The Living Curse: Book One of The Living Curse series (7 page)

             
“So, just to clarify this one more time, you want us to join the Vine to help them find the Relic, right?” she said, staring off into space.

             
“Yes, that’s basically it.” he said, confused by her expression.

             
“This may seem like a stupid question, but do you have any idea where it is?” she asked.  He thought about this for a moment, before responding.

             
“It could really be anywhere in the world.  Travel isn’t a problem for warlocks, especially the Great Warlock.  They say that he traveled often, always to different places.  Not to mention the fact that those places have changed greatly since his time, what was once a city may now be a wild, uncharted jungle.  Where we stand right now was probably a forest or an open field in his time.” he looked up at the buildings towering above them, imagining powerful trees in their stead.

             
“Then there’s no way of tracking it?” Nameh started, “Magically, I mean.”

             
“We’ve tried, but he went to great lengths to hide it, and keep it hidden.  He also designed it to be found only when magic declines, which means we can’t use modern magic to find it.” said Max.  He referred to the magic developed after the Warlock’s death, often called modern magic, even if it was hundreds of years old.

             
“Is magic really in that much of a decline?” asked Mira.  Max’s eyes searched her face before he responded.

             
“Although the Vine is gaining more and more magic through absorption, we’ve lost a lot of our spells and techniques through time.  There have been a lot of raids on our libraries, and books were burned.  The same has happened to the Guild, although they have access to a greater wealth of magic.  The Guardians have been a major problem; they’ve got a lot of ulterior motives behind the ‘Protection of Humans’ that they front.  They’ve been secretly killing warlocks by the drove.”  Nameh picked at her nails, tiring of the conversation about corruption.  Corruption was just another reason that she was leaving.

             
“Isn’t one of your friends a warlock?” asked Mira.  A smile crossed the boy’s face that emanated pure amusement.

             
“You mean, isn’t he in danger?” he asked, still looking entertained.  “First off, he’s a member of the Vine, so killing him could start a war.  Second, anyone that tried to touch him, that didn’t take him off guard with hand to hand combat, would immediately be very sorry.  He’s not really a fighter, that’s why he hangs out with us, but he’s a hell of a warlock.” he finished his explanation with a final smirk.  He clearly had a lot of kinship and respect for his friend.

             
“So, will we get to meet this ‘wonderful warlock’ when we go to the Vine?  And your oath brother?” she asked with a smile.

             
“Yeah, we all room together…” he said, and trailed off.  The conversation took a slightly awkward pause, something that had always entertained Nameh.  She enjoyed seeing people socially uncomfortable, and she never understood why.  It wasn’t as if she enjoyed seeing people in pain, perhaps she just enjoyed having a reminder that even the most eloquent and quick-witted people are still human.  She broke the pause with an extremely blunt question that would have likely shocked the words from many.

             
“So, besides the warlock, are the other two of you human?” she asked casually.  She saw Mira hide a smile as best she could, she was clearly used to her lack of care at offending people.  Race was a sensitive issue in the Upperworld, much as it was in the human world.  The problem was not simply color of skin in the Upperworld, though.  The tension came from the core group of people within the Vine, the Guild, and even the Guardians, who thought that only pure humans should be protectors.  Most people, though, were quite tolerant.  She had heard of many instances when vampires and werewolves could get along with half-harpies and humans.  She herself didn’t care in the least what race the person was, but had always been fascinated by the many groups of people that made up the world.  She thought that half-harpies were beautiful, although they have terrible tempers, and werewolves were fierce and powerful, while vampires had power with more grace.  She had also always had great respect for warlocks, though she had met few, growing up as a Guardian child.

             
“I am 100% human,” he began with a playful look of arrogance on his face, “but my oath brother is a werewolf.” he finished.  For a moment, Nameh was surprised.  In the Guardians, werewolves were accepted, though slightly looked down upon.  She had known several at the school, but most went to great lengths to keep it a secret.  The fact that he had casually dropped this into a conversation had at first been confusing, but as she thought about it, she saw no reason for a member of the Vine to be ashamed of it.  If anything, she realized, it was an advantage.  Werewolves had superior strength, even in human form, and were more resistant to offensive magic than humans.  She nearly laughed as she thought of the time she had nearly sought out a werewolf in order to become one.  She finally decided that she would wait until she was older, in case she changed her mind, an uncharacteristically reasonable choice.

             
“Awesome.” said Mira simply in a soft voice.  Having finished eating, they began to crinkle up the paper left behind from the food.  They tossed it into the large metal can by the side of the building, and headed for the subway station down the street.  Now, Max walked next to the girls, feeling more comfortable.  Suddenly, he stopped walking.  The girls turned to face him with questioning looks.

             
“Before we go back,” he started, “let’s get her marked.”

Chapter Eight: The Great Mark

             
The light in the room was dark and the feeling dismal.  The four stone walls surrounding them were a dull gray only broken up by the pale white door.  The entire room had a thin film of grime from disuse.  She could feel nervous energy pouring from Mira, who wore a look of courage.  Max led them to the corner of the room, where she could now make out a shadowed figure, shrouded in cloth.  He had told them that Mira could have been marked at the Vine, but first she would have to be vigorously trained and tested.  They would not mark her until they were absolutely sure that she would survive.  He knew of several Markbearers who had been fully trained, and would mark others off the record.  It was more dangerous this way, he had told them, but they didn’t have the years it would take to be done the right way.

             
The figure pulled back the black hood, revealing an attractive, fine featured man who appeared to be in his late thirties or early forties.  His short hair was a dark, ink black, and stood on end, mirroring the fierce dark eyes beneath it.  He had an unexplained sense of intensity about him, which was probably why he had been able to complete training at such an unusually young age.  The man did not speak; he knew there would only be one reason for someone to approach him here.  Max had told them he waited here for one hour once a week, marking anyone who wished to be marked.  His task was not to evaluate whether one should become a Markbearer or not, simply to mark.

             
The man moved slowly toward Mira, sensing that she was the only one of the three who did not yet bear a mark.  He motioned for her to sit, and slowly, with wide eyes, she complied.  Most people would have tried to offer comfort then, or ask one final time if she was sure she wanted to go through with it.  Nameh did neither of these things; she knew Mira was sure, and she wasn’t one for spoken feelings.  She simply gave her a small, reassuring nod.  She tugged at the thick straps of her black boots, loosening them.  When she had removed it and the sock beneath, Nameh remembered again how small and delicate her feet were.  Since about a year after she and Mira had met, she had felt an extreme sense of protectiveness for her.  She had never understood why, but she had always been more concerned for her well being than anyone before, and found herself making sure that no one hurt her.  She felt her very soul cringe as she recalled the pain being marked brought; she would give anything at that moment to take it in her stead.

             
The man moved his hand over her foot, and dragged his finger across her heel.  He drew in a curving pattern, swirling outward, turning corners, and repeating the motion.  She remembered the searing pain that had increased with each circle: the first was little more than a tickle, and the last few were utterly excruciating. The paths drawn seemed to leave nothing permanent on the skin, but in fact, magic was sinking in before their eyes.  Mira’s expression changed from quiet confidence to grimace as the man continued.  She knew that each person needed a different amount of paths, depending on how well the magic takes to the receiver.  Nameh had needed eight paths, but Mira was on her eighth already. 

             
Tears streamed down her flushed cheeks, and she clenched her teeth to keep from screaming.  The rest of her body was crumpled inward, as if to protect itself from the unseen attacker.  After nine paths, the man finally stopped, seemingly satisfied; the average was around eleven or twelve.  He held his hand carefully poised above her heel, which showed no signs of her pain.  He seemed to pull something from the skin, trying to reach something that was deep inside.  As he pulled with magic, the Shask became visible on her heel, as if he had put it within her, and then drawn it to the surface.

             
As the mark became more and more visible, her increasing pain could be seen painted across her face.  She let out a small, final cry, and crumpled from her seated position.  Nameh’s face must have been twisted into an expression of horror, but she didn’t notice; she was far away.  Suddenly, she was sitting on a grassy hill, sunlight streaming down from the perfectly blue sky.  She was surrounded by younger versions of the friends she had met when she first entered the Guardian Academy.  The image was from a trip to Washington D.C., when they had visited the building where the original Guardian council had met hundreds of years ago.  Across from her sat Mira, looking as young and innocent as they all had.  She hadn’t known her for long, then, but they were beginning to become friends.  The image grew and distorted before her, the light changing from the bright sunlight to a dimmer, warmer one.  She sat in the loft of a small cabin, a soft sleeping bag pulled around her legs to ward off the crisp night time air.  Opposite her sat a girl with hair so dark brown, it was almost black.  Delicate glasses were perched on her nose, accenting her soft features.  The girl was Deanna, an old friend of hers.  Next to her sat Mira again, looking older; a year had passed.  They had been in a small cabin on a summer trip to Canada, and they had never had as much fun as they did there.  The image changed again, the light shifting into a final stage of darkness.  The sound of water flowing past filled Nameh’s ears, and the smells of warmth and bread filled her nose.  Now, she was in Paris, along the banks of the Seine River.  The light from the sun was all but gone, and the only light remaining came from a nearby streetlight and a small candle beside the blanket they sat on.  On the white blanket lay cheese, breads and fruits.  She and Mira had traveled to France only a few months earlier, leaving quickly on a whim.  They had spent hours wandering, and sitting on the window ledge outside their hotel room.  The ledge had been narrow, and it was an altogether dangerous idea to try to climb out on it.  Nameh had done it anyway, and had later convinced Mira to follow her.  The sights, sounds, and smells had been so beautiful that they couldn’t bear to go inside, it being their last night in Paris.  So, instead of doing the reasonable thing and sleeping, they had just sat and talked all night, feeling the cool air.  She vividly recalled sunrise, just as the sky turned from black to the fading blue of dawn.  In an instant, the smells that filled the air changed from the soft smell of a sleeping city, to that of a city waking up.  In a single moment, the smells of baking bread and sweet pastries had wrapped around each building like a blanket, bringing the streets back to life.  This was her fondest memory of the two of them together, and the thought nearly brought tears to her eyes.  The dark light washed out into pure white, and the room came back into focus.  The man was still poised over Mira, watching intently, while Max stood with his arms folded, looking concerned.  She shouldn’t have allowed her to do this; she would never forgive herself.

             
Nameh was in a daze, the world seemed far away as she stared at the fading body of her best friend.  She had never thought about what life without Mira would be like, and even now, she couldn’t imagine it.  She had known there was a chance she wouldn’t make it, but she had believed so fully that her friend would that she hadn’t thought about it.  She knew she was strong enough.  She closed her eyes, trying to clear the fog and the worry from her mind, and she felt a hand on her shoulder.  She realized that Max had taken the few steps that had separated them, and was now making an awkward attempt to comfort her.  She turned her head to look at him; they were roughly at eye level.  She gave him a small nod, taking the whirlwind of emotions that swelled inside her and carefully packing them away, to be dealt with later.  Her face regained its usual stoic calm, but she allowed herself, for once, to be a little outwardly upset.