Curse Breaker: Sundered

by Melinda Kucsera

  Before Ranispara could ask what that trouble was, the ground raced away from her then she was standing in front of a rather confused Inari.

  “Did you just see—” Ranispara’s voice trailed off when the younger woman found no words worthy of describing Shayari’s legendary Queen—her new boss? Mistress? What was the proper mode of address?

  As Ranispara stood there pummeling her brain for the answer, the memory of what had just happened receded, leaving her confused. Inari grasped her arm and turned her away from the forest, but that didn’t help. Ranispara still felt like something was missing, and something else had been added, but the twin sensations made no sense.

  “I saw her too. I guess she’s not a myth after all.” Inari offered her a bemused smile, and Ranispara accepted it with a head shake.

  “I guess not.” Ranispara’s face clouded, and she toyed with the end of her waist-length braid. “What were we talking about before she showed up? It was important.”

  [Now]

  I did say yes! Ranispara felt like doing a happy dance right there amid the ruins. Later, she could be upset at the Queen of All Trees for hiding that memory, but right now, she just wanted to revel in it. But the sword in her hand reminded her she had work to do—the kind she’d always dreamed of doing. I better get on with it. That hooded guy must be around here somewhere.

  A black thing shot out of the pile she was rounding and struck something Ranispara couldn’t see with a flesh-tearing thunk. Was that a spear? She darted back around that tower of broken stones as quietly as she could to check on Nolo. He was okay but horrified by something happening beyond that leaning arch. But there was just a giant hole there.

  What the hell are you looking at? Come on Nolo, tell me what I’m dealing with before I have to deal with it. But he didn’t.

  Rangers were many things, but they weren’t psychic, not since the ban on magic and magic-imbued items had been passed in centuries past. That ridiculous law had made ‘communication stones’ illegal to use or possess. Only lumir crystals were exempt because open flames were dangerous, and they weren’t.

  Besides, no one in their right mind would give up such an excellent source of illumination just because there was some magic making it glow. I wish they’d felt the same way about those communication stones. They would be damned useful right now. But they were illegal, and most had been destroyed or walled up somewhere.

  I bet Sarn could make them. That Kid can do amazing things with crystals. Someone’s got to have an instruction manual or an unconfiscated communication stone he can use as a template. If Ranispara lived through this, she’d make it her business to find out.

  “No!” a woman screamed and probably thrashed, sending loose stones clattering over the edge.

  “You were the last piece of the puzzle. So clever of Michael to set the ward that way. I didn’t think he would use an angel as the key, but I suppose it’s fitting since an archangel made the lock,” said either the Big Bad or one of his goons.

  Ranispara had only seen one before, but she hadn’t had time to properly reconnoiter before it had attacked her, and bad guys rarely ever worked alone.

  “You’ll never break all the seals. My brother and sister angels will stop you,” said the woman, and her bald statement implied she, too, was an angel. Too bad there was so much rubbish blocking all sight of her. Ranispara would have liked to have met that plucky angel.

  We sure do live in interesting times. Ranispara ducked behind a heap of rubble and hurried around it into a free-standing wall. Thankfully, part of it had sheared off about twenty feet on, give or take, and she paused to peer through that hole. Still no sign of Goon Number One or the Big Bad, then he spoke again:

  “Maybe they will, but maybe they won’t. Sometimes, evil wins. That’s the curse of free will, my dear.”

  A brilliant flash blinded her as Ranispara climbed through that hole. Something cold brushed her arm sending a frisson through her. Ranispara shuddered at the unnatural touch but kept moving by feel alone because her eyes were watering so much, she couldn’t see anything except an afterimage of that flash, which wasn’t helpful.

  “No, you fool,” said the Big Bad.

  Ranispara hadn’t inquired about his name or nature. When a howl nearly deafened her, she wished she had. At least the sound gave her a direction and a reason to strike. She gave her eyes one last swipe to clear them then raised the sword in an over hand chop. It wouldn’t be a pretty blow, but that black blob in front of her was too big to miss.

  “Good always triumphs eventually,” Ranispara said because heroes always made some quip in the best stories, and she’d always dreamed of saying that right before she took out the Big Bad and saved the day.

  Gold flames engulfed the sword as it struck and a powerful shock traveled up her arm, but Ranispara raised the sword for another strike. Take that you giant skull of evil! Time dilated until it felt like it was moving backward instead of forward as her second blow fell.

  Bad Rock

  “Why are we following him?” Ran asked as he darted suspicious glances at Jersten’s back. But so far, all the dusty miner did was trudge onward while echoes of loud thuds and falling rocks chased them down a dark and twisty tunnel.

  “Because I promised I would.”

  “Why’d you do that?”

  “So he won’t tell anyone about you.”

  As soon as Sarn had said those words, he wanted to retract them. They cut too close to the heart of things. So he made a last ditch effort to divert his son from the truth.

  “I don’t trust his friends. It’s like you said. ‘Bad people stick together,’ so do con men.”

  “So, I’m not a secret?” Ran actually sounded disappointed about that.

  Sarn bit his lip to keep the truth inside. Yes, you are, but I can’t tell you that because I don’t want to frighten you if the worst happens. And one day it would. He couldn’t stop that only delay it for as long as he could.

  As an Indentured man, Sarn had no legal rights to anything not given to him by his master, nor could he claim his son. Ran would become a ward of the mountain if anyone ever found out about him. Then, his son would be subject to the whims of its lord. Like I was when the Lord of the Mountain found my brother and me in the snow.

  It was a hard life and not a fate Sarn would wish on anyone especially not his sweet son. I will find a way to keep him and damn the laws. I’m not losing my son.

  Although, lack of sleep and the constant dangers they’d faced for far too many hours had combined to make his son more than a little cross with him.

  “If I’m not a secret, then why did I have to hide under the cart?”

  Because there wasn't time for a meet-and-greet or the trouble that would have caused. But the Ægaldar might have made that all moot anyway when it ripped the floor out from under them. Did you see my son for who he really is, Nolo? Do you know he’s mine? Sarn heaved a sigh and felt the weight of the world bearing down on his shoulders.

  “It doesn’t matter anymore.”

  “Why?”

  “It just doesn’t.”

  “Then why can’t we help J.C. now? You promised him first.”

  Ran nestled Bear under his chin and clamped him tight against his chest in a one-armed hug. His question struck the heart of Sarn’s worry. There was only one reason he could think of that would keep the promise from forcing its fulfillment, and it scared him.

  What he’d said to Nolo haunted him in the sudden quiet that fell, so he repeated them for his son’s sake.

  “I don’t get to pick and choose what promises I keep.”

  “Oh,” was all Ran said as the monster resumed its relentless pounding on the upper floors.

  Even though they were some distance away, those booms were still quite loud. Was the Ægaldar trying to bring the mountain down? Could it? That question shot a bolt of fear into Sarn’s heart because they were winding ever deeper underground.

  “How much further?” he asked Jersten.<
br />
  “Not too much further. Steady on.”

  Like I have a choice. Sarn felt like laughing and knew it was exhaustion, so he refrained.

  “Your hand’s really cold and splotchy.” Ran squeezed his hand, and a tingly warmth raced up Sarn’s arm. The devil’s mark was on the move again.

  “Is the bad magic after you again?”

  Ran stretched up on his toes to check. He shoved Sarn’s sleeve up revealing the inky designs fleeing from the glow of his pendant.

  “It’s better now.”

  It wasn’t, but Sarn kept silent about that. He felt the cold darkness closing in on him. Help me J.C. He wanted to find his new friend and help him, but Sarn trudged on anyway because an invisible force pushed him to follow Jersten wherever he led. There was no escaping it. Its grip was like iron.

  “Is J.C. okay?”

  “I hope so. He seemed pretty tough. Why do you ask?”

  “Because the promise isn’t making you go to him.”

  Sarn didn't want to think about the reason why the promise he made to Jersten just a few minutes ago was overpowering the one he’d made to J.C. earlier today. But his mind kept turning over the possibility that something terrible might have happened to his new friend.

  It didn't seem possible. J.C. was so otherworldly, but there was no other explanation for why this new promise was trumping the other one except that J.C. was no longer around or able to hold him to his promise. And that was more than a little worrisome. But there was still so much Sarn didn't know about how these promises worked.

  When this is over I need to find out. Somewhere there must be information about it. I can't keep walking around making promises without understanding all the implications of them. To do so was madness, and Sarn had been a fool not to question that before now. But it had just never seemed important because there had only been the one promise that sent him every night to the Rangers.

  Sarn had never been caught in a web of promises before, and he didn’t intend to ever be so caught again. It was too dangerous for him and his son and everyone who counted on him.

  Every promise he made gave someone else mastery over him and his powers, and that had to stop. I need to become my own master if I'm ever going to escape the Adversary’s clutches. Because he had a feeling that's where they were headed: to a trap the Adversary had set.

  Think. Stay alive. There must be a way to beat him and his accursed mark. I escaped the Adversary’s clutches before without magic, so I can do it again for Ran’s sake and my own.

  Sarn had a bad feeling that only intensified as he stopped to rest. He leaned against the wall too spent to continue, the strength his heroes’ ghosts had given him was gone and the pain was returning. So too was the dizziness and with it, the nausea as that familiar black mist washed over his boots. It was stealing the remnants of the Guardian-Healer’s power, and the healing spell he’d left in place to continue his work. Damn that black lumir crystal.

  “Papa? You’re not okay.” Ran squeezed his hand seeking comfort, and Sarn squeezed back, giving what he could.

  “It’s not much farther,” Jersten took his arm.

  “I can’t go any further. I need to rest.”

  Sarn touched his pendant, but its glow conferred no help this time. He was on his own. Sarn hadn’t felt this alone and vulnerable in a long time. There was no one to save him now. No one even knew where he was.

  “What did you want to show me?”

  Sarn fixated on that. It was something he could do. J.C. was beyond his help now, and there was no way he could defeat the monster in the pit, not with a concussion, nor while he had to protect his son.

  I failed. Sarn closed his eyes, he was seeing two Rans again, and both regarded him with fearful eyes.

  “Are you sure you can’t go on?’

  “Not unless you can carry me.”

  Jersten couldn’t of course. He was a whip-thin man decades older than Sarn.

  “What about magic? It could carry you,” Ran said. “Call it back.”

  “I can’t concentrate enough to invoke the question again. I’m sorry. My head hurts again.”

  “What’s he talking about?”

  Jersten fingered something in his pocket. Did the shadows just move closer? Sarn squinted at them but the double vision made it hard to tell.

  “Just what I said. My magic’s gone—out of reach until I can get it back.”

  “Then you can’t tell me what this is.” Jersten regarded an object in his hand.

  Ran backed away from it and hid his face in Sarn’s chest.

  “What is it?”

  “It’s a bad thing.”

  “In what way?”

  “It’s all dark and squiggly.”

  Which was how Ran had described everything associated with or touched by the Adversary. His son really needed to expand his vocabulary.

  “Where did you get it?”

  “I found it in an abandoned section of the mines. There were two but I lost one.”

  “Where did you lose it?” Sarn had a feeling everything depended on the answer to that question.

  Two Jerstens met his gaze. One was shadowed and one was smiling grimly. There was a manic light in his eyes.

  “I took it from Dirk and threw it into the pit.”

  Dirk—the name startled Sarn. He’d lost track of that man so many hours ago he’d forgotten about him. But Dirk was where all of this had begun.

  “Tell me everything.” Sarn pulled his son onto his lap and hugged the boy close.

  “Yes, I should. He would want me to do that.”

  “Who would want you to do that?” Sarn stiffened afraid of the answer, but he had to know. Please, don’t let it be the Adversary.

  “I don’t know his name. He had a voice unlike any I’ve heard before. He was light and love, and he told me to take the rock and throw it into the pit. You see—I had to stop the people from dying. To do that, I had to break the spell, and I did.”

  “What spell? Can you describe it?”

  A haunted look crossed Jersten’s gaunt face. “It was a bright flash that killed on contact. There was a dark presence, and he called them to jump into the white fire. ‘Ashes to ashes,’ he said.” A tear coursed down Jersten’s hollow cheek.

  “Who said that?”

  Jersten shook his head and bit his lip, so he could not answer that all-important question.

  Sarn glanced at his son. Ran had curled into him, and he wished he’d thought to cover the boy’s ears. This wasn’t something he should hear. None of it made any sense either. This didn’t sound like the Adversary’s doing. Why would that entity send people to their deaths? What would he gain by it?

  “We’re missing something.”

  Ran nodded and sucked on his incredibly grubby thumb. Sarn grimaced at that but he had no way to clean anything, and Ran was up way past his bed time. The tyke would fall asleep in his arms if they sat there for too much longer.

  Ordinarily, that wouldn’t be a problem, but he could barely walk even with help. So carrying a sleeping child was out of the question. I’m a terrible parent. I should have found some way to get Ran out of this hours ago.

  As if guessing the drift of his thoughts, Ran shook his head and hugged him, making it clear he was right where he wanted to be, danger or no. Sarn returned that embrace with interest. What would I do without you?

  Sarn hoped he would never find out as he refocused on Jersten’s story. Through the haze of pain, it was hard to concentrate, but he ran through everything from the beginning anyway searching for what he’d missed. What is the Adversary’s end game?

  Sarn had no idea. His mind kept circling back to the rock in Jersten’s hand. It was part of a pair. Jersten caught the direction of his gaze and intuited his question.

  “It’s like the one I threw away, but this rock is not tied to an evil spell. It’s just a rock. I thought if you could identify it, this thing might be able to help you.”

  Can I still do that with
out my magic? Sarn regarded his pendant. It had powers undimmed by the black lumir crystal and the black mist still curling through the Lower Quarters. Why not try it? After all, hadn’t he decided it was the answer to everything? Bear and Sovvan had both said everything had an opposite, and his pendant was as close to an opposite as he was likely to get..

  “What is it, Papa? Do you have an idea?”

  Just the thought cheered Ran considerably. He sat up straighter, not quite bright-eyed but definitely interested, and that was better than scared.

  Sarn met his son’s curious green eyes and was relieved when he only saw one Ran. “What’s the opposite of the magic-stealer?”

  Could it really be that simple? Was I holding the answer all along and didn’t know it?

  Ran puzzled through his question then his eyes brightened and he smiled. “The magic-giver.” Ran touched the jewel. “J.C. said belief is power.”

  “He did? I must have missed that.”

  Ran nodded. “I believe in you, Papa.”

  “I believe in you too.”

  Sarn removed his son’s fingers from the crystal and cupped it with his free hand. White light obliterated the dark. It wrapped around them, pulling them into its burning heart. Ran snuggled against Sarn content to rest in its brilliant embrace. He squeezed Sarn’s hand as that light shaped itself into a cross, and it asked the one question Sarn had not been prepared to answer:

  “What do you believe?”

  “Magic is good,” Ran said, elbowing Sarn in the ribs. That wasn’t the question he’d been expecting.

  “Magic is what you make of it. If you believe it’s a force for good and right, then that’s what it will be for you. If you believe it’s dark and twisted and only to be used to do evil, then that’s what it will be. But you must choose. You stand at a crossroads. Magic can be whatever you make of it. What will you make of it?”

  “Good things,” Ran prompted. “You only do good things with the magic. Tell him, Papa.”