Malediction (Scars of the Sundering Book 1) (27 page)

"I can
fetch them for you, but I do not think I can allow you to borrow them. You said
you were an outsider?"

"Yes,
but I am staying at the palace." He took her hands, enveloping them within
his own. "I'll be here all winter and should only need them for a few
days. Perhaps, if I make a monetary donation, to thank you for your
assistance?"

Oksana's
smile wrinkled the corners of her eyes. She tilted her head. "Donations
are always welcome, but there are only three copies of the Codex of Passion. It
would have to be a very generous donation, indeed."

Pancras
reached into his pouch and felt around for one of the gems he brought from
Drak-Anor. He was not particularly concerned with type, but felt for size. The
emerald he produced was the size of a small berry. He rolled it around in his
hand so it would catch the light as he showed it to Oksana. Her eyes widened in
amazement. Pancras pressed it into her hand.

Oksana bowed
her head, touching his hand with her forehead. "If you'll return to the
parlor, I will fetch for you the texts we have."

"Thank
you, very much."

He returned
to the parlor with Milena. He noticed she was sweating, despite the cool air
within the tower. "Does this place make you that uncomfortable?" He
wiped a bead of sweat from her forehead.

Milena
swatted at his hand and wiped her brow. "It does, but not for the reasons
you think."

"Care
to elaborate?" Pancras stood in front of the hearth. The heat from the
fire felt nice. Although he was covered with fur, and his new, thicker robes
helped keep him warm outside, the bitter wind cut through even the thickest of
fabric.

"Not
really. I'm not a prude, but I have had to make certain sacrifices." She
looked around the room, her eyes lingering on a statue of Aurora that depicted
the goddess with her head thrown back, arms spread and reaching for the
heavens. The goddess was always depicted as voluptuous, yet perfectly
proportioned, at least by the standards of the sculptor.

"A vow
of chastity can be difficult." Pancras was chaste by circumstance, not by
choice, but he understood why someone might choose to take a vow of that
nature.

"That
is not it. I have no desire to discuss my love life, or lack thereof with
you."

Pancras let
the matter drop. He did not wish to antagonize Lady Milena, but he thought she
did herself a disservice by internalizing all of her stress. In his youth, he
did the same thing but later found, after he moved to Drak-Anor, that even
merely voicing his frustrations to a sympathetic ear helped them seem less
severe.

He had high
hopes the Codex of Passion would offer a solution based more in his skill in
the arcane arts than the salve Arnost offered him. Salve and ointments were
fine, but he didn't think any of the information he gleaned from the priest of
Apellon would be useful, except for the tidbit he let slip about thorntree.
Plus, any ointment or salve he made would likely be a temporary solution at
best. The last thing Pancras wanted was for Prince Gavril to feel he needed to
hunt him down.

Thinking
about the prince and the curse he wanted made his head hurt. He was thankful,
at least, for the lower light levels. His headache continued unabated, but
being outside in the sun amplified the discomfort. He supposed he should have
asked Arnost about it.

Oksana
returned with the codex about the time Pancras tired of standing and sought a
place to sit. The book was bound in red leather and featured gold leaf
embellishments. She held it as a mother cradles her newborn child. "Take
good care of this. Your donation is much appreciated, but should this be
damaged or lost, there is nothing that will spare you from Aurora's
wrath."

Pancras was
well acquainted with the values of sacred texts, particularly bound codices.
"Do you have something I can protect this with? I'd hate to slip and drop
it while returning to the palace."

"I'm
sorry, we do not."

"There's
a market stall nearby that may sell something." Milena pulled on Pancras's
arm. "We need not take more of her time, Pancras."

The minotaur
bid the priestess farewell and followed Milena back out to the street. He
fumbled to hold the codex cradled with one arm while he flipped up his hood.
The glare was worse now that the sun was higher in the sky.

Milena led
him down the street to the market. The north end of the market featured more
craftsmen and fewer food and produce vendors than had the area he explored with
Kale and Delilah the day after they arrived in Almeria.

With
Milena's help, Pancras found a hand-tooled leather satchel in which he could
carry the Codex of Passion. The security of the strap which crossed his
shoulder eased his mind. The last thing he needed was the ire of a goddess. He
knew he wouldn't be able to ask Aita for aid if he angered Aurora; for what he
was about to undertake for Prince Gavril was borderline an affront to the
Princess of the Underworld. He felt he owed it to Kale and Delilah to see to it
that their travels with him were as safe as possible and that they returned
home alive and well.

The winter
wind picked up, and patrons of the market pulled their cloaks and robes tighter
as the chill air coursed through the streets. A bank of grey clouds approached
from the west, like a juggernaut rolling down from the mountains. The clouds
appeared laden with snow, and promised a fresh delivery before morning.

"We
should go back to the palace. Cybele can wait." Milena shielded her eyes
with her hand as she looked into the sky toward the approaching weather system.
Other Almerians shared their desire to seek shelter. The bustle of the market
and city streets increased as people rushed to complete their daily tasks and
stock sufficient supplies to provide for them through the oncoming storm.

Pancras
agreed with Milena that cutting their expedition short was the wisest course of
action. He had collected more than enough material to last for the remainder of
the week, if need be. "Indeed. The storm won't."

Light snow
began to fall like lazy dandelion seeds upon a summer's breeze as they reached
the palace gates. The delicate beauty of the flurries soon gave way to darker
skies and howling wind that delivered a curtain of solid white from the
heavens.

Chapter 14

Kale had not
yet finished cleaning up the parlor when Pancras returned. He didn't notice the
worsening weather until the minotaur opened the doors and howling wind followed
him inside. Delilah slapped her hand down on the pages of her grimoire to keep
them from fluttering in the gale and hunkered down lower in her armchair. The
snow was blowing hard enough to swirl inside the parlor as Pancras struggled to
shut the doors.

"The
weather turned quickly. I don't recommend you and Delilah go out to—"
Pancras turned and stared open-mouthed at the chandelier lying in pieces on the
floor. "What happened?"

Kale
extended and fanned his wings slightly and rose up from where he had been
picking up bits of shattered plates. Over the course of the morning, he
discovered his wings added a bit of lift, allowing him to stand and straighten
more smoothly and rapidly than using only his hands and knees to push himself
up. "I was trying to practice flying."

"Flying?"
It was then that Pancras looked directly at Kale and noticed his wings. He
pointed, then covered his face with his hand, and flopped in the vacant
armchair. "I don't suppose you could bring me wine or an ale before you
tell me this story?"

Kale grabbed
one of the few unopened, unbroken bottles of ale and brought it to Pancras. He
folded his wings behind him to keep from blocking too much of the heat from the
hearth. He noticed Pancras carrying a new satchel over his shoulder, and it
appeared to have something large and square within. "Guess what the lumps
I was growing on my back were?"

Pancras took
the ale and leaned forward. His exasperation gave way to curiosity. "You
grew wings? You can still breathe fire?"

"Yes.
It's getting easier the more I practice."

Delilah shut
her book. "I told him the next time he wanted to practice flying, he
should go jump off a building."

Pancras
touched Kale's shoulder, urging him to turn around. Kale showed his wings to
the minotaur and allowed him to unfold and manipulate them. He bit his bottom
lip to keep from giggling at the minotaur's touch. The membranes of his wings
were sensitive.

"This
is extraordinary." He let Kale turn back around. "They support your
weight? You can actually fly with them?"

That was one
thing Kale had not accomplished. Yet. "No, just gliding. I think I'll be able
to with practice, though." He shifted his gaze to the windows noticing it
was as if someone painted over them with dirty grey paint, so fierce was the
raging storm. Even inside their suite, the howling wind made itself heard,
venting its fury on Almeria. Kale expected they would be trapped inside for
several days. Again.

Pancras
placed his hand on Kale's forehead. The minotaur's palm was cool against his
scales. "How do you feel otherwise? You're still warm."

"I feel
great! As good as ever, really." He recognized his body temperature was
warmer than it used to be, but he no longer felt feverish. He rather enjoyed
not having to wear heavy cloaks and robes to keep warm in the snow; yet, he
worried about what would happen when the weather warmed back up in the spring
and summer. One could always bundle up in the cold, but there was a limit to
what one could remove in the hotter months, and draks often wore nothing but
their scales.

"Amazing!"

Kale
shuffled his feet and looked back toward the dinner table. He wished Pancras
and Delilah knew some magic that would clean it up. They worked out a good
system for the bathing vessel, but Delilah informed him in no uncertain terms
that even if she knew a conjuration that could clean up broken plates, she
would not help him.

"Someone
is supposed to be by later to put the chandelier back up. I think. They shouted
at me with a lot of words I didn't understand, Pancras." Kale rubbed the
back of his neck. ”It should have held my weight. It’s not my fault the palace
servants can’t do their jobs properly and everything in here is junk."

"We'll
work around it. In the meantime, I have studying to do. Try not to break
anything else." Pancras picked up his bottle of ale and retired to his
room.

Delilah
resumed reading her grimoire and dismissed Kale with a wave of her hand.
"Back to work!"

Kale stuck
out his tongue at his sister, but in truth, he couldn't blame her for not
wanting to help him clean up. He would feel the same way in her place. He just
hoped the palace staff would not refuse to feed them now. His grumbling stomach
was a poor companion while he worked, and he wanted to silence it.

* * *

The storm
seemed to linger with purpose over Almeria. For three days it raged, dumping
prodigious amounts of cold, wet snow on the city. The first night, Kale was
occupied with repairing the damage he caused, albeit a good deal of the actual
work was done by palace servants. After that, he had only his puzzle box.

Delilah with
her grimoire and Pancras the Codex of Passion together studied their respective
volumes in front of the hearth. Pancras flipped past all of the graphic
descriptions of various positions best used for conception or best used for
contraception and finally located the section which focused on remedies for
various maladies. He wondered for whom the Codex of Passion was intended, as he
doubted the people who would be most interested could make sense of the overly
formal language used throughout. He supposed, perhaps, the illustrations were
meant for the less educated.

Still, with
only three volumes of the codex in existence, Pancras doubted the knowledge
contained within was truly intended for the common folk.
Perhaps it's an
instructional book for the priesthood.
Aita's priesthood kept many texts in
its temples, focused mostly on death rites, body preservation, and methods of
dealing with corpses who refused to die. Pancras was not considered a priest
himself. Even though he venerated Aita as the goddess of death, he did little
to spread her word. That was the purview of the bonelords; the best of whom
traveled Calliome, helping those who suffered from debilitating ailments pass
to the next world. The worst of the bonelords turned their backs on the true
teaching of Aita and perverted it by working to fill her realm with as many
souls as they could, whether or not those souls were close to making that
journey on their own.

The Codex of
Passion contained valuable information in the section dealing with
contraceptives, however. From what Pancras surmised, there was a sect of the
priesthood of Aurora known as the Ever-Flowering Devoted. They made it their
singular purpose in life to spread the physical pleasure of Aurora to as many
people or creatures as they could and wished not to become impregnated while
doing so. They were sensualists in the extreme and believed that unplanned
pregnancies hindered their goals.

The
Ever-Flowering Devoted wrote extensively on techniques to prevent conception
and in some cases render the priest in question completely barren. For males
the technique involved a sort of surgery. Pancras thought the process sounded
much like castration, although the descriptions in the codex weren't clear on
the actual details of the procedure. For females, however, the instructions
were much easier to follow and involved the creation of a fetish. This fetish
was to be inserted after which it would dissolve and release its potent magic.
It was a temporary measure, but Pancras expected, given enough time, he could
modify it to have a permanent effect.

The thought
turned his stomach. From his few interactions with Princess Valene, she seemed
honorable and certainly more pleasant than her husband. He wasn't sold on the
fetish insertion portion of the instructions, either. It was a task that would
involve some measure on consent on the part of Princess Valene, consent that
would fall to Prince Gavril to obtain. Pancras got the impression the prince
wanted to be as hands-off as possible.

Still, it
was a start.

* * *

Delilah
feared the snow would never stop. With Kale hopping around trying to learn how
to fly, she found it difficult to concentrate on her grimoire. Every time she
brought an image into focus and concentrated on its lesson, Kale made noise or
bumped into her or knocked something over, and she lost the image and had to
begin again. Moving into the bedroom offered no respite because he was so loud.

By the third
day, however, she learned to tune her brother out. She spent several
uninterrupted hours studying the image of Gil-Li weaving magic in silence. The
more she studied the image, the more she comprehended how such a thing was
possible. The images seared themselves into her mind, and she saw them in her
dreams.

It was a
technique she was eager to try.

On the
morning of the fourth day, Kale woke her up. "Deli! Deli, you've got to
see this. There's so much snow!" He grabbed her arm and tried to pull her
out of the bed. She snarled and groaned and pulled the covers over her head.
Kale jumped up on the bed and straddled her. He pulled the covers off her head
and pressed his snout against hers. "Get up, Deli! It's like those times
we were snowed in in Drak-Anor, except there's a whole city out there!"

He jumped
off the bed and ran into the parlor. Delilah waited until the bouncing of her
bed subsided, then rolled out of bed to join him. The door to the parlor was
open, and cold wind blew in from outside. Delilah turned around and grabbed her
thickest mantle, tightening it around her before returning to the parlor. Kale
climbed up on the top of the wall in the outer hallway, steadying himself with
his wings as he gazed out over the city.

The brisk
morning air cut through Delilah's cloak like an icy knife, and when she
exhaled, her breath formed a fog. She giggled as she noticed Kale's breath
clinging around him like his own personal cloud. Far in the distance, puffy
clouds were suspended in the crystal blue sky, and Almeria was as still as death.
Smoke rose from chimneys across the city, collecting to form a dark haze, which
hung in the air above Almeria. Delilah saw where the streets were supposed to
be only by finding the separation between roofs.

"Isn't
it great, Deli? It's like a painting!"

Delilah
looked at the scene for a moment. "Great, Kale." She turned around
and returned to their suite's parlor. It was cold enough outside that she
wanted only one thing: to sit in front of the fire bundled up in as many warm
furs and blankets as possible.

After a few
minutes, just as Delilah felt warm again, Kale came in from outside, letting in
a fresh blast of icy air. She grumbled and hunkered down further in the furs
covering her armchair. She knew it would be several more days before the guards
would be willing to take them into town again. She vowed that when they were
finished with their business in Muncifer, she would find a warm place and never
leave it again.

* * *

Kale wanted
to leap off the castle wall to test his wings. He was certain the thick
covering of snow on the ground would provide sufficient padding if something
went wrong, but both Delilah and Pancras insisted he wait until conditions were
such that they could supervise. He didn't see what the big fuss was about. He
knew he could glide. It was just a question of how far. The question was if he
could achieve true flight. In his mind, there was no better time to practice
than when the ground was covered with a natural cushion.

Since his
sister was antisocial and growled when he spent too much time practicing flying
in the parlor, he decided to check Kali's dead drop. The puzzle box stymied him
for the time being. He wasn't sure the other drak could get a message to him
with the weather as bad as it was, but he didn't have anything better to do.

Every guard
he encountered asked about his wings. After the third time telling the entire
story about the chaos rift and leaving out the part how he was able now to
breathe fire, too, he wished he had worn a cloak to cover his wings. He didn't
like the way it made him look like a hunchback, but he also tired of telling
the story and having to assure all the humans he wasn't contagious.

He slipped
away into the undercroft without arousing suspicion from the guards. Most of
them were more concerned with staying warm than with where one little drak went
exploring. He found a note written in Drak inside the ossuary. Kali's writing
was precise, yet it flowed with broad, deliberate strokes. It appeared she
might have dipped her claw in ink and used it as a writing implement.

Kale,

I found another route, a little longer, but from a
more reliable source. She said it will take us right into the active part of
the mine, though we might have to deal with some vermin first. I'll check the
ossuary every night for your reply. I put ink in the box for you.

Bring your sister if she wants to help.

-- Kali

He found the
bottle of ink and replied in Drak.