The Nature of a Curse (Volume 2 of the Year of the Red Door)

by William Timothy Murray

  "I never, I never, IneverthoughtaboutitBilly," Ibin said, looking up into the tree above and them back over at the pumpkin.

  "Well," Billy sighed, shaking his head slowly, "sometimes I ponder such things."

  Ullin was mounting up and waving at them to come along.

  "No time for naps, today!" Billy said. Getting to his feet, he reached out to give Ibin a hand up. Just as Ibin stood, an acorn fell from the highest limb and bounced off of Billy's head.

  "Owie!" Billy cried, rubbing his head and looking up. Ibin looked up, too. With a serious and almost reverent tone, he looked at Billy.

  "Billythat, Billythatcouldhave, couldhave, thatcouldhavebeenadangpumpkin!" he said. Then he turned and hurried to his horse, leaving Billy flabbergasted and speechless by the casual observation. It was Ullin's call that shook him out of his frozen muddle, and he hurried to take his reins as Ashlord began leading them through the pumpkin patch and westward again.

  Ashlord was right. After only an hour of rough terrain, coaxing the horses along by the reins up steep slopes and through thick brush, they at last came upon a path, little used by the narrow looks of it, that threaded away westward and north. By now, they were far within the Thunder Mountains, and the path carried them onward, upward and downward, winding through the forested shoulders so that each turn of the way seemed very much like the last. At one point, after a long twisting climb, the path passed over the top of a high rocky gap, and they could see away westward, perceiving a break in the mountains far away and, just beyond, what seemed a flat land, blue and hazy in the distance.

  "Do you think it is safe to continue during daylight?" Robby asked Ashlord and Ullin.

  "Not particularly," said Ashlord. "But my own senses agree with Ullin."

  "This way has been little used, at least of late," Ullin told Robby. "I've seen no track of man or horse, no sign of recent movement, and since leaving the main road, we've seen no campsites, new or old, and the brush encroaches on every side. My guess is that if any folk live this way, they travel very little, perhaps keeping to themselves to avoid recruitment by the Damar."

  "And the Damar have little reason to guard this region, being their southwest flank," added Ashlord. "So I imagine most of their forces in these parts have been recalled from this area. My guess is that only important crossroads and bridges may be watched."

  "Still, we should be cautious," Ullin stated. "Especially as we near the gorge. I imagine they want few people leaving Damar lands, especially any of fighting age, and that the bridge there will be garrisoned. And there is always the possibility of patrols or messengers."

  At last the going became easy, the path widened, and they rode along, sometimes two abreast, and none saw anything to increase the caution that filled them. For a long while, Ashlord and Ullin led the way, with Billy and Robby just behind. Sheila and Ibin brought up the rear with the pack animals.

  "Y'know," said Billy after a long and uncharacteristic silence, "I don't get it. What's so special 'bout a feller's name? It's only a word people use to call someone by. I mean, how on earth can knowin' a feller's proper-given name make any difference in anythin'? An' it seems mighty peculilar, anyways, for folks to have a king, an' go to all that trouble over one, an' not even know his name! Even though, as I heard, when the present King came to take the place of the Old King, that thar was this big fight between 'em, an' that's how he took over. By winnin' the fight."

  Ullin looked at Ashlord, who smiled but did not respond.

  "It is a mystery of the ages," said Ullin, more to Ashlord than to Billy.

  "An' another thing," Billy went on. "If he's holed up in his palace, like ever'one says, an' he don't come out, how does he get people to do what he wants 'em to?"

  "He speaks with his mind to people. To his court and his counselors. And he enforces his will through an agent, a kind of oracle, called the Avatar," said Ullin. "It is the Avatar who metes out the King's will. If a person displeases the King, or if the King wishes to see someone, the Avatar goes and sees to it. Likewise, the Avatar delivers gifts and rewards if a person pleases the King."

  "So the Avatar is a man, then?" asked Sheila.

  "Well, perhaps I misspoke. I said 'oracle,' but I don't mean like those in temples. I mean that the Avatar represents the King. Each spring, when the King goes to the Temple of Beras to renew his reign for the New Year, his Avatar goes forth before him as the shape of the passing year's symbol. When they return to the King's Palace, the Avatar is in a new shape, the symbol for the new year. The Avatar remains in that shape until the following year."

  "Oh? What is the meaning of that? The symbol, I mean?"

  "It is a mystery," Ashlord said. "But the Unknown King must go to the Oracle of Beras at the end of each Royal Year, emerging the next morning to begin the next Royal Year. In Duinnor, the Royal Year always begins on the first day of spring. The Avatar casts off the shape of the old year and becomes the likeness of the new year to symbolize it."

  "So the Avatar is a person dressed up in the shape of something?" Sheila asked.

  "No. It is not a person," Ullin said.

  "It is the thing, itself," Ashlord stated.

  "What? What kind of thing?" Billy asked.

  "All kinds. This year, for example, is the Year of the Red Door."

  "The Red Door? What's 'at supposed to mean?" Billy laughed.

  Ashlord shrugged.

  "I was born in the Year of the Snowflake," Ullin commented.

  "Snowflake?" Sheila asked.

  "Yes."

  "All manner of things have symbolized the years," Ashlord picked up. "There was the Year of the Elk, the Year of the Loom—that was when Certina came to be with me—the Year of the Harp, the Year of the Plow, the Year of the Frying Pan, the Year of the Rabbit, the Year—"

  "Hold on, just a dang minnit!" interrupted Billy, most incredulously. "The Year of the Fryin' Pan? Are ye makin' fun of us?"

  "Never in life!"

  "But...a fryin' pan? The King of Duinnor, Master of the Seven Realms, goes forth an' afore him goes a fryin' pan? Did someone carry it, some cook, maybe? Er did it sprout iron legs an' walk?"

  "It floated," Ullin said gently. "Through the air. Just as the Avatar always does."

  "It floated," Billy nodded seriously. He shook his head. "The King goes forth an' he speaks to his people through a floatin' fryin' pan. Right. It all makes perfick sense, now."

  "Few may ever know the significance of the Avatar's shape, or why Beras, through the Oracle, ordains the year to be symbolized by the given object. The Year of the Snowflake, for instance, was one with only a mild winter by all accounts. Not as people feared it would be. The Year of the Shovel, however, was full of disease and plague. Many graves were dug that year."

  "Have you never seen or heard of the Book of Years?" Ullin asked Robby, who shook his head. "I'm a bit surprised that Mr. Broadweed didn't have a set. It is a list of each year, in the reckoning of Duinnor, and is a summary of each year taken from the Chronicles of Duinnor. It tells of each year's namesake and the big events of the year. Every hundred years or so it is revised and a new volume is added and the whole is recopied. We have two copies in the library of Tallin Hall."

  "Oh. I did not notice them."

  "The Year of the Fryin' Pan," Billy repeated. "But what about the King's Name? How does a name make any difference?"

  "It is not the Name itself, Billy," Ashlord told him. "It is the finding out of the Name."

  "I thought ye said Robby already knew the Name."

  "But I don't know it," said Robby.

  "I said that Robby may have the ability to learn the Name. Or that he may already know what the Name is but does not yet realize it."

  "But ye think that goin' to Griferis will somehow shake it out?"

  "I have no idea if it will or if it won't. To obtain the Name of the King is not why we go to Griferis, but rather to let Robby receive instruction there. To be tested and tried for kingship."

  "I thou
ght you said that if he went there and passed their judgment, he'd become King," Sheila asked before Billy could.

  "You two must listen more carefully! I did not say that. I repeated only to you what is said about the place, that it is said that none who passes through ever fails to take their place as a king or a queen. The last one to do so, it is said, was Queen Serith Ellyn. As for Robby, his quest is in four parts: To know the Name. To find Griferis. To emerge from that place. To become King."

  "And, then," said Robby with a cynical chuckle, "my challenge truly begins."

  "The babe is welcomed by the dead

  And he who dies, dies not alone,

  But alone bestows the Given Name,

  And makes a way unto the throne.

  A verse of comfort and of pain

  The banshee will then loudly sing

  To ease the way of the passing one

  Burdened with the Name of the King."

  "Where did you hear that one?" Ashlord asked Ibin in amazement.

  "Mr., Mr., Mr.Arbucklesungthatone," Ibin replied. "Buthesaid, he, buthesaid, hesaidhehearditinGlarethbytheSeawhenhewasaboy."

  "What's all that about banshees?" Sheila asked.

  "There are different kinds," explained Ashlord. "But all are harbingers from the spirit-world. Some say they come to make the passage of the dead easier on them. Others hold that they forewarn the coming of death."

  "They are frightful in aspect, I hear, and their song is terrifying," Robby added.

  "Yes. They may appear so. But some, though certainly frightful, are said to be beautiful, too. It is said that the living are not permitted to hear the beauty of their lyrics, nor to see the comeliness of the banshee's countenance, lest the witness become filled with a longing to make the passage with her through death's door before they are bidden."

  "Oh," said Robby, remembering something Billy's mother once said, on a cold rainy night during a stay at Boskland. "It must've been a night like this when yer granddaddy saw the banshee," Frizella said, picking up some plates and carrying them past a water-glazed window. "I mean, pardon me, the night he died, may he rest peacefully." But, just when Robby was about to ask what she meant, Billy and his father burst through the door with their talk and chatter, and Robby never got around to asking at all. It was like so many other things, things that he now wished he had made the time to ask about.

  "Fryin' pan! Me arse!" muttered Billy, in a thoroughly disgusted manner.

  • • •

  The way turned rough for a while, with low branches and short steep rises and falls. In some places, they had to dismount to traverse difficult stretches, and twice they had to work their way off the path and around uprooted trees that had fallen down from the slopes and blocked the way. That night, fairly exhausted and yet feeling they had made good progress, they made camp on a flat shoulder of the mountain that Ullin spotted above them, and the climb up to it cost them the last of their strength. There was no water there for the horses, but it was well above the path, and covered with soft pine needles which they gathered to put under their bedrolls.

  Chapter 12

  The Eagle and the Owl

  Day 92

  153 Days Remaining

  Though Certina was no ordinary bird, if any owl can be called such, she still possessed within her all of the skills of those winged creatures, and all of her instincts of flight and direction. Those instincts told her many things, and her unique nature told her other things, too. As the sun rose over the horizon, she knew Ashlord was farther south than her course, and she altered in that direction. But altering it, she knew also that the things that stalked her, high above, would sooner overtake her. She never turned to look, but she could feel the shadow of their presence coming steadily closer, hour by hour. Though she was not easily frightened, panic began to slowly tighten its grip upon her. She beat her small wings with greater deliberation, gleaning every bit of thrust and speed from each stroke as she cruised several hundred feet above the plain. Below, no trees offered cover, no craggy rocks to hide beneath, only green grass and gentle swells veined by the silver lines of streams here and there, and no villages with eaves to dart beneath or barns to rest within. Her breathing, long synchronized to her wings, became more labored as she bore southward. This course, she well knew, would take her across the borders of the Forbidden Land and into a territory that she did not know. But it was the straightest way back to Ashlord.

  "Why, oh, why is he so far away!" she, in her own language, despaired.

  Far above, one of the dark specks began its descent, pulling its wings inward to speed faster and faster into its final dive.

  Below Certina were now the stone pillars, each capped with the likeness of a large human skull, that surrounded Nasakeeria every few hundred yards and which were intended to act as warnings to hapless travelers. A few yards past those dire pillars, and partially covered by grass, were mounds of petrified sun-bleached bones, thousands and thousands of bones. They were all that remained of those who had entered there, having been cast out by the inscrutable occupants of that land. Beyond, not very far away, were trees, green, thick, and low. Her wings beat all the harder, and she threw herself into a long shallow descent. The border of bones now behind her, she made with all her strength toward the trees. For a moment, she thought she might make it, but the chasing shadow grew larger and came faster. Her wings missed a beat. To her, the world below was made entirely of that line of dark inviting leaves, nothing else existed down there, her entire being bent upon reaching those nearest limbs. Still she did not look up toward her pursuer. She knew the world above her was no longer sky blue, but was now filled with black shadow and sharp death, spreading quickly from horizon to horizon as it descended. She could hear herself squeaking now, wheezing her breath as she lost a wingbeat, then another and another. Fighting the urge to fold her wings and fall, she beat on, stroke after painful clumsy stroke, losing height and speed, in terror of the thing falling upon her. Suddenly, a swift, thin shape shot up from below, streaking only a few inches past her with a shrill whistle, and then came a terrifying scream. She squealed and rolled over onto her back as she fell, her talons extended to fend off her attacker, and she saw a great black bird, like an eagle, enveloped in a cloud of blood and feathers, writhing downward past her, transfixed by an arrow. The smell of the thing filled her with disgust as she rolled back over. She only managed a few more beats, uncoordinated and without effect. Exhausted, she folded her wings and fell, still far short of the trees that she hoped for. She opened her wings just in time to break her fall, then tumbled and bounced into a clump of grass. There she panted, her beak open, her eyes wide and blank, her feathers ruffled, her heart pounding, pounding. She heard footsteps crunching through the grass but had not even the strength to look. She felt a touch and smelled the scent of a two-legged one. After a moment of defensive reflex, she resigned herself as she was lifted up, letting out a low sad whistle.

  "There you are, little one," a man's voice said in a language she had not heard for many, many years. "Rest. You need not fret."

  Certina bent her head and saw, some few yards away, the crumpled remains of the bird of prey that had stalked her from Duinnor. From the gloved hand she sat in, she could see several people gathering around the dead bird, all dressed in black-banded lightweight armor, with green and black cloaks covering all their heads and faces with only their eyes showing. Looking up at her captor, she immediately saw a man bending over her, his dark complexion revealed as he pulled his scarf away from his face, his lake-blue eyes gleaming.

  As she was carefully lifted, the remaining eagle circled, too high for any arrow to reach, but with eyes as keen as spyglasses fixed upon the scene far below. The creature banked away northward and flew swiftly back toward Duinnor.

  • • •

  "Cover it!" said a female voice behind the man that held Certina. "Here, give me that!"

  Certina did not have the strength to react to the language that sounded very much lik
e that spoken in the desert lands. The words seemed the same as that of the Dragonkind, but they had an unusual cadence and accent that was new to her. But she could only listen, having not the will to even wonder at what she heard, too distracted by her own fatigue. And she also lacked the strength to resist as a robe was spread over her. She felt herself bundled away, still carried by the man who had picked her up.

  "This cannot be an ordinary owl," she heard the woman explain as they moved. "She is a Familiar, I am sure."

  "Someone's pet? How can you say so?"

  "The black eagles of Shatuum do not fly for pleasure," she said. "Nor do they hunt for food. They serve their lord in all they do, and this little one was its prey, as we all saw before your arrow struck the predator."

  "A minion of Shatuum?"

  "Yes, and look there! High up and bearing away."

  "Another?"

  "Yes, no doubt soaring home to report the fate of its brother."

  "But what would they have to do with this little creature?"

  "This little creature would not have been prey unless it serves the enemies of Shatuum."

  "How can that be? It is but a wee thing! What threat may a pet be?"

  "Don't be foolish, Aremon! Familiars are not pets! They serve their masters willingly, just as those black eagles serve theirs. This one, I suspect, is a messenger. It was flying south. Hm. My guess is that it comes from Duinnor and heads for the south plains or perhaps the Thunder Mountains. Anyway, either to its master, or on its master's business."

  "But it carries no pouch, no ring, and no beads or markings. How else may it carry messages?"

  "In ways that would surprise you, Aremon."

  By now Certina had her breath back, and was trying to preen out her feathers between efforts to pry her way from under the robe. She had no strength to fly as yet, but the air beneath the robe was stifling, and she preferred to see her surroundings.