A Hero's Curse (19 page)

“Stop,” I croak.

“Very well,” Kael says. “Up you are and onto solid air.” That makes me pause.

“Excuse me?” asks Tig.

“Come, the queen is waiting.” The line around my wrists and neck gives a gentle tug.

“What was that bit about solid air?” repeats Tig.

“Imagine means what or mean we solid good,” Shuffles says in a guttural croak.

“Solid ground I’m comfortable with, but solid air is a whole other matter,” says Tig stubbornly.

“Have point,” says Shuffles.

“The lift will descend at any moment,” says Kael. The three of us overcome any concerns we have. I totter forward, trying to find my feet again. We are back on the lawn-like material, but it is difficult to tell if we are inside or out because nothing echoes correctly. Sound is swallowed by our surroundings rather than being bounced around. I am about to try to bend over to touch the floor when we turn a corner and a richly feminine, musical voice rolls out to us. The voice is deep and there is a sharp edge to it that makes me think of Tig when he is preparing to pounce.

“Welcome, Essie Brightsday, Tigrabum Fendor, and Dyne Mactogonii, King of Mar. Welcome to Aeola. Welcome to my court.”

T
he words hang in the air, but there is no welcome in them.

My mouth drops open. “Who?” I hear muttering from several persons on my right, giving me the impression we are in some kind of large auditorium. I immediately feel self-conscious. My bandana tickles my face, and I have to fight the urge to pull it off. I blush, suddenly acutely aware of what I must look like. And they all know I’m blind.

My knees turn to water at the statement that this is “King Mactogonii.” That can’t be. Everything inside me rejects the idea. There has been a mistake. For one, King Mactogonii entered the mountain nearly a year ago. This awkward, shuffling creature who can barely speak cannot be the king we have been hoping would save us.

“We your help,” says Shuffles in a deep guttural plea. This seems as good an introduction as any.

The queen responds with an even icier tone than before. “The years have not been kind to you, Dyne. You were warned at your last meeting of the council. You should not have tried to return. Remove King Mactogonii from the hall. Take him to the ward.”

“What are you going to do to him?” I blurt. There is a moment of silence. I hear the rustle of clothes approach Shuffles, and then I hear him awkwardly follow the rustling away, off to my left.

“Take of girl. Is fine of hero,” he calls back over his shoulder.

“What will happen to him?” I ask again, a little louder.

“Nothing, child,” says the queen. “Nothing will happen to him because nothing can be done for him. He is beyond help. He has lost his mind.”

“What happened?” I ask, not able to keep the desperation out of my voice.

“What happened?” The queen sounds genuinely surprised. “He tried to conquer Syteless Peak. The darkness overcame him instead.”

“He’s been in the mountain for a year? How could he survive?” I ask.

“He did not survive. It is a long time to be alone in the darkness,” says the queen. “And yet you found your way within two days.” She pauses, waiting for me to explain. When I don’t speak her tone is even colder.

“Dyne Mactogonii referred to you as a hero, but we will see. It takes more than stumbling through a maze to rise above the rest of us.” The last bit of the sentence is almost spit out with such hatred that I take a step back. The queen chuckles. “Yes, Essie Brightsday. Watch your step here in Aeola. This is my kingdom, and you have few friends here.” The mention of my name has started a new wave of whispers from the crowd in the room, but the whispers are muted, preventing me from catching anything.

“Come, you must explain yourselves and give an account for trespassing here.”

I am about to start my explanation when the loops around my neck and hands are pulled forward. I scramble after the line, trying to keep my feet under me. After several minutes of twists and turns we stop in a much smaller room than the hall we just left. Our words carry for only a few feet before being absorbed. It is quiet with only the queen’s rustles and one other, large person.

“Kael, please return to the mountain,” says the queen. I turn desperately toward Kael, not wanting to be left alone with this woman, but he only acknowledges the queen.

“Of course, your majesty,” he says, his deep voice reverberating majestically, even in the tiny room. As he exits a door is closed, and the room goes silent.

“I apologize for being so harsh with you in the throne room,” says the queen in the same rich voice, with less of the malice it held before. “It will be easier to speak freely here, away from the council. You must understand that our kingdoms have been on uneasy terms for over a century. You are the first of the Kingdom of Mar to enter Aeola in twenty-three years. In fact it has been over ten years since we have spoken to any from your kingdom.”

“Oh.” I am off balance, trying to take in this new person.

“My name is Leonatrix.”

“Hi,” I say.

“I know that you speak as well, Tigrabum Fendor, but I will not betray your secret.”

“Thanks, I guess,” says Tig.

“Please, sit,” says Queen Leonatrix. Long warm fingers flip the line from around my wrists and neck and lead me to a chair. It is made of the same silk-feeling material.

“Thank you, Queen Leonatrix,” I say, still feeling stiff and uncomfortable.

“Just Leonatrix will do while we are by ourselves,” says the queen. I just nod.

“So you are blind,” she says. A statement. I just give a small shrug, blushing again. “I thought only someone with sunfire could pass through the mountain. You proved otherwise. You are a very interesting girl, Essie Brightsday.” She pauses, allowing me to respond. I let the silence stretch out between us.

“Okay,” says Tig, “I’ll ask. How did King Mactogonii survive in the mountain for a year?”

“You mean why didn’t he die of hunger or thirst?” Leonatrix lets out a small laugh that does more to help me relax than anything she has said so far. “It is difficult to kill a hero by depriving him of food or water. There are certain basic charms for that kind of thing. It is one of the early lessons of magic.”

“Oh,” says Tig in a voice that sounds deflated, “I thought it would be a bit more complicated or exciting than that.”

She laughs again. “We often think that of a mystery, until the sleight of hand is revealed.” She pauses, and then continues in a sly voice. “Although your mystery, Essie Brightsday, is more than a sleight of hand. As is yours, Tigrabum.”

“Yeah, what’s this ‘Fendor’ business?” Tig asks. I smirk a little because he is directing his question a little to the left of where the queen is sitting. I’ve had years of practice at this.

“Fendor,” Leonatrix muses, “Fendor is your family name. We know because of the unique black tip at the end of your tail and ears and your black feet. There are only four clans in your race. The black tip clan is Fendor. There are very few who know your race exists. I know of only three, including myself, who have been to the kingdom of the Pardum.”

“Pardum?”

“Your race,” replies Leonatrix. “I cannot recount your personal history. I do not know how you came to be in the Kingdom of Mar. It is far from the Pardum’s home isle in the Eastern Seas. I do not know who gave you the ability to speak Lingua Comma, for it is not your native tongue. I think it is also curious that you came to live with Essie Brightsday—”

“Why is that special?” I interrupt.

“Because your father is Killian Brightsday and was one of the most powerful men in your kingdom.” This time I’m the one who wants the queen to keep talking, but she tells us to recount our journey instead.

Tig tells her about our farm, the market, the people of Nob, the river Mar, and the Valley of Fire. I tell about Mom and Dad leaving to work in the camps, about Uncle Cagney, the mercenaries that came to get him and how they chased us into the Valley of Fire.

Here Leonatrix interrupts with a chuckle. “Cagney Brightsday. That big buffoon. Of course he would have thought they were after him. He always has thought quite a lot of himself.” But she says it good-naturedly.

“You knew him?” I blurt.

“Of course. He was your father’s brother. We met several times.”

“So you knew my dad, too?”

The room feels like it has dropped a couple of degrees. I turn to check if the door opened, but the chill is coming from Leonatrix. “Twenty-three years ago your father stood in the throne room here in Aeola. As did your King Mactogonii, Cagney Brightsday, and four other emissaries. I take it Killian did not mention me often.”

“He didn’t talk about anything really,” I answer truthfully. “I didn’t even know the Kingdom Above the Sun—Aeola—was real. I didn’t know what happened at Cauldron’s Crater until Uncle Cagney told me.”

“Ahhh . . .” she says, but some of the iciness that was present in the throne room is back. “I suppose he told you the whole story?”

“I-I-I guess so,” I stammer.

“Hmm. Perhaps, perhaps not. Tell me more of your journey.”

But now I’m confused and flustered, so Tig picks up again with our flight through the Valley of Fire, about the rock basilisk, the Kingdom of Crypta, Cheep and their request to find the king, and then our climbing down the Red Giants.

“And you did this blind?” Leonatrix sounds impressed, but I am still nettled by the way she implied Uncle Cagney might not have told me the whole truth, so I just shrug again. Tig marches on, talking about dragons, Chatter, the daemon’s army, the tunnels, the wyrm, the mountain, the darkness, finding King Mactogonii, and the maze. He forgets to include the part where he wanted to go through one of the other doors in the mountain.

The queen soaks in our story. I have to grant that she’s a good listener. She asks the right questions and murmurs her congratulations or fear at the appropriate moments.

“Well,” she says, “the daemon has completed his army then. And all of his charms couldn’t keep Dyne Mactogonii from getting lost and wandering the labyrinth. Nor could they protect him from himself. Too much time in the darkness will drive anyone mad.” I feel her looking at me.

“But with a guide, someone might conquer the darkness,” I say evenly.

“So it appears,” replies the queen matching my tone. She stands, and I listen to the soft rustle of her dress as she makes her way over to me. She fingers the silk around my eyes.

“A beautiful piece,” she whispers. She drops her hand and moves off to the back corner of the room and then paces forward again. She repeats the steps several times before speaking.

“So you seek out Aeola for help?” Before I can respond she continues. “You will find none here. Even if I were to allow it, the rest of the council and the people themselves would deny you assistance. Their mistrust of the Kingdom of Mar runs deeper than their hatred for the daemon, and believe me, he has wreaked havoc on Aeola just as he has on the Kingdom of Mar. Your kingdom has not seen rain, but our kingdom has only seen floods. The water has become trapped here, and every year the water rises. Much of the lower city has been drowned. Many families in that district live on their rooftops. And now the daemon moves into position with his army of cauldron-born. Yet they will not ally with you. The hurt goes too deep.”

“What can we do?” I ask.

“You have run out of time,” says Leonatrix. “King Mactogonii might have been able to speak to the council. I would guess that is why he attempted his journey alone. He was one of the great diplomats of our age. But perhaps even that would have ended poorly. As I mentioned, none of your realm have even been allowed in our kingdom for many years. It has been a decade since our council had any communication with representatives of the Kingdom of Mar, and that ended poorly.”

I smooth the blindfold over my eyes and tighten the knot in the back. “What kind of help would King Mactogonii have requested? He tried to come here . . . What did he want?”

I can feel Leonatrix looking at me. “I do not know. I assume he was attempting to stop the daemon. Let me first explain the daemon. He is not just the cause of some petty drought and a bit of flooding, although these problems have grown serious. The daemon is a powerful user of magic. He manipulates the natural world and is especially good at illusion. This is where your father misunderstood the daemon’s power and overestimated his own command of magic.”

“I’m sorry? Did you say Dad can do magic?” I feel my mouth open. I know I am gaping, but this is a bit much. This is the same dad I’ve heard work all day trying to fix a broken harness. Sure, Dad had been a champion. But magic? In this family? Mom and Dad didn’t just avoid talking about magic, their lives were a testimony to ordinary.

“Of course he does magic. He is the Kingdom Champion. As I was saying, the daemon uses a type of magic—”

“How does he use illusion?” I realize I just interrupted again. I blush and I stammer, “Your majesty.”

“He can manipulate the world to make others hear or see things that are not true. He can even twist time, only by breaking the rules of magic and at great personal risk. But he seems to have a reckless disregard for the rules of magic and even a growing disregard for the danger it poses.” Leonatrix pauses. “He can also manipulate otherworld portals.”

“The Burning Cauldron?” I ask.

“The same. It is the Cauldron’s power that is destroying our kingdoms.”

“How does he, I mean, what does he do?” Tig feels his way down my shoulders, taking a clumsy leap into my lap.

Leonatrix starts pacing again. “He makes people hear or see things that are not real,” she says. “Armies that are not there, flat plains where a chasm might be hiding, the screams of loved ones captured.” She pauses. I raise my eyebrows. “It is difficult to fight what is not real,” she says.

“Uncle Cagney said that everything looked like paradise and then a black fog rolled in and they were attacked. Dad saved them all with a piece of sunfire.”

“He saved them all? Is that what you’ve been told?” Leonatrix stops pacing and faces me from across the room. “The scouting mission at Cauldron’s Crater was a last ditch effort to convince the Aeolan council to ally with King Mactogonii against the daemon. The council refused unless someone could offer a firsthand account of the daemon. Your father offered to go. Our council watched the tragedy unfold through an image portal. Your father carried the other half of the portal.” I nod. This is going somewhere. I feel a tremor run through my body.