Until All Curses Are Lifted

by Tim Frankovich

  After twisting and turning her way through several rows of bookshelves, Seri paused to catch her breath. She sat down on a nearby stool and listened.

  She heard nothing. No footsteps, no rustling of books. Perhaps Curasir had not been following her, after all. She let her shoulders slump and relaxed.

  What a day it had been. She woke up feeling the power of Zes Sivas, only to have Curasir invade her bedroom. She learned from Master Hain, spent time with Dravid, and now this. Her emotions traveled up and down.

  She felt a prickle at the back of her neck, similar to the feeling of power she felt below the island. But whereas Zes Sivas was a massive, pulsing fount of power waiting to burst forth, this was something else entirely: a swirling miniature maelstrom of power that seemed to be moving toward her, somewhere nearby. The vibrations felt totally different, more chaotic and strange.

  She got to her feet and stepped on top of the stool. On her tiptoes, she managed to peek over the top of the nearest bookshelf.

  At first, she saw nothing. She closed her eyes and felt for the maelstrom. Once she had its direction fixed in her mind, she turned her head that way and opened her eyes.

  Curasir’s mis-matched eyes stared back at her.

  He stood two rows away. She could make out the top of his head over the shelves, though he seemed much taller, as always. And those strange eyes looked right at her.

  Seri ran.

  She no longer merely hurried, trying to avoid an annoying encounter. She ran in fear. Curasir held power within him that dwarfed that within Master Hain, who had spent most of his life absorbing magic from Zes Sivas. What did that mean? How did he keep finding her? Why did he keep finding her?

  The rational side of her brain told her he only wanted to talk, as he had said earlier. He had spotted her in the hallway and was trying to catch up with her. Nothing malevolent in that.

  But her emotions and her newly awakened magic senses screamed the opposite. Something felt very wrong.

  Which way to the exit? She turned several corners. Why was this library so unorganized? What else did all those Master mages have to do, anyway? They couldn’t straighten out their own books?

  She spotted the exit at the end of another row and ran that way. She expected to see Curasir turn the corner in front of her, a smile on his face, looking as casual as ever. But it didn’t happen. In fact, when she focused, she could sense him behind her somewhere.

  She exited the bookshelves and rushed down the stairs. Only one place she could think of might be safe from the Eldani’s pursuit. She descended two more sets of stairs and worked her way across the citadel to the other side. It didn’t take long to find the entrance to Dravid’s tunnels.

  Jamana wasn’t around to boost her, but enough debris still cluttered the hallway that she was able to push some in place and climb up by herself. She crawled through the tunnels as quick as she dared.

  After passing several intersections, she paused and tried to determine Curasir’s whereabouts. She could still feel him, somewhere behind her, but not far enough away for her liking.

  If she could sense him so easily, could he sense her, as well? Of course. It made perfect sense. How then, could she ever elude him? If he wanted, he could climb into these tunnels as well. Then she’d be trapped. The thought of the Eldani coming through the narrow tunnel toward her while she couldn’t get away terrified her.

  Maybe… maybe she could disguise herself. Not in the traditional sense, obviously. But maybe she could hide her own magical… essence? What was it called? Another question for Master Hain.

  She focused her memories and sought the right tunnel. It took a few tries, but eventually, she found her way back to the passage that climbed upward. She scrambled up until she reached the small room with the hole in the floor. The Inner Sanctum waited below.

  She collapsed and caught her breath yet again. Here, above the heart of the magic of Zes Sivas, she could be hidden, couldn’t she? She tried to reach out and detect Curasir again, but the power below drew her senses in until she could feel nothing else. It dominated her. She felt goosebumps erupt over every inch of her flesh as the power vibrated over her. She had been overwhelmed by the feeling when she woke up, but now it threatened to strip away everything about her. Hidden above such incredible power, her own tiny essence surely could not be felt by her pursuer, but the power itself scared her just as much.

  She waited. The power would not harm her, she told herself. Be patient.

  As her tension eased and her fear subsided, Seri’s rational side began making some good points. If Curasir’s essence felt so wrong to her, why did it not bother Master Hain? Or any of the other Masters? They all seemed to interact with him without any anxiety or trouble. Maybe she had a problem because her senses had only awakened. She wasn’t used to him. That’s all. Maybe.

  Five or six minutes went by. Seri felt no sign of Curasir. She could still feel the power of Zes Sivas pulsing out toward her, almost begging her to take it, somehow, and use it. But she felt nothing more. Unable to contain her curiosity any longer, she crawled to the hole in the tiny room’s floor and looked down into the chamber below.

  Curasir stood below.

  She gasped and jerked back, but soon realized he hadn’t been looking up. Cautiously, she peered over the edge again.

  Curasir stood on one of the six platforms, holding a hand outward toward the central dais. He stood completely still, and his face gave away nothing. But somehow, Seri got the feeling that he was fascinated. He rotated his hand in slow motion, as if feeling something.

  Then he took a step forward, off the platform, and vanished.

  Seri stopped herself from gasping again. Where had he gone? Immediately, the answer came to her. The Otherworld. Could he step between worlds that easily?

  There was only one way to be sure. Seri covered her right eye with one hand and stared with her left. Somehow, there had to be a way to force her star-eye to work. She blinked a few times, but nothing happened. She closed both eyes and concentrated. She imagined focusing everything inside at her left eye. Then she opened it.

  Once again, she saw the swirling vortex in the Otherworld, the physical form of the power that had been pulling at her all day, the heart of Zes Sivas. She stared transfixed at the endless colors, the myriad beams of light constantly erupting. It took almost a full minute of staring before she realized something had changed.

  Some of the beams behaved differently. They shot out from the vortex, then curved back inward instead of continuing on their way.

  Only then did she see the figure in the midst of the vortex. She knew it had to be Curasir, but it didn’t look like him. This figure towered almost ten feet tall. Was this the form that her eyes could sense but not actually see when she saw him in the regular world? Despite his height, his proportions still seemed off, as if he had been stretched too far.

  And his skin had become pitch black. Amid a thousand thousand colors, the Eldani’s skin had changed, not just to a darker shade, but to something else. It seemed more than black, more like the entire absence of color.

  The beams of light that curved out and then plunged back came back to him. Each one arced its way to his outstretched hand and open palm. Whatever color the beam might be, it no longer mattered once it struck Curasir’s palm. It vanished into his nothingness. He absorbed the light and color and did not change. The act unnerved her in ways she couldn’t comprehend.

  Seri blinked and it all vanished again. She stared down into the empty chamber. But she had seen the other side, and it shook her beyond her comprehension.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE

  “BONDSMAN,” VICTOR GRUMBLED. “I’m a bondsman.”

  Marshal ignored him. Dark thoughts roiled through his mind. What hope had there ever been? Lifting his curse? Why had he even considered it? He knew it wouldn’t happen. Why hope? Things never worked out for him. That was the real curse, not his voice. Everything always went wrong.

  “Isn’t a bondsma
n a slave?” Victor said. “I’m not a slave.”

  The two young men walked back to the house by themselves. Aelia had stayed behind to make one final appeal to some of the counselors individually. She had little hope of success, but felt she had to make the effort. At least, that’s what she told Marshal. Who knew what she actually thought any more?

  This whole trip had been her idea. But for eighteen years of his life, she had kept secret the fact that his curse, the torment of his life, could be ended. Then, only after danger came to their village, she revealed the existence of a chance for healing. And now, she had even admitted the existence of another option, another chance. How many ways were there to lift a curse, anyway? And how many other secrets had she hidden?

  “You are loved,” she always said. And then kept secrets that could help him. Was this how you showed love?

  “And if I were a slave, I wouldn’t be yours, that’s for certain,” Victor said.

  Enough.

  Marshal turned and punched Victor in the stomach as hard as he could. Victor staggered back a couple of steps and stared at him in shock.

  “What was that for?”

  Marshal swung again, but this time Victor was ready and dodged out of the way.

  “Have you lost your senses? What is wrong with–”

  Victor couldn’t complete his question because Marshal charged into him, fists swinging as fast as he could. A few blows connected, but with little force. At first, Victor tried to ward off the blows, but then Marshal’s fist connected with his chin, and his head snapped back.

  “Hailstones! That’s it!”

  Victor shoved Marshal away and punched hard, catching him on the left cheek. He staggered, but dropped back into the defensive stance Talinir had taught them. When Victor stepped forward to punch again, Marshal was ready. He deflected Victor’s fist and swung with his left, nailing him in the side. His knuckles connected with ribs.

  Victor grunted and took a step back again. This time, Marshal made the mistake and stepped forward. Victor unloaded with three direct punches in a row. Marshal deflected the first two, but couldn’t stop the third. The punch connected with his face and sent him sprawling.

  “That’s enough!’ Victor said. “Seriously, man. What did I do?”

  Marshal sat up, his jaw throbbing. He scooted up against the nearest wall and didn’t get back to his feet. Tears trickled down through his scars, though not from the physical pain.

  Victor noticed. “Aw, Marshal. What… I just…” He sighed, then winced. He felt his ribs. “You really got me there. That’s going to be sore for a couple of days.”

  He looked up and down the street. Surprisingly, no one had seen their tussle. Or maybe the Eldanim had completely ignored them. At any rate, he couldn’t see anyone. Victor slid down the wall and sat next to Marshal.

  “I don’t, I mean, I can’t possibly understand what you’re going through,” he said. “These Eldanim. They’re too full of themselves, if you ask me. I mean, they could help you, but they won’t. Bunch of dung haulers.”

  Victor felt his chin and chuckled. “I guess… I guess if you need to hit something, better that it’s me than one of them. They might get really annoyed then.” He glanced back up. “But you know something? Your scars look really freaky when you get angry. Some people, their faces turn red. With you, it’s just the scars.”

  They sat in silence. Marshal noticed Victor hadn’t even considered that his anger might be directed at Aelia. He only focused on the obvious. It was so like him.

  The pain from his face and knuckles actually helped him focus. Being angry at Aelia wasn’t going to change anything. He couldn’t lash out at her, or the Eldanim, for that matter. Victor’s self-centered grumbling had pushed him over the edge, but it did no good being mad at him, either.

  Still, he doubted he would ever take Aelia’s word for anything again. That was a difficult thought. When you’ve depended on only one person for your entire life and you lose confidence in that person, where do you turn? Marshal had no answer. Even more disturbing? He found that he didn’t care.

  •••••

  Back at the house, Marshal sought the solitude of the bedroom. Victor left him alone. He looked around the chaos of the room. Neither he nor Victor excelled at keeping things organized. Clothes and other items littered the floor and beds.

  All of this would have to be packed back up now. They would be leaving the city. Who knew where Aelia would be dragging them this time? Regardless, he would likely never see Intal Eldanir again. He would never see that place with the stars again. He would never see Eniri again. And once outside the city, the assassin would be after him.

  He reached under his pillow and pulled out Volraag’s dagger. Once again, he wondered if his half-brother had the right idea. Maybe things would be better for everyone if he just killed himself. It would be better for Aelia, Victor, Volraag…

  But if he tried it here, the Eldanim would save him, like they had done a few days ago. Even so, he contemplated the dagger a bit longer before sliding it back under the pillow. That choice, if he took it, would have to wait until they traveled well away from the city.

  His jaw ached. He touched it and winced. No doubt he’d have quite a bruise from Victor’s punch, not that anyone would notice. To do that, they’d have to actually look him in the face. No one did that except Aelia.

  And Eniri, come to think of it. Ever since she had walked up beside his bed after the stars, she had always looked him directly in the eyes. The scars didn’t seem to bother her.

  Victor opened the door and stuck his head in. “Indala wants to see you,” he said. Marshal raised his eyebrows. Victor only shrugged.

  He emerged from the bedroom to find Indala and Eniri both waiting. Victor stood nearby, clearly not sure of his place in this meeting.

  Indala stepped forward. “I wanted to apologize to you directly, young Marshal,” she said. “The high council erred today.”

  Marshal nodded. This seemed somewhat pointless.

  Indala hesitated. She glanced at her daughter, then seemed to make a decision. She reached into a pouch on her belt and withdrew something.

  “I cannot lift your curse on my own,” she said. “Indeed, if it could happen, it would require a concerted effort by many of our most powerful. However, I can help protect you on your journey, as you seek another way.” She lifted up her hand and displayed a small four-pointed star made of some kind of metal.

  “Mother,” Eniri said in a harsh whisper. “It is not yours to give!”

  “Is it not? My ancestors forged it and those like it centuries ago. If anyone can lay claim to it, I can.”

  “What is it?” asked Victor, moving closer to get a better look.

  “It is a Star of Indalanim,” Indala said. “This will protect you, Marshal. As long as it lasts, no blade can harm you.”

  Marshal’s thoughts immediately went to the dagger. But how could he refuse such a gift? He could always set it aside, if he wanted to.

  “Remove your tunic,” Indala instructed. Marshal blinked. He glanced at Eniri and then slowly obeyed.

  Indala stepped up to him and pressed the star against his chest, right above his heart. It felt cold, like iron, but seemed to hum as it touched him.

  “i hatel indalanim!” she whispered. The star hummed and vibrated. A glow surrounded it. Marshal cocked his head, trying to see. He felt almost nothing, but the star sank into his skin. The skin didn’t open up; the star passed right through it. He no longer felt it at all. Where it had been, a faint gray imprint of the star remained.

  “Whoa.” Victor almost reached out to touch it, but stopped himself.

  Indala nodded in satisfaction. “That should last you until you reach Reman, and well beyond, if I were to guess.”

  “And it’ll really protect him?” Victor asked.

  “Only from blades,” Indala said. “They will not be able to pierce his skin. That is, no ordinary blade. I do not know if it would protect him from
warpsteel or some other enchanted weapon.”

  “Huh.”

  Eniri shook her head, her mouth slightly agape. “That was an astounding gift. Marshal, you have no idea of the immense value of that star.”

  Marshal half-smiled. He pulled his tunic back on. Aelia always said he was valuable. Now maybe that much was true, in a way.

  Victor wanted to test Marshal’s new invulnerability, but Aelia and Talinir arrived at that moment.

  “We will depart tomorrow,” Aelia announced. “We have no reason to wait the full three days.”

  “Are we going to Reman?” Victor asked.

  Aelia seemed surprised to hear the question. “Yes,” she said. “That is our destination.” She looked to Marshal. “Our only hope now is to attempt to lift the curse at the temple of Theon.” Marshal looked away from her.

  All three of the Eldanim looked troubled, he noted. They knew something he didn’t. Again, Aelia kept secrets. Had he ever been able to trust her?

  “I will be ready,” Talinir said. “I gave you my oath, Marshal. We will continue our travels together, as long as you need me. I will protect you.”

  Indala had not told Talinir of the Star, either. Wouldn’t that make his job easier? Maybe she didn’t want him to let down his guard, thinking Marshal already had protection. So many secrets.

  “We’ll leave you, and prepare the evening meal,” Indala said. “Come, Eniri.” The two Eldani women headed downstairs, leaving Talinir alone with the three humans.

  Aelia collapsed in a chair as soon as they left. She put her head in her hands and took a deep, shuddering breath. Victor shot a concerned look at Marshal. He ignored it, and walked to the window. The city looked so clean, yet so empty.

  Talinir knelt beside Aelia. “If I could lift the curse myself, I would do it in an instant,” he said. “As would Harunir and Indala, those of us who know you, those who understand humanity and not–”