Curses

A desperate, mad scramble through bristling underbrush and over fallen logs. Ducking behind trees or flattening down against the cold, slightly damp ground whenever there was a noise.

The other two cried. The younger clutched the arm of the older, breathing in rapid gasps. They seemed uninjured, but they continue to wail and moan and weep.

No one followed. And he did not ‘catch up’.

***

Aniah followed Aluri to the throne room. It was the third time the King had summoned her since that first day after she woke up. Aluri opened the doors without knocking, but then froze in the doorway, blocking Aniah’s view. Voices drifted out towards her.

“…jump to conclusions. Let’s not count the corn before the worming is done.” She was pretty sure that was King Abicotta.

“I’m not. I’m merely trying to gather the corn before the worms consume it all.” This second voice was faintly melodic, male but slightly higher pitched than most Manicoti men. He had a very strange accent, and his voice practically dripped with condescension.

“Ah, but it you harvest too early, the corn will be bland and pale. Regardless, do not worry yourself. The tests are being performed as we speak. No time is being wasted.” Abicotta sounded surprisingly calm, as if he wasn’t at all bothered at being spoken to with such disrespect.

“You need to let me-”

Suddenly, Aluri cleared his throat loudly. “Excuse me, your Majesty. I did not realize you were already in conference.” He bowed low, then stepped to the side and gestured towards Aniah. She saw that the King was sitting on his throne, a man standing in front of him. He was…dark. Nothing about him was distinctive, he just had a strange aura about him that made her feel somehow depressed. She was surprised to see anyone else here. Before, she had always been alone with the King and Aluri.

An idea popped into her mind. It was an impulsive, foolish thought, but she seized upon it. She had been able to use Will against the servant in the hall. Was it possible that the King and Aluri were somehow immune, like Joree? Perhaps that was why she was only allowed to interact with them, and that one other woman.

She reached out for the man with Will. And was met with…emptiness. She felt a strange sensation, like she had just stepped out of a dark room into sunlight only to find that she could see nothing. Within the first week of Will training, she had been instructed to try to use Will against an inanimate object. Trying to strike at this man was much the same. It wasn’t a problem with her Will, it was as if he had no mind for her to attack.

What the Flames-

“Never mind that, Aluri,” Abicotta said. “My visitor dropped in unexpectedly. He was just leaving.”

The stranger gave the King a withering glance before turning and stalking away. He glared at Aniah as he passed, and the cold rage in his eyes made her shiver.

“Heiress,” Abicotta greeted, spreading his arms wide. “So good of you to join me.”

“I wasn’t given much of a choice,” she snapped.

He shook his head disapprovingly, tsking softly. “That’s no way to speak to the man who holds your future in his hands.”

She lifted her chin in defiance, but couldn’t think of a properly snide remark. So she remained silent for the moment.

“You have provided us with some very useful data,” Abicotta said, as if this were a perfectly cordial conversation between acquaintances.

“Data?” she repeated, brow furrowing.

His smile was as cold as a breeze off a frozen lake, and she felt tingles run up her spine. His hand idly went to the black circlet on his head. For the first time, she noticed a tiny silver jewel set in the front, resting high on his forehead. She could only see it because it caught the light from a chandelier and glinted faintly.

“Yes,” Abicotta mused, tone self-satisfied. “Dennison is an arrogant, disagreeable bastard, but he is also right quite nearly all of the time.”

Aniah pursed her lips together, suppressing annoyance. He was toying with her, giving vague and useless tidbits in order to make her both curious and irritated. It was working on both accounts.

“Who is Dennison?” she asked, folding her arms.

“That pleasant fellow you saw just a few minutes ago,” Abicotta replied airily. “He is quite a genius when it comes to Will power.” He cast her a sly glance at that last comment.

Aniah snorted. “Then you Kritons haven’t been listening to him very well, because your ability with Will is pathetic.”

The King’s eyes narrowed briefly, his eyes flashing dangerously. But the expression soon faded to a smirk, and he relaxed back onto his throne. “Why waste time cultivating an entirely new skill set when we are already masters in our own right?”

“Swinging a sword doesn’t help much against an enemy who can strike you down from across a room,” Aniah scoffed.

He leaned forward, eyes glinting. “And how well is that working for you, little Will Master?”

She glared at him, putting as much fury and hatred into the gaze as she could muster. This only seemed to amuse him.

“My mother will kill you,” Aniah hissed. It was the only threat she had left, but it was a potent one. There was no one more powerful than the Manicoti Highness.

King Abicotta threw his arms open wide, face growing eager as he barred his teeth into a predatory grin. “I so hope she tries. I would love to see the look on her face when she fails.”

***

Himself sat at the wooden table alone, watching the bubbles fizz and pop in his drink. Others called him ‘Dennison’, but he found that strange. He was just…him. And they were each their own him or her. Why did they have to give themselves labels, tying down their identities to something so plain and meaningless?

He took a small sip of his drink, feeling it tingle on his tongue and all the way down his throat. It didn’t really have a flavor, just a sensation. Like hair strands tickling his insides. When the others drank it, they usually ended up either leaping from table to table or dead on the floor. For him, it was merely a sensation of lightness, followed by a loosening of the muscles and a dulling of the thoughts. Of all the things in this forsaken world, this was his only relief.

A couple of intoxicated men next to him were drawling on about the news of the upcoming conflict with Manicot. It was the whisper on the wind throughout all of Kritose, the rumor that left half of the people holding their breath and the other half unable to stop the torrent of hot air coming from their mouths.

Manicot. He grimaced, fingers tightening around his mug. He hated everyone in this world, but the Manicoti…those he hated most of all. The Kritons weren’t much better, but he would use them to his advantage for now. They were the only remaining military force not tied down in conflict already. Plus, they already had a convenient dislike for Manicot.

Thieves, he thought, gritting his teeth. They were the ones who had taken everything that was once his. There was no way to get it back, of that he was sure. But he could still make them pay.

A man walked by at that moment, totally smashed and laughing like a fool. He stumbled and spilled his drink on his companion, a pretty looking woman wearing the red silken wraps so popular in this town.

“Arkadia’s Flames, Uki!” she exclaimed, going on to berate the drunken man.

Himself couldn’t help but smirk. The Kritons and Manicoti all cursed by the Flames. They spoke of the Halls and the Flames as two opposing parts of another realm, one side that of demons and misery, the other of gods and perfection. In one way, they were correct. The Flames were the misery in opposition to Arkadia’s Halls of glory. However, the gods above would never suffer demons so close at hand. No, indeed. They would not be tarnished so. The Flames were separated from the Land of Bliss. They were the place for the exiles.

Yes, little humans, he thought, taking another sip of sensation. Curse away. Curse by the name of your home.