by Dora Machado
“Lusielle is something different altogether,” Khalia said. “She’s a new concoction, a brew which hasn’t been mixed very often lately, an element of fusion. It’s why she turned out to be fate in your riddle. It’s why she brings change wherever she goes—”
The Lady Ernilda bustled into the room. “We’re coming into port.”
Because Lusielle’s knees were still wobbly from the beating, Khalia and Hato insisted that she should be carried off the ship. Lusielle found herself smiling despite a sore jaw when Severo took a knee before her.
“Mistress.” He kissed her good hand.
“I’m glad to see you safe. Elfu?”
“He’s hurt but alive,” Severo said. “There’s something I should’ve told you before. I don’t care if I’m damned like my lord from now on. You were right. About the Twenty. When he dies, we all die by the lord Hato’s sword.”
The world darkened with the promise of more death and suffering. Her ribs ached along with her heart. When she had come to like the Twenty, she couldn’t tell, but she didn’t want Severo and the others to die. They were good men, devoted, brave and loyal. They didn’t deserve to suffer the curse’s brutal fate.
Lusielle fought a wave of dizziness to keep her senses. Strength. She needed it now more than ever. She had suspected that the vicious curse involved some shocking provisions. How much blood could one creature covet?
“My lady?” Severo said. “I’m sorry I failed you. I’m sorry you got hurt. I swear to you, on my house’s seal, I would have given my life to spare you the horror.”
“I know.” She squeezed Severo’s hand. “I believe you. You have been a great friend to me and a brave companion to your lord and for all of that I thank you. Will you please take me to your lord quickly?”
“Done,” Severo said, picking her up and carrying her in his arms.
The lady Khalia grabbed her remedy case and, together with the rest, escorted them out. The trip from the ship to the Laonian hall took only a few moments. The world went by in a blur, but as they rushed beneath the traitorous bridge where they had been ambushed before, Lusielle noticed the swirl of gods above her. She could only hope the gods were looking down on her with mercy this time around.
Laonia’s hall was nearby. Severo rushed up the stairs. At the landing, the balance of the Twenty parted to let her past. An ornately carved door opened the way into a luxurious chamber. The scents perfuming the room quickened her senses and focused her mind: chamomile, lavender, heavenly whiff, the soothing smells. There were many people in the chamber, but she saw only one.
The man on the bed frightened her. He wore Bren’s face, but he wasn’t really Bren, because death had raided his body and looted his strength. His lips were blue, matching his fingertips. His breath was ragged and shallow. His skin was cold but a clear sheen glimmered on his forehead. Lusielle’s belly twisted with dread.
“The case, please.”
She groped one-handed through her ingredients and found the flask. Her hand shook as she tried to pour some of the potion into a cup. The lady Eleanor came to her assistance, pouring for her. She sported a nasty set of bruises on her neck.
“What happened to you?” Lusielle asked.
“The madness happened,” Eleanor said. “You?”
“Madness too, of a different kind, but brutal all the same.”
Moving stiffly and holding her painful breath, Lusielle grabbed a small dispenser from the healer’s tray and climbed on the bed next to Bren. She filled the dropper from the cup, steadied it against his lips, and emptied it into his mouth one drop at a time. It took a while. She measured the moment in drops and the progress in swallows, praying to her gods and his.
Khalia herded everybody out of the room, until only she and Hato remained behind. Vestor was summoned, but there was little he could do for her or Bren.
“How’s Elfu?” Lusielle asked.
“We don’t know yet,” Vestor said.
Lusielle took a swipe from the strengthening potion, because her heart was as battered as her body and yet she had no choice but to keep going.
“The potion,” Vestor said. “It might be too late. It might not work.”
“I know.” Still, she fed Bren a few more precious drops.
Khalia ushered Vestor away and offered Lusielle a fragrant cup of tea. It was strange to be on the other side of the brew, but it was good and it soothed the pain, calmed her nerves and got her thinking ahead. Her eyes fell on Hato. He was looking almost as haggard as she felt.
“The gods will have to forgive me.” His face sank into his hands. “I’ve broken my oath. I swore to my lord that I would stand fast when the time came. I tried. I swear I tried. I can’t believe I missed my lord’s madness.”
Khalia landed a caring hand on his shoulder. “Pharseus reports Bren never woke after the madness. He never issued any instructions and spoke only rantings.”
“He called my name, Khalia. Several times. He called for me and I wasn’t there.”
“Hush, Hato. You did your best. You were acting in your lord’s best interest.”
Lusielle sensed not just the affection between these two, but the deep caring they had for Bren. The curse had bestowed a terrible burden on Hato, appointed him to the gruesome task of watching all of his lords’ deaths and slaughtering the faithful Twenty. Laonia’s Chamber Lord was a man to be admired, for he was one of the curse’s casualties and yet he bore his tragedy with extraordinary grace and dignity.
“You can still help your lord,” Lusielle said. “It’s not too late. I need to know everything that you know, beginning with how Edmund died.”
The anguish in Hato’s eyes flared. “I can’t betray Laonia.”
“You’re afraid the creature will hear you and punish the whole of Laonia for the trespass.”
“Correct.”
“There might be a way.” Khalia said. “The inverted vermillion shells are currently protecting this room. If they can fool human ears, why can’t they fool the rest?”
“I can’t risk it,” Hato said.
“Are you giving up on Laonia?” Khalia said.
“Nay,” Hato said. “But I’m afraid my lord may be beyond help.”
“He’s not dead yet,” Lusielle said defiantly. “If you want to help him, if you want to save Laonia, then we have to pool our knowledge.”
“We’ve got to try,” Khalia said.
“How can we make sure the protection is working?” Hato said
Lusielle clutched the amulet against her breast. “I have an idea.”
Chapter Eighty-seven
HATO REMOVED THE WASH BASIN FROM the room and locked the door. Khalia did a last check of her inverted shells, making sure they were placed to offer optimum protection. Lusielle was curled next to Bren on the bed, toying with the amulet hanging from her neck. She didn’t look very formidable at the moment, breathing shallow breaths and sporting a broken arm and a nasty bruise along her jaw, but Hato knew her appearance was misleading. The heart of a mighty warrior beat in her chest.
She was set on proving to Hato that the chamber was safely protected. “Is all the water out of the room?” she asked.
“Every vessel and every drop,” Khalia said. “Are you sure you want to take the risk that your amulet doesn’t work?”
“I’m sure,” Lusielle said. “You two can wait outside if you wish.”
“I’m staying,” Khalia said.
“Me too.” Hato had no intention of being anywhere else but by his lord’s side.
Lusielle held the amulet up. “Curse giver, if you are listening to me, I’d like for you to come and meet me.”
Hato’s eyes were glued to the amulet’s crystal charm.
“Curse giver,” she said again, “I have questions to ask of you, about Edmund’s curse, about the blight you have inflicted on the house of Uras.”
She had to be the bravest, most determined creature Hato had ever met, uttering the offending words in every possible way, openl
y challenging the murderous fiend.
“Curse giver—you vile coward—come and get me if you dare.”
The charm’s crystal never darkened.
“I suppose it’s as safe as it can be,” Lusielle said, hovering over Bren, feeding him some more of the potion.
Hato traded a look with Khalia. She nodded. He took a deep breath and closed his eyes, recalling the screams that had woken him from sleep on that fateful night so long ago. Then he began to tell the story that ruined his life and fueled his nightmares, the story he had never told to anyone before.
* * *
Hato was still fastening his robe as he ran down the hall. A servant ran past him, screaming. A guard was slumped against the wall. A second guard stumbled out of the room and vomited. Edmund’s bedchamber seemed in order, except for the odd scent of sandalwood saturating the air, and the open windows, which allowed the wind-blown rain to drench the polished floors and soak Edmund’s favorite carpet.
Edmund sat in his chair, whimpering faintly the screams he could no longer utter. His fingers had turned blue. His eyes were crying blood. His earlobes were but shreds flapping at either side of his face. But these were all incidental horrors compared to what Hato saw next. The curse was etched on Edmund’s forehead by means of a blood stained silver needle. It was pinned to one side of his mouth as if his cheek were the perfect pin cushion. A thread of gold silk was still looped through the eye of the needle, the same fine yarn which had embroidered the perfect seam of tidy stitches sewing Edmund’s lips together.
* * *
The horror of that terrible night still haunted Hato. To this day, the scent of sandalwood made him sick. He couldn’t get himself to say the lines he knew by heart. Instead, he pulled out his journal from his saddlebags and opened it to the right page. Lusielle read the dreaded curse aloud.
“A house to pay for vengeance’s fees
A line to ensure the deed
A crop to share the grief
A sword to reap the wretched seed
And just in case, to kill the means, silence is decreed
A curse of curses, to seal the feat, Laonia’s final fee.”
Ten years after Edmund’s death, Hato had learned much about misery, grief, failure and despair, but he had never found a way to defeat the curse and, despite all his efforts, he still couldn’t account for the terrible deed that had doomed the house of Uras.
“What do you know about the curse?” Lusielle asked Khalia.
“Every curse has to have four basic elements,” Khalia said. “Subject, affliction, provision and signature. These elements don’t have to be in a particular order, but they must be present for a curse to work. The subject defines who is cursed, in this case, a house to pay for vengeance’s fees, Edmund’s entire issue. The affliction defines how the curse will affect the cursed, as in the second line, a line to ensure the deed; the succession will be terminated and every male heir will die.”
Hato was impressed with Khalia’s extensive knowledge. “I take it you’ve read Mythology of Curses?”
“It’s a shame it was never completed,” Khalia said.
“What do you mean?” Lusielle said, gently lifting one of Bren’s eyelids to examine his pupil. The look of disappointment in her face was heart-wrenching.
Hato pulled the ancient manuscript he had secreted from Tolone’s library out of his bag and handed it to Lusielle, who turned over the dropper to Khalia while she examined the manuscript closely. Khalia refilled the cup and the dispenser while Lusielle skimmed the manuscript’s pages, stopping once or twice to reread a particular paragraph, going back and forth several times between different headings, rushing through it as if she were starved for knowledge.
“Interesting,” she said, when she was done, retrieving the dropper from Khalia and resuming her attempts to get more potion into Bren. “What can you tell me about the curse’s provisions?”
“The provisions are precautions that the curse giver takes to ensure that the curse will be powerful and effective,” Khalia said. “Sometimes, the provisions will mention some sort of remedy, but regrettably, any reference to a remedy appears to have been omitted in Edmund’s curse.”
“Maybe that’s it,” Hato said. “Maybe Lusielle is fated to brew a remedy that will cure the curse.”
“To brew a proper remedy one must understand not just the nature of the disease but what causes the ailment,” Lusielle said.
“Besides,” Khalia said, “curses are never that simple and the provisions of Edmund’s curse are rather insidious.”
“How so?”
“Look at this line,” Hato said. “The curse giver conjured a deluge to flood Laonia and demanded a crop to share the grief, the appointment of the Twenty in order to stop the floods.”
“Why?”
“It was a sure way to spread the suffering,” Hato explained, “to connect Laonia’s highborn into the curse, to incite revolt, murder, conspiracy, mutiny, to further erode the line of Uras’s support among Laonians. But the provision didn’t work as the curse giver intended, because the people stood by the house of Uras and far from being the bitter victims the fiend might have expected, the Twenty turned out to be a steadfast bunch.”
“That I know,” Lusielle said, checking on Bren’s breathing and rearranging his blankets. “You are the sword, aren’t you? The one intended to reap the wretched seed. Why you?”
“I was Edmund’s Chamber Lord. I was his second in command. I was convenient. The curse giver needed someone to do the dirty work at the end, someone to slaughter the faithful when the last Lord of Laonia dies, which is required in order to bring the curse to an end.”
“I could’ve never guessed all that from these few lines.”
“Neither could we,” Hato said. “Curses are notoriously difficult to understand. They read like riddles on purpose to bait, mock and confuse. They can be interpreted but never with complete assurance. Considering the serious implications of a mistake, we couldn’t afford misinterpreting anything.”
“Then how did you learn what you know so far?”
“We found out what the lines meant when Ethan died,” Hato said. “It was Ethan who told us what to do and why. The curse giver was very shrewd. The lines can only be correctly interpreted during the madness.”
“Edmund’s curse is also noteworthy because it contains a silence decree,” Khalia said. “It prevents anyone directly involved with the curse from speaking to anyone else about the curse.”
“The curse giver didn’t want us talking about it,” Lusielle said. “It was protecting its work from reason and knowledge.”
“The penalties for breaking the silence clause are huge,” Hato said. “An endless blight on Laonia, pestilence, famine, catastrophe. If the floods were any indication of the curse’s enormous power, Laonia can be utterly destroyed if someone speaks out of turn.”
“That’s why Bren never spoke of the curse,” Lusielle said, holding Bren’s inert hand, “or you, or any of the Twenty.”
“And just in case someone thought it necessary to break the silence clause,” Hato said, “the curse giver added a curse of curses, a perpetuation clause, a promise of personal contagion if anyone tries to tamper with the curse in any way.”
“It’s why none of Teos’s scholars wanted to study the curse,” Khalia said. “It’s why every highborn who knows is afraid of even mentioning what happened to the house of Uras. The fiend who conjured this curse was as cruel as it was smart.”
“It was also very accomplished.” Lusielle said. “Where’s the curse giver’s signature in Edmund’s curse?”
“That’s another problem,” Hato said.
“There’s no signature,” Khalia said.
“But you said there had to be a signature if the curse was to work.”
“We must assume it’s in the curse somewhere, because it works,” Khalia said, “but no matter how hard I’ve looked, I haven’t been able to find it.”
“Me neither,” Ha
to said.
Lusielle seemed to think about that. “Tell me about these other verses you’ve found. I gather that you think they’re written by the same author. Are they part of Edmund’s curse?”
“I don’t think so,” Hato said, “but they are somehow related to it.”
“How?”
“The verses were written by the same person,” Hato said. “They could offer us clues as to who the curse giver is and why the curse was conjured in the first place. If that’s the case, then it could give us the knowledge we need to defeat the curse.”
“What kind of knowledge?”
“In the old days it was believed that if a person knew the reason for the curse and the name of the conjurer, one could redeem the curse by righting the wrong that had fueled the curse in the first place.”
“Is that true?”
“Who knows?” Khalia said. “It was also said that if a person could burn the original written curse, the curse would be defeated. Robert burned the riddle he found and it obviously didn’t work.”
“Bren and I thought that a different curse from the same author could defuse Edmund’s curse,” Hato said.
“Is it possible?” Lusielle said, squeezing a few more drops of the potion into Bren’s mouth.
“There’s an old account that speaks of defeating a curse with another curse,” Khalia said. “To evil, evil; to horror, terror counsels The Tale. I don’t know how it would work.”
Lusielle’s forehead wrinkled in thought. “A poison that neutralizes another poison is not a suitable remedy because it kills all the same. How can you be sure that the verses from the manuscript are also a curse?”
“I can’t be sure,” Hato said. “But the tone, the voice—”
“The structure, too,” Khalia said. “It conforms closely to a curse’s basic composition.”
“Show me.”
Hato lay out the strips on the bed. “Do you have Arnulf’s strip?”
Khalia gestured to Lusielle, who was already opening a secret compartment in her remedy case and pulling out the little scroll.
