Curse Breaker_Enchanted [The More Epic Version]

by Melinda Kucsera

  A leather strap wrapped around Sarn’s throat choking him. He cursed his inattention as he struggled to free himself.

  “I got him.”

  The speaker dragged Sarn into a cleared space. As the noose tightened, Sarn scrambled for a hold on the leather. A hand fisted the strap right behind the buckle, digging it into the nape of his neck. Sarn tried to work his fingers under the belt, but they slipped off its smooth curve. He kicked out, and his foot hit something solid. A grunt and a curse indicated his blow had landed on target, but the belt kept constricting. A board slammed into the backs of his knees, and they buckled.

  For a moment, Sarn remained suspended by the strap alone until the arm holding it lowered. His knees hit the cold stone followed by his belly and chin. Magic shot out cushioning his fall, but it slid off the belt. Something about it defeated even the magic’s nimble fingers.

  A weight settled on top of Sarn, thighs splitting so dinner plate-sized knees could land on either side of his lean hips. Sarn's arms were jerked behind his back and lashed together. He struggled, but hands seized his ankles and bound them too.

  “Death’s too good for you.”

  Hot breath stirred the hair on the back of his neck. Sarn went white with horror and thrashed uncaring if he choked now. The noose contracted to cut off his airflow.

  “Ease off, we don’t want to kill him, just incapacitate him. Do you know how much they’ll pay for someone like him?”

  A hand flipped Sarn's cowl back and fisted in his hair jerking his head up.

  “Look at those eyes—like a pair of emeralds in the sun.” Gray shook his head. “They’re more vivid than any on sale in the flesh market.”

  “Is that where we’re taking him?” asked one of Gray’s cohorts.

  Gray shook his head again and let go of Sarn. “Oh no, he’s worth his weight in gold to the right buyer.”

  “Cause of his funny eyes?”

  “No, because of his age. Most boys like him never reach adulthood. You’re going to make us a fortune. It won’t bring Beku back, but your suffering will ease her raging spirit.” Gray’s hand patted the back of Sarn’s head and his magic locked on.

  Fix acquired, his magic chirped as Gray’s icon changed to one Sarn could follow anywhere. The stupid fool had signed his own death warrant. Now to get out of the whole being sold into slavery thing—again. Last time, he was twelve and unprepared. This time, he had magic and a son with nimble fingers. The belt contracted again.

  “I asked you a question. Answer it, and you might earn some leniency. Who knows how long you’ll be our prisoner before we find a buyer for you.”

  “What question?” Sarn choked out. The belt loosened.

  “How did she die?”

  “I don’t know.”

  It was the truth but not the answer they wanted to hear. Leather creaked as the belt tightened again.

  Sarn's lungs sobbed for air. Black spots danced before his eyes swelling with each passing second. Just a little more and there—his pants tore and both his bare knees pressed into the ground. A connection sparked, but Sarn ignored it as he sent his magic searching for his son. He had to keep the boy from discovery. Eventually, these fools would lock him up somewhere, and he’d escape. But Ran had to stay safe and out of sight until then.

  Magic spread out in concentric rings, plunging his awareness deep into the mountain’s roots instead of fanning out across the ground. No! Sarn fought it, but his magic refused to obey him. Cancer gnawed at Mount Eredren somewhere nearby, and his magic sped toward it. His map unfurled and tried to get a fix, but Sarn was fading fast into a gray haze.

  Eam’meye erator, whispered a voice in his head.

  Unclean, shrieked his magic as it recoiled from the cancer and bounced off a ponderous consciousness, waking it. Mount Eredren stirred, then it roared.

  Sarn clung to consciousness by a suffocating thread, and it frayed as the mountain juddered and the noose tightened. Gray’s questions had become an insistent buzz in his ears interrupted by the cracking of stone.

  The ghost boy’s startled eyes met Sarn’s until an invisible force tore at its garments. Ran shouted. The ghost flickered and unraveled. The ground heaved, and Sarn’s world faded to black as an image of a thirteen-pointed star pushed into his mind. Time had finally run out for everyone.

  “Stop it!” Ran shouted. The boy rushed out of his hiding place and moved with a spider’s grace over the quaking ground. Darting in front of Sarn, Ran fired his slingshot, striking the man holding the belt right between his eyes. “Let go of my Papa!”

  As the big man toppled, the belt loosened. Magic flooded Sarn, pulling him back to consciousness. His map tried again to form, but something blocked it. Mount Eredren calmed and stopped its quaking.

  After he wedged his slingshot into the waistband of his trousers, Ran glared at the men staring at him. Metal balls clinked in his pockets as his nimble fingers slid the slack through the buckle.

  Sarn dragged in a grateful lungful of air as the magic receded from his chest and he flirted with unconsciousness for a moment.

  “Breathe, Papa.” Ran patted the back of his head.

  Sarn attempted a nod then gave up when white fire shook its cage, fighting to break out. Not again, he had neither the wherewithal nor the inclination to deal with two magics. One was already plugged into the mountain causing problems. If he lost control of the other, he had no idea what it would do.

  “Ran?”

  “I’m here.” Ran patted Sarn’s shoulder and walked around until he came into view. “I’m okay. Are you okay?”

  Sarn nodded. He rolled onto his side breaking his connection to the mountain and stopped the flow of information to his inner cartographer. He also shoved the map out of sight, so a detailed rendering of his immediate surroundings stopped competing for his attention. Annoyed at the interruption to its map editing session, his magic poked brilliant green fingers at the bindings at his wrists and ankles. Both were fashioned from natural fibers, so the knots fell apart with a little help from his son.

  Free but too damned tired to move, Sarn pillowed his head on his arm and just lay there catching his breath. Beneath him, he sensed Mount Eredren settling back into its interrupted slumber. Sarn made sure no bare skin touched the stonework. One glimpse into the mind of the mountain was enough.

  Ran leaned into Sarn and his magic spun a protective emerald bubble around them.

  “Who is this boy and why’s he calling you ‘Papa’?” asked one of his attackers.

  “’Cause he’s my Papa.” Shoulders squared, Ran turned to face the men.

  “I’ll admit you’re the spitting image of him but how could you be his son? You’re too old.” Gray bent as he considered the boy.

  Ran returned the scrutiny with interest. “Am not.” Ran folded his arms over his chest and glared at Gray. “He’s my father.”

  “All right little mouse, how old are you?”

  “Four,” Ran held up four fingers and wiggled them. “And I’m not a mouse.”

  All the men heaved belly laughs at this.

  “You look too old to be four,” the large man Sarn had kneed in a sensitive spot commented. The guy still had one hand cupped around his groin.

  “’Cause I’ll be five soon. I’ll be five on March—March—” Ran trailed off unable to recall his own birthday. He glanced at his father for the answer.

  “Fifteenth,” Sarn supplied, remembering the day his world had changed forever.

  “Look, kid, I don’t know what he’s told you, but you can’t be his get. He’s not old enough to be your father.”

  “He is my son.” Sarn managed to sit up, but dizziness forced him to plant his rear and wait. Perhaps his son was right. Adventures should take place after breakfast and fights too. Since all the men’s attention had riveted on his pint-sized savior, and his magic had the boy well protected, he could rest for a minute.

  “Yes, he is. Papa’s twenty
.” Ran held up ten fingers and then ten again before continuing. “Uncle Miren’s fourteen.” The boy flashed ten fingers then folded six of them out of sight. “And I’m four.” Ran ended his demonstration by waggling his four remaining digits.

  “You can’t be four. My son was your height when he was twice your age.” Gray shook his head at Ran. “Kid, it ain’t bloody likely you’re his son.”

  “No papa was sixteen when I was born,” Ran corrected. To further clarify his point, he held up ten, then six fingers.

  “How did you know that?” Sarn stared at his son in shock. Miren had promised to teach Ran to add and subtract, but those lessons had stalled at 1 + 1 = 2.

  “People talk,” Ran shrugged as if to say, and I listen.

  Embarrassed, Sarn shook his head. Ran was a sponge soaking in everything around him. He had to watch what he said from now on.

  However, the exchange set the men off again, and their laughter echoed off the walls. Wiping tears of mirth from his eyes, Gray directed his next question to Sarn.

  “Is the boy Beku’s son?”

  “Yes, she’s my mama.” Ran’s face crumpled, and he turned it into Sarn’s shoulder. “But she went away and didn’t come back,” Ran said to his boots. “Do you know where she went?” Ran looked up at the men with hope shining in his eyes. His grief pinned the five men in place rendering them speechless.

  The sight broke Sarn's heart. He hugged his son. “You still have your uncle and me. We’ll always be there for you.”

  Ran nodded and sniffed. “I know.” The boy transferred his hopeful gaze to his father. “Can we go see mama someday?”

  Sarn kept the ‘no’ building in his soul caged behind his teeth. Ran was his son now, his alone. Beku had given up all rights to the boy when she'd disappeared. Anger tightened a noose around Sarn's neck choking off any further words. Death would be too pat an end to the whole tawdry affair. No, Beku was out there somewhere, and he refused to search for her. He held his son close to his heart and let the question hang between them, unanswered.

  Gray extended a hand to Sarn, but not a truce since the men had yet to claim their pound of flesh.

  Sarn ignored the hand and stood up on his own. Once he was vertical, his son looked up at him with a plea in his green eyes and his thin arms rose for a pick-up. Sarn scooped his son up and Ran settled against his chest. Murders, kidnappings, death threats, hauntings, spies—what would life throw at him next?

  “How did you know my name? I’ve never seen any of you before,” Sarn asked cutting right to the heart of his confusion. He backed up until a five-foot tall wall of undamaged boxes separated him from the fivesome. His heel struck two metal balls sending them rolling.

  “How did Beku die?” Gray’s eyes narrowed on Sarn.

  “I told you already. I don’t know. I wasn’t there.” Sarn rubbed slow circles on his son’s back. Ran deserved a little coddling after the morning they’d had.

  “Liar!” Tree Stumps for Limbs pointed an accusing finger at Sarn.

  “I can’t lie. The thing lighting up my eyes won’t let me.” Sarn gestured with his free hand and all eyes riveted on his Fates-damned face.

  Gray and his friends’ stares bounced between Sarn and his son taking in their uncanny resemblance. Ran smiled, radiating approval at the men’s response.

  Tension thrummed through Sarn stretching his spine rigid as a pole. More than anything, he hated to be stared at. His second attempt to replace the cowl succeeded since his son’s attention had drifted to the destruction they’d caused. No little hands interfered this time, and he relaxed when shadows veiled most of his scarred face.

  Tree Stumps for Limbs drew himself up to his full height—an impressive five foot eleven to Sarn’s six and a half feet. “Liar! She wouldn’t leave the Lower Quarters without you.”

  “Yeah well on that day she did.” Sarn struggled to cover his son’s ears perking up at the mention of his mother. Ironically, he’d been planning to leave her and take Ran with him again. But she’d disappeared before he could say anything.

  Jealousy reared its ugly head. Sarn shoved it down. Beku’s whereabouts were no longer his concern. Neither was the identity of the person she had stepped out with on that fateful morning. Sarn shook his head. “It wasn’t me.”

  “I know,” Ran said, speaking for the first time since the subject of his mother had come up. “You were sleeping. I was too.”

  “Yeah, I was your mattress.” Sarn poked his son’s belly causing the boy to squirm. Then he refocused on Gray and company. “Why did you think I had something to do with this?”

  Gray folded his arms over his chest. “Four years ago, I stopped by to say hello and to check on the current crop of Foundlings. I found the place all but abandoned. A couple stragglers told me a shocking story about a picnic.”

  Sarn recalled the June Sunday in question. Butterflies had flitted between flowers, and a three-month-old Ran had batted tiny fists at them. He glanced at Ran and marveled at how much the boy had grown.

  “What does an outing four years ago have to do with this?”

  Of course, Gray ignored his question. “Imagine my surprise to find out Beku had gone to this picnic on the arm of her newest boy toy. Beku—the woman hadn’t gone outside in two decades. But she went outside with you.”

  “Two decades?” Sarn repeated, staggered by the implications. He’d known Beku was a shut-in, but how could she stay below ground for so long without going crazy? A whole bunch of odd things tumbled together to form an ugly whole.

  “Do you know what agoraphobia means?”

  Sarn shook his head.

  “Fear of wide open spaces.” Gray paused and debated something.

  “Ag-or-a-pho-bi-a,” Ran repeated breaking the word up into its composite syllables. “Fear of wide open spaces—what are wide open spaces?”

  “The meadow is one.”

  Ran repeated the word again. “Mama had this ag-or-a-pho-bi-a?”

  “Yes.”

  Ran’s face clouded again portending more questions. “Am I sick with ag-or-a-pho-bi-a?”

  “No, you don’t have any phobias.”

  “It’s a sickness,” Gray interrupted.

  “It is?” Sarn and his son asked in unison.

  Gray’s comment wrapped cold dread around Sarn. And its grip tightened with every word the man said. “It’s a disease of the mind—where the fear lives. It makes its den in bad memories, and it feeds off them until there’s nothing left.”

  Ran shivered at the vivid description and his anxious eyes fixed on Sarn again. “Did the phobia kill mama?” Ran uttered the word ‘kill’ as if he knew what it meant.

  “Oh, I think it did,” Gray said before Sarn could answer. His gaze skimmed over Sarn’s body, scanning him from head to toe.

  Sarn returned the glare with interest. His cloak drew its two halves together blocking Gray’s assessing stare. Ran wriggled until his head parted it and he could see out.

  Sarn’s heel encountered a solid object. Glancing over his shoulder, he glared at an inconvenient wall. The fight had moved into a storeroom, and Gray and company blocked the only exit. Panic surged, but Sarn hammered it down with logic. Escape was always possible with a little ingenuity.

  Ran patted his pockets causing metal balls to clink and a slingshot to protrude. At least they had one weapon to hand.

  “No wonder she liked you, she’d found someone as screwed up in here as she was.” Gray pointed to his head and relaxed. He’d cracked a difficult nut and exposed its meat, leaving Sarn vulnerable and hating it.

  “What do you want?”

  “I want to know what happened. She was close to you; closer than she’d been with her previous lovers. You knew her better than anyone else even though you were half her age.”

  “And I keep telling you—I don’t know what happened to her.” Sarn heard the chiming of bells, but he ignored them since he had until twentieth bell to meet t
he Rangers—somewhere. Right now, they were the least of his concerns. “Who are you people and why do you care?”

  “You have no idea who we are?” Gray exchanged startled looks with his compatriots.

  “No.”

  “Well since we know your name and your boy’s, I suppose introductions are in order.”

  Dirk was the one Sarn had tagged as Gray. His companions included Ragnes, Villar, Crisso, and Gorfen. None of their names registered.

  “How do you know Beku?”

  “She didn’t mention us?” Villar looked put out as he threaded his belt through the loops on his pants.

  “I’d remember if she had.” Would he? Sarn suppressed his doubts. Now wasn’t the time to entertain them.

  “Interesting, well if you’re the jealous type, I doubt she would have.” Ragnes took pleasure in delivering such a low blow.

  Great, they were old lovers. Sarn ground his teeth. Should he expect more of Beku’s old flames to show up and threaten him? His life offered enough complications.

  “We grew up with her. We were all foundlings at one time,” Dirk said taking pity on Sarn. “We’re not old lovers. Though some of us might have wanted to be, you know why it wouldn’t have been possible.”

  The man’s phrasing threw Sarn for a loop, and he rubbed his temples with his free hand. What the hell was Dirk getting at?

  Dirk blew out an impatient breath. “You’re not real bright, are you?”

  “I don’t know much about Beku’s life before I met her,” Sarn snapped. Of course, he’d never asked because he hadn’t wanted to field the reverse questions.

  “Oh,” Dirk’s face softened in understanding. “So, you didn’t know some jerk raped her when she was young? Afterward, she couldn’t stand to be around grown men, so she went after teenage boys.”

  “She did tell me that.”

  Ran shifted, so his head fit the hollow between neck and shoulder. His breath warmed the fabric bumping over Sarn’s collarbone. “What’s rape mean?”