David Wells - Cursed Bones

“I’ve seen this woman in my dreams before,” Ayela said, shivering.

“What else did she say?”

“Nothing, she was just standing at the edge of the swamp, beckoning for me to come to her.”

Isabel leaned forward. “Have you had this dream more than once?”

“Yes, several times since Phane came and killed my family. I try not to think about it.”

“Magic can be used to speak to people in their dreams,” Isabel said. “Maybe someone is calling to you.”

“But why?”

Isabel shrugged and shook her head.

Alexander appeared a moment later. “They’re coming,” he said, urgently. “I’m sorry I wasn’t here earlier, I could have given you more warning.”

Isabel came instantly alert, not from what he said but from how desperate he seemed.

“How close?”

“Seven or eight hundred feet,” Alexander said. “You have to go … now.”

She and Ayela woke Hector and Horace and they were up and moving within a few minutes. Ayela gave Hector her jar filled with lichen to light the way, but it wasn’t nearly enough. Then Alexander transformed into a bobbling sphere of pure white light floating above them, providing just enough illumination to guide their steps but not enough to penetrate the mist more than a few dozen feet.

Ayela stopped dead in her tracks. “I know this place … from my dreams.”

They heard a muffled shout in the distance. The Sin’Rath and Trajan’s soldiers had found their campsite.

“Lead the way,” Isabel said, hoping she was making the right decision.

Alexander re-formed a few minutes later, the glowing sphere floating over his head.

“Where are you taking them, Ayela?” he asked.

“I’m not sure, I’m following instructions I received in a dream.”

He turned to Isabel. “We have no way of knowing who cast the dream-whisper. You could be walking right into a trap laid by the Sin’Rath.”

“I considered that,” Isabel said, “but they’re so close to catching us that I don’t think they’d bother.”

“I hope you know what you’re doing,” he said, transforming back into a bobbling light.

“Me too,” Isabel said, motioning for Ayela to continue.

The Princess of Karth wound through the swamp with unsettling confidence, seeming to know the path as if she’d walked it a hundred times, avoiding water at every turn, even to the point of guiding them across a rope bridge strung between two trees. They would never have found it on their own-it was hung above the mist and accessible only by climbing a tree that had notches in the side, forming the rungs of a ladder.

The bridge was sturdy and well kept, spanning fifty feet between two stout cypress trees at a height of twenty feet from the ground and two or three feet over the mist. Isabel smiled up at the stars when she broke free of the mist and sighed with resignation when she had to descend back into the murky air.

Not long after, Ayela led them to the concealed mouth of a cave, which turned out to be a tunnel leading through solid stone. They followed it for several minutes, winding through the earth until it stopped abruptly at a stone wall. Ayela stopped, placing her hand on the wall in confusion … then the wall vanished, opening into a little clearing. Alexander’s light disappeared when they crossed the threshold, and the mist shrouding the swamp was completely gone, revealing a clear sky above.

An old woman approached, smiling thinly. She wore a tattered robe over her thin and frail frame. Her hair was long and grey, her nose resembled a beak, several strands of jet black hair grew from the prominent mole on her cheek, but her slate grey eyes were clear and filled with intelligence and purpose.

“Hello, Child,” she said. “I’ve been waiting for you, though I did not expect you to bring friends.”

She stopped a few feet from Ayela and her crooked smiled warmed, then she turned to Isabel and the coldness in her eyes gave the lie to her smile. Isabel felt every hair stand on end as the woman casually blew a handful of powder into her face and blackness engulfed her.

“How’s she doing?” Abigail asked, quietly sitting down next to Anatoly. He stared into the fire for several moments before answering.

“Not well. Her fever is only getting worse and I don’t know what to do for her.”

Abigail nodded, looking over at Magda sleeping fitfully under most of their blankets. They had arrived at this cave several days ago, guided by Alexander. It was a large round cavern that looked like it had been formed by an enormous air bubble trapped inside hardening lava. The entrance was narrow, almost too narrow for Ixabrax to squeeze through, but the interior was spacious and dry. It was located in a stand of evergreen trees on the side of a mountain just a few hundred feet below the timberline. Most importantly, there was a hot spring a dozen feet from the cave entrance that melted the snow as it filled the little mountain pool and ran off down the mountain in a steaming rivulet bordered on both sides by intricate and delicate ice formations and bright green foliage. The forest surrounding them provided an ample supply of firewood, but little in the way of food.

There were paintings on the walls of the cave, scenes of hunts and predators from ages long past. Abigail spent hours looking at the primitive art, wondering about the people who had stood in this very place so long ago … but that had been in the first few days before Magda had come down with a fever and become delirious. Now she was worried for her friend’s survival. She and Anatoly took turns watching over her as she struggled to overcome the infection plaguing her shoulder wound.

They didn’t have any healing potions or salve, so they’d done the best they could to clean and bandage her wound. Beyond that, all they could do was keep her warm and provide her with food and water when she was strong enough to take it.

Ixabrax was curled up on the far side of the cave as far away from the fire as he could get. For the most part he was patient, content to sleep while they fretted over Magda. Only occasionally did one of his big, catlike eyes open and assess the situation before closing again.

When Alexander appeared, standing near the fire, both Anatoly and Abigail stood quickly, urgently.

“Where have you been?” Abigail said, almost accusingly.

“Isabel’s been in trouble. I’ve been helping her for the past several days and it’s taken most of my strength.”

Anatoly nodded, looking over at Magda with worry in his eyes.

“Magda’s in trouble, too,” Abigail said. “We don’t know how to help her.”

Alexander scrutinized Magda’s colors, and seeing the ugly base colors of infection, fixed Abigail with a resolute look.

“I don’t either, but Lucky will. I’ll be back as soon as I can,” he said, fading from sight.

He found Lucky in a workroom next door to Mason Kallentera’s expansive laboratory in Glen Morillian. Lucky was busy spooning biscuit batter onto a sheet pan when Alexander appeared nearby.

“Hi, Lucky.”

The rotund mage alchemist looked startled but then smiled broadly.

“Ah, there you are, my boy. It’s so good to see you. I trust all is well. Your leg is healing properly, yes?”

“My leg is healing well enough, but slowly. I’ve come because Magda is injured. She has an infection in her shoulder and it’s spreading. I’m hoping you can help me.”

Lucky set the bowl of batter aside and wiped his hands on his apron. “Of course, of course. Does she have a fever? Is she conscious?”

“She’s sleeping fitfully and burning up.”

“How serious is the wound?”

“Zuhl put a spike clean through her shoulder.”