The Fire Prince (The Cursed Kingdoms Trilogy Book 2) (45 page)

He took it for a man—and reached for his sword—and then blinked and saw it for what it was: a stout branch standing upright with a smaller branch lashed across it, armlike, wearing a shirt—a scarecrow.

“Can you burn the shirt without burning the wood?”

Harkeld released his sword. His weariness evaporated. “I can try.” He stepped closer to the scarecrow and examined it. If he told his magic to burn just the fabric, kept the heat of the flames low...

He raised his hand, concentrated.
Burn
.

The shirt flared alight, burning merrily. But the wood was burning too—

Snuff.

The flames vanished.

Cora pursed her lips, contemplating the scarecrow. Scraps of burnt cloth clung to charred wood.

“I killed him.”

Cora conceded this with a nod. “I have more.”

Harkeld helped her wedge a second scarecrow upright. Whose shirts were these, travel-stained and smelling of sweat? But even as he asked himself the question, he recognized the scent: Gerit’s.

Harkeld grimaced.

He stepped back, blew out a breath, and raised his hand.
Burn
.

Again, both cotton and wood ignited.

Harkeld hissed annoyance between his teeth.

Cora set up two more scarecrows, dressed in trews rather than shirts. Harkeld threw his magic with careful precision.

Both scarecrows caught fire.

Harkeld scowled at them. He could burn arrows better than Cora or Katlen. He could burn throwing stars. Why couldn’t he do this?

“Dinner!” Katlen called from the riverbank.

A
FTER THEY’D EATEN
, Cora unrolled the map. Harkeld leaned close to look. “Do you think there’ll be corpses?”

“There have never been cities here.”

It was the same answer Ebril had given. Harkeld sat back, relieved.

“The curse shadows were darker too,” Cora said. “If that happens again, we’ll know to be on our guard.”

“Curse shadows?” The witches had talked of them before, but he didn’t completely understand what they were.

She cocked her head and looked at him. “You should be able to see them. You are a mage.”

“Untrained,” Katlen said.

“We could probably teach you to see them,” Rand said. “If you want to learn?”

Harkeld nodded. “But what are they?”

“Shadows that lie on anyone who’s cursed. The darker the shadow, the stronger the curse. Ivek’s curse has the darkest shadow I’ve ever seen, and I understand it became even darker when you neared the first anchor stone.” He glanced at Cora, who nodded.

Harkeld looked at his hand. No shadow lay on it that he could see. He flicked a gnat off his thumb.

“Some healers can lay curses. I can’t.” Rand turned to Innis. “Can you?”

“They said I was strong enough to.”

“Innis hasn’t completed her training yet,” Petrus said, a protective edge to his voice.

“Then we’re certainly not going to ask her to lay a curse,” Rand said. “All-Mother forbid!”

A faint memory uncoiled in Harkeld’s mind, something Dareus had once said. “Laying a curse is like un-healing?”

“Exactly.”

“So Ivek must have been a healer?”

“Yes,” Katlen said. “An exceptionally strong one. And he must have had water magic, too, since the curse is waterborne.”

“And stone magic,” Rand said. “Because how else could he craft the anchor stones and bind the curse to the kingdoms’ soil?”

“Stone magic?”

“Stone magic and water magic are rare and minor branches of magic,” Katlen said. “Stone mages can mold stone into shapes of their choosing. Likewise, water mages have an affinity with water and can manipulate it.”

“Very handy, being a water mage,” Ebril said. “You can stop rain falling on you and part streams so you can cross with dry feet.”

“And water mages can’t drown,” Rand said. “As long as they’re conscious.”

“There’s also metalbending,” Ebril said. “You should see the things metalbenders can make! And there’s green magic, like Frane had. That’s more common.”

Harkeld nodded, remembering the grass Frane had made grow on Susa’s grave. He felt slightly overwhelmed.
So much I don’t know
.

CHAPTER SIXTY

N
OLT CHOSE A
campsite beside a spiny outcrop of rock. It looked like the back of a giant creature that had died and half-sunk into the soft ground. There was a pool nearby, but the steam rose less thickly than from others they had passed. They’d collected dry wood as they walked. Hard to find, yet each man carried a few branches. Nolt started a fire. They ate dried meat and bread and drank water.

“Ash and I will watch tonight,” Nolt said. “Double watch. The rest of you sleep. Tomorrow I want you well. No Brother dies until he hears the All-Mother call.”

I’m not a Brother,
Jaumé thought.
Or does he mean I am, now?

Bennick was still groggy, but less than Steadfast and Odil. Jaumé whispered, “How can Nolt and Ash stay awake all night? And walk tomorrow?”

“A Brother is trained not to sleep. Two nights, three.” Bennick’s voice was slurred. “You too, Jaumé, you’ll see...” He closed his eyes.

The night was still, aside from the drifting steam. Jaumé watched it for a while. Nolt and Ash circled the fire. Now and then one of them laid on a new branch and the flames rose. How could anything hurt them when Nolt and Ash kept watch? He made up his mind it was Gant’s fish that had poisoned everyone.
But why not me?
He’d eaten it too.

After a while he slept.

In his dream someone made small sounds of satisfied greed, like a baby suckling. It was a dream without people or shapes of any kind. Only murmuring and sighing and satisfaction. Jaumé woke with a start, glanced around, saw Nolt watching the jungle while Ash put more wood on the fire.

Something pink and fat stirred on Bennick’s chest. It had a plump belly and chubby fingers and a round bald head and testicles the size of a bull’s. Its mouth was fastened on Bennick’s.

Jaumé screamed.

The thing released its mouth and looked at him. Jaumé saw a wizened old man’s face, with eyes as black as coal and wet lips.

He scrabbled for his knife, jerked it from its sheath. He was aware of Ash advancing round the fire, but didn’t wait. He slashed at the thing. A cry so thin it hurt came from the creature’s mouth.

Ash grabbed his shirt, jerking Jaumé off the ground. He saw the gleam of Ash’s knife.

“No,” he cried. “The thing. On Bennick!”

Ash dropped him and shouted. Nolt was there. They pulled the creature off Bennick’s chest. It dangled like a dead baby in their grip.

Jaumé saw another one, crouched on Gant. And others on Stead and Odil.

He shouted and pointed, but Nolt and Ash couldn’t see them.

Jaumé rushed at the one on Gant and plunged his knife in. When he pulled his blade free, there was a gush of foul air. Jaumé choked at the smell. He scrambled over Gant and stabbed the things on Stead and Odil. Again the thin cry, like a knife blade sliding on glass.

Bennick!

Jaumé ran back to Bennick and put his ear close to Bennick’s mouth. Faint breath tickled his cheek.

“Bennick’s alive!”

“Pump his chest, the way I’m doing,” Nolt said, looking up from Gant.

“Odil’s dead,” Ash said. He knelt beside Steadfast, but wasn’t pressing his chest. He shook his head in a way that seemed to say Stead wouldn’t live. He grabbed his bow and strode around the fire, but there was nothing to see in the steam, so he lifted Jaumé aside from Bennick and started pumping his chest.

“Get your bow, Jaumé,” Nolt said. “You can see them, we can’t.” It was the first time he’d called Jaumé by his name.

Jaumé circled the fire. He kept an arrow on his bowstring. He felt ill. He’d never dreamed of creatures so disgusting—their wet mouths and bloated stomachs and their balls and penises as big as a bull’s.

Nolt got Gant breathing evenly and shifted to Stead. Gant struggled to sit up, wheezing. He looked at the dead creature beside him and scrubbed his hand across his mouth. The thing was shriveling, dissolving. Its eyes had almost disappeared in the jelly of its face. “What is it?” Gant said hoarsely.

“Breathstealer,” Ash said. “I’ve heard of them. But they’re meant to be a myth. They don’t exist.”

“Yet here they are,” Nolt said sourly.

“They come at night. They breed in the steam.”

“Why can’t we see them?”

“We’ve all known women. Except Jaumé.”

“Virgin,” Gant said.

Ash nodded. “How many more days in this steam?”

“A couple,” Nolt said. “We’ll travel at night and sleep in the day. When we get to the river, you and me will cross.”

“And me,” Gant said. He managed to stand, staggered, but kept his feet.

“We’ll see. But Bennick?” Nolt shook his head. “He stays with Jaumé.”

“Where?” Jaumé asked.

“We’ll find a place. Jaumé, if we have to sleep at night, you’ll be our watchman. And one of us with you.”

Jaumé nodded.

“Steadfast?” Ash said.

“He hears the All-Mother calling.”

Ash and Nolt laid Odil’s body beside Steadfast, facing north. Stead opened his dark, slanted eyes. He smiled with half his mouth and moved his hand feebly to the hilt of his dagger. He seemed to nod—Jaumé couldn’t tell. Nolt drew the dagger from its sheath. He placed its point over Stead’s heart, held Stead’s hands around the hilt, and thrust. The dagger slid in easily; Stead died with only a jerk of his legs.

Jaumé watched. He knew he mustn’t turn away.

Nolt left the dagger in the body, with Stead’s hands clasped around it. He laid Odil’s dagger on his chest and stood. “Eat,” he said, “We travel till midday, then sleep. At night we’ll make torches and walk again. Jaumé.”

Jaumé thought,
I’m not ‘boy’ any more
.

“Bennick is weak.” The words carried no judgement. “He rides. You lead the pony. We carry what we need in our packs.”

They ate. Nolt and Ash went through the saddlebags, cramming everything they could into five packs, discarding the rest. Jaumé cleaned his knife and slid it carefully into its sheath.

CHAPTER SIXTY-ONE

W
HEN THE SUN
was high, Rand set about trying to teach him to see curse shadows. “It looks like a shroud of cobwebs, clinging quite closely.” He held out his hand to Harkeld, fingers outspread. “It’s lying on my palm, see? And around each finger.”

Harkeld stared at Rand’s hand.

“It’s black,” Ebril said helpfully, riding alongside him.

Harkeld shook his head. “I can’t see it.”

“Try looking out of the corner of your eye.”