Cursed Bones

chapter 3



Isabel slowly started to wake, struggling to focus her mind past a haze of pain in her head. She rubbed the grit from her eyes, but they burned terribly when she opened them. Her tongue felt swollen and she felt an intense thirst. She sat up, trying to work up enough saliva to swallow, her head reeling from the sudden movement.

She was in a dark room with only a sliver of dim light cutting through the black. She steadied herself with one hand while rubbing her eyes with the other until she could keep them open long enough to look around. In the dim light, she could see that she was in a small room formed from a natural cave. A stout wooden wall and door occupied one side.

Fighting to clear her head, she began to assess her situation. Her weapons and armor were gone. Her pack was missing as well. She was sitting on a pallet covered with straw. The only other items she could see were two buckets, one on either side of the door. She crawled to one, jerking her head back from the foul smell, then to the other. Cautiously she dipped her hand into the dark bucket and felt the cool touch of water. Slowly, deliberately, she slaked her thirst, taking care to remain silent lest her captors become aware that she was awake.

She sat back and closed her eyes, linking her mind with Slyder. He was perched atop a tree in the jungle looking down into a little village secreted in a box canyon. Several cave entrances surrounded the dozen or so huts at the center of the hidden community. Men were coming and going, many looked and acted like soldiers, though few wore uniforms.

She withdrew from Slyder and spent several minutes just breathing in an effort to quiet the hammering in her head. She assumed that the poison darts that had rendered her unconscious were responsible for the pain and dehydration she was feeling. After a few minutes, her head began to clear.

Muffled voices filtered through the door. She stood carefully, testing her legs and balance before attempting to take the few steps to the little slit in the door that was the room’s sole source of light. Beyond was another cave, larger and occupied by three men, all armed and wearing armor.

She stepped back and started whispering the words to her shield spell, calling on her anger and focusing her mind the way she’d done countless times in the past … but this time, something was different.

The rage wasn’t there.

She forced the spell and made a connection with the firmament, opening herself to the source of creation, but only for the briefest moment. The firmament called to her, beckoning with the promise of infinite possibility, and she wasn’t angry enough to resist.

It felt like she was falling.

She slammed the link shut, staggered by the implications of what had just happened. Without rage, she couldn’t defend herself against the pull of the firmament, couldn’t cast her spells.

She sat down and recalled all of the hardships that had been inflicted on her and her loved ones over the past several months. Worked at bringing them to the front of her mind so she could feel the injustices done to her, but try as she might, the anger wouldn’t come.

Her mind was clear but her emotional intensity was somehow blunted. She could understand the rightness of feeling anger for the things that had been done to her, to Alexander, to the world, but she couldn’t feel the anger the way she needed to. Without that emotional control, she was powerless as a witch.

She swallowed hard. First she’d been deprived of her connection to the realm of light, a gift of such magnitude that she considered it her greatest power, valued it above all things save Alexander’s love. Now her emotional control, necessary for a witch to access the firmament, was gone. The things she valued most were being taken from her, one by one. She felt Azugorath scratching at the edge of her psyche, promising power and purpose.

She calmed herself and thought of Alexander, thought of her love for him … but it too was blunted. Losing the anger was one thing, but losing her ability to feel the deep and abiding joy that her love for Alexander created within her was too much. She thought she would cry, but the tears didn’t come either. The pain of her loss was blunted as well.

She could still feel … just not intensely. Her eyes narrowed. This was too specific to be an accident. Either it was a side effect of the poison or she’d been drugged. If she’d been drugged, then her captors knew about her magic and had the means to counter it.

She carefully searched the little room for a weapon but found nothing except the two buckets. After drinking again, she stood and pounded on the door, then stepped back and waited. There was some commotion from beyond, then the door opened. A swarthy-looking man, muscles toned from routine exertion, stood in the doorway and appraised her.

“You’re a prisoner of the House of Karth,” he said. “If you try to escape, you’ll be killed. Otherwise, we’ll treat you honorably.”

Isabel quickly assessed her options and decided that attempting escape right now was unwise. She needed more information about her captors before she chose a course of action.

“Very well,” she said. “I wouldn’t know which way to run anyway.”

The guard cocked his head quizzically, as if he hadn’t expected her response.

“Can I have something to eat?” she asked.

He nodded, motioning to the table occupying the center of the guard chamber. A tray with a variety of tubers, berries, and fruits sat on the table, the remnants of the guards’ meal.

Isabel wasn’t bashful. From the grumbling in her stomach, she suspected she’d been unconscious for days rather than hours. The food was surprisingly good, but before she’d eaten her fill, another man entered, followed by the third guard.

This man was tall, easily over six feet, but not muscular like the guards. He was lithe and wiry as if he’d spent his days moving through the jungle. His hair was jet black, his complexion golden brown, and his eyes were dark and brooding. With a gesture, he dismissed the guards and sat down opposite Isabel, absentmindedly selecting a piece of fruit from the tray as he scrutinized his prisoner.

She held his gaze for a moment and then went back to eating. For several moments neither said a word, they simply shared a meal in silence. Once he’d finished his piece of fruit, he took a drink from a nearby flagon and sat forward.

“I am Trajan Karth. My father has summoned you. It will be a journey of several days. If you attempt to escape, you will be killed.”

“Yeah, I got that,” Isabel said around a mouthful of food.

He smiled curiously. “I would know why you have been summoned.”

Isabel shrugged as she took another tuber from the plate. It had the texture of a sweet potato but wasn’t quite as rich.

“Perhaps if you told me your name, it would shed some light on my father’s interest in you.”

This time it was Isabel’s turn to smile, though without any hint of humor. “I’m Isabel Reishi,” she said, punctuating her statement by taking a big bite of tuber.

Trajan’s eyes narrowed and he tensed ever so slightly, like a cat preparing to pounce. “I wasn’t aware that Phane had taken a woman,” he said.

“Oh, he hasn’t, or at least he certainly hasn’t taken me,” Isabel said, washing her mouthful down with a long drink of warm ale from the nearest flagon. “My husband is Alexander Reishi, formerly Alexander Ruatha. From the looks of things, your father didn’t get the warning Alexander sent him in his dreams.”

Trajan had been listening intently, clearly trying to discern the veracity of her words. His eyes went wide.

“My father did receive a warning,” he said, “but he chose not to heed it until it was too late. My mother, two brothers, and a sister were lost in that attack, an attack that my father said could never happen. Fortunately, Erastus, our house man-at-arms, was paranoid enough to make preparations, and my father, sister, and I survived.”

Isabel looked down at the table and nodded sadly. “I’m sorry for your loss,” she whispered. “There’s been too much suffering since Phane woke.”

“On that count we agree,” Trajan said, “but I’m still confused by a great many things. Why were you with Phane’s men if your husband sent us warning against him?”

“My husband and I are at war with Phane,” Isabel said. “But, for a number of reasons, Phane believes that I’ve turned against Alexander, so he’s issued orders that I’m to be treated with respect and brought before him.”

“And then what?”

“And then I intend to kill him,” Isabel said.

Trajan stared incredulously, then burst out laughing.

“I hate Phane as much as anyone,” he said, once he’d contained his mirthless laughter, “but I’m not fool enough to believe he would let you get close to him if you were any threat.”

Isabel shrugged. “I guess it’s all a matter of perception. He believes that I’m his puppet, a tool he can use to undo my husband. That belief will allow me to get close enough to strike.”

Trajan shook his head. “He’ll kill you.”

“Perhaps,” Isabel said quietly. “But I have nowhere else to go.”

“Why?” he asked.

Isabel hesitated, unsure of how much she should reveal.

“He’s infected me with his dark magic,” she said. “Even now, it’s working to subvert my free will and turn me against everything and everyone that I love.”

Trajan sat back, staring at her intently.

After a moment, Isabel decided she had a few questions of her own. “Why doesn’t my magic work?”

“So you admit to being a witch,” Trajan said, sitting forward again.

Isabel shrugged. “Of course I’m a witch. I’m a triumvir of the Reishi Coven.”

Trajan frowned in confusion, appraising Isabel intently before speaking again. “Magic is forbidden on Karth. It has been since the end of the Reishi War. My father heard reports that you used magic to kill a man. That’s why we were sent to capture you.”

“If the House of Karth outlawed magic, then how have you stood against the Regency for so long?” she asked.

“The Regency also prohibits magic,” Trajan said. He paused, staring at the table as if weighing how much to tell her. “Only the witches of the Sin’Rath Coven possess magic on Karth,” Trajan said, “and they are widely believed to be a myth—a story parents tell their children to make them behave.”

Isabel stopped chewing and stared at Trajan, her mind working furiously to understand the implications of his statement. “But you know otherwise,” she said.

“Yes, the Sin’Rath are very real,” he said. “I do not trust them, yet they hold great sway over my father.” He stopped as if he’d said too much.

“Trajan, I can help you kill Phane, but I need to know what I’m dealing with here. Did you capture me at the behest of this Sin’Rath Coven?”

“I believe so,” he said. “The order came from my father, but he has been working very closely with the coven since the Regency attacked and scattered our forces into the jungle.”

Isabel leaned forward intently. “Why won’t my magic work?” she asked again.

He regarded her for a moment before nodding as he withdrew a vial from his pouch.

“The jungle contains a great many plants,” he said. “This is nectar of the malaise weed. It diminishes a person’s emotions. It’s commonly used to aid people grieving for the loss of a loved one. My father’s orders were very specific. You are to be dosed with malaise-weed nectar once per day. I don’t pretend to understand why, but I was told that it will prevent you from using your magic.”

She sat back in her chair and breathed a sigh of relief. At least the loss of her magic was only temporary.

“Why don’t you trust the Sin’Rath?” she asked.

“I will tell you a story,” he said. “Some years ago my eldest brother spoke harshly of the Sin’Rath. He told me how he resented the influence they held over our father and how he intended to reject their counsel once he ascended to the throne. Then he went to meet the witches for the first time.” Trajan paused, lost in thought.

“He returned a changed man. He was enamored with them, spoke of their great beauty and wisdom, pledging to work hand in hand with the coven for the greater glory of Karth. My brother was not prone to sudden changes of mind; he was a very deliberate and thoughtful man. But one meeting with the Sin’Rath and he was under their spell.”

“So you’ve never met them,” Isabel said.

“No,” Trajan said, shaking his head. “My mother forbade it. I believe she secretly hated and feared them, though she never spoke openly of it. I’m to meet the Sin’Rath for the first time when I arrive with you,” he said as he stood.

“I need to think about everything you’ve told me. If you truly are Phane’s enemy, then perhaps together we could bring him down. There will be more time to talk on the trail. We’ll leave within the hour. Your equipment will be returned to you, but your weapons will not.”

“Fair enough,” Isabel said. “What about my armor? The jungle’s a dangerous place.”

He appraised her for a moment before nodding.