Curse Breaker_Enchanted [The More Epic Version]

by Melinda Kucsera

  “Why?”

  “Because it’s red?” Sarn suggested, and laughed at the disbelief on his son’s face. “I mean it. I think it has to do with the red color.”

  “Are you sure you can put the jar in there with the red lumir? What if the glass melts?” Miren turned one of the sealed jars over in his hands with a skeptical look on his face.

  “I’ve done this before, and it was ok. It’s tempered glass.” Sarn threw an arm out to thwart his son’s latest attempt to get by him. Catching the boy’s waist, he deposited Ran a safe distance away. “Don’t go near it. It’s hot.”

  Ran gave an obligatory nod, but his eyes stayed fixed on the red stones. Their glow pulsed, entrancing the boy. Unless redirected, Ran would singe his fingers. And he’d have to spend the next half hour while the food warmed guarding the fire pit. Sarn cast about for something to entertain his son. But he found nothing near at hand save piles of clothes and other flammable items.

  Great, he had all the ingredients for an inferno within reach. Sarn bent and picked up discarded items. Maybe he should make time for a little housekeeping once a week.

  “Hold this and this for me.” Sarn handed his son some of the items he picked up off the floor. If it could burn, Sarn relocated it to a pile away from the fire pit. Something about the red lumir niggled at him as he passed it, something important.

  Sarn sat his son down on the straw tick occupying the back of the hemispherical cave. After he handed the child his stuffed bear, Sarn checked on the first jar. Ran landed next to him.

  “Ow,” Ran complained stuffing his injured digit into his mouth. “It’s hot.”

  “Yes, it has to be to loosen the lid. I don’t want us eating wax with our stew. Let me see your hand.”

  Ran produced his injured digit.

  Was wax even edible? Sarn scraped at a thin layer of it covering his son’s index finger and relaxed. The flesh was a little pinker than Ran’s other fingers, but he was otherwise unharmed. Maybe Ran had learned his lesson.

  “Why?” Ran tugged his hand free and sucked on his sore finger.

  “It tastes bad.” Sarn shuddered at the memory and resumed prying the softened wax seal up with his fingers. “The wax liquefies when heated allowing it to drip down into the jar and mix with the stew. The one time it happened, it was gross, and your mother had a fit.”

  As the seal separated, some wax crumbs fell into the stew, but the jar’s mouth was too narrow to do anything about them. Sarn nestled the jar between red lumir stones to finish heating. While he repeated the process on the other jars, he considered the lumir stones. Something about them still bugged him.

  Since starting a fire was punishable by death in the enchanted forest, smart travelers carried lumir crystals—red for heat, blue for cold and other colors for light. But he’d sensed none at either murder site. The absence bothered him. What had they used for light? Hunger made Sarn set the question aside for now.

  “Come on.”

  Sarn tapped his son’s shoulder and gestured for the boy to rise. Curiosity propelled Ran to his feet.

  Miren sat his stool mute as a gathering storm. Any moment now, the troubled teen would explode. Maybe an offering of peaches could delay it.

  Sarn rummaged about the various crenulations water had carved into the cave’s walls. He unearthed two grimy bowls but no spoons or other implements to dole out the food.

  “You didn’t spend twenty-four hours running,” Miren spoke in a calm voice at odds with the anger radiating off him.

  Ran looked up at Sarn, interested in the answer.

  Now they were ganging up on him, damn. He had to keep Miren ignorant about the whole kidnapping thing. Tension tightened every muscle in Sarn's body as he stood there holding the dirty bowls.

  “I know how fast you can run. If you spent twenty-four hours running, you wouldn’t be able to move right now. And I don’t see you having any difficulty. I’ll ask you one more time. Where were you this morning? Why didn’t you come home?”

  Magic forced Sarn to speak the truth, but not the whole truth. He could leave out the problematic parts if he was careful with his wording. “I spent most of the day on my feet.” A flash of orange drew Sarn to the orange lumir sticks lighting the cave. “What religious order wears orange robes?”

  “I don’t know. Give me a minute.” Miren rifled through the books littering the table.

  “Thanks, I appreciate you looking it up,” and taking one mystery off his hands. Sarn pointed to the soap resting next to the pail catching water weeping off a stalactite. “Wash your hands.”

  Ran shrugged and set to cleaning himself with extra care.

  “Where did you see them?” Miren asked.

  “They were on a boat sailing down the Nirthal, heading east on a fast tack. I didn’t like the looks of them.”

  “And the Rangers didn’t know who they were?”

  “I didn’t get a chance to ask them.” The interview in Jerlo’s office flashed past with no mention of orange-robed sailors. Maybe hunger had made him forget.

  Ran held his hands up for inspection reminding Sarn to clean the bowls in his hands. He gave them one last rinse and detoured to check on the stew. It needed a few more minutes, but the peaches had warmed enough to satisfy him. After pouring them into bowls, he handed one to Miren then sat on the floor by the fire pit. Ran picked peaches out of their bowl and smiled between bites.

  “Got it. They’re from—” Miren’s voice trailed off then continued in a shaky voice. “They’re Seekers of Truth. They’re—oh God—they’re—you saw—”

  Seekers—damn—the one religious order with a hard on for destruction of all things magical. It figured.

  “Did they see you?”

  Sarn shook his head. The forest green of his clothes and the scrub dotting that cliff had camouflaged his descent. “They didn’t see me.” Sarn relaxed as his magic confirmed it.

  Still, both the forest and the ghost had tried to stop him. Hell, even his magic had tried to warn him about the Seekers. Why had he ignored them? Sarn fished out a peach section and ate it. Honey gagged him. He moved the bowl out of Ran’s reach, and the boy followed the peaches.

  Thoughts of what could have happened pursued Sarn across the cave. Gregori—the asshole—he must have known. The mountain of muscle had set the whole thing up. Had the jerk hoped he’d blunder into the Seekers? They’d have killed him on sight and ended twenty years of hiding. Every shadow took on a sinister air, but his eyes brightened, throwing radiant spears at their retreating backs.

  Sarn squeezed the peaches in his hands. The Seekers were an ugly rumor no one wanted to evoke, and he now had proof they existed. Should he tell Nolo? He had until tomorrow night to decide.

  “Sarn?”

  “What?” Sarn realized he’d pulped the peaches. One taste proved they were still good though less sweet. He handed the bowl to Ran, who’d been hopping up and down trying to reach them while he’d indulged in a mental rant.

  “I think the stew’s done.” Miren gestured with his quill to the fire pit where indeed, the contents of the jars bubbled.

  They ate in silence. Miren hunched over his bowl at the table, while Sarn sat on the floor with his son, who picked out the carrots. Miren had more questions, and the longer they went unasked, the more tension mounted.

  When he could eat no more, Sarn rose but cleaning up after dinner took only a few minutes. He put the red lumir stones in a lead-lined box out of Ran’s reach, got his son washed up for bed, then ran out of things to do.

  Disrobing in front of an audience made his skin crawl, so he stayed in his now dry clothes. The twenty years he’d lived had been hard ones, and they’d left a lot of scars. No one had ever seen the extent of them because no one had ever seen him unclothed, not even Ran’s mother.

  After pulling a clean shirt over the soiled one, Sarn cast himself onto the thing pretending to be a mattress. It pancaked under him. Ran crawled next t
o him, stuffed bear in hand, and he pulled the boy in close for a hug.

  Peace eluded Sarn and so did sleep even though he had a firm grip on his dozing son. Ran was safe in his keeping, relieving one worry. But too many questions remained unanswered.

  Was there a connection between the two murder sites and the Seekers? Twenty miles was a long way to hike, but they had a boat at their disposal. And what of the other mud creatures and the trees that had attacked him? What had created the former and infected the latter? Had it found a way past the circle of menhirs into the mountain?

  Sarn yawned. He should check but Ran was a warm weight on his chest, and his magic was busy cocooning his son. Ran shined to his other senses, and the reflected glow was making Sarn sleepy. At least he had made one person happy. Miren was still upset at him, but he could mollify his brother tomorrow, when both their tempers had cooled.

  And he would have to tell someone about the Seekers and the box they’d loaded onto their boat. He’d only caught a glimpse of it. What could interest an order of magic-haters? Would they come here to Mount Eredren?

  Sarn closed his eyes and circles both whole and broken superimposed themselves over the ever-present green glow of his magic. He’d almost forgotten about them. They were one more mystery lumped in with the rest. How did they relate? Or like the Seekers, were they just another strange coincidence?

  Ran lay in his Papa’s arms smiling with his head pillowed on Papa’s chest, feeling safe, warm and loved. If he squinted, he could see the edge of Papa’s magic. It sparked an emerald dome around them gaining in intensity as Papa fell deeper into sleep.

  He listened to Papa’s heartbeat, and the magic chattering in no language he could understand. Still, he listened, since it was part of the lullaby calling sleep to him.

  A pulse lit up the dome Papa’s magic had cast around them, expanding its walls. Its edges blurred as the magic tasted the rock floor and the cave’s back wall. Green lightning snaked across the magic dome as it extended emerald tentacles to explore the table where Uncle Miren sat.

  A roach skittered away from the magic ignoring his uncle. A chittering shadow rode it. Squirming, Ran tried to escape the arm clamping him to a hard wall of muscle. Papa tended to get overprotective sometimes—as if the magic would ever let anything hurt him.

  After a little prying and wriggling, Ran managed to gain some freedom. Another flash lit the room painting everything in green hues. It zapped the roach, disintegrating it into a pile of screaming ash. Continuing its explorations, the sparkly dome phased through the cave’s walls. Ran redoubled his efforts. What was the magic doing? A little more and—there—his legs pulled free.

  Ran snatched up Bear and scampered to the door. Jumping brought the handle within reach. He got a finger on it—then two—and pulled. The door opened revealing A curtain of emerald sparks woven together by green flashes. Ran flinched as a big hand seized his shoulder and turned him around. He faced an angry Uncle Miren, who shook Ran as he spoke.

  “I asked you a question. What are you doing? You know you’re not allowed out alone.”

  Ran opened his mouth to say something, but the magic receded, blanketing him in soothing light. He gave ground, his sock covered feet sliding on the rough floor until the magic lifted Ran up. His shoulder pulled free of his uncle’s hand.

  For a moment, Uncle Miren stood there frozen, then he blinked, but his gaze passed through Ran as if he was invisible. Uncle Miren shut the door, shook his head and stormed back to his studies. He walked through the radiant tide carrying Ran without reacting to it and returned to his schoolwork muttering about little boys.

  Since only Papa spoke the truth all the time, Ran ignored his uncle’s unkind comments. Magic welled up, cradling Ran as it tucked him back into his sleeping Papa’s arms. But the light show wasn’t over yet and Ran struggled to lift the arm confining him.

  Flaring, the radiant bubble extruded luminous feelers in all directions. Excitement gripped Ran when fuzzy lines formed on the transparent green dome surrounding them. Ran cast a covert glance at his uncle, who never looked away from the page in front of him. No doubt his uncle worked on the same assignment he'd been working on all day.

  Ran smiled. He had Papa, and Papa’s magic, all to himself still—no sharing. He hugged Bear and tried to interpret the images the magic created.

  Tall things with long ropy limbs shifted about and melted into a boy’s face. Blobby things fell into a hole the big things covered up. They flashed past in a dizzy dance—as if Papa was running now. Ran closed his eyes as the frenetic pace of the imagery made his tummy flip over. He willed the peaches to stay down. Sweet and spiced with cinnamon, they formed a delicious, warm weight in his belly.

  Papa shifted in his sleep. When he stilled again, Ran risked a glance. A new image projected itself on the emerald dome arching over them—a boat. The scenery careened by at a nauseating speed again as Papa resume running.

  “Let me go—” Papa said, but Uncle Miren’s loud page flipping drowned out his words. Unlike Uncle Miren, Papa was soft-spoken and never raised his voice.

  “No,” Ran gripped the arm holding him, “You’re my Papa.”

  Papa rolled onto his side, still mumbling. But the rolled-up blanket serving as pillow muffled his speech. Since Ran had been using Papa’s chest as a mattress, it took a few minutes’ squirming to get turned around.

  A face coalesced in the shadowed corner on the opposite side of Papa’s magic barrier. Ran shivered at the sight of the boy-thing; there was something wrong with him. He was older than Ran by a couple of years, and the rocky floor passed right through the crouching boy’s feet. His eyes were two empty bowls, but Ran felt the weight of the strange boy’s stare.

  It was a real boy once, but not anymore. Whatever had happened to it had robbed it of more than substance. The thing touched the sparkly barrier with a translucent finger and recoiled.

  Ran smiled. His fear of the thing in the corner evaporated. Papa protected him even when asleep.

  “What do you want?”

  Ran checked to see if Uncle Miren had unearthed himself from his school work—nope. No doubt his uncle was trying to make up for staying home.

  Glaring at the thing, Ran repeated his question, but he received only silence. A bell tolled distracting him, and he counted twenty-two peals. Ran frowned, and his brow puckered. He'd counted twenty before Papa had arrived. Where had twenty-one gone? Had he miscounted?

  Ran looked away from his fingers, expecting to see the strange boy. But only rock remained where the boy-thing had crouched. The tolling bells had scared him off. Now Ran would never get an answer. The images had ceased their projection also. He’d have to ask a lot of questions tomorrow. Maybe he'd find Papa in a talkative mood. It happened sometimes.

  “You saw it,” Ran whispered to Bear.

  In the reflected glow of Papa’s magic, Bear’s button eyes offered understanding.

  Good, he’d talk this whole strange affair over with Bear and Papa in the morning. Ran yawned and shifted until he’d found a comfy niche for himself. The dome shattered into gleaming shards, and they vanished when they hit the floor. Shadows drew close since Papa's magic no longer lit the cave. A moment later, green light scythed through them signaling Papa had awoken.

  Ran escaped the arm holding him and inched himself up until he was nose to nose. Papa had a faraway look. Did he see bad things happening somewhere?

  “Papa?”

  Papa rubbed his glowing eyes, and his hand cast shadow shapes on the cave wall.

  “Why’re you sad?”

  “I’m not sad.”

  “Yes, you are.”

  “I can’t be sad because I have you, and you make me happy.”

  Ran smiled as Papa pulled him into a hug. He ended up in his usual spot with his ear pressed against a heart whose tempo lulled him.

  Yawning, Ran hugged Bear and smiled his thanks for the little adventure he’d had. Papa was always s
o good to him. Thoughts of tomorrow and a bigger adventure to come chased him down into sleep. He couldn’t wait to find out what Papa had planned.

  Chapter 13

  Unable to get past the introduction to his essay about Shayari’s political system, Miren gave up. Sarn had been gone for twenty-four hours. True Miren had slept for nine of those hours but the others—he’d been awake and worried. Whatever had happened out there, he could handle it. He’d be fifteen in four months.

  Miren glared at the crossed-out lines on the page before him. He’d rewritten the same sentence three times before tossing his quill down in disgust. Sarn did way too much, and there was no way to make him cut back either. The stupid fool thought no one would pick up the slack.

  Miren’s conscience pricked him, but he ignored it. He had gone without supper when he was Ran’s age. Missing one meal would make the boy appreciate his next one even more.

  Yawning, Miren shoved the books he needed for the next day’s classes into a worn rucksack. Why had Sarn refused to tell him what had happened?

  With Sarn, there was no knowing because his magic-addled brother functioned on a logic unique to him. The older Miren got, the wider the gap between him and his brother became.

  Another yawn convinced him to retire. Rising unaided, he left his crutch leaning against the wall and hobbled over to the mattress. He didn't see the ghost staring at his sleeping nephew. But he felt its intense cold when he walked through the ghost and left a bit of himself behind.

  Why is it so cold in here? Rubbing his arms, Miren searched for a blanket as a green flash streaked across his dull eyes and died out. The sight emboldened the shadows crouched in the cave’s corners. As they crept from their hiding spots, Miren shivered harder.

  He wrapped a blanket around himself and cursed his brother. Damn Sarn. How could someone so thin take up so much space?

  Curled up on his side, Sarn lay with his back to Miren and his son in his arms. The little rascal looked comfy as he drooled on Sarn’s tunic.