Sylvester & Tuette: Cursed Doubt

Chapter Twenty-Four

The count stared into the night, knowing that little more than a day would bring about his revenge in one way or another. That was merely a blink in the span of a lifetime, though it took just a day to change such a life forever. Puze was below, with the World Spirit. He had opted to stay away from the king, realizing that he was the activation of Roost’s very Potent Artificial-from-Afar Charm. It took him long enough, thought the count with a very bemused smirk.


Botch wasn’t present. He was down in the town, with his father. Roost actually found that he missed the boy, especially after discovering that such a person existed who would accept him for his physical attributes.


Most people had never accepted him for his temper alone, but the count couldn’t help that. He was temperamental and for good reasons. He could only think of his upbringing, of his parentage, of Voidet below, of the Godblade and the kingstone.


Why shouldn’t I be the way I am? A lot was riding on his success or failure. He found himself focusing further on the kingstone and how it seemed like King Sylvester was merely going to fail in reaching Boost Island before the Curse of the Thumb took hold.


What kind of king am I asking this of? I couldn’t Curse him directly because of the very kingstone I wish to own and trade. So I Curse his kingdom, his subjects, and he fails to do anything to protect them?


Count Roost himself knew the circumstances that would come about in a kingdom that bore no thumbs. He himself, born thumbless due to his own precon Curse, knew very well how to live. But no one else could even imagine it. The king himself, and those near him, would’ve had these past several days to ponder the situation, but they couldn’t know the outcome. They couldn’t know what it was like to simply write, or eat.


He remembered the day he felt when he discovered Magik disguises. He had revisited his abandoned estate in Gor Bilesk shortly after ridding himself of yet another pesky and judgmental apprentice. It was after the Toll Brothers had first made themselves present and left, and after Voidet had reentered his life and refused to stop orbiting it, despite his failing health; like a cancer so Potent it existed outside of the body—that was what Voidet was.


The Magikals of Gor Bilesk revealed themselves to be descendants of not just provincial settlers of Gor Pyron but of a subtle warrior caste as well. It was them who taught him about dosekens, after he revealed the Magik he used from a Shaping Clan. They had recognized it as inferior Magik, to say the least. And he couldn’t agree more. True, he had possessed thumbs but they were limited and he couldn’t feel anything with them.


It was what one did when a delfin wouldn’t do; when one basically wanted to have a flexible stone attached to their body.


With the doseken, he could not only have thumbs, but he could change his entire appearance to resemble that which would be more respectable, acceptable. The Mages of Gor Bilesk had been very helpful, but he knew he couldn’t stay there. There was something about the community that didn’t settle well with him and he wondered if that same feeling had been what persuaded his father to leave the island in the first place.


Thinking about what his father might’ve said to his mother in regards to making the move more acceptable, Roost put himself into bed, casting one more look across the town below and continuing to the island in the distance that was regularly regarded as Schove.





*          ~          *          ~          *





Awaking in the dead of night with blackness all around him, the count heard noises coming from below that drifted up the stairwell like an incontinent musician’s drivel. It only brought to mind the instance when Roost learned there was a lei cat in his castle, and then when he woke up and walked into his workshop to find the dead seleagle, spread eagle, on the stone floor.


Has Puze brought another menace into Castle Tigra Lei?


He rolled the blankets off and grabbed at the small torch and effet rocks that he kept near the bed in such a situation. The moon provided only ambient light but it appeared that the interior of the castle was meant to remain in total darkness throughout each evening. Lighting the torch, he held it above his head and thought, not for the first time, that investing in a Glow Globe would be worthwhile. At least then, I wouldn’t have to worry about ash or embers landing in my hair.


Does the doseken protect me from fire? That might be something interesting to try out, but not tonight. He started down the stairwell, becoming aware of the fact that he was entering the World Spirit’s domain. It didn’t reach as high as his bedchamber and didn’t seem to extend too far below the workshop but now that he knew it was present, he became more attuned to its attendance.


But the sounds didn’t come from the workshop, but beyond it. From the infirmary. From Voidet, most likely.


Dread filled his chest as he bodily moved towards the dungeon’s entrance, padding barefoot across the chilly stone floor. Swinging open the heavy door and moving down the steps, he rounded the corner too quickly and not quick enough to see Voidet sitting on the edge of his bed, feet swung over and nearly touching the floor. Can he still use his legs? He silently wished the old man would try and stand, only to stumble against the hard, cold floor.


In the insubstantial torchlight, Voidet looked like he was content with sitting on the edge of the bed. He also didn’t look out of sorts or even ill. He looked like Count Roost remembered him as before, minus the gaunt features and frail appearance. But all that minored in comparison to the fierce determination that Roost saw in Voidet’s eyes, even at this distance.


Roost cast a glance at the Pain-Less Stone, thought of Botch briefly, and wondered if he should just apply it before Voidet began to annoy Roost’s mentality. He grabbed it and dipped his torch towards the oft-used one in the room, which brightened considerably, but not by much. The shadows still wavered as if afraid to reveal their treacherous depths.


“The Godblade,” Voidet finally said, after several deep breaths. “You got it yet?”


Roost stepped forward with two shallow paces. “No, no. Not yet.”


Voidet sighed and looked away, a motion which seemed to pain him. Roost then continued to look around the room, wondering what it was that had actually awakened him. No furniture seemed to have been moved and Voidet clearly hadn’t left the bed. Have I imagined the noises?


He then looked behind the door and saw crumpled scripts bundled there. Voidet had obviously thrown them at the door. “Thought it’d take you f-forever to come down here, C-C-Co…” He then gasped and coughed, the noise sounding wet in Roost’s ears. That was the sound that had drawn the count: wet coughs coupled with rasping calls.


“What is it? You know I don’t have the Godblade yet. Not until I get the kingstone, Voidet.”


“And ‘ow’s that workin’ so far?”


Count Roost felt flushed with embarrassment and hoped it didn’t show as well under the weak power of the torches. “The king has another day to get here. Meanwhile...”


“Meanwhile,” interjected the old man, “you keep dancing around here with that Bitch-boy of yours. Teachin’ him stuff. Learnin’ him. Trying to reclaim yo-your lost youth, or som—“


He then began hacking again, the sound grating at Roost’s ears, like they were pulling him towards the floor; the cold, dirty ground. He wanted to put the Stone to Voidet’s temple and end both of their suffering, if only temporary. It reminded him of the time when Voidet intruded on his life, after the Toll Brothers had, claiming that he had been following Roost’s travels for the eventual chance at just glimpsing the Godblade. He remembered taking the old man in, thinking his health would fail long before he would have to recover the weapon of myth.


But then finding himself bent on recovering it himself, if only to hold a sway of power over not only the kingdom of Decennia, but over Gor Pyron as well, a nation that recognized the inherent wealth of true power.


Voidet’s health diminished but his energies hadn’t depleted.


He simply wouldn’t die. He was that focused on the Godblade. Roost often wondered why the old man didn’t use some type of Magik to enable his body, if only to get out of the count’s life. But he also knew that wasn’t possible. The disease he suffered, Sut’yon Hinge, was aggravated by the use of Magik. One of the Toll Brothers had purportedly suffered from a version of it, but didn’t bother going into details.


“You’ll never succeed. I don’t know why I th-thought you might.”


Count Roost felt a bubbling inside caused directly by the elder’s words of doubt. Years ago, he had proclaimed utter faith in Roost’s abilities. Now he was denouncing him in the last hour of consequence. The only thing that might make Roost happier in this moment – rather than using the Pain-Less Stone or having Voidet drop dead – was to know that, if King Sylvester failed in his quest, Voidet would be thumbless. And he would know, like everyone else, what it meant to be without thumbs.


Without letting another sound pass between Voidet’s cracked lips, Roost moved forward quickly and set the Stone against the man’s forehead. Voidet wasn’t prone to object and fell under the Stone quickly, pitching forward and landing wholly against the floor. Feeling disdainful of Voidet, Count Roost left him there, not caring that he was on the floor, where he had intended his words to drag Roost only moments before.


Count Roost left the room and, after only a few minutes, returned with much guilt over his actions. He hoisted Voidet’s lightweight body onto the bed and tucked him in rather tightly. Roost exited the room, not wanting to look the old man in the eyes and silently hoping, yet again, that he would simply pass away. The fall from the bed to the floor might’ve done untold damage though probably not enough to even be consolation for his efforts.


Guilt floated amongst Roost’s head energies like meaty chunks in a bitter stew and he worried that he might actually have undone Voidet. The conflicting emotions truly bothered him the most. How can I hate the old man so much and feel sorry for bringing harm to him? It’s almost like I have two sets of head energies inside myself.


Does prolonged exposure to the doseken do that? Does it produce conflicting thoughts? If so, I might have to consider dropping the disguise and making the visage a more permanent situation, though I’ve never been sure of how to accomplish such a feat.


He slowly ascended the stairwell and let his mind drift towards the immediate future. Tomorrow – Or later today – he would be talking with Botch’s father about the boy moving into Castle Tigra Lei as a permanent servant and apprentice. There was really little the boy’s father could say no to. Count Roost was the governor and, no doubt, Botch had confirmed everyone’s suspicions that he was the very same governor that came to this little municipality nearly four years ago.


Thinking about the boy being close at hand made Roost feel slightly better. He didn’t even feel apprehensive about passing through the area taken by the World Spirit though he did wonder why she didn’t desire an attempt to undermine his rule over the island. She probably recognized that he was doing all of this for a greater good. With someone like him in charge – someone who had suffered and lived a true life and was not simply handed a kingstone and told to rule – there was no doubt that Decennia would be headed for better times, indeed.


He couldn’t wait.


When he put himself back into bed, he was actually glad to have been awakened by the decrepit old man. It let him get his mind focused on the Potentially final day as Boost’s governor. If Sylvester even tries to succeed. He had no doubt that, if the king showed up, he could easily dispatch him and garnish the kingstone. After that, he need only to send word to the Toll Brothers via a rarely used Comgem and the Godblade would be his.


And Voidet will be history.