Sylvester & Tuette: Cursed Doubt

Chapter Twenty-Five

He was on the lip of the well, reaching impossibly down into the nothingness and hearing water subtly rushing below and the pitched screams from Tuette.


Her Curse had done this, bringing about a certain sense of doom that rivaled the embarrassment that she otherwise had wished to avoid entirely. Of course, these villagers had been all too quick to try and dispose of Sylvester himself when he claimed he was Cursed. It was a stroke of genius or genial luck that had brought Cherry into their presence. Otherwise, would they have had something like Jack the World Spirit present to assist them?


But Jack couldn’t help with Tuette. That tiny pisser Bittial had brought her out of Jack’s sphere of influence with evil intentions bubbling in his mind. He looked briefly at Bittial and Sylvester felt like pushing him down the well after her but know that wouldn’t bring Tuette back up.


Maybe the swan-hair-mass slowed her plummet? It had been insanely large, to say the least. But, no. The king remembered that it was the sun that brought the awful Curse to an effaceable presentation. Once she had fallen out of the ironically damning rays of light, she would go straight to the ground below. Or probably the river.


The river.


Sylvester had not seen it but wondered if there was still a chance.


The anger that he felt towards Bittial and the entire situation settled to the sidelines as Sylvester thought quickly about a plan. He stood and looked in the distance. Dermy and Terry were approaching. Vest was with Cherry, under Jack’s canopy. “Where’s Tuette?” asked Terry frantically.


“She… She…” was all he could utter while pointing down the open well. Both Terry and Dermy’s eyes widened in horror but Sylvester didn’t focus too much on that. Instead, he only saw the nearby swan – selswan? – statues. They had been brought to Life with what Tuette had said were Life Spells and were flapping to keep the floating land mass up in the air. Jack’s roots must be helping tear it all apart. Sylvester didn’t know if he should feel guilty or pleased and decided the aftermath would dictate the sentiment.


“I… I need one of the statues!” he cried, spying again the edge of the island. If it was the same distance from this point to the edge of the floating land, chances were good that the river terminated at the same point, if not farther.


The only question now was how the river terminated. He looked at Bittial, who was smirking. He felt like kicking the man in the face again but remembered the power he had demonstrated earlier when the king had tried. Instead, he leaned down and grabbed the short rider by his wrists, careful of the harmful fabrics that he impossibly wore against his bare flesh. “The river, little man. Below!” he bellowed, not intending to shout directly into Bittial’s face but also finding he couldn’t help it. He saw a few instances of spittle land on the other man’s eye lids and cheek. “Where does it end? How does it end?”


Bittial only cracked a smile and tried to wiggle his hands free. The flesh, slick with grease or oil, did counter the grip somewhat but Sylvester was determined and only tightened his own hold and stopped the motion soon enough. Terry and Dermy were still standing in place, staring at the well, at the bucket that Tuette had kicked though Sylvester grimly hoped it was only a literal motion and not something metaphorical or prophetic.


Bittial finally answered, realizing he had no power in his current position. “The river, lo, be endin’ with a waterfall.” He licked his lips. “Big waterfall.” He then began to chuckle and Sylvester dropped him, stood up, and grabbed Terry’s sword in one smooth motion, starting a dead run towards the nearest Life Spelled-statue.


Terry and Dermy followed him, drawn out of their daze by the king’s movements. “Sir, my sword!”


Three riders were gathered around the selswan statue, intentionally keeping it agitated with sticks so it would keep flapping while chained to the pedestal. It’s a crude but effective way to keep the island stable, I have to admit. But he didn’t need the statue to be riled up: he needed to ride it. None of the real selswans were nearby, unfortunately. Wielding the sword ungainly, he shouted for the riders to leave the statue alone. They attempted to explain what was already obvious, but he quieted them with shallow swipes with the sword.


The statue refused to calm down but it did finally land. Throwing the sword back to Terry, the Gousherall caught it expertly. “When I get on the bird, cut the chains!”


Terry looked perplexed. “But, sir! My blade will shatter!”


Looking at the chain, Sylvester noticed that it did seem fairly resilient to such an attack. The selswan was quieting further now, as if anticipating a mount. How to break a chain this thick? He was at a loss.


The desperation of the situation spoke to him as he remembered the methods used by the riders below. “Dermy, what do these people use to solidify their… their… what are—“


“The buoys!” exclaimed Terry. “Tuette said they were marked with Sealant Spells!”


“Yes! Dermy, can you do one or more on his sword? Jus’ to firm it up for a break in the chain?”


Dermy looked pointedly nervous, a motion carried through the disguise easily enough. Finally, he said, “Aya, Kingasir. I can b’ doin’ it, oh!”


Getting an inkstem from his rucksack, Dermy and Terry went to one of the riders with fresh wounds so they could use his blood to make the markings while Sylvester mounted the selswan as best he could, reminding himself that it had to be as simple as riding the seleagles, if not easier. These are much larger birds. And they have saddles.


The fact that it was a statue didn’t even register with the king as the stony feathers were relatively soft. Not quite like the down-stuffed pillows back home, but manageable. In no time at all, Terry and Dermy had returned and Terry actually cut through the chain with four grunt-accompanied strokes. The clangs made the selswan mire about nervously, but it knew it was free as the taut chain wasn’t putting any pressure on the leg. “Bird, please. Take me below. Down that well opening,” he said while pointing, knowing that he was being clearly understood as he was dealing with a creature that had a humanistic range of intelligence.


At least, I hope so.


The bird partially turned its head back to look at the king. “And whoze you be?”


Sylvester straightened up in his saddle. “I am the king of this land, and your current master. That is, until you go back to wherever you go after you die.” He cleared his throat as the thoughts came easy enough. “So, since you don’t have long to live anyway, what say you don’t cause me any problems and you do what I ask. Another life is at stake.”


The selswan-statute seemed to consider and then it let out a cringing honk. “Then we’re off!” It looked at the riders below who had been watching to whole situation in silence. “Out of ma way, riding baztards! Bird on a mizzion!” He ducked his head at them, either trying to snap at the men for real or simply just scaring them. Sylvester couldn’t tell. But in no time, the bird was in the air, circling and gaining speed in the opposite direction, which temporarily dismayed Sylvester.


Patting the flank of the bird, Sylvester pointed back towards the well. The selswan only nodded its head, which was stretched much further out than the seleagle’s had been, meaning if the bird ever said anything, Sylvester might not hear it. Is this why the riders and selswans don’t get along? Because of poor communication while in flight?


Possibly.


But the selswan-statue did wheel about and finally dove through the well at an unreasonably high velocity, fitting improbably if only because it had pulled its wings in as tight as possible. Sylvester had actually wondered if the bird would be able to do it and even thought to ask if an over-the-edge approach would’ve been better.


But the shallow chasm was the most direct method, for sure. Now they just had to catch up to Tuette.


If she had even fallen into the river.





*          ~          *          ~          *





The stony interpretation of the selswan between his legs was somewhat soft but surprisingly graceful. He understood that it enveloped the spirit of a dead animal which supplied for its ability but he had not expected the full range of the creature’s spirit to translate equally. The frogs he had witnessed just the day before – That was only yesterday? – had displayed little personality.


Sylvester held on for dear life as the statue descended into the hole Tuette had fallen through to the gaseous island below. The smells were not as noticeable and the king only assumed it was either because he was used to it or he was traveling so swiftly that the awful vapors couldn’t find purchase inside his nostrils. The selswan honked, slowed the fall and reoriented itself to glide almost effortlessly forward with its wings extended full. It was very taxing to remain atop the creature, despite the saddle, but Sylvester knew that the alternative simply wasn’t acceptable. The pair pressed onward, flapping and moving about in the dull gloom. The buoys overhead reflected little light but Sylvester did spy a few riders quickly repositioning some of the sealed plants beneath the area behind them where Jack was. Whatever they lack as civilized people, they certainly are efficient when it comes to survival.


Focusing on the river, Sylvester saw a light in the distance that revealed the already-known waterfall at the end of the precariously wide and rapid-moving river, of which the selswan was gliding over, flapping every few moments. Sylvester imagined the vican gas helped the swan with more gliding and less exertion, a relief because he was worried he would weight too much initially. It was a worry that had manifested well after considering the actions it took to save Tuette.


Saving Tuette.


He knew that’s what he was doing but he felt so foolish. What chance do I have? Sylvester knew he could only try at least but somehow, he felt like he knew he would succeed. If he said it aloud, would it be true, as if he had been put under a Curse of Truth as Terry had been? Pondering on that notion with the wind whipping past him, causing him to squint – the riders almost always squinted – he felt foolish enough for thinking it and more foolish still for the possible truth that rested on tongue’s tip.


Sylvester said nothing, knowing it probably wouldn’t do any good.


Even though he was taking stock of the scenery and the river below, in his mind’s eye, Sylvester saw only his recurring nightmare: being swarmed by dead kings, including his own father, being dragged to the edge of the cliff, forced over, and what it felt like to watch the sea and rock shelf come rushing up…


He shook his head, determined more than ever to not let that vision come to pass, for himself or anyone else. And I will. If I can help it.


Sylvester wrapped his arm more firmly around the neck and patted the bird, requesting it to move lower. The living statue didn’t want to obey but the king was persistent. Up ahead, a splashing sound was evident apart from the symphonious gurgles and crests that had begun to hammer his ears. It has to be Tuette. He looked forward, ever so thankful the sun wasn’t setting.


A silhouette broke from the water’s surface, distinctive with the brighter skyline. It was an arm, upraised. It was so close but the water’s edge seemed closer still than the selswan hoped to be. Sylvester kicked his heels into the bird, garnering a defiant squawk but an equally obedient boost in speed. He didn’t want to think how a swan of stone could feel the pain in order to travel faster.


He only wanted to reach Tuette.


With the arm tightening still, the selswan lowered to where Sylvester needed it; the wingtips dipped beneath the surface for a second and Sylvester marveled at how quickly the water was moving. Briefly, Sylvester looked ahead to see if anything would obstruct the bird, such as a rocky outcrop, but saw nothing. Tuette’s arm went below the surface and her head came up, gasping for air. Sylvester thought he had heard a cry for help or just a cry in general but he wasn’t sure; again, the caverns were loud this close to the water’s surface.


She went under again.


Nothing came back up.


Panic gripped his gut and Sylvester felt himself biting into his lower lip. The horrendous vision sprang forward again but he could only imagine it through Tuette’s eyes; his own were welling up with tears.


The swan honked but he kept his arm tight around the neck and lowered his other arm over the side, repositioning his legs as subtly as possible in order to stay atop the riding beast. The flapping wing chafed slightly against his underarm but he didn’t care: this had to be done. His hand broke the water’s surface, sending a shot of iciness up into his very chest. He had to catch his breath and nearly lost his grip. The swan seemed to sense this and dipped to the right, soaking the tip of that wing briefly but allowing Sylvester to rebalance himself in the process and he muttered a blessing or a thanks, either of which sufficed in his own opinion.


He looked up again, his face closer to the water, his sight obstructed by higher waves and Tuette’s own newly-upraised hand, splayed as if she were reaching for phantom rescuers. The chill left his heart as blood almost boiled in his head. He shut his eyes then, clenched tightly enough to block out even the brightly lit opening that they were now so close to.


A shout was heard, prolonged and guttural.


It was a moment before he realized it was himself.


He took a deep gasp of air, settling it warmly inside himself and everything became crystal in the light that bled into the cavern. The waterfall’s gurgled mists cast rainbows upon Tuette as he could see her clearly now: her face was torn by surprise and fear. The open gulf outside and in the distance was peaceful, as if inviting Tuette to live there with a sound mind for the rest of her long days. The selswan’s stony exterior looked more porous than ever. How is such a feat accomplished?


She went under again and Sylvester leaned almost completely away from the swan, grasping the lithe but stiff neck with his left hand, keeping stationed with only his lower legs gripping the saddle, and plunging his whole arm and part of his shoulder into the frigidly liquid conveyor, roughly where he could only assume that Tuette might be.


Nothing was grasped.


The misty edge was upon them and in no time, beneath them, looking hazy as if it wasn’t truly defined and sounding especially loud as the water broke up and plummeted to a larger body of itself.


The selswan glided with the fall as if it were an aerial extension of the watery beast. The rocks far below were seen then, at least five hundred meters and looking most sinister. Sylvester thought he saw a grinning face amongst them with a depreciated crown to make the sight most perfectly imperfect.


This isn’t happening! I have to save her! The vastness of the rescue nearly crushed his spirit and he felt to withdraw into himself as the cause was definitely lost—


A clutching hand, firm but chilled!


Suddenly, a grip had taken his outstretched arm in such a fashion that he nearly tumbled. The rocks had almost distracted him from his goal but the firm grasp brought it back: Tuette had finally grabbed Sylvester!


He urged the swan to pull up and away, which it did easily enough. Tuette, hanging below, soaked and shaking, clung with both hands to Sylvester’s own nearly numb arm. He wondered how much longer it would have been before he lost any feeling and, if that had happened, if he would have even felt Tuette grip him in hopes of being saved.


Letting her dangle, he felt himself slipping again. The selswan was a smart stone though. It readjusted once again, turning almost completely on its side as Sylvester took the time to reaffirm his stance atop the firm flyer.


The onrushing wind was painful against his wet limb, especially in the shadows of the floating island. He could only imagine the discomfort Tuette was feeling. But she was alive. Looking back at the craggy point where the waters from the underground river joined the gulf, Sylvester saw how he had abated the vision of his nightmare.


Now they just had to land. And maybe even save the kingdom.





*          ~          *          ~          *





Landing had been easy enough. The only thing that really caused a problem was Tuette’s Curse. Once they came up over the edge of Vican Village, the sun hit her and he very nearly dropped her when the mass of swan-shaped hair pushed against her arm, upraised as it was to keep a grip on him.


But she repositioned and in no time, they had landed near the clearly defined marks of Jack’s area. Whereas that bastard Bittial had guffawed at Tuette’s Curse, the others were merely stunned. In broad daylight, with no cloud cover in sight, she couldn’t readily hide from it now. She looked like she wanted to though which is why she was quick to fall under the shade provided by Jack’s treetops.


From the protective area of Jack, Sylvester called out to the people of Vican Village while keeping a firm clasp on Perryta Kilameen, the very man that had sentenced Sylvester to death a short while ago. “It is true, villagers, that I am not Cursed. By my companion, Miss Tuette, here, is. And it’s nothing to fear.”


“To col it is!” called one of the younger riders. “We canna be breedin’ ou’selves wit’ Cursed folk, ip!”


“Nonetheless!” shouted Kilameen, much to Sylvester’s surprise. “We canna be keepin’ an’ o’ these outsiders!” This drew a few groans from the crowd as they gestured towards Cherry in rather appalling ways. “They all be on a mission for ever’one, us ‘cluded. Stoppin’ a bigger Curse.” Sylvester recalled that they had told their initial captors but even now, the majority looked appalled to be the subject of some insidious Curse, whatever it may be. He personally didn’t understand the stigma associated with such things, but then immediately remembered his thoughts when Eafa had died.


He had made the prejudicial remark regarding how only a Cursed person could’ve done such a thing as kill his splint. Feeling slightly shamed, he looked at Tuette as she continued to gaze out at the small crowd that had gathered to inquire about the fate of them all as prospective breeders. Under Jack’s canopy, her Curse wasn’t apparent and her hair, exceedingly long, was pulled back. Usually, the hood kept the sides of her head covered but now, with no articles of clothing to protect her head from the sun, her features were exposed.


And Sylvester noted how… well, he wasn’t sure the term beautiful applied, but she was definitely not a plain-looking girl, like Cherry. The blond hair, still wet, looked slimming and contrasted oddly against her pale skin. Her cheeks were red though, flush with embarrassment. She obviously didn’t like being a focal point, much as she currently was.


Sylvester realized they had that much in common at least and he then thought of how dangerous her rescue had been, especially regarding the Magik of the Life Spell, which he knew nothing about. Suppose the Magik had worn off beneath the floating village? Or I had fallen, seeing as how I’ve nver ridden a selswan before?


But he also recognized that it had been a necessary act. Tuette had been in need of rescuing. Terry and Dermy had been unable to do anything, frozen and dumbfound as they had been. And Vest and Cherry had been aiding Jack. So, logically, he had done what no one else could in that moment of desperation. Anyone would’ve done it, had they been given the proper opportunity.


In time, Kilameen announced that they would provide a station of rest for the travelers. Sylvester didn’t wholly trust those under the perryta and insisted that they remain within the confines of Jack’s territory.


Jack had been obliging enough, providing hammocks that he conjured to hang between the three trees. He also dimmed the light, providing the illusion of night and Sylvester found that he truly was exhausted. He also recognized that they had only a few hours before they had to depart for Boost by whatever means possible. Would they provide selswans? Or even statues of selswans? No, the creatures might never return, judging by how these humans treat the birds. If that’s the case, what’s keeping the mounts from not leaving this moment? Looking around, he realized that none of the living selswans were near and that they truly might’ve used the time of commotion to escape Vican Village.


In thinking about it while atop his hammock, he dozed. It could’ve only been for a few moments because he felt like he had been awakened by a now-dry Tuette in that short span of time. She was smiling largely. He sat up and nearly fell out of the hammock. She steadied him with a hand on his shoulder and when he got out of the hammock, he saw a little girl of probably ten or twelve years standing before him as well. Is she a villager? If so, why has Jack let her…


Jack popped into existence right next to the girl, his face beaming pride as he settled an arm around the girl’s shoulder. “This is ma Joy, king!”


“Your…” he started, and then the implications settled in as he remembered that Jack had sired a World Spirit named Joy. “Your daughter?’ Jack nodded quickly, comically. “But… but how? Did she escape Count Roost?” He then felt foolish for asking such a question because how was a plant to escape the clutches of a madman?


Jack did shake his head, ignoring the oddity of the question. “Naw, naw! Yer new friend here,” he said while pointing to Cherry. He can see her? He asked. Jack looked puzzled. “O’ course I see her!” It certainly didn’t make sense to Sylvester, especially since Jack’s mere existence had to be based on something akin to Magik. He could only think of what Perryta Fastaire had said about both Miskel Sociana and Cherry Tee not being visible on his special Seeing Stones, or whatever he had called them.


Sylvester looked at Tuette. “He can see her because he was once a real person. It’s not Magik that binds him to this world. It’s something else.” That made even less sense but the king had to accept it. What else can I do? “But that’s not the big news! Joy here has shown me where she’s being held!”


“Shown? Shown how? How is she even here, anyway?”


Tuette looked like she had rolled her eyes, but Sylvester still had some sleep in his own and wasn’t certain. Tuette explained rather quickly:


Spores from the plant that Joy was anchored to were on the air currents that floated up to Vican Village. Once they crossed through Jack’s domain, he instantly recognized their origins as his daughter’s. He could communicate with her, but only minutely. It was Cherry’s work with the spores that had brought Joy to a greater size of interaction.


Looking behind him, he finally saw that a large stalk of some kind had taken root. It bulged spherically in the center and then again halfway between the center and the bud at the top though in a smaller fashion. Inside those bulges where vertical pockets that held green pits, darker in color than the stalk itself. The bud was on the verge of blooming and Sylvester could also see that the roots extended for a distance, some even leaving the ground to entwine one of the mighty oak trees.


Turning back, he looked at Joy more closely. She seemed very happy and Sylvester wondered if the same image was somehow haunting a stalk in the presence of Count Roost. “She’s not,” Tuette explained. “The World Spirits can have multiple environs due to situations like this one, but they can only haunt one at a time.”


“Then… how did she show you anything?”


Tuette smiled brightly then. “Because she can also draw something from one environ to another! Jack could too, if we needed anything from his forest…”


His heart beat boldly then. “So she can take us directly to Count Roost?”


“No, no, not like that. Only an image, a picture. Like with the Reseeing Stones.”


Disappointed, Sylvester said, “What good is that?” It had seemed like a hurtful question but he didn’t understand the usefulness of the situation when they had to get to Boost relatively soon.


“Because Joy was able to show me Roost’s workshop. And you know what he has?”


“I can’t imagine.”


“He has my old master’s tome! The one with all of his Curses and such!”


“The one you said that Roost stole while killing your teacher?” Tuette nodded. “The teacher that you said Cursed you?” She nodded, but stopped halfway, realizing that her truth had been figured out, that she couldn’t be Cursed if the person who Cursed her was dead.


Tuette looked into Sylvester’s eyes and her face flushed while her smile faltered. He hadn’t intended to bring her attitude down, but now was as good as time as any to root out why exactly she had persuaded them all that going after the count was the best choice as, indeed, it was. Especially since Roost is trying to block our means of Freezing chicken flocks.


“I can explain.” Sylvester nodded. “But not now. Roost has the tome. With Joy’s help, I was able to read it.”


“Wait, wait. If Joy is already on Boost,” he began while looking at the little girl, “why doesn’t she take care of Count Roost?”


Joy then looked shamed. Tuette looked appalled that Sylvester would even suggest such a thing and then realized his error: Joy was literally a young child, as represented by the image of her Spirit. She should be the very last person who could commit such a necessary act.


But, as Joy explained, that wasn’t why she looked ashamed. “I can’t hold things too good. In my areas.”


“What’s that mean?” he asked, turning to Jack.


Jack himself looked a little upset that Sylvester had asked what he had but also recognized the severity of the situation and pushed through his personal feelings. “Physical interaction takes time for us World Spirits to master. Especially in new areas. Only with concentrating, or during intense moments, can someone as young as my Joy properly affect her environ.”


“He’s right,” chimed Tuette. “I had to help her concentrate just to turn the pages in the tome. But it was worth it!” Tuette went on to explain that the tome contained a section on World Magiks and that with them, they could cordon an area of the Mortal Realm and request the presence of an Immortal figure, namely one of two gods. The first, Valtos, Tuette had mentioned in passing, but the other was Dorothy and it took some explaining for Sylvester to understand who she was. “She’s the Elder God, the oldest of them all.”


“All?”


“There are seventeen Primaries. Sixteen are like Valtos, with their own Mortal and Immortal Realms. Dorothy governs the thread that binds yet separates the sixteen realities.”


Shaking his head, Sylvester found he still didn’t understand the relevance. “With the physical realm sectioned off as an offering to either god, they’ll take back anything we say is theirs. Including Count Roost!”


Sylvester stood in silence, letting the idea soak in. With an aspect of Magik simply called World Magik, we can sacrifice an area of land, include Roost in the package, and be done with the quest.


After all, no count means no Curse.


He repeated as he understood it back to Tuette. She nodded, seemingly thankful that he had understood so quickly, even though he felt like he truly hadn’t.


“Why not give it up to Valtos then? Or one of the other gods?”


“Because none of the other Primaries can cross into Valtos’ realm. Only Dorothy, because she created the Barriers in the first place.” The first thought that popped up then was how anyone could know any of this. It obviously required divine intervention for such scripture to be taken as fact. It sounded like what Tuette had explained regarding her faith more than anything. Is her faith truly going to save us all? Her buzz of excitement certainly seemed to suggest that it was a plan foolproof enough to carry out, at least.


“The only thing we need is a Corn Circle, around the area that we want to offer up to Dorothy. We can’t give it to Valtos because he can only deposit it in the Immortal Realm of Valent.”


“And where’s that?” asked Sylvester, noting for the first time that the Gousheralls, Cherry, and Dermy weren’t with the rest in the protections of Jack’s area. Does she not realize their absence because of her excitement?


“Um, well, that’s not known for certain. Some believe you can travel high enough to get there. Others think that it’s merely another aspect of this Realm, only as perceived by Immortals…”


“Okay, okay, it’s unknown. But why her and not him?”


“Because he governs the forces of this world. Dorothy exists wholly outside of it. It’s the only guarantee that the Curse will be broken. If Roost’s not here, it’ll be like he was killed. Or ‘taken care of’, as you like to put it.” Is she jibing me for my use of that phrase? What does it matter how I say it? Dead is dead.


But with her method, my conscience is less burdened.


He realized again that he might not have truly possessed the courage to go through with it. Even just telling one of the Gousheralls to do the deed seemed too reprehensible, indeed. Yes, this seems like a much better solution.


But a Corn Circle? Sylvester had heard of corn but had never seen any. It was a crop. Have I seen some at the base of Mount Reign, roughly one week ago? Thinking back on that day when he had first learned of shrent and actually been introduced to Tuette in the twilight hours on the same date, he felt like it was a whole lifetime ago. Realizing he was too young to live whole lives a week at a time, Sylvester made a silent promise to allow himself time to rest. Thinking about Tuette and how she had been burdened even longer, if her Curse was taken into account, she might also need an assigned time of relaxation. Perhaps a visit to Mount Reign, where she can be pampered by people like Penson? That seems very appropriate, indeed.


Again, he found himself thinking beyond the immediate future and realized that he still wasn’t certain about handling Count Roost. Suppose the Corn Circle doesn’t work? Or suppose the count uses a malignant form of Magik against us in the last instant, save myself? Or what if a third Artificial pops up?


Looking around, Sylvester asked himself whether one could already be present.


If so, it’s more likely that Tuette is in danger, not me. The fly had buzzed words relating to the situation being a trap – The whole situation? – but, as she had pointed out, the king was the target. Or maybe not the king, but something he could offer to a count the likes of Roost. But what?


If Count Roost knew how poor a king I really am, he might’ve thought twice before conscripting me into this elaborate scheme of events. And what a scheme it was turning out to be! The varied types of beings he had encountered were truly memorable. He was thankful for the experience, to say the least, even if they had been borne of ill intentions. If my kingstone had been operable, would it have portrayed such bouts of knowledge already?


Sylvester silently snorted, thinking that if the kingstone had been working in the first place, the Malforcrent wouldn’t have been instilled. If they hadn’t been present, he would be a moderately successful king and if Count Roost had challenged the kingdom as he was now doing, Sylvester would’ve done the smart thing and sent an experienced sojourner to dispense of the count’s wily ways.


Diverting his attention back to Tuette, he realized that he had left her dangling while his thoughts had found a tangent avenue. His face warmed with embarrassment as he finally said “If this Corn Circle will truly work, we should do it. But where do we get the corn? And what if it doesn’t work? What should be our backup plan?”


Tuette’s shoulders fell with her sigh. “You don’t think the Circle will work? That Dorothy won’t show up and take Roost away?”


“It’s not that. I just think a secondary plan of action would be best.” He paused, letting that soak into her ears, her head energies. “Don’t you agree?”


She huffed, but only slightly. He could tell that his lack of faith in what could only be described as her faith upset her a little but he wanted to think practically, if only for a change. “Well, your Guards can always dispatch of the count if my idea doesn’t work. And as for the corn, Dermy and the others are sifting through the different feed products available to the selswans to see if some corn bits can be found. With just one kernel, Cherry should be able to fashion a new stalk and a host of new kernels.”


Tuette became silent then, looking contemplative. “Everything about her seems strangely coincidental.” Sylvester frowned and asked what she meant. “It’s just, uh, she has a unique gift and situation, the likes of which I’ve never encountered. But the people of Ac have seen two such cases in almost as many years.”


“It’s not just a blockage of some kind, like with Ed?”


Tuette shook her head, looking strained as if she had already contemplated too much on this subject. “No, blockages are kind of inspired by Magik. There are Spells and Stones that can do the same stuff, but only against specifics, as modeled after known types of energy blockages. Cherry is blocked by all Magik. And yet!” she gasped, her speech having quickened and forcing her to draw deeper breaths. “And yet, she can produce such viable results that center around one phrase, a Key Phrase. And it’s not focused on a single kind of seed or plant but any plant.” Tuette bit her lip, her gaze losing focus. “I wonder…”


After several moments, Sylvester finally felt a tinge of impatience and said, “You wonder… what, Tuette?”


She found his eyes, hers having dulled over for a moment. “Umm, I was just thinking.” She paused again but not as long. “Maybe Cherry can affect more than just seeds. Because plants aren’t the only things with seeds. And seeds don’t only belong to…”


“What’re you talking about? Seeds and plants are… like fig pups and figs! One… begets the other, or something.” She’s sounding a little crazed. Has the exposure of her Curse, her outing, taxed her thinking process? He didn’t understand the complexities of Cherry’s situation but her Key Phrase, as exposed by Terry and already known by Cherry, explained her gift.


Again, his thoughts shifted as he pondered on the very means of Cherry’s Key Phrase being exposed. Dermy had said that the Gousherall was under a Curse of Truth when he said it, seemingly against his will. He had answered “I don’t know” to several questions because he truly hadn’t known their answers. But he had been able to spout the Key Phrase without flaw. Des the Curse of Truth reveal the truth as known by the Cursed individual, by those nearby, or by anyone in general?


It couldn’t be the third option, as someone in the world or even the kingdom would know one or more of the questions that went unanswered. So maybe it was a proximity issue. Someone near Terry had known the truth and he had spouted it, as made possible only with Tuette’s Curse, forced upon him as it was. That could be the only explanation, unless Terry was somehow connected with the means for which Cherry Tee was significantly different from the rest.


That made him pause on the issue of why Dermy didn’t seem to trust the Gousheralls but he let it slide away to focus around the other topic. As far as he knew, Sylvester himself could cast any Spell or Charm as long as he knew how. But Cherry couldn’t. What about the Potes that Tuette talks about? She carried a Freezing Pote, the very one that she nearly Froze Reefetta’s chicken flock with. If Cherry casts the vial, will a Freezing action take place? Though he was doubtful, he assumed the answer was yes in that the Pote would Freeze. Tuette had explained that a specific process went into crafting a Pote. Had Cherry taken part in that, he would’ve doubted the validity of any such liquid. But once the product was finished, contact was the final act and not some uttered incantation.


What stops a Freezing Pote from chilling the vial that holds it? Is the vial included in the process of Pote-making, along with the stopper? It seemed like an important issue, unless glass couldn’t be affected by the inherent powers of Potes.


A chill ran down Sylvester’s spine in such a defining moment that he feared that Tuette’s Freezing Pote had been poured upon his back.


He realized that it was his conflagration of thoughts and memories that brought up a very bold and disturbing truth. Tuette tried Freezing the chickens.


At the time, she had claimed that the act was harmless in that it would’ve preserved the very act of Freezing for the king personally. But now he knew she was Cursed, just as his kingdom was soon to be Cursed. Being the figurehead of Decennia, he had to perform the Curse Reverse that would stop the Magik means of removing Decennian thumbs. Her being Cursed meant that she also had a Reverse to perform. And the Magik employed against the king and his citizens was directly stemmed from Magik that her Cursing master had perforated.


As the ideas coalesced, he could only focus on one defining question. Is Tuette’s Curse removed by the same actions that I too need to perform in order to save my kingdom and secure my title as the nation’s crown?


Looking at Jack and Joy, Sylvester knew he couldn’t ask the question presently, but he would ask. It would reveal her true intentions, to say the least. If they were actively going after Count Roost rather than securing a rogue flock of chickens, mostly on her suggestions, that would mean she was doing this not for the kingdom, but because she didn’t want to waste her precious Pote for the sake of the greater good, that being the whole of the country.


She will be immune from such a Curse as Roost’s though! Why continue to deceive us about her actions? Or why even come along with us at all? Has she been that desperate?


Thinking back on her broken face during the moment her dread Curse made itself apparent, Sylvester realized that she was fairly desperate. But as long as she was Cursed, she would be spared of the broader menace laid out by the count. Is she waiting for me to fail, only to return to the throne thumbless? As he understood Magik – which, admittedly, he didn’t understand much at all – the Curse of the Thumb could manifest and then she might perform her Reverse by Freezing chickens, freeing herself, but everyone else would be marred in a significantly more permanent manner.


In that situation, she’d be free of her embarrassing Curse but then be ousted as a selfish wench. So, in fact, she does need me to succeed, if only to insure that her own Curse is worth Reversing.


He hated thinking such devious thoughts about anyone, especially Tuette. She had been, on average, extremely helpful to the king and his men. She had her distempered moments, to be certain, but Sylvester now understand, at least partly, why she was so aggrieved in general; she was Cursed and she couldn’t do anything about it just yet.


Sylvester suddenly felt himself feeling very sorry for Tuette, knowing that she probably wouldn’t like such thoughts being centered upon her. Deciding to keep his pity to himself, he said, “So, let’s go and find the others. Dermy probably has a kernel now.”


Tuette, still looking flustered over his dismissal of her thoughts regarding the further possibilities beset by Cherry Tee, finally nodded agreement. Jack piped in then, forgetting – or pretending to forget, at least – that the king had just suggested his only daughter become a killer, and said “Good luck. Kernels aren’t as rare as chicks, but other’n birds like to eat ‘em so ya be careful an’ such!”


Nodding, Tuette gave her thanks to both Joy and her father, reminding the young World Spirit that concentration was key when interaction was desired. Joy, in looking at her father, beamed happiness at being reunited with the masculine World Spirit but then something else struck Sylvester. Joy had just lost her mother, and Jack, his wife of sorts. And this moment had been rather defining for them both as they not only got to speak but see each other and interact in ways they might’ve not thought probable or even possible.


All thanks to Cherry Tee.


The feats she is able to perform seem to extend beyond that of her simple yet powerful gift. Reuniting a family was something very touching… and Sylvester realized that the incident made him feel hollow, as if the genuflection didn’t come together for him.


Suddenly, he realized that while he knew he was bore of a man and a woman, by King Gould and… and some female, he would probably never experience a moment as similar as Jack and Joy. And with that realization, he felt very sad; he hadn’t known up until that moment how much the predetermined path of each king actually aimed to emotionally inhibit them to the point that they might even be akin to Artificials.


It was a sobering thought, made more chilling by how much it almost rang true.


Artificials, as he knew, were comprised of whatever memories or thoughts were put into them. Each king was, in theory, supposed to receive preconceived thoughts and notions and might, therefore, never conjure up an original thought.


The situation he was in, that his father had been in, was both a blessing and a type of Curse. It might serve to inject a dose of humanity into the king in a time when the kingdom was waning in civil practice, but the lapsed effect of the kingstone also turned Sylvester into a kind of child, he knew, taking baby steps in a world he might otherwise already be very familiar with.


What kind of person would I be if I had received the memories of my father, my grandfather, my entire masculine line of familial blood?


Sylvester shook his head, letting those particularly depressing thoughts sift into not-so-present modes of thinking and attempted to bring to the surface ideas on how to remain positive about what they were intending to do with Count Roost.


And, more immediately, how they were to get to the count in the first place.





*          ~          *          ~          *





According to Tuette’s idea, they might not even have to encounter the tyrant. Of course, a large Corn Circle being planted around someone’s property might draw their attention. Thankfully, Cherry’s gift is immediate. But how far apart do the stalks have to be? How large is the area we intend to offer Dorothy? Why not designate a small area for the Elder God?


For one thing, she might not like just receiving a cranky count, Sylvester thought with a dire smirk. And another thing, I’m not sure if one other person, the invoker or emitter of phrase or whatever, if he or she has to also be in the Corn Circle. Or maybe they merely had to construct the Circle and Dorothy will automatically recognize the offering as her own to pick and choose from?


Of course, if she could literally “pick and choose”, then she truly might not take Roost with her, leaving the possibility of blood on his hands.


Blood on my hands?


He knew he could swing no such blade but he couldn’t ignore the fact that giving the order to kill, especially someone in a position like his, was just as bad as making the killing blow himself. And he hated that, despite the fact that the responsibility of his office dictated it. What kind of man am I if I can give the order to kill but not be willing to kill for myself? Thinking such a thought, he felt further shame.


Yes, I should be willing to at least attempt mastery of some weapon or other. Back at Majramdic, he was slated to learn proper fencing and saber techniques, but only during the latter years of his schooling. King Gould’s death insured that he was presently blind to any blade’s full potential.


What, then, inspired me to draw Terry’s blade on not one but two occasions? He recalled the first instance when he had aimed to teach Tuette a now-regretted lesson; regretted not because of the example taught but of the method used to inflict it. Namely, the unnecessary punishment he had invoked. But the situation, only hours before, where Tuette had almost fallen towards certain doom had also inspired him to draw on the power of the sword if only by unconscious effort.


Is that the manner in which my kingstone will operate? Does it only work on the subconscious plane of thinking, drawing on latent sword techniques and moments of heroism as experienced by my forbearers? He had been assured, time and again, that knowledge would be fully available and that the transition from mere offspring to imposing king was immediately perceived so why should the kingstone adopt a more subtle state of experience-dispersion?


As he thought about it, he became angry because now he wasn’t certain of his motives, be they genuine idea or some stagnant memory of braveries performed maybe hundreds of years ago. Yes, he wondered if he might ever feel secure with the notion over his ideas being truly his or someone else’s. Did all the kings of the past wonder that?


Probably.


He felt assured by the thought somehow, wondering why it had never cropped up before as it helped him feel more secured with is position and situation.


With Tuette acting as an immediate guide, she led them to the selswan feeding area with the pair arriving unmolested. It seemed that the villagers, having accepted that the travelers were not meant to remain for an unhealthy length of time, went about their usual business. That didn’t stop them from gawking at the ladies though, an act that actually sent an odd sensation through the king. Tuette, having been given a new yet harmless wrap for her hair, walked about with more confidence, ignoring the gawkers.


The selswans were not feeding since most of them were below the island, he remembered. Probably to help add more buoys beneath Jack’s area of influence. The ones that were there looked on and Sylvester remembered that they could talk but chose not to for reasons evidenced by the selswan that had had its tongue torn out.


Such a brutal an unseemly form of punishment thought Sylvester as he actually became a little uneasy in thinking about the physical act of removing a tongue. And the selswans harbor human-based spirits. Will they be affected by the Curse of the Thumb? Back at Mount Reign, the Malforcrent – Was it Dothel or Trisden? – had stated that a piece from a Curse target was taken and combined with a piece of the Cursed caster and that usually hair bits from each were used. Could a hair bit and feather be used? And if so, did selswans have thumbs or would they loose a wingtip or a piece of webbing?


“Tuette,” he started just before joining the others. “Can these ani—Can these selanimals be Cursed?”


Tuette actually frowned before looking at Sylvester and saying, “Ya know, I don’t know. I’ve never thought about it. Maybe I’ll try it sometime.” She then flashed a small smile that made Sylvester feel glad to have asked the question.


Approaching them, Dermy had several small mounds of dusty bits around him, each of similar color and comprised of similar qualities. Most were dried vegetable or simple plant bits and the king merely assumed that the birds might want more than just dried and dusty bits of food. I might not want eat it so why did the people of Vican Village think their mounts would?


“Any corn, Dermy?”


The farmer shook his head, licking his lower lip in the process. “Nah bein’ co’n inna fee’ li’e ‘is, oh. Bein’ cheap an’ such.” Sylvester didn’t understand and not just because of Dermy’s speech patterns. He asked Tuette to clarify while Vest handed another dirty pile of feed to the specialist.


“He means that these villagers don’t care what their mounts eat as long as it’s enough to get them in the air and back. Corn isn’t easy to come by because it needs a decent amount of water to grow.” She looked around, indicating the dry surroundings. As if on cue, a small dust cloud puffed at behest of a stray wind while Sylvester noticed for the first time that the surface of Vican Village was made mostly of small buildings, spaced so far apart that they might as well be isolated. “Up here, they don’t grow anything. They must fly to another island for their feed.”


A selswan ducked her head. “That be right, malady.”


Malady? Tuette even looked perplexed by the bird’s usage of the word. “What… Do you mean milady?”


The selswan ducked her head once again, looking chagrinned, if that was truly possible. “Apple-logies, mill-lady.” Sylvester felt his face contort again but realized this selswan obviously had some type of speech impediment. That or she had spent too much time around the villagers. “Tis tooth that we ess forked to be travestying to Siale. The felk there exchange our masteries wares for feetin’ an’ the licks.”


“The licks?” asked the king.


“The likes,” answered Tuette, understanding readily. Perhaps her swan-styled Curse helps her more readily understand this type of avian? He thought to ask but realized that might upset her. “What could these people possibly have that anyone would want to trade for?”


The selanimal ducked her head again and did not lift it but spoke more softly. “The eels that our masteries don dull pains bought on by their cloths.” The selswan then twitched as if merely mentioning the painful fabric bought – brought – painful memories, but instead she said, “Why you omens think cloths are appropriate, we zwanz canna overstand.”


Assuming that she had intended to say oils rather than eels, Sylvester couldn’t help but notice that she had referred to her species as swans and not selswans. Do these creatures know they are traditionally larger and smarter than their more abundant counterparts? The creature continued though, at Tuette’s request. “Our masteries’ eels yelp the featherless extermities of the omens of Saile. In Saile, loots of crops an’ the licks – lick – likes.” She twitched again and Sylvester wondered if it was a reaction of using the correct term. He also noticed that the twitches caused his heartbeat to quicken though he knew not why.


Tuette helped the lady selswan along with her dictation then, obviously beginning to ebb in patience over the bird’s garbled use of language. The selswan, whose name they learned to be Harzenika, explained that the villagers flew to Saile and gave up bits of their oil in return for vaster amounts of feed for the selswans. It didn’t sound like a fair trade to Sylvester but he didn’t claim to understand bartering systems between two towns, or between any towns. But the folk from Saile obviously valued the oil, wherever it came from.


Upon being asked, Harzenika explained that the oils were drawn from vivican plants that had been sapped of their gel before maturing, an action that essentially killed the plant. Tuette acted as if that was an extreme measure, especially considering that it was the plants that essentially kept Vican Village afloat. If it crashed, the vivicans would be lost and the villagers would have no way of life beyond the immediate chaos such an incident would construe.


Tuette asked many more questions but they bored Sylvester so, instead, he focused on what Cherry was doing. The younger lady – not too much younger, he decided – was sifting through the little piles, actually disturbing very little but just poking her finger into each one as if testing the temperature. “What’re you doing?” he finally asked.


The question caused her to stop but she didn’t act startled. Cherry drew her extended arm in and just looked at the pile. “What’s wrong?”


“I am just looking at the…” She might’ve gulped. He wasn’t certain. “The death.”


Sylvester frowned. “The death? These seeds are dead?”


Cherry Tee shook her head. “These are not seeds. They are… a potpourri of dried and dead goods.” She sighed. “Seeds contain the bare essence of life. I can feel it brimming inside, just like when a woman is with child.” The analogy sent a shiver up Sylvester’s spine. Is Tuette’s earlier supposition true, then? Can she charm more than just seeds to reach a state of maturity? “These bits are dead. Still.” She stood up, wiping her hand on her dress.


It was truly the most that he had heard her say that didn’t make her sound like she was holding dull thoughts. He was reminded again of her situation regarding the loss of her father and he suddenly felt sympathetic again.


But her situation alarmed those of Magik disposition and, with her odd and ominous words, Sylvester began to understand why: here was a young woman who had essentially been turned away from her heritage because of something she couldn’t control. He himself was a little resentful of his own stance and had some idea what Cherry might be feeling, even though the scenarios were largely different. If she decided to use her gift in conjunction with the right plant – and he was certain that there were plants of a lethal nature out there – she might be a dangerous force that could only be quelled by small orbs of questionable origin.


And there are others out there like her.


Suppose one has suffered more greatly than Cherry? How am Ito protect my citizens from someone like that? The scenes from the Reseeing Stones flashed gruesomely through his head again and he wondered, ever so briefly, where Miskel Sociana was at this moment. No reports of catastrophe had come in… but, then again, none had come from Ac roughly two years ago either. Do Magik folk report such instances to someone else or do they handle it themselves?


Thinking through his term as Decennia’s crown, he realized that the Malforcrent only reported on personnel allocations and funding for interest groups and the like. They never reiterated – or felt they needed to reiterate anyway – when something might’ve gone wrong within a particular community. They cared only about their regions.


What region is the Seagulf Islands under? Javal’ta and their former tent, Misren OkLat, the fat oaf who had jaggedly informed me and the rest of the advisors that a Curse had been set against the kingdom as a whole. Jaggedly informed, indeed! And then he had lost control of more private functions.


A sense of familiarity raked against his mind then and he realized that Misren had been drooling somewhat at that moment in time. He hadn’t seen many adults drool or loose control of their bodies. At least, not until he met Reefetta, and she had been possessed by—


Understanding dawned on him and he stood up to stand level with Cherry. He felt dizzy from the experience but also realized he hadn’t eaten much and the day was more than half over. On that day, roughly one week ago, Misren hadn’t eaten anything either. He had merely dribbled and drooled, his speech suffering as a result until… until Dothel op Prissen had interjected, suggesting that the Javal’ta take some water. Sylvester remembered it vividly because it had played like a scene from a play where the actors had gotten the dialogue wrong. Had Dothel used an Artificial on Misren? Is there a way to tell for sure? To be absolutely certain?


As if Dermy had been waiting for the moment, he leaped up from his dirty work with the beginnings of a frown, which probably meant he was happy or excited about something. “’ere bein’ one, oh!”


Sylvester approached with Cherry in tow. Tuette stopped her talk with Harzenika to see what the farmer had found. The Guards, playing their part, continued paying outward attention to insure no other villagers approached the travelers. In Dermy’s hand, between thumb and forefinger, he held a small, white and yellow object. Is this the desired seed?


Dermy said, “It shore bein’, oh!” He quickly stepped forward, limping a little as if his previous position had caused present pain, and put the kernel into Cherry’s hand. Pressing it there, Cherry slowly looked down at it.


The hints of a smile might’ve began to form but that was all of the expression that she doled out, along with a soft “It lives”. She then muttered imperceptible words, blew on the kernel, and let it to fall to the ground. Instantly, a stalk climbed out of the ground and Tuette smiled quite broadly while Dermy plucked what he called ears from the stalk. Sylvester felt like asking about a plant that could actually listen to someone but wondered if it wasn’t common enough knowledge in that he would sound like a fool and declined from posing the question.


Dermy packed the ears into his rucksack. Tuette did the same. “Don’t we only need one of them?”


“Sylvester,” began Tuette. “These are edible as well. We’ll eat them after Count Roost is gone, which I hope is soon because my stomach is beginning to knot itself!”


She had described his own hunger pangs and he realized that they might need to eat something before they left Schove. He inquired towards Harzenika about the villagers providing food but all she indicated was the feed that Dermy had been fingering. It wasn’t very appealing. “Well, why can’t we eat these ears right now?”


“Ya gotta be boilin’ ‘em up an’ such, Kingasir. They’n be goot ‘ike ‘is fer bir’s an’ such, oh.” Oh. That makes sense, even if the selswans don’t look like they enjoy the feed anymore than I might enjoy eating dirt. But they put up with it for some reason that he was determined not to question as it worked for the citizens of Vican Village.


Remembering that the last time he ate was at Ed’s, Sylvester also recalled what Ed had said about the Stones of the Ring on the Seagulf Islands; that one was on Schove and the other was on a different island. What odds dictated that the first Stone we chose would bring us first to Cordia and Cherry, then to Ac and the ashleaf orbs, and then to Schove and the vivican-centered society? What if we had chosen the other Stone outside of Mokel?


It all seemed to be a favor of coincidences which was looking to help them terminate their quest most proficiently.


They returned to Jack and Joy’s joint-locale but the father-daughter team couldn’t conjure any lasting forms of food. That didn’t make sense to Sylvester because they had all slept on hammocks that felt real enough but had been materialized by Jack’s sway. He explained that it was only because they had remained in his affected area. If he culled into existence some food that didn’t otherwise grow naturally for him, once they left his area, they would feel the pains of hunger once more, possible even more fiercely. Thinking about it, Sylvester realized that such a thing as a World Spirit could truly be as dangerous as someone like Cherry, if improperly motivated by anger.


They ended being served more menial amounts of food by the scrimpy perryta. The amount made Sylvester feel bad because these people obviously didn’t have a lot to begin with. Their vivican plants were valuable, to say the least, but it simply took too much time for them to grow into ripened states of usefulness. And they had to use most of the plants to keep their own land afloat. It seemed paradoxical to Sylvester but, again, he didn’t want to make a negative comment. Especially to the people who were willing to feed him anything.


Following the abbreviated meal, the six of them were ushered back towards the selswans and ordered to get into the same size nets that had been used to draw them up to the floating island. Sylvester was instantly wary because of the immediate death sentence that Kilameen had instituted. Tuette seemed fine with it and, to prove her goodwill, she insisted Sylvester trip down with her. He was nervous but decided to do it. It might’ve actually mean a sign of her lack of faith, when he thought about it during their silent decent into the musky gloom. If they had still intended on killing Tuette for being Cursed and casting a stigma upon the rest of them, they would most likely never do it with the king at her side. That’s assuming they respect me as this nation’s king. Thinking they did was important in making him feel better about believing that Tuette didn’t trust them rather than the contrary.


In less time than it took for them to reach Vican Village, the six were on the shores of Schove below. One of the riders was with them as the rest departed. Sylvester understood that they feared not only Tuette and her Curse but also overexposure to the gases that kept their very homes afloat. Sylvester found it peculiar that they feared their own foundation and maybe didn’t trust it. But they invested a lot of effort in keeping Vican Village afloat. That much was for certain.


The rider they met was named Heejak and his mount, he called her Pozinna. That’s not what surprised them though: the people of Vican Village, apparently under the demand of Jack, had allowed the group use of one of the town’s rafts. It was about three meters wide and nine long. What surprised Sylvester the most were the four large hoops on the raft, one in each corner. “Jack says if we be givin’ a raft, he’ll be leavin’ Vica’ Vill, kee.”


A pair of honks were heard then and Sylvester saw two mounts return to the group. They were trailing sealed buoys, two each. In little time, the raft’s hoops were secured with the buoy’s trailing ropes. The two of the selswans used their massive webbed feet to keep the raft anchored while Heejak explained. “Our rafts be used to be reachin’ Saile when our birds are busy. Or sick, kee. This’n take you to Boos’ in some time.”


“A floating raft?” asked Tuette, sounding incredulous. “Is there some reason we can’t be usin’ – can’t use or borrow some of your selswans? This is—“


“—not bein’ a generosity that we, kee, of Vica’ Vill be required to extend. Bu’ your’n Jack be causin’ pro’lems, kee. An’ said he be leavin’ when you do.” He obviously didn’t understand that Jack couldn’t know for certain if they had truthfully provided assistance. Ot that he wouldn’t willingly offer up that fact. Sylvester hoped no one else would either. But how might Jack leave? Tear up his own roots? Let them tear down his smaller environ? Either would most likely work and Sylvester knew that however Jack and Joy were destroyed in Vican Village, they still existed elsewhere.


That still didn’t explain why they wouldn’t let them use their traditional mounts. Sylvester asked. “B’cause our swans know tha’ Boos’ be filled with hunters an’ such, and refuse to help ya.” Is that true? “They be knowin’ that you go there to kill yet another bad ‘uman, kee.” Hmm. That’s true enough and the selswans have no reason to believe otherwise. To try and prove a truer statement would cost time that they truly didn’t have. The sun was already beginning a westerly descent. Judging by the wind, we might make it across to Boost Island before nightfall.


When will the Curse take effect? When the full moon comes out or when it reaches its apex? What if the night sky is overcast or e managed to hold ourselves in the Ring of Ten Minus Two? Would we feel the effects of the Curse then?


So many questions and not enough time.


Without further dialogue, Sylvester climbed onto the raft. The others followed, Tuette lastly, muttering about how it probably wouldn’t be enough time and that they’d all be thumbless by morning. Or, more accurately, all of them would be. She and Cherry were assuredly free of the Curse.


That thought hitched inside his head because it only made him question as to why she was accompanying them at all. The first and most obvious answer was to insure that they got the job done. With her Corn Circle method, the job should be quick and clean. But complications always seemed to arise. Tuette might worry about not having enough time but Sylvester worried more that she was focusing on something else. Her or Dermy or one of the Guards.


With them all on the raft, the selswans silently let off and used the combined power of their flapping wings to give them a good gust in the proper direction. It was enough movement to make Sylvester a little sick, but it worked. They were, once again, on their way. It felt more real than ever then as Sylvester realized that nothing was for certain in the immediate future.


And being Cursed wouldn’t matter if he happened to die by the morbid hand of Roost.