Too Many Curses (26 page)

"These scraps of enchantment and bits of sorcery began to evolve, to grow and change, to thrive in a fashion. Every spell cast added to the volatile mixture, this new life. And this went on for some time before Margle finally noticed it.

"He could've unmade it then. But in his arrogance, he didn't see it for what it might become. Instead, he was curious. So it was allowed to continue its evolution under Margle's study. But eventually, even his conceit couldn't hide the truth. That this experiment behind the Door had become too powerful, too dangerous and unpredictable. By then it was too late to destroy it. Magic is raw possibility, but too much possibility is only chaos. Oceans would boil.
Continents would sink. Monsters would tumble out of hellish worlds. Cats would start dancing, and geese would fly north for the winter, a season that would be only three minutes long. Those are just a sampling. The release of such unprece dented magical energies so suddenly would bring madness to the world.

"Margle's only choice was to contain the experiment. He hid it away behind potent enchantments to prevent it from ever escaping. There it waited, always changing, always growing, becoming. In time, it grew conscious of itself. It became aware of everything within it. And it learned."

The castle grew quiet. The torches dimmed.

"I learned terrible things, Nessy."

A chill breeze blasted through the hall, and she shuddered. For a long time, there was silence.

"You must understand," it said softly. "I was nurtured on Margle's twisted wizardry. Dark magic begets dark magic. I was weaned on cruelty. I knew little else. What else could I become but a terrible, malformed horror?"

"I understand." Nessy rubbed her hand in small comforting circles on a wall, and the castle seemed to perk up.

"That is where you came in. You were the first to demonstrate the virtue of compassion. That compassion lives within me, though it is a small thing, and my cruelty and madness hold greater sway. But I still seek my final form, and my many facets each struggle for dominance. It's a difficult battle, but the hope within me is that the finished design
shall be something worthwhile. Perhaps on that day, the Door can finally be opened."

The soul of the castle paused, allowing Nessy to absorb all it had said. The torches led her up a flight of stairs to the tallest tower. The spirit castle was identical to the real thing except for its lack of furnishings and windows, but there was another difference in this chamber. A small table stood in the center of the room and a closed book sat atop it.

The chamber darkened. Margle was spat into the room through the doorway. He ungracefully landed on his face where he lay for a while moaning.

"Get up," commanded the castle. "Stop being so dramatic."

He rose slowly, and Nessy realized what a pathetic figure he'd become. Without his magic, he was just a little, unassuming man. His bare soul seemed a pitiable thing. She took his arm to steady him.

"Away, beast." He jerked back and nearly stumbled off balance. "Your touch disgusts me."

"Poor, poor Margle," said the castle. "You'll never learn. I suppose the same could be said for you, Nessy. Strange, how the same quality can be so reprehensible in one and commendable in another."

The voice sighed.

"Tell her about Tiama, Margle."

Margle snarled. "What are you blathering about? There is no Tiama. She's just a nightmare story shared amongst wizards."

"She was. Until you made her real."

"Tiama's a spell," realized Nessy aloud. "She's a spell to avenge Margle's death."

"Yes, yes, that was its purpose," said Margle. "But it wasn't to my liking. So I unmade it."

"And where do all your unwanted magics go?" The castle laughed long and hard. "They come to me. And though the wards that lock me behind the Door are powerful, I've grown strong enough to seep from my prison. When Margle died, my darker half found the power to raise her. But with new purpose. Still she couldn't escape without one final element: your permission, Nessy. Which, in ignorance, you granted."

Nessy frowned. If she'd only denied Tiama at the front door, none of this would've happened.

"You couldn't have known. You did only what you thought best. There is a balance to my soul, albeit a tenuous balance. When some of my evil escaped, so did a sliver of my good. It was a tiny bit of magic. Just enough to wake the enchanted armor of the Blue Paladin and his army. My good half hoped to destroy Tiama with these instruments, but her physical form is merely convenience. The evil magic that raised her can't be unmade. It must be returned whence it came. When my benevolent side realized this, it struck her in the only weakness she had, the one thing that it could do to prevent the Door from being opened."

The torches flickered and dimmed.

"I'm sorry, Nessy."

She smiled. "It had to be done."

"You're truly a forgiving soul." The lights brightened. "I have one more spell left, a single enchantment placed within me by Margle. With it, I can return my master to life. With it, I can thwart my darker half."

"Then return me to life that I may do that," shouted Margle, sounding rather childish.

"I can have only one master." The voice grew rough and cold. "Which of you that shall be has yet to be determined."

The torches flickered. Growls rolled up the stairs, and shadows crept along the walls.

"Though my darker half is stronger, this spell is one of life and healing. Thus, it falls within the domain of my more humane side. So I find myself in something of a dilemma.

"Margle, as a great wizard, has the might and knowledge to easily cast Tiama back into her prison. But he is also a wicked soul, beyond redemption, possessing not a single admirable quality. None that my kinder half finds admirable at the very least.

"Nessy is a splendid creature and someone from whom I believe I could learn much more. But she lacks power, and though I trust in her competence, I must question whether this problem is beyond her abilities."

The walls trembled. The stones under their feet shifted. A horrid wail filled the air.

"My darker half grows impatient. Tiama, in her blind
unchecked rage, might destroy the castle and everything in it, including herself." The moan chilled the air, and malignant shapes twisted through the cracks in the walls. "Perhaps that would be best."

Nessy stepped forward, although the great soul was all around her so it was a gesture more for herself than the castle. "I can stop her."

Margle laughed. "Don't be absurd."

"I can stop her."

"This is ridiculous!" shouted Margle. "You don't really see this as a debate, do you? I'm your master. I made you. You wouldn't exist without me. What has this dog done? Swept a few floors? Alphabetized a few books? Even those simple tasks were never to my satisfaction, and I will not compete with this thing." He kicked Nessy, and blindsided, she fell. Twice more he booted her as hard as his thin legs allowed. The twisted, smoky ghouls chuckled. He pulled back his foot for a fourth blow when Nessy sprang.

She latched her jaws onto his ankle, and he screamed. She discovered spirits did indeed bleed. His acrid blood burned her tongue, stung her gums. But she sank her teeth deeper. Margle howled, unable to shake her loose until she let go of her own accord.

She remained on all fours, growling, broken with aggressive barks. Her lips peeled back to show her sharp fangs, stained red, which were much longer and more pointed than Margle had ever noticed before. Her eyes, always bright and shiny, were now two black pearls of contempt.

"Even the most patient soul has her limits, master," said the castle. Its ghoulish shadows laughed at this too.

Nessy advanced. Margle retreated, limping on his savaged leg. She was a small creature, but without his wizardry he had little hope of preventing a mauling. She backed him against the wall, where he huddled, his arms and legs drawn tight. And he trembled in a puddle of his own blood.

"Don't. Don't hurt me."

But she so dearly wanted to. A bite for every insult. A slash of her claws for every inflicted bruise. A drop of blood for every accursed victim of his cruelty. It was no less than he deserved. Perhaps there was a point in cruelty to the cruel after all. Perhaps, bloodied and humiliated, Margle might finally learn the attraction of mercy. Probably not. But in a world without justice, perhaps vengeance was all one could hope for.

Her ears flattened. Drool dripped from her lips. The shadows tugged devilishly at the wizard's hair and robes. They whispered in his ear, musing on the tender pain soon to be his. And Margle wept. He sobbed and trembled. Snot dribbled down his lip.

She put a hand on his shoulder, and he jumped. Tears rolled down his face. But Nessy didn't bite. She wiped the drool from her lips and smiled softly. She shooed the shadows, brushing them away like buzzing insects, and helped him up. She glimpsed the confusion in his eyes. He didn't understand why she wasn't ripping him to
pieces, and he most likely never would. She marveled how someone could know so much and so little at the same time.

The castle's voice was dark and low. "He hasn't earned your mercy."

Nessy replied, "Mercy isn't earned. It's given."

"This is something I find difficult to comprehend. I have too much wickedness within me." The voice changed. It remained harsh, but less so now. "But I'm right about you, Nessy. You've much to teach me. And Margle, simpering, miserable thing that he is, has exhausted his lessons."

The wizard offered no protest. He was too busy wiping away his tears.

"Before I return you to life, Nessy, I pose you this riddle. There is a door which must never be opened and a thing on the wrong side of that door. How do you get it back to where it belongs?"

Nessy thought for just a moment before reaching her answer. Upon hearing it, both the castle's good and evil halves laughed as one. The book floated from the table and into Nessy's hands.

"Read it, and be on your way. But take care. I haven't the power to thwart a second death."

Nessy glanced at Margle, who had regained his composure, although his arrogance was obviously lessened. "And what of him?"

"What of him? He deserves every torment he suffers. And more." The castle sighed deeply. "But I shall grant him
mercy, even if I fail to see why I should. He shall be safe from my shadows, sheltered in the warmth of my charity. Now go. And may fortune favor you, my mistress."

Nessy opened the book. Strange letters danced on the pages. They glittered with soft light. She disappeared. The book fell to the floor, leaving Margle to the castle's tender mercies. He hobbled on his bloodied leg and snatched up the tome. But its pages were blank.

"The spell is gone," said the castle, and its dark phantoms howled with delight.

Margle winced. He was a spirit now, and his wound could bleed forever without killing him. His would be not an eternity of hellish agony but endless stinging annoyance. For the first time in his life or his death, a notion occurred to him. That maybe, just maybe, he had brought this on himself. But it was the merest inkling, and he quickly dismissed it.

"Cease your whimpering," groaned the castle. "Sit."

A chair appeared by the small table, and he used it. It wasn't comfortable in the least, but it eased the weight on his ankle.

"Dress that, would you?" said the castle. "You're bleeding all over my floors."

A roll of ban dages lay on the table, and Margle bound his wounds. When he was done, he leaned back in his uncomfortable chair and felt just a little bit better.

In the highest tower of the castle's soul, the torches grew a little bit brighter and the shadows a little bit quieter.
Somewhere in its layered, colossal soul, the castle smiled, although it didn't know exactly why.

Sir Thedeus stood watch over Nessy's body. She was such a little creature, nothing much to look at, but it was as if her death had killed something inside him as well. He'd always been a fighter, never one to lie down and surrender. But now . . .

Now he wondered if he'd ever find the strength again.

It wasn't the curse of bat skin that contained him. Nessy had shown him more than once that power wasn't only found in physical might, but everything had changed. He glanced over at the dead kobold and grimaced.

But none took her demise worse than the nurgax. The purple beast had ceased its mourning. Now it just lay beside her in a grim imitation of death. It hadn't moved for over half an hour, and there was only the slightest indication that the creature was breathing at all.

"I can't believe she's gone either," said Echo softly. "What are we going to do?"

"Nothing. We do nothing, lass."

Decapitated Dan chortled.

Sir Thedeus snarled. "Canna ye keep that blasted madman quiet?"

"If death couldn't silence ol' Dan," he replied, "I don't see what chance any of you have."

Mister Bones dropped Dan onto the floor and sat atop
the skull. But Dan wouldn't be rendered mute so easily. He twisted on his jaw and muttered through clenched teeth.

"What would goody-good Nessy say seeing all of you in such a darkling gloom? She'd be disappointed, she would. Willing to give her life for the likes of you, and now all you do is sit around and pout." He wailed, throwing Mister Bones to the side. "Oh, poor are we! Poor are we! Nessy has perished, but we're the unfortunate ones, we are!"

Mister Bones snatched up Dan and struggled to hold his wagging jaw shut.

"You'll not shut me up, body of mine! I've learned from Nessy never to go quietly! I've learned, even if none of you whimpering flesh have!"

The skeleton clamped Dan tight, but Dan kept mumbling.

"Wait," said Sir Thedeus. "Let him speak."

Decapitated Dan howled. "Oh ho ho! Now you want to hear ol' Dan out! Not so mad now, am I?"

Sir Thedeus flew to Mister Bones's shoulder. "Yer a lunatic, lad. But ye've a point."

"I always have a point, though it's not always a point many would like to understand."

"Why would ye encourage us to fight?" asked Sir Thedeus. "I thought ye wanted the Door opened?"