Until All Curses Are Lifted

by Tim Frankovich

  “What are they?” Seri couldn’t help asking.

  “Careful of the ink. It dries quickly.”

  CHAPTER FIVE

  KISHIN FOUND DARKNESS comforting at this stage. Bright light had been agony to him for many years, but now even average daylight could send spikes of pain through his eyes. Fortunately, it had not yet affected the clarity of his vision. The day it did would be the day he put a knife through one of those eyes and ended it all. Without his vision, he would be useless.

  Between jobs, he usually sat in a room with no windows. The door had a curtain over it, shielding even the light that seeped in around the edges. It also muffled the sound when Aapo knocked with his customary insistence.

  “Come,” Kishin said in a guttural rasp. He could still speak, but sometimes found it difficult to form the proper syllables after lengthy periods of disuse.

  The door opened and Aapo pushed aside the curtain to enter. Kishin winced as the light streamed in, but his eyes adjusted. They always did.

  Aapo shifted his balance from one foot to the other. He looked in every direction but at his master. Kishin frowned. Aapo had only been with him a few days, but it was surely long enough to avoid this kind of nonsense.

  “Look at me!” Kishin commanded.

  Aapo’s eyes focused on Kishin’s face and a visible shudder ran over him.

  “What is it?”

  “A, uh, a message has arrived,” Aapo said, “from Reman. A job, I think.”

  Of course it was a job. Why else would anyone send a message? Aapo seemed to be lacking in basic logic. Kishin nodded at him to continue.

  “The message said ‘Cursed man. Marshal of Drusa’s Crossing. Usual rates.’”

  Kishin considered for a moment. The job must be from Volraag. The young Lord grew more ambitious. Drusa’s Crossing - a village far to the north of Varioch, almost on the Ch’olan border, if he recalled correctly. How could a cursed man there have angered Volraag enough to hire Kishin? Ultimately, it didn’t matter, of course, but Kishin found it curious. He scratched the back of his hand and a long piece of dead skin fell off.

  Aapo cringed.

  Kishin moved with shocking speed. One moment he sat cross-legged on the floor. The next, he had Aapo pinned to the wall with his left hand around the servant’s neck.

  “Two things I will not tolerate in a servant,” he said, his voice sinking even lower. “Disgust. And pity. I am Kishin the Untouchable. Men call me pariah, leper, outcast. But do you know what I truly am?”

  Aapo shook his head, eyes full of terror.

  “I am cursed. I have the worst curse imaginable, a living death. Do you know what that does for me?”

  Aapo continued to shake.

  Kishin leaned in closer. “It sets me free.”

  He drew back his right hand and an obsidian dagger suddenly thrust out from his sleeve. He guided the blade up to Aapo’s face and traced the point around each eye.

  “I could cut your eyes out right now,” he said. “And I do it without worry. No other curse can touch me.”

  He leaned back in, his face almost touching the other man’s. The dagger nicked Aapo’s ear as it slid down the side of his face.

  “Tell me your curse.”

  Aapo trembled. “I… I have no curse.”

  “We all have curses. Without exception. Now. Tell me your curse.”

  “I don’t have a curse!”

  Kishin let him go and turned away. The blade slid back into its housing within his sleeve.

  “Pack my things,” he ordered. “Make sure there’s enough food and starshine. I’ll be gone for some time.”

  Aapo rushed out of the room as quickly as he could. Once he finished packing, Kishin would ask him one more time. If Aapo proved unable to name his curse, Kishin would have to kill him. It was a shame, as it would have been nice to have someone take care of the household while Kishin was gone. But everyone must be shown. Everyone had a curse.

  He shoved the curtain aside and stepped out into the light. The pain that struck his eyes felt almost welcoming this time. It was one of the only things he could genuinely feel. It reminded him that despite the curse’s best efforts, he still lived. Despite the mages, despite the Lords, despite even Theon himself, Kishin still lived, flouting all their laws.

  Perhaps that explained why they found him so useful.

  CHAPTER SIX

  “THIS IS RIDICULOUS!” Victor said for about the fourth time. The three travelers had been walking down the road from Drusa’s Crossing for less than an hour, traveling south down the same road by which Volraag and company had ridden away.

  In time, this road would lead them down from the mountain foothills. Eventually, it would wind all the way to Reman itself, the capital city of Varioch. Marshal doubted they would be heading in the direction of danger itself. He suspected they would be leaving this road before too long.

  “What do you want from me, Victor?” Aelia asked. “I’ve told you why it must be done. There’s no other choice.”

  “Sure there is! We just don’t go anywhere!”

  “And when the assassins come to kill Marshal? How will your Binding affect you then? When you fail to protect him and he dies? Do you know what that does to someone?”

  From the look on Victor’s face, he clearly didn’t, but he pushed on. “But that’ll give me a chance to save him! And then the Binding will be removed!”

  Aelia sighed. “Lord Varion’s son is the second-most powerful person in the land,” she said. “Do you know what he is capable of?”

  “Not really.”

  Marshal looked from one to the other as the conversation continued. Despite the dispute, all three kept walking.

  “Think about it this way,” Aelia went on. “With the Laws of Bindings and Cursings, how would you go about killing someone?”

  Victor furrowed his brow. “I… wouldn’t. No one would. The curse that would fall on you for murder is too much. It wouldn’t be worth it.”

  “To the Lord’s son, it is worth it… but not for himself. He wouldn’t risk getting cursed, or he would have killed Marshal this morning. So think about it: what kind of man would he go to… who would he be able to find, with his resources, that would be willing to do that?”

  “He would have to be insane!” Victor walked on in silence for a few moments. “Do such people exist?” he wondered.

  Aelia nodded, her face grave. “They do. They are extremely rare, obviously, but they deal in death and are not concerned with the consequences. Such men are beyond your ability to protect Marshal. You would fail. The Binding would be broken. And you would suffer for it the rest of your life.”

  There was another solution, of course, but no one spoke of it. Marshal felt inside his coat for Volraag’s dagger. Maybe his brother had been right. If Marshal killed himself, neither his mother nor Victor would have to suffer. But even if he wanted to, did he have the strength to do it? Marshal hated his life, but he wasn’t so sure he wanted to experience death just yet.

  Aelia’s final words back at the cabin echoed through his mind. Could his curse truly be lifted? The traveling priest who came to their village once a month spoke of a time when all curses would be lifted, but Aelia didn’t seem to be referencing that story. She spoke of lifting only Marshal’s curse. If that were possible, why hadn’t she done it sooner?

  Just before nightfall, they reached an intersection and Aelia took a right turn. The new road, smaller and less used, led southwest, while the main road they had abandoned curved to the southeast.

  As night fell, the temperature dropped. While they had been walking, Marshal had almost been able to ignore the cold. But now all his warm clothes seemed useless. The chill sank into his bones.

  Aelia found a small clearing a few feet away from the road. The level ground and a ring of stones showed evidence of its previous use as a campsite. “Gather some firewood,” she told the boys. “Let’s try to warm up.”

  Marshal walked in a widening circle, pickin
g up every stick he could find. He heard Victor griping nearby while doing the same. He smiled in spite of himself. Truthfully, Marshal didn’t know when Victor was being serious, despite having known him for most of his life. Victor always told people that the Binding between the two of them was the worst thing that had ever happened in his life. But when they were alone, when Titus in particular wasn’t around, Victor treated Marshal almost normal.

  He tried to look at the situation from Victor’s point of view. He had been dragged away from home, from his family, from his girl, and forced into a journey with companions he never would have chosen on his own. No matter how he considered it, Marshal couldn’t see anything positive for Victor.

  His curse continued to find new ways to hurt others.

  Back in their chosen campsite, they worked together to get the fire started. Victor grumbled some more during the process, which took far longer than any of them liked. Finally, the fire grew large enough to provide significant warmth. All three of them stood as close as they dared to the flames, rotating their bodies from time to time.

  “We’ll have to feed it throughout the night,” Aelia said. “That curse-stalker might still be about, but the fire should keep it away.”

  “Should we take turns staying awake?” Victor wondered.

  “We can try. I’ll sleep first. Wake me when you’re too tired to stay awake.”

  After spreading out their blankets. Aelia wrapped up and closed her eyes. Victor pulled a deck of cards out of his pack. “How about a game of Mages and Lords before bed?” he asked. Marshal shrugged. He tolerated the game, though he knew Victor loved it. Maybe that’s why he almost always won.

  Victor flipped the first card from the top of the deck. “Lord,” he said, taking the card and placing it in front of him on his blanket. Marshal flipped the next one. A wild mage. Useless this early in the game. He returned it to the bottom of the deck.

  The game was simple enough. The deck held only twenty cards. To win, you had to assemble all six Lords or all six Mages. The other cards in the deck could affect the deck’s order or imprison some of the other cards. The King card was fun to play, as he could release all of the prisoners. Marshal liked that part, though he wondered why the General could do practically the same thing. He also enjoyed the artwork. Each of the Lords and Mages appeared like they would in their native lands.

  Victor won, of course. When Marshal declined a second game, he put the cards away and left to retrieve more firewood.

  Marshal remained sitting.

  He took out Volraag’s dagger and looked at it again.The hilt’s wrapping was the finest he’d ever seen, tight bands of leather cord. The pommel held an engraving of a bird in flight. The dancing fire reflected from the shiny blade, so beautiful and so deadly. What would it feel like to thrust that sharp point into his own chest?

  He had felt the pain of being stabbed before, though not by something like this. Some years back, he had been helping his mother with her tools when his hand shook. He dropped a dozen different items all over the floor. When he tried to salvage the situation, a large needle pierced straight through the palm of his hand. He still remembered that particular pain. A stab from this dagger would be like that, only worse.

  What would happen if he stabbed his own heart? Would it stop beating? Aelia said the heart pumped blood throughout the body. Would all of his blood stop moving? Drain down into his legs? What would that feel like? The thoughts pursued him into slumber.

  Marshal awoke to find Victor and Aelia sound asleep and the fire almost dead. He shivered and stood. The only solution to the early morning cold was a bigger fire, and that needed more fuel. He tossed the last few sticks onto the tiny flame and pushed his way through the snow to find some more.

  Not far from the fire, he found a large dead branch barely clinging to a tree at his chest level. His hands shook, but he managed to break off large chunks of it. As he worked on breaking off the largest piece, a blur of movement caught his eye.

  Something wrapped around his left ankle, yanked hard, and jerked him to the ground. He took the branch with him, but struck his chin on the ground and nearly bit his tongue.

  Marshal rolled into a sit-up, somehow keeping hold of the branch. Not much of a weapon, but it would have to do. The dagger was back at the campfire.

  He found himself face-to-face with the curse-stalker. The creature hissed at him. Though he had been warned about them all his life, Marshal had never seen a curse-stalker before. Bigger than a man, it resembled a giant lizard with a massive head, shaped like a half circle. Its enormously wide mouth opened, revealing double rows of serrated teeth. Behind the teeth, Marshal saw something begin to move.

  He shoved the branch into the creature’s mouth and scrambled backward. He found another stick and grabbed it, wishing he could shout or scream or do something to attract attention. Anything at all.

  “Ha, ha! Finally!” Victor’s cry shattered the silence.

  He leaped into view, attempting to strike a dramatic pose between Marshal and the beast. The attempt was ruined when he slipped on the snow and almost fell. When he regained his balance, he spun a flail above his head and shouted a challenge at the creature. He glanced over his shoulder at Marshal and grinned.

  The curse-stalker hissed again and circled this new foe, eyes darting back and forth. Marshal took the opportunity to back farther away. Out of the corner of his eye, he noticed a shadowy figure standing inside the tree line.

  With a grunt, Victor leaped forward and swung his flail. The rusty iron ball at the end of the chain bounced off the curse-stalker’s head. The monster snarled and charged.

  Victor tried to get the flail spinning again, but the beast moved too fast, rushing past him, intent on Marshal. The beast’s tail whipped around and slammed into Victor’s chest as it passed. The impact flung him half a dozen feet through the air before he landed and rolled through the snow.

  Marshal waved the remaining branch as the curse-stalker charged him. The creature slid to a stop a few feet away, its eyes watching the branch as Marshal moved it back and forth.

  Victor shoved snow aside, and his eyes met Marshal’s over the creature’s back. He wasn’t holding the flail. Victor yelled, and charged at the creature bare-handed.

  The curse-stalker lunged at Marshal, who swung his branch at its head. The creature snatched the branch from his hands and snapped it in pieces. At the same moment, Victor launched himself in a full-body tackle.

  Victor wasn’t a huge man, but his tackle took the curse-stalker to the ground. They both slid through the wet snow and mud. The creature thrashed, legs and tail whipping around in every direction. With no other options, Victor held on. “Get out of here!” he yelled at Marshal.

  Marshal scrambled toward the campsite. The wet and slippery ground, torn apart by the conflict, slowed his progress. His hands shook. Not now! Once again, he caught a glimpse of the shadow. It had moved closer, still watching.

  The curse-stalker bleated a strange sound, something between a goat’s cry and the call of a large bird. Marshal glanced back and saw it roll on top of Victor, crushing him into the mud. When it got back on its feet, Victor punched at the creature. It seemed not to notice.

  This time, nothing stood between it and Marshal.

  It moved with surprising speed on the uncertain surface, closing the distance between them in moments. When Marshal turned to face his pursuer, the beast’s mouth opened wide. Two long, slimy tongues shot out with blinding speed, passing by either side of Marshal’s face, then wrapping around his head from both directions. The sticky tendrils yanked at him and covered his nose, ears, and one eye. Marshal grabbed at the tendrils with both hands and pulled.

  Through one eye, he saw Victor get to his feet, head twisting back and forth as he searched for his flail. He lunged at a nearby snow bank and extracted it just as Marshal’s mouth opened in a silent scream.

  Where the beast’s tongue touched his skin, it burned, dropping Marshal to his knees. The
pain worsened, searing into his entire skull.

  He could barely see Victor. A short sword appeared out of nowhere, severing both of the curse-stalker’s tongues. Marshal and the beast fell backward at the loss of their connection. The curse-stalker shook its head, keening a horrible sound.

  Marshal looked up at his savior with his one uncovered eye. Aelia, stood poised for action. She cut a strange figure, clad in her warm peasant’s clothing, while wielding a vicious short sword. A fog descended over Marshal’s uncovered eye.

  “Help him!” Aelia yelled to Victor. She took two more purposeful steps toward the curse-stalker. It continued to shake its head, keening and knocking its mouth against the ground.

  “Stupid boy,” Marshal heard her grumble. “What use is a rusted flail against this?”

  Victor scrambled toward Marshal and tried to remove the remains of the tongues. “Ugh,” he said. “Let me get a knife.”

  In a haze, Marshal saw Aelia lift the sword high and stab it down in one smooth motion.

  The sounds of the curse-stalker ceased.

  Victor pulled his glove off and fumbled at his belt, while Aelia landed on her knees next to the boys.

  “Marshal! Are you all right?”

  Victor found his knife and cut the tongues loose from Marshal’s head. “I can’t… These things are stuck to him. What was it doing?”

  “The curse-stalker feeds on magic,” Aelia answered. She reached in and guided Victor’s hands. “The tongues draw the magic out. Without help, it would have drained Marshal of both magic and life, leaving him a dead husk. I’ve seen it before.”

  Victor shot her a quick look. “You’ve seen it before?”