Sylvester & Tuette: Cursed Doubt

Chapter Eleven

Though it was the entire previous day that saw Tuette embrace a sense of aww-filled wonder in how quickly her precious Freezing Pote had been concocted, this morning she was filled with nothing but a dire sense of dread; the king was a frightful idiot. That much was evident from his actions alone, especially regarding the splint incident. And he was expected to play a major part in casting a much-needed Reverse!


It was true that his lineage had been picked centuries before with the aide of Magik but the man that was chosen back then was not the same caliber of man that she was to travel with. This was clear by the lack of attention being paid to the country as a whole. In the manner he had exuded, it seemed as if he had expected Tuette to express a tone of deference to him, with a bow or curtsey, or probably just a small nod would have sufficed. But she had purposely provided none. She swore, long ago, that she would give no such degree of blind obedience or obsequiousness to a man who was not qualified to fill the title he publicly bore.


And it’s with him that I’m supposed to help save the kingdom? She couldn’t forget about the incredulity of the notion. Her mind became almost unstable at the thought. To make matters seemingly worse, he had to travel with bodyguards of some type. As if anyone truly cared about the ineffective king and what his ancestors once represented. It was true that he held a title but it was doubtful that they would encounter anyone that knew the king by sight alone. Especially without his crown to denote the distinction!


Thoughts boiled inside Tuette’s head. They revolved mostly around notions of abandoning the king and his entourage once the location of a chicken flock was discerned. This was a purely selfish thought though and she knew that, but couldn’t help it. The idea of being forced to travel with the king made her skin seemingly ripple.


There was something peculiar about the third bodyguard though. Tuette had learned the names of none of the king’s forced followers but the third seemed to be of a smaller degree of importance or inflection. And, somehow, very familiar to Tuette personally. He was shorter than the average man and looked to be of the farming caste. Upon first spying him the night before, as lit by muted torchlight, she could have sworn it was her one-time partner, Dermy, but upon closer examination, she saw that the facial structure was inaccurate, the hair color different, and his entire composure just wrong. And his pattern of speech was the biggest difference. Tuette felt it was odd that everything else about the man brought up thoughts of Dermy but his vocalizations were similar to those of Craspone par Taali, the man that had inevitably drawn Dermy away from Tuette and towards Mount Reign. There was the off-chance that the third Guard was of relation to the deserting man or even Craspone himself. Tuette would find the time to pose questions to him later. It was not lost on her that Dermy left her to work for the king and now she was forcibly in company with the king. She couldn’t recall Craspone’s every feature but this Guard could be that man: speech was more difficult to ingrain in such a short amount of time.


Desertion’s not really an option. The Curse that had been enacted by Roost was legitimate enough: she recalled Ta Speebie’s worn map weave and the burn over the representation of Boost Island. If Tuette broke away with her Freezing Pote and performed the Reverse, she was then subject to whatever the Curse was that the count had perpetrated. Plus, she was being trusted by some very promising Magikals. It was true that they were primarily using her Cursed status as a form of leverage but it was her Freezing Pote that had inspired her inclusion in the first place.


Is it coincidence that King Whatever came to Zharinna? She had used her Potent Pote days ago, before the Curse had been cast and it was in very little time that the Reverse was discovered. Had Ta Speebie been able to deduce the required Reverse or was that knowledge divined by the crown? She rolled her eyes at the thought as the king could not have stumbled upon that information in the dark if he needed to. But someone working under him might have.


Maybe even Dermy himself? The prospect lightened Tuette’s heart slightly as it was possible that Dermy had become more powerful with his abilities. Maybe he had even overcome his somewhat uncontrollable obsession with various plant life, though she hated to admit that she didn’t know exactly what it was that Dermy did for the king. Of course, it was his obsession to collect knowledge over many different types of plants that had made the Freezing Pote wholly possibly. For that Tuette had been grateful.


But, again, she knew that desertion was not an option. If anything, Count Roost had to personally be stopped. Anyone who was crazy enough to attempt a kingdom-wide Curse was crazy enough to try even harder when the first attempt failed miserably. It was of no small consolation that the knowledge garnered from the quest, in the event that Roost was killed, could be used for Tuette’s personal gain. The simple fact was that Freezing a flock of chickens could only work to Reverse one Curse or another. If Tuette did it, she would have obtained her salvation but would then become victim to the larger Curse. If Sylvester did it, as he wasn’t Cursed and symbolically, if not foolishly, represented the entirety of Decennia, Roost’s Curse would be foiled before it had time to mature.


Yes, in order to provide a future for herself, she was going to have to curb her traveling troupe to the south to help fend off Roost personally and permanently. At the very least, she could garner a location of the rare flock and convince the others to confront Roost while she worked to Reverse her own socially depreciating Curse. But what if the others fail in disabling the count? With proper direction, she could locate a flock and keep an eye on it until she was sure that the kingdom’s Curse was either complete or halted and then perform her own Reverse.


But then she could find herself ostracized again. Whereas everyone would most likely be Cursed after such an outcome  - she was talking about the king, anyway, and failure on his part was a likely option – she would be free to do whatever. There was no way to know if everyone was to be physically affected or if a more situational outcome was expected. Not all Curses caused a physical disability, as in her own case. Some caused a person to be predestined for bouts of terrible circumstance, like making a man constantly find himself in compromising situations or a woman being found attractive by only the most uncommon of wretches.


Tuette was able to deduce that such a vast area designated to be affronted by the Curse meant it would most likely be of the physical nature. There would be no point in causing every citizen to endure lifetimes of embarrassing hardship: if everyone suffered the same circumstantial fate, it would be null.


And if everyone was physically deformed in one manner or another, that would also unite them with a commonality, making the Curse that much more ineffective. Except for people who are currently Cursed.


Their status would be readily recognized and if Tuette Reversed her own Curse after the larger one was finished, she couldn’t prove herself to be Cursed in any other manner. Once again, she would find herself as the individual hovering on the cusp of civilization whereas no one would accept her for being so unjustly immune.


The thought of claiming another country of origin crossed her mind, but that wasn’t feasible: it was now nearly impossible to cross either ocean as any guidance beacon that might have once been used for such a voyage had been lost due to disuse during the times when Magik had been absent. That had been a time, centuries before, when communities closed in on themselves anyway but without beacon’s being powered with Magik, they, with many other artifacts from that era, had been misplaced and never seen again. Tuette never cared much to focus on such a time as it poorly represented the Magikal status she usually prided herself upon; the carelessness spoke ill of the craft.


Lying about my birthplace will be no easier than lying about being Cursed. With a nation full of Cursed individuals, it would be easy for any one of them to cast a Curse of Truth on her anyway. And without her Curse of the Hood to ironically protect her in such a situation, she would be stuck. It occurred briefly that she could allow herself to remain protectively Cursed while everyone else was dissimilarly Cursed but that idea soured quickly in her head. Letting myself remain Cursed is simply not in the basket of boons!


With her thoughts careening through the possible avenues that she might travel, she was drawn to the same conclusion: she would have to travel with the king and his bodyguards until the end. It would be easy enough to help convince them that killing Roost was the easier choice, despite the finality that was implied with murder. After that, she could Freeze her flock of chickens and be rid of the Curse and whatever company the king might provide.


The latter was beginning to sound like a second Curse unto itself and if she had not experienced her own physical misgivings in the dawn’s early light – she had not required herself to remain in hiding over her status since the Zharinnians knew about her predicament – she would assume she was Cursed with the forced companionship of the monarch.


Tuette’s present mindset was invaded upon by memories of her father devoting all of his energy to craft footwear solely for the king and his denizens on the mountain. They had monopolized his time because of his superiority concerning protective boots and the like. For Tuette, it felt like she had always been Cursed in one aspect for another. She had felt guilty a time or two for not being drawn to the family’s business the way her siblings had been. The mysteries of Magik and the power it promised drew her greatly, especially regarding the cave network southwest of her hometown, New Opal. They were said to be haunted with some type of specter or another. In any respect, odd things were said to happen in the caves and hearing such stories had only breathed life into the desire to learn more about any such happenings.


These memories forced her to think about how physically close she was to New Opal presently. Just the other side of the mountain and I could be… But was it home? Did New Opal still count as her home? It had been nearly a decade since her departure and she didn’t doubt that her family still held strong influence within the township. Upon seeing the king’s boots, she knew they to be marked as her father’s signature style; he couldn’t go without including his crest upon every product.


She literally had to shake these memories from her mind, distracting as they were. It did no good to lose sight of the current goal. Tuette gathered her composure and stepped through her front door, catching sight of the red doornail in her peripheral. Though it was a courtesy extended that she be granted access to her dwelling, she had no more eggs to Charm the home into departing. A midnight hunt for snake eggs could have resulted in such an escape had she not been exhausted from rushing through most of the previous day fashioning a Pote that had taken her and Dermy alone a whole week to construct, a couple years prior.


But the deed was done. The Freezing Pote was primed for usage and had been tested on the king’s own splints. That part of the prior night’s events Tuette had witnessed from afar with much joy. Watching the king fall and seeing the taut fear contort his face with the notion of being crushed by the very creature he had ridden was especially pleasurable. It was necessary though because when the chickens were to be found, they would also probably be hopping about trying to escape. Tuette had been the one to suggest that the splints be disoriented with a localized Mind-Slip Spell and the end result had almost been worth her having to endure the entire pending journey.


She sighed when she looked up the shore and saw the perryta approaching from the direction of the Freezer’s small shed. Though Fy’tay had meant well, Tuette felt she might never trust the woman, even if this was the last day she was to set eyes upon her. This woman is preferred over me by even the king! The thought brought mixed emotions to Tuette. On the one hand, she knew she was relieved to be physically out of favor with the king as that would make any kind of attachment that much more unlikely. She would also have gladly allowed Fy’tay to go in her place as she already knew she would find the bland-looking man undesirable company.


On the other hand, she knew that she herself was not unattractive. Compared to the man in question, she would have considered herself well out of his arena. Though Fy’tay was a beautiful woman, Tuette felt that she herself was of a more enjoyable quality in regards to her physical nature. Plus, I alone am the prime person for the intended journey. Though Fy’tay was a perryta and Tuette, technically, a lowly apprentice, she had traveled for years and considered herself to be wise to the ways of even the Nementor Paths, decrepit as they were. For Tuette, the paths often represented how she felt about the position of the king: barely usable and therefore, barely perceived.


As it was, she considered that she might even be able to embark on such a quest on her own. Except I have no inkling of where to find a chicken flock. Or a means of getting to the Seagulf Islands. Idly, Tuette wondered what made them Islands in the south and in the north rested the Fortright Isles. What’s the difference? Is it because one rested…


But Fy’tay finally arrived, stopping the thought. Tuette had appeared lost in her mental mullings and feigned knowing that the perryta had been coming up the shore. It was a social ploy she liked to use to make someone come to you: ignore them until they practically demand your attention, as if they are not important until recognition is earned. The perryta likely knew of the ploy as she only held the gentlest of smiles. Tuette began to feel chagrinned because the woman was truly, in the end, doing what was best for the kingdom as a whole.


Tuette was, in the end, only doing this for herself. And she knew it.


So did Tuette.


“I hope you slept well.”


“I did.” She had not. Her mind had been swimming with the various nuances she had continued to focus on this morning. As a result, her bouts of sleep had been interrupted by waking fits.


Often, a dream would wrench her back into reality. It was a dream like any other: she would find herself atop a cliff, looking down into a churning pool of black water. Shapes moved against the cliff’s wall but she couldn’t make them out when she looked directly at them. A flyer of some type would squawk and before she could turn around, someone or something would push her. As she plummets over the edge, the shapes – robed and rotting men – would attempt to reach for her and she was not sure if they were trying to save her or tear her apart. She would awaken before she hit the water and be left wondering what it all meant. Tuette knew that dreams were often more than simple meltings of the mind: they could often be prophetic, despite the paradox that might create.


But to the perryta, she lied. It would do no good to tell her she had not slept well and if the way she felt was carried even minutely through her eyes, Fy’tay would know the truth anyway. And she would let it pass. That was the type of woman she was turning out to be: empathetically kind.


“King Sylvester is awake too. He insisted, once again, that I accompany him on his quest.” Her smile brightened slightly. “It’s flattering, to say the least. But I’ve duties here, of course.” Tuette nodded in agreement but she couldn’t help but think that the king’s oafish remark seemed to create a spark of something inside Fy’tay. Was she actually attracted to the king? Or maybe to a man in such a position as... did she say his name was Celester? She didn’t want to ask, didn’t want to appear like she even cared. She decided she would wait until the king’s name was mentioned again. Still, the possibility that anyone might find the king to be a viable man in the name of procreation baffled Tuette. What was so alluring about his short beard and lengthy hair? Tuette didn’t keep tabs on current fashion trends but she found his to fall short of acceptable. Could he not grow a lengthier beard, at least? And he was scrawny for a man of power. He stood as if about to fall over in a stoop. He had been wearing light armor on the eve before but that should not have been too demanding of his musculature.


Tuette nodded in agreement with the perryta’s statement regarding her local duties and wondered exactly how many were actually keeping her presently tied to Zharinna. The Freezers seemed to follow Ta Bep’toj and even Ta Speebie held an air of indifference towards the more elevated perryta. Perhaps the tas did not get along when left to their own devices? This was a common enough issue as each tended to consider their own brand of Magik knowledge to be unique in respect to others, despite the bare fact that it was all relatively the same arena of wielded power. The presence of a perryta might have been required to force cohesion amongst the varied tas, especially in a town like Zharinna that represented Magik well with their unique Talking Tree, however useless it truly was.


She continued the conversation with only a moment’s pause to allow for the contemplation. “Do we have an idea of where we’re heading? Where the chicken flock might be? I’m to act like I already have this knowledge, am I not?” They had discussed the issues easily enough during the previous day’s duties: Tuette would guide the king to a rumored chicken flock sighting and, with his entourage protecting him from potential maladies of any type, he’d arrive safely to invoke the Freezing Pote and save the kingdom.


Tuette wished to perform a deviation, of course, but that knowledge had to remain unvoiced.


Fy’tay nodded. “There has been suggestions of a sighting south of here, outside a Jint village by the name of Scothil.” Tuette had heard of it and was relieved to know it was to the south, where she had intended to travel regardless. She was not so enthused to know that Scothil was adjacent to the Nementor Paths. Which meant they would have to travel the irreparable roadway.


Sightings were not substantial proof though and flocks tended to move about; the birds feared humans, and with just cause. A problem occurred to Tuette then. What if we encounter a rumored flock before making it to the Seagulf Islands? The thought did not sit well with Tuette. Her Freezing Pote would be used entirely on the flock in the name of the kingdom and she would be left with nothing but a Cursed body. But rumors were rumors and the flock was likely long gone, meaning she would still have a chance, once they reached Scothil, to divert the troupe.


It also occurred to her that Ta Speebie had shown her prowess with tracking and locating people or things with simple tufts of fig fur and a map weave. Was it this knowledge they were culling from now? Fig fur was certainly rare enough as the creatures shed very little and it seemed like the old ta would have used her reserves in discovering that Count Roost was the culprit behind the kingdom’s impending Curse. Since Fy’tay had used the term rumor, Tuette was inclined to consider that word-of-mouth was the means of conveyance in this manner.


Why was a locating Spell not invoked when seeking the birds? Tuette asked Fy’tay.


“It is impossible to use various types of Spells on chickens as their unique history as a species has caused them to evolve with certain immunities to invasive forms of Magik.” This answer made sense to Tuette as she knew that in order for eggs to be harvested so long ago and in the quantities they once were, Magik certainly had to be used in potentially questionable manners. This, of course, could only be a working theory as no one had been able to study a living chicken for many decades. And to find a dead one was rare, supplanting evidence that the birds ate their deceased, as unsettling as that seemed.


Fy’tay led the way towards the town, traveling through the forest. Though Tuette had been offered a bed in Zharinna, she had insisted on being granted access to her home. It had saved time for her in the morning as she had wanted to gather more of her Potes and prepped stones. Tuette was not so distracted by the sights of the town this time as she was more familiar with the surroundings. They walked briskly down the main avenue with the Talking Tree standing like a pillar in the immediate distance.


We’re heading for the town’s center, then. Ta Speebie’s shop was closed up and Fy’tay walked through the front door anyway, the two Gousheralls standing outside, trying to keep an eye on everything at once. Tuette wanted to suggest that they be given ReSeeing Stones but they probably would’ve declined, their abilities insulted.


Inside, with Tuette’s eyes growing more accustomed to the dimness, she spied the older ta, the king, and the shorter Guard. The squat man that reminded Tuette of her former friend Dermy stood behind the king and she was under the impression that the man was trying to avoid eye contact with Tuette. Perhaps, being a possible family member, he felt uncomfortable around Tuette as he most likely knew the situation regarding the broken duet. Or Dermy had reported malicious activities on behalf of Tuette. This thought made her feel slightly balked as she had never realized that such a thing was possible. Without her present to contradict any lies Dermy might dictate, he could have said anything at all to explain why he had left her alone with only a swan and some reptile eggs. He could have made up any story to make himself into a great human being and turn her into a malevolent shrew!


Tuette’s mind bounced at the possibility. Is this vertically disinclined man afraid of me because of something Dermy has said to him? If that was the case, did he have an alternative cause for being present? She didn’t know… but she knew she could find out.


As she was not being treated as a prisoner but as a friend, she had freedom over her immediate actions and could do something so menial as dipping her hand into her satchel without drawing alarm. Moving towards the counter and standing at the end nearest an open flame, she set her bag down and reached both hands in. Ta Speebie looked immediately alarmed – She is so untrusting! – but relaxed when Tuette pulled out her left hand with a rarely-used personal mirror. Looking at her reflection as if trying to measure her self-perceived wrinkles, she slowly and subtly let her hand creep around in her bag, feeling for the known Potes inside. They were strapped against the satchel’s inner lining and she always put them in the same place. In a short time, she located a similarly rarely-used vial that she knew was her Truvis Pote.


Designed to bring out a person’s intentions by making them reveal, in a direct manner, their true and immediate designs, the Pote also had the potential to break Magiked disguises, if one was being used. She hoped that one wasn’t being presently employed; if that was the case, then things were about to become a little more complicated. That didn’t seem possible because a disguise being worn this long required a large anchor and one wasn’t readily present, as far as she could tell. Tuette didn’t feel too bad about using the Pote either because if these people were being genuine with their speeches and pleas, then the Truvis Pote would be ineffective, causing nothing more than a cough.


She resettled the vial inside her satchel so she could open it. Turning the tiny glass bottle over with her finger plugging the end, she managed to get a dab on her fingertip. She quickly set the bottle down and, without stopping to recap it, she withdrew her hand and flicked the water towards the candle.


Score! The flame flickered at the dousing attempt but did not dissipate. Rather, it sputtered slightly and began to emit a thicker, more-revealing pattern of smoke. Just as Tuette had wanted.


The movement of her finger seemed to draw Ta Speebie’s attention, but too late as she already had her hand back in the sack, resealing the vial and returning her tiny mirror. Resettling her satchel, she turned to pay attention to the group now as she had knowingly ignored them up until that point. Fy’tay had the king and the one Guard hunched over the map weave that Tuette had seen the day before. She motioned towards Tuette to join them and Tuette brought the informative flame to look like she intended to bring light to aid them all; after all, the grimy windows did little to let in acceptable means of light. They gave compliments and Tuette listened to what Fy’tay had to say, ever mindful that Ta Speebie had stayed behind the counter. Perhaps she was even doing something to Tuette’s satchel? That didn’t wholly matter.


“Sir, could you please repeat the necessary course back to me? It’s important that you follow it without deviation.” Tuette heard the king sigh and she was reminded of a child who had, for the fifth time, been asked to recite some piece of meaningless drivel. Does he not take this seriously? Many facets of goodwill rest in the balance and he wants to behave like an overtaxed child? She felt like hitting the man—


The short Guard began to hack and grab at his face. He stumbled away from the group and banged into the wall. His entire outline seemed to shimmer then, like he wasn’t really there, like his reality was being questioned. Tuette knew that, in a way, it just might’ve been. He was hazy, except his right arm: it remained solid in definition. Tuette understood that he was seemingly being reacquainted with reality as his true intentions were being revealed. And he’s wearing a disguise as well! The king looked alarmed. Fy’tay seemed more annoyed than anything.


Tuette refocused her attention on the struggling man when she stopped hearing gagging noises from him and let shock and awe ripple up her spine. The man that reminded Tuette of Dermy was not a relative of the man in question or even a deformed Craspone per Taali: he was Dermitalus Tasciturn himself! “Dermy!” she shouted.


“You know him?” asked the king as if he had been slapped.


Dermy looked up from behind his raised left hand, his right arm dangling limp at his side as if it might even be broken, and a smile was resting inside only his cheeks. It seemed weak. “Yes, Tuette.” He slumped even further, which had seemed impossible until that point. He looked up at her once more and said “How’ve you been?”





*          ~          *          ~          *





It had been quite startling.


She stood outside near the Talking Tree while the others remained inside, sorting out the details and trying to reinstate Dermy’s disguise. Apparently, Celester and Fy’tay were the only other ones who had known Dermy ‘s identity. And that it was part of a plan to help thwart any would-be spies. The logic was lost on Tuette but she accepted that it could be her present state of mind that made the logic so difficult to discover.


Yes, it was a startling scene for them all. And a little funny. Before, she had only remembered Dermy and how much she might have missed him with only the occasional begrudgement over leaving her. Now, she was a little enraged that he had managed to deceive even her with his none-to-specialized disguise. She often forgot how easily Magikal ploys could slip by undetected.


But it was Dermy. He was Dermy. He is Dermy because he’s not dead or even near the sort. He was wholly alive and disguised with Magik. She had not intended to reveal his truth but that was the thing about her Truvis Pote. At one time, Dermy had been the closest thing to a friend that she had gathered since being Cursed and he had left her… for someone else. For the king. It still hung heavily in Tuette’s mind as a type of betrayal. Even though there were no intimate relations between the pair, it still felt like Dermy had run off for fields more primed for planting. As it turned out, in a quite literal sense, he had. He was an agricultural specialist: a farmer. Under the king.


For a handful of months – a time spent longer than with any other she had encountered before or since – Dermy had been a loyal friend and fellow Magikal. Then, with a scribbled script left behind, he had vanished into the night. Days prior to that departure, the swan-shaped structure had been discovered by the duo amongst the Grechy Pools. They had been guided there by Craspone per Taali and Tuette had expressed her desire to use Bring to Life Spells to harness the capabilities of the structure and she assumed that Dermy saw this as her chance to “make it” on her own. At least, the script had hinted as much.


Tuette remembered harboring equal parts anger for being as recklessly abandoned as the swan home, sadness for losing a friend that had apparently pitied her undesirably Cursed circumstance, and accomplishment for being able to finally travel by her own means, without having to rely on another. True, since acquiring the fly-by-night dwelling, Tuette had fewer had fewer instances of making any real companions but she preferred it if the alternative meant being constantly abandoned. That’s why I’d rather not travel with a small troupe. Because however little or grandly I might come to depend on these four men, they’ll eventually leave me alone. Again.


But I wouldn’t be Cursed! And that was going to be worth any journey she had to endeavor. Despite the required companions.





*          ~          *          ~          *





Tuette had little experience with splintback riding. The few splints that she had encountered in the past seemed of limited intelligence. She looked at the king’s splint – he had called it Eafa earlier – and wondered at the beast’s abilities. As the older Guard mounted his splint, she watched him settle his legs against the creature’s sides and grab at the raised notches just behind the ears. The animal still did not look all that promising to Tuette but she knew that they had been a trusted species for many years and that fact alone had to harbor a form of justification.


Tuette tried leaping up and pulling herself onto her own appropriated splint. With the pull came a sense of freefalling and she felt the saddle slide over the side of the animal and onto Tuette. It was a heavier piece of equipment than she had anticipated and she was forced to the ground with a huff. One of the Guards came to assist by lifting the saddle from atop her. Tuette noticed that it smelled sour on the underside. The Guard finished his good deed and secured the strap that ran beneath the animal’s stomach. She felt embarrassed for herself but was thankful that the king hadn’t seen…


She turned and saw the bearded man grinning at her, standing in the stable’s main entrance, as she stood and wiped dust from her backside. Heat began to surface above her cheeks and Tuette was now only thankful that a wind hadn’t moved a branch from above and let a stray sunbeam find its way to her head. Before such an unfortunate circumstance could blossom, she cinched up her hood, immediately feeling increased heat as the mass of hair rested against her neck in a hot and sweaty mess. The Reverse was so close at hand and yet she could only think how it wasn’t close enough. What woman should have to endure this?


“That was rather, erm, graceful, milady.” Tuette only peered at him through hopefully-menacing eyes. His use of “milady” seemed like a smack in the face because he clearly didn’t care to have her along, his lack of genuine respect for her notwithstanding. She seethed silently and only nodded in the king’s direction.


Turning to attempt another mounting, Tuette suddenly wished to find herself amongst a more selective form of government; one where a man such as Celester could not come into power unless chosen by an informed group of citizens. It seemed only just that an administrative body such as the state’s primary leader be selected by any means other than the present one! She imagined a village selecting, at random, their next leader and wondered what would happen if that leader turned out to be moronic. They most likely get rid of him – or her – and select a better choice. So why had no such action been taken with this man? He retained no qualities of a good leader, as was evidenced by his selfish motives regarding the quest and his lack of knowledge regarding even the landscape immediately adjacent to the mountain-based throne!


With a grunt, she was atop her splint and noticed how her legs didn’t quite separate enough in order to make sitting somewhat comfortable. Her dress, extended as it was, kept her limited. She knew than that she would have to hitch up her hem and ride with the fabric bunched around her thighs—and with her bare legs exposed to the rays.


Her bare and hairy legs.


In other countries, she knew it was rumored that women didn’t worry about keeping their legs shorn free of hairs as it might be too cold to care or not a manner of their fashion. But in almost all of Decennia, men placed smooth-legged women on pedestals and would sooner leave someone like Tuette alone with a pack of feral figs. She was slightly hesitant to ride in this manner but knew she had no choice. She steeled herself with resolve to take any comments directed her way and either ignore them or rebound them with venom. She then settled her slippered soles into the splint’s stirrups.


There were no guffaws of laughter from the king. Tuette had not expected the Guards to say anything and Dermy understood the situation clearly… but the crown made no response. As if he didn’t notice. Or care.


Is he being a gentleman? Or has Dermy explained my status to the man while they had been fetching supplies? Maybe it really wasn’t a problem for the man? Tuette didn’t understand the lack of response but was thankful for the respite from the dimwitted man’s usual candor.


Drawing on the lessons dispensed quickly by the younger Guard minutes before, Tuette easily guided her splint from beneath the shade and felt her leg hairs independently curl as only those of a uniquely Cursed person can.


She passed Dermy mounting his splint and noted with a curiosity that his right arm wasn’t dangling or even appeared to be damaged. It had looked lifeless when the disguise had been balked. Tuette couldn’t explain it but the situation felt flighty, like she might grasp it soon enough if the notion would remain perched. Her mind wandered though and she let the notation flitter away.


Tuette felt like pushing him off of his splint though, but that desire soon flittered away as well. Though she was feeling betrayed and enraged at the thought of Dermy purposefully attempting to hide himself from her, she couldn’t help but privately hold on to the quelled uneasiness at having a somewhat familiar face nearby.


Still, where’s his disguise’s anchor?





*          ~          *          ~          *





Scothil, from Zharinna, was just under a day’s trek along the Nementor Path. Tuette was thankful that their current section of the path wasn’t in such a state of disrepair whereas large portions usually that lay in ruins or inside dangerous areas. Rather, larger stones that had been used to identify the pathway still remained mostly intact. Their faces, once carved to distinguish distances, had been shorn smooth by time. But mostly, it was a mundane trek.


The area off the path was a mixture of open fields and encasing forestry. No bandits or wildlife disturbed them and Tuette silently hoped the rest of the journey went as smoothly.


She had been informed by Fy’tay that sleeping arrangements had been made within the limits of Scothil and Tuette hoped hard that it was indoors; the night air could be as unforgiving as the rising sun.


“Is Freezing hard?”


Tuette was startled from her silent wishes and realized then that most of the day-long journey had been carried on in silence. She looked to her right and it was Celester that had asked the question. Wasn’t there a mute king once? Tuette seemed to remember learning that once. Or maybe she had recently wished that too.


“What?” she returned with a little irritation festooning her voice.


“Freezing. That hard?”


She was confused. How should I know? “I don…” And then she remembered her fabricated story: that she was a Freezer from Zharinna. She looked at Dermy, following behind them at a short distance, his disguise newly enforced, and wondered why he was still wearing the thing. And why she had to continue lying about being a Freezer when everyone knew he was more than just some mountaintop farmer.


Fy’tay had made the request though and she being a kinder, if not deceitful, woman, had her reasons. “Um, Freezing isn’t hard. Just drop the rods in the water, clean the contained area, and flash, you Freeze it.”


“Clean it how?” Tuette looked at him again incredulously and saw, in her peripheral, Dermy birthing a broad smile. He knew she didn’t have much knowledge on Freezing other than the basics. So she reverted to the same answer that she had been given after asking for the first time.


“That’s a Clan secret.” Dermy coughed and Tuette silently hoped he was choking on his spittle for not attempting to help field the king’s questions.


Celester looked amused. “A secret?” he continued. “Even from the king?”


That does it. Tuette felt a break of irritation and a shout rose in her throat. One didn’t emit though when she saw that on the king’s face was not a defiant guise that said I’m the king, so tell me. Rather, it said to Tuette I don’t understand and she felt a little sorry for the crownless man.


“Celester, sir, it’s just… I’m not supposed to reveal anything. Of that nature.”


That drew a reaction she hadn’t expected: the king looked slightly shocked, even a little disgusted. She assumed that wasn’t the answer he was looking for and then felt irritated for feeling that tiny moment of sorrow for the man.


Resuming forward focus, she felt baleful eyes falling on her and was determined to ignore them. If the king had any further questions, she would simply direct him to Dermy. He trusted the diminutive traitor anyway.


It was just before nightfall when they approached the outskirts of Scothil. Tuette remembered the previous night, when she got to witness Celester fall from his high haunches and experience real fear, probably for the first time in his life. It had been about this time, and she smirked in the waning light.


Floating fireballs approached the small group, signifying lit torches and the people who brandished them. Tuette didn’t recognize anyone and then felt curious about herself for wondering why she might expect to. She’d never been to Scothil. Perhaps it’s seeing Dermy again that makes me wonder if others from my past might inject themselves into my present.


They were put up in an inn that suffered from the type of neglect that only disuse can inspire. The proprietors, a family by the name of Koop, had kept up the beddings but were unaccustomed to dealing with guests. As such, their eagerness to overly please the group was slightly bothersome if not invasive to Tuette. She preferred to handle her own satchel and luggage; people tended to stick their hands inside and withdraw items that didn’t rightly belong to them otherwise.


Thankfully, she was able to sleep in her own room. The thought of fleeing the group flitted through her mind many, many times before she finally fell asleep under the well-washed blankets. But she always came to the same conclusion. It wouldn’t be beneficial for me in the long run.


A final thought occurred to her that she hadn’t readily formulated before. What if the flock of chickens we seek is the last flock? If that was the case, it was either her own Curse or the kingdom’s impending Curse that would be ultimately Reversed. And then only the murder of a count would save the kingdom. She knew this because she wasn’t going to let the chance to escape her Magiked situation slip through her worn fingers.


She felt she would assist the king if it came to such a circumstance. Yes, assist him in stopping Count Roost.


Maybe.


         If it’s the last flock, that is. But I truly doubt that.


She smirked and let tiredness engulf her.