps the hearth alight at all times so the subterfuge works well.”

  Upon hearing the name, Dallious’ mind was cast back to the moment the poor caretaker lost his life and he suddenly became aware of the fact he should prepare this Sister for what lay ahead. He paused for a moment in the staircase and Sister almost bumped into him. She looked up at him and could see the concern on his face. “What is it?” she asked.

  Dallious thought for a moment, considering the best way to break the news before eventually deciding honesty to be the best policy. “I am sorry Sister but you need to prepare yourself for some bad news” he said, looking at her sympathetically. She met his gaze and he saw he had her full attention. “The men that arrived and caused you and the others to take sanctuary down here have taken lives. I tried to stop them…” he trailed off, looking at the stump he now bore and slammed it angrily against the wall, ignoring the pain. “…But I failed.”

  Sister was taken aback by the movement. She had never seen Dallious act violently before but seeing tears in his eyes she put a hand to his shoulder and spoke. “Hush now Dallious, you have nothing to be ashamed of. I am sure you did everything you could. Your horrific injuries are testament to such action.” While speaking she used her free hand to take hold of his right wrist, stopping him from doing any more damage to himself. Dallious seemed lost in thought and did not immediately break her grip. “I couldn’t save her,” he said at last. “I did all he asked but still I couldn’t save her,” he added.

  Sister was confused. “Who? You couldn’t save who?” she queried, trying to get his attention but he just looked to the wall. “Sister,” he replied his voice barely a whisper.

  “We are all Sisters here Dallious,” she pointed out.

  “No, my Sister, my true love,” said Dallious, his voice rising with emotion. “I killed some of them, those murdering bastards, I tried to save her. I tried,” he continued, his body stiffening as he flexed his muscles in anger. Sister tried to hold him, calm him, but his strength proved too much and as he made to slam his stump into the wall again she screamed at him to stop.

  Startled, he blinked and looked at her, and she was looking back at him fiercely. “I… I am sorry Sister. I don’t know what came over me,” he confessed, regaining some composure.

  Seeing that her desperate attempt to get through to him had been successful she relaxed. “Think nothing of it Dallious. You are obviously overcome with grief. I doubt you have had much time to deal with such emotions given the circumstances.” He looked at her somewhat sheepishly. “No, I haven’t. Thank you for your understanding Sister,” he said, staring at the ground to avoid the pity in her eyes. Sister squeezed his arm and said, “Come, we should go and tend to that shoulder of yours. Have no fears of what I may see. I have been around the dead before. Throughout my life I have helped in more than one village suffering from plague—” But Dallious cut her off. “This is not quite the same thing,” he said. “These people met their end in a violent way and I had my part to play in that violence,” he continued, this time looking right at her. She met his gaze and smiled warmly at him.

  “Plague is not a graceful death Dallious. Although I appreciate your concern I assure you I will be fine. As for your part in any of this I have no doubt it was not by your choice.” She made to take the torch from him and feeling no resistance grasped it then pressed by him and beckoned him to follow. Dallious held his ground for a moment, still struggling with his emotions, but after a slight pause he followed her.

  As they retraced his steps they arrived back at the hidden doorway and Sister placed the torch in one of the holders before pulling down on it. A click could be heard and then the wall moved with a crunching sound to reveal the cellar. Only then did Dallious realise that his love had not shown him that switch. I would not have been able to get out, he thought, smiling. Being behind Sister she did not notice his smile and the two walked out into the cellar together. Within moments the wall started to close behind them and Dallious found another question coming to mind.

  “How did you get everyone down to the hiding place with the wall closing so quickly?” he asked. Sister turned to him and smiled. “Oh, you simply hold the lever down until everyone is inside. The wall will only close within moments of its release or if you don’t pull on it at all. The brick on this side resets itself at the same time. Clever, isn’t it?”

  Dallious smiled and agreed with her. “Now I just need to gather a few herbs from here,” said Sister, moving along the shelves picking up various small jars and packages. “Would you be kind enough to fill a bucket with water from one of the barrels please?” she continued, turning briefly to point at the buckets and the barrel she knew to contain water. “Of course,” replied Dallious following her directions.

  Once they had what they needed she led him upstairs to the kitchen. She placed the herbs on the table and picked up a mortar and pestle from a nearby shelf. Then she crumbled the herbs into the mortar before adding a tiny amount of water and proceeded to mash them together. The mixture began to form a paste and seemingly satisfied with the concoction she moved to a cupboard and took a leather roll from it. This she placed on the table and opened to reveal a set of odd-looking instruments. The needle and thread Dallious recognised immediately. He had had wounds stitched on more than one occasion in his life.

  “Please sit yourself down and remove your shirt Dallious,” said Sister, gesturing towards a stool at the end of the table. Dallious obeyed although his actions were slow, hampered by his missing hand. Sister noted his frustration and thought about helping him but decided his pride needed no interference. Rinsing a cloth in the water bucket Dallious had carried up to the kitchen she moved towards him with it, but before attempting to clean the wound she offered him a rolled piece of leather.

  “Here, take this and bite down on it. It will help with the pain,” she said. Dallious shook his head. “No, thank you Sister but I am used to pain. Please do what you must.”

  “All right,” she replied, looking unconvinced, “but it will hurt.” Dallious flinched as the cold cloth touched the ugly wound and Sister felt his muscle tense. He bit back any anger the pain caused, understanding that it would pass quickly. The dried blood removed, a fres
h flow started and Sister quickened her actions. She smeared a small amount of the herb mixture into the cut and then started to stitch it. Dallious tensed with each fresh puncture of the needle but held quiet. When Sister finally tied a knot in the thread after the last stitch he let out a long sigh, followed by a deep breath. He breathed heavily a little longer before finally calming.

  He felt decidedly weak. His body was wracked with pain and he had been ignoring it for too long. Now it started to overwhelm him but he knew he had to fight it. No time to rest, he thought. Sister smeared more of the herb mixture on the now stitched wound before bandaging it with some strips of tablecloth. She moved to place the last of the paste on Dallious’ stump but he pulled it away. She looked at him sternly. “It will help with the pain Dallious, and the possible infection.”

  Reluctantly he gave her his arm and while she dressed it he couldn’t bring himself to look. Anger rose within him, and frustration at not being able to vent it properly brought tears to his eyes but he fought them back the best he could. Once she finished he jumped to his feet and clenching his left hand he smashed it into one of the cupboards. “What use am I to her now? What use am I to anyone?” he shouted while holding his bandaged stump out and glaring at it accusingly. “Look at it. I cannot hold a rapier. I cannot even get out of a damn shirt!” He raged, pointing the stump at Sister.

  She looked at it with sadness in her eyes. She had done what she could for his physical injuries but the emotional ones were the demons he would have to face alone. Still, she could try to calm him. “But you did get out of the shirt,” she said. Dallious paused for a moment and looked at her as if she had just made the most stupid statement the world had ever known. “What?” he said flatly. “You said you can’t even get out of a shirt but you did Dallious. I don’t recall helping you. You will have to adapt and make changes, but you are more than capable of it if you put your mind to it.”