Assassin's Curse (30 page)

“Da, I want to try again.”

Jeda’s brow knitted together.
 
“You have missed four times.
 
What makes you think the fifth will be different?”

“Please, just let me try.”

Jeda took a step backwards and pulled Kala with him.
 
“OK, give it a try.”
 
He always encouraged the girls to try their best and go beyond what they thought they could accomplish.
 
He was glad to see Kara try again.

Kara stepped up to the throwing line, and prepared herself for the long throw.
 
Holding one of her blades lightly, she stared downrange concentrating on her target, reared back, and let the blade fly.
 
With an accuracy that mimicked a master-class knife thrower, the blade hit dead center with a resounding thud.

Jeda stared downrange, eyes widened in surprise at the throw.
 
“Very good Kara, but how did you manage that?”

“
I…,”
Kara began.

“She cheated,” Kala interjected.

“Did not,” Kara shot back.

“Did too,” Kala continued.
 
“She used magic, Poppy.”

“Magic?
 
How do you use magic to throw a knife?”

With hands on her hips, Kara explained.
 
“Da, I learned it from you.
 
You do it all the time.”

“No I don’t.
 
I don’t know how to practice magic.”

“Yes you do,” both girls chimed together.

“You just don’t know it,” Kala finished.

Jeda scratched his head, confusion written on his face.
 
“What are you talking about?”

“Da, did you ever wonder how you can throw these little knives so far?”

“Practice, that’s how.”

“No Poppy, it’s magic.
 
You’re adding wind to the throw and it makes the knives go farther and faster.
 
We feel you doing it every time you throw long distance.
 
You just don’t know you’re doing it.”

Jeda stared at his daughters.
 
He had heard this allegation before, but had always attributed such comments to jealousy or bitterness from lesser knife throwers.
 
He did have a routine where he cleared his mind and entered what he thought of as his trance state, but that was something taught at the guild.
 
It was a meditative state, not magic.
 
The thought of him using magic was a bit hard to swallow.

“Try throwing without using your trance thing,” Kara dared him.

“Fine.
 
Watch and learn.”

Jeda took one of his blades from his arm sheaths, one that he was comfortable with, reared back, and threw at the target twenty-five feet away.
 
He hit the target, but where he usually hit dead center, this throw was outside the bull’s-eye.

“We told you,” Kara said.
 
“Magic.”

Jeda tried a few more times, getting marginally closer, but never where he usually hit.
 
After a few minutes of concentration, he stopped, calmed himself, and let his mind empty.
 
He quickly reached a point of relaxation that the guild referred to as the perfect killing state.
 
Without consciously thinking, he took another knife and let it fly toward the target.
 
He knew he would hit the target dead center before the blade even reached the target.
 

“Poppy, you just used magic again.
 
We both felt you.
 
Now think about using the magic and try again.”

Jeda thought about the magic he supposedly had inside him and tried to concentrate on that while he threw the knife.
 
The throw did not even hit the target.
 
Both girls giggled at the errant attempt.

“Poppy, don’t play like that, do it the right way,” Kara said.

“It doesn’t seem to work if I concentrate on using it.
 
It only works if I don’t think of it.”

“Da, that doesn’t make any sense.”

“It might not make any sense, but that’s the only way I can explain it.”

Kala smiled at her disconcerted father.
 
“Well, Poppy, like you always say: practice, practice, practice.”

“Yeah, Da, and maybe Nana Natasha can help you find your magic,” Kara suggested.

“Enough for today,” Jeda declared.
 
“There are other chores you need to do back at the camp.
 
Gather the knives and let’s head back.”

Kala and Kara raced to the target and retrieved the knives.
 
They gave Jeda back his blades and walked back to the camp, chattering excitedly about what had happened today.

Jeda walked behind the girls thinking about what his daughters had said.
 
It made sense, but he was not convinced they were correct.
 
He searched out Natasha, but no matter what they tried, Jeda could not consciously touch his magic.
 
Getting more frustrated with each failure, he finally gave up trying to force his magic to come alive.

Magic never did anyone any good anyway.

***

The town of Redstone was nestled in the eastern foothills of a range of coastal mountains bordering the Westerly Sea.
 
Although the mountains bordered the cooler
sea coast
, they also blocked any of the sea breezes from reaching Redstone.
 
At this time of year, the only breezes that reached Redstone were the hot winds blowing off the southern desert wastes.
 
It was early morning and the sun was just rising, but the temperature was already stiflingly hot.
 
As Mirabelle stumbled along the uneven dirt path, she wondered again why anyone would want to live in such a miserable place.
 
She was wearing her lightest dress and still sweating profusely.
 
Her destination, a river of cool water, was about a half mile along the trail and was the only relief in this desolate place from the oppressive heat.
 
With each awkward step, she kicked up a puff of dry dust that stuck to everything it touched.
 
She was only halfway to the river and was covered in a thin layer of grit.
           

This must be what hell feels like.

She was hot, miserable, and tired.
 
Her anger bubbled up again as she trudged along, remembering the circumstances that landed her here.
 

“Natasha, are you mad?” she had yelled, her frustration getting the better of her.
 
“You had the choice of any route in the entire kingdom and you choose the southern again.
 
What could you have possibly been thinking?”

As a big woman, Mirabelle hated being hot and had been looking forward to relaxing in the northern summer’s coolness again.
 
Natasha’s choice completely baffled her.
   

“I don’t have to justify my decisions to you,” Natasha replied, frowning at Mirabelle’s outburst.
 
“But I will tell you that I prefer the receptions and genteel treatment we receive from the southerners.
 
They appreciate us more than the others.”

Natasha’s explanation infuriated Mirabelle.
 
The thoughts of what her life would be like for the next few years stoked the fires of her anger.
 

“Genteel treatment?
 
That may be well and good to comfort your soul, but it won’t fill our bellies.
 
We need money and supplies to live on, not courtesies and inane platitudes.
 
You know the southern route is a barren wasteland of desert whose people can barely feed their own, never mind
us
.
 
The northern route has fabulous cities and is infinitely more prosperous.”

And infinitely cooler
, Mirabelle thought.

“The nobles of the northern cities are arrogant and treat our people like pariahs.
 
I won’t have it.
 
Besides, we’ll make almost as much following the southern route,” Natasha said with finality.

Mirabelle was livid, but she felt a sense of utter helplessness growing inside her.
 
Natasha was the head of the family and her decisions were final.

“But we’ll be stuck down there for three long, hot, miserable years!” Mirabelle cried hopelessly.

Her argument had fallen on deaf ears and now, as she predicted, they had to endure this hellhole and its scorching heat.

Didn’t take a psychic to know this place would be pure misery.
 

She continued trudging along the path, and the thought of splashing cool water over her face and neck urged her on.
 
She hoped to arrive early enough to have the river to herself and enjoy the pleasure of bathing naked.
 
Of course, the thought of anyone leering at her naked was horrifying and she would never subjugate herself to anyone’s perverse delights.
 
As she neared the river, she heard voices and disappointedly realized she would have to postpone her morning bliss.
 

Who could be down here so early?

Her next thought was that no one would come down here so early unless they were trying to hide something.
 
Titillating thoughts of secret trysts and hidden affairs quickened her pulse and she scooted behind a large tree for a voyeur’s look when she got close.
 
There was too much undergrowth to see clearly, so she crept forward on hands and knees for a better look.
 
She told herself she was not spying; she was just being careful.

The gods know who might be down here.

What she saw was a bit disappointing.
 
Jeda’s twins were playing in the river and having a grand time.
 
They were splashing water at each other with joyful glee and were both naked as the day they were born.
 

As she watched the twins playing in the water, she saw an opportunity to cast a little dirt on Jeda’s pretentious swagger.
 
After all, the twins were not babies any longer; they were eleven years’ old on their last birthday and everyone knew the curiosities of the young begin around their age.
 
Even though the water play was innocent enough, with a slight twist, Mirabelle could paint a very different picture when she publicly announced to the family the scene she happened upon.
 
It did not matter whether anyone believed her or not, the doubt and questions would begin and continue to fester for quite some time.
 
Tongue wagging behind closed doors and accusing stares would repay Jeda for the grief he had caused her over the years.
 
She could hear the comments now:

Those children will have to be watched.

It might be best to keep them separate.

What has their father been teaching them?

She practically shivered in delight at the prospect.
 
She lay in the dirt watching the twins, wishing she could enjoy the cool water, but knowing this little display was well worth her discomfort.
 
Within moments, the twins began to make their way out of the water and Mirabelle got the second shock of the day.
 
She barely held in a surprised yelp.
 

By the gods, they’re both girls.
 

Mirabelle scraped her knees on the rough ground in her haste to scramble back out of the girls’ sight.
 
Her mind was frantic with the sudden implications of this discovery.
 
The twins were girls and both strong in the power.
 
They must be the ones she saw so long ago in her vision, the ones spoken of in the prophecy, the ones hunted by the covens, the ones in the posters with a reward offered for their safe return.

The reward…

Mirabelle hurried back to the camp with an idea formulating in her mind.
 
If she could prove they were the twins being sought after, then she could turn them in and claim the reward.
 
She would be a very rich woman.
 
She thought furiously of the name of the noble house that had sent out the reward poster.
 
She could not remember the name, but did remember one of the flyers was somewhere in her wagon.
 
All she had to do was find it.
 

Huffing and puffing back into camp, she went immediately to her wagon and began rooting around through her belongings.
 
Sweat rolled down her face, between her breasts and soaked her underarms, but she would not stop until she found that poster.
 
She was fixated on the prospect of the reward.
 
She would be rich and no longer dependent on the charity of her older sister, or for that matter, any of the rest of the ingrates that called themselves her family.