Sylvester & Tuette: Cursed Doubt

Chapter Twenty-Six

Their situation was filled with coincidence and Tuette was becoming unsettled by it. How odd that we not only come across Jack and learn about his situation but then turn around and use his gifts in a most profound manner with a young woman who can’t even be touched by Spells or Curses.


Briefly, Tuette imagined not being able to be touched by Curses and realized that she was in the situation. Only because I’m already Cursed. That made her refocus her thoughts back on the present.


Looking at Cherry, Tuette remembered that Jack not only gave them the acorns but also a scripted leaf that had details for a Petrifying Wood Spell, which was actually only a variant of the Freezing Pote she and Dermy had culled into existence. If we had not brought Cherry, would we still have the additional information regarding a relatively clean way of ridding the world of Count Roost?


Possibly.


If she had used the Wood Spell on their attackers back in Vican Village, Jack still would’ve shown up. And through his interaction with Joy’s spores, they would’ve known a vague layout of a portion of Roost’s castle.


But they surely would not have known about the World Magik or the Corn Circle that they now were going to grow around the castle, which, thankfully, was rumored to be small. Joy couldn’t know for certain; she was limited by the extension of her roots. She could only judge by what Puze the Cursed fly told her.


And through Joy and Puze’s collaborations, Tuette learned that Beverane was dead.


It was sobering how such a fact could bring the entire quest into focus and how dangerous it truly was. Joy had been privy to Beverane’s arrival and abrupt re-arrival: he was nothing more than a gasping body. It was probably traumatic but Joy was a determined World Spirit and seemed quite capable of handling herself. Perhaps being briefly reunited with her father of sorts had brought out her self-preserving nature, or enough time has passed. Tuette had encountered people in post-traumatic situations but they were rarely as well-composed as Joy had been. Being a World Spirit, she might be able to adjust more readily anyway.


Thinking more on Joy, Tuette couldn’t help but wonder about the implications that such a creature brought forth. Is she actually to be seen as the offspring of two well-established World Spirits or is she a newly-deceased young girl that happened to pass when Jack and Jillian opted to try for a child of their own? World Spirits were rumored to crop up in various locales around not only the kingdom but the world and wreak havoc on any who entered their domains, but they were centuries old. All documented instances of a World Spirit cited the origin of the specter having died around roughly the same time that the Wishing Gods were said to be exiled from Valtos’ Immortal company.


The Wishing Gods no longer answer the prayers of Mortals. That’s the job of Audience Members. But did something occur over a millennia ago that had called into question the entrance of spirits into the Immortal boundaries of Valent? The existence of the World Spirits seemed to confirm such a notion. It also didn’t seem coincidental that the Spirits were vengeful, a trait carried over from their lives and only intensified by having to live on the cusp of Immortality, yet among so many expendable, short-term creatures. Jack and Jillian were truly the first that Tuette had heard about being kind. But Joy was something else. A new World Spirit. The notion was astounding. Did whatever happen centuries ago bring about a wave of World Spirits? If so, that means Joy might only be the first of a new wave. To Tuette, it also meant just one more mystery to add to the growing pile.


The raft rocked on a buffeting wind. The movement made Tuette feel fearful of their slightly-increasing height. Boost Island was slowly growing in the immediate distance as the sun seemed to settle more quickly in the west. Tuette worried that the others would fall under Roost’s Curse of the Thumb but knew that their plan was sure to work. Tuette had heard of World Magik but only in passing. And really only as a kind of fable.


According to the lessons she had attempted to learn from Corunny Voidet, it was World Magik that the Primary Gods had used to take Existence or Eternity or whichever away from the Creating Gods. Dorothy, being the eldest, led a revolt against the Creators. With World Magiks, they had been changed or even destroyed, leaving the Primaries behind. How such Magik was defined in the Mortal realms was beyond Tuette and she did question the validity of the tome, but believing in the rare World Magiks was the easiest option available to them. Sending someone like Terry after someone as menacing as Roost was dangerous. Even though he’s a trained Gousherall, it doesn’t mean he’ll actually be able to stop the count.


Of course, Sylvester will never be able to strike the killing blow himself. Tuette knew she truly couldn’t blame him though. The king wouldn’t know how to take a life if it was diagrammed for him.


Could I?


Tuette chewed her lip at that, knowing that the answer would never be as simple as she wanted it to.


According to the text detailing the use of the Corn Circle, someone would have to invoke the call to the intended deity following the first corn stalk being planted and before the final one grew. With that perspective, she would be making the killing blow. Strangely, it didn’t make her feel uneasy. Probably because it didn’t feel like she was going to end someone’s life. For Tuette, it felt more like she was being challenged to perform a great Spell that no one had yet accomplished.


This line of thinking also made Tuette consider the requirements of the Corn Circle: invocation following the first stalk being planted but before the last one in the Circle. Does the original Spell call for accelerated growth of each stalk or does planting the kernels bring out the Magik? Probably the latter. Tuette had never heard of a Growth Spell or Charm as the type that Cherry harnessed. It certainly was advantageous as even planting the kernels, one at a time, would take far longer than letting the mysterious Cordian perform her deed.


The wind disquieted the raft again. After being released from the true shores of Schove, the six of them had instinctively acquired crouching positions. They apparently all feared the unusual means of travel. Tuette herself had thought that any fear of heights would’ve been conquered years ago, when she first began using the swan-shaped home. Even traveling with the seleagles as mounts had not been so unsettling. The situation where she had plummeted down one of the holes in Vican Village and then had literally been hoisted or hefted from the icy rapids had introduced a fear of not only heights but actually falling from them.


Currently, she was feeling that same fear coarse through her body, making her extremities shake at the slightest winds. It wasn’t an irrational fear as the floating raft didn’t seem entirely stable to begin with but Tuette could easily imagine them all – or even just herself – catching the wrong wind current and falling into the churning sea below.


No one spoke for the drawn out duration though they definitely had a plan now. Before, it had mainly been about getting to Boost and she assumed that they would seek out the count and kill him. Had they expected me to use Magik since the beginning? If so, they haven’t said anything. They mainly rely on my knowledge regarding Magik we accidentally encounter, like with the World Spirits and even the Ring of Ten Minus Two.


Of course, Dermy had been specifically brought along because of his knowledge with Magik but it seemed like they turned to her before they thought about him. Is it because of his dialect? Or do they look down on him because he’s seen as only being a farmer? At least he’s something. She was still considered an apprentice despite owning many types of Magik knowledge.


And how many people can say they’ve harnessed World Magik? Even if only for an instant?


Yes, I may become famous even before I break my Curse.


She immediately thought about Corunny Voidet. How am I to locate him after today? Tuette knew she was assuming she’d survive beyond the day but thinking in terms of the future helped keep the mind-numbing terror at bay.


With that thought, the next few hours started to weigh on her.


Tuette, along with the nation’s king, a few men who swore allegiance to him, and a strange yet powerful young woman were about to face off against a man of untold ability. Count Roost is Cursed, meaning I won’t be able to fight him with any form of that dread Magik. And he fights cruelly, using Artificials when he doesn’t want to soil his own hands. The Guards and Dermy are in harm’s way regarding the Curses at Roost’s disposal, at least until his larger Curse is finally activated. Cherry is immune to Magik harm but what defense does she have against a physical threat imposed by Roost or even a possessed fighter? The count has at least one Apprentice. Possibly more. To assume otherwise would be foolish.


But the Corn Circle doesn’t call for direct contact.


How are we to insure the count is in the castle?


It would take time for the corn to be planted. In that time, Tuette knew that she or the Guards – or her and Terry – could possibly investigate the area for signs of the Cursed villain. Tuette wondered about the motivations of the man though. Why threaten a whole kingdom with a Curse that could be so easily foiled? She had been informed that Dormaset was probably working behind the scenes for this particular threat but that didn’t really mean much for them if the maperryta was seeing the weak king as a liability to be extinguished in hopes of injecting new blood into the throne. That idea doesn’t seem too implausible, especially if Dormaset knows the kingstone is presently worthless.


If that’s the case, then Sylvester might not have been allowed to live out his first year as king. Unless Dormaset has ulterior motives. With a weak king came edicts that could be easily conjured for the sake of one public interest group or another. It was known among Magikals that the maperryta was the most powerful of Mages. Perhaps he Sees a possibility with keeping a weak king in office, especially if the entire kingdom is rendered chaotic because of one Curse.


This is all subjective because once the Curse takes effect, people will obviously adapt. It’s the way of humans. Of course, the Curse of the Thumb would be lifted once Roost actually died or if the Curse Reverse was performed. And then the chaos of the kingdom would return after however long it might’ve taken to stabilize. Tuette recognized that not just one major shift would occur, but two, and who knew how many after that. Until Curse Blocks are more commonplace, what’s to stop another mentally unstable man – or woman– from Cursing the entirety of Decennia if not more? She knew that Count Roost’s actions could avalanche into a perpetual state of disaster for the currently-peaceful kingdom.


Peace can’t last forever she wanted to state aloud, but knew it was only a means of ending the present state of peace they were all embracing on the somber little raft. Somber, indeed, as we must all be realizing at one point or another that this mishmash journey is ending. It had become somewhat like a living organism for them all and now it was intended to die in one decisive fashion or another.


They were floating on a type of raft which normally would be used to provide fishermen a stable point among any typically sloshing sea but which was now secured to sealed vivican plants, one per corner. Judging by the steady ascent, Tuette thought that it looked like they might be a little too high over the island to come down safely. She had suggested that they anchor the floating raft with stones but everyone was skeptical about that putting too much strain on the device. And, besides, where would we get stones now?


Did the villagers believe the raft couldn’t make it between the islands without the vivican buoys? Obviously not. Otherwise, they would’ve condemned it. Or maybe the waters in this region are dangerous. Creatures of the sea were plentiful, possibly even more so than land based animals. The Potential of animals below them made her remember Dermy and the fact that he’d most likely need a delfin transplant some day. She looked at the little farmer in his Magiked disguise. He looked more complacent than anything. As his bone mass deteriorates, the Potency of his Spell probably does too. Looking between Dermy and the Gousheralls, she began to truly wonder if the price he was having to pay was going to be worth the long-term effects.


She certainly hoped so.





*          ~          *          ~          *





After what felt like hours but what was most likely a handful of several minutes, Cherry Tee finally broke the silence. “We are very high.”


Tuette almost admired the girl and her simple little statements. It was a bare fact but expressed in such an affable and almost childish manner. Peering over the side, Tuette did notice that the waves were smaller in practice.


Looking at the distance they’d already covered and the length they still had to go, and considering the fact that they would probably continue to steadily ascend into the atmosphere, Tuette knew they would be too high for them to leap gently or safely to the island’s ground in the distance. What were they going to do? Cherry spoke up. “I understand that heights can be unfriendly when enjoyed in large quantities.” She seemed relatively calm whereas Tuette felt like her heart would start attempting to hammer its way out of her chest.


Sylvester, who had mostly been looking leery, was now looking queasy. He had not expressed a fear of heights before but he seemed more cautious about the idea of falling. Or perhaps the proximity to our final destination makes him conscious about what we’re intending to ultimately perform: murder.


While it’s true that a manner of self-preservation is in play, each one of us knows we’re actively seeking to end a life. It will preserve a sense of peace by fending away chaos, but at what cost? Tuette knew her own price: she was aiming to preserve the Freezing Pote so she could perform her Curse Reverse. She also didn’t want to allow the king to foil the task in any way so she had elected to tag along; Tuette knew that it would be no good to let the Curse pass and let herself remain unaffected. So she was putting her own life on the line as well.


Does Sylvester realize the amount of danger he’s truly in? That might explain his stark and fearing appearance. Dermy was somewhat protected with his disguise but only from physical harm. Sylvester’s kingstone might be protecting him in untold ways but they weren’t becoming apparent with each passing day. Their path did seem to follow helpful avenues of coincidence; perhaps that was the kingstone’s contribution to the cause? If so, it was doing a good job to make their job easier. In that light, maybe Roost was destined to die by their incursion. The Magik that was rumored to rest behind the kingstone was said to be of the most Potent of forms. Situations of circumstance would be highly suggestive of the kingstone’s power over an entire series of events.


The idea made Tuette’s head spin slightly. To think that all of their actions were derived from a Spell cast centuries ago meant that whatever she did, the outcome would already be chosen. The kingstone is supposed to reveal the past but might it also dictate the future? Is it an entity all its own, much like I’m a person and Valtos is a God?


Surely not. No Immortal creature could ever reveal the future as it might be known. It was true that some people claimed prophetic powers but they were always suspect in nature, at least in Tuette’s eyes. Merely stating a prophecy provides a beginning for making it come about in one form or another. Prophecies can’t be trusted.


But if Sylvester’s kingstone was the one calling the shots in order to bring the right kind of people and knowledge into the king’s path, that would be something entirely different. It would imply the kingstone itself was conscious, at least. Might that indicate as to why it doesn’t outright work for the monarch? Does it even recognize Sylvester as its owner and master?


Again, the notions made her head energies boil and Tuette knew it was merely a way to distract herself from the present and seemingly inevitable conclusion: they were traveling more quickly upward than forward and a situation like that could only end in disaster.


Unless we abandon the raft now and make for the seas. Surely we can maintain a grouping and collaborate with each other to stay afloat long enough. Or we could even just cut the buoys and let the raft drop to the surface of the water.


She knew that idea could prove more disastrous. The buoys would have to be cut simultaneously and the group had no means of anchoring themselves to the raft’s surface. In her mind, she saw them cutting the buoys at the same time but then the raft might fall more quickly, their bodies not plummeting as rapidly. Then they would slam dangerously onto the same raft. No, that doesn’t seem like a good idea.


Glancing over the edge, she noticed they were about fifteen or eighteen meters from the water’s surface. Looking back, they were decidedly closer to Schove than to Boost, if not at the midway point. Should we swim back to Schove and plead for selswan mounts?


A splash below drew her attention and Dermy’s too. They both looked back over the sides. Did the others not hear it? If not, how? But Dermy and Tuette looked and she felt a chill take her breath away. Just below the surface of the water was a pack of tigashes. They were elongated fish with an unusually large number of fins on each side of their bodies, along with two dorsal fins of different size and three shallow ones on the creature’s underside. The multiple fins guaranteed speed, apparently, but it was the toothy jaws that made the underwater carnivores truly formidable. No wonder short-range boats or skiffs weren’t used in this region! Tigashes were known to attempt partial ship sinkings if only to get at their fleshy prey. If the animals could leap out of the water, they might be truly dangerous.


The splashing sounded again and Tuette saw a tigash leader break the surface and retreat just as quickly. It was unsettling. At least it’s not death dragons. Or it might be better if it was. Death dragons don’t get this close to the surface when the sun is out and about, like now.


As if the moment were designed to break her spirits, a cloud blotted out Brill’s brilliance and Tuette could’ve sworn that a darker and larger shape loomed beneath even the tigashes. It was probably an illusion but she was still unsettled.


Sylvester finally leaned his head over the edge to see what they were looking at. “What’re those?”


“They’n be tig’shes, Kingasir. Vic’ous pred’tors, oh.” He shook his head as all three of them returned their attention to the surface of the raft. “If’n we ‘ope t’ be swimmin’ fro’ this’n poin’, they all be getting’ us, oh!”


“He’s right, Sylvester. And we can’t cut the buoys because there’s no guarantee the raft will remain level. And the tigashes will sink it just to get us.”


“Then what about getting rid of some of our buoys?”


Is he insane? If we cut one, two, or thee, we’d most likely plummet from our semi-stable surface!


Tuette looked at the king and then at the buoys, realizing that he might not be so insane. “If we cut loose two corner buoys, diagonal from each other, that’ll stop our ascension, for certain!” No, he really wasn’t too impaired. Of course, the suggestion might have only come from the kingstone and not from the man himself.


With that kind of thinking, is he even a man or a manifestation of Magik’s will, of even Valtos’ will? That’s all that Magik is: an outlet for Valtos’ essence, really. It was thanks to Dorothy that Magik had come about. The essence that tied the Primaries together had been severed and redirected to the living realms of their own private worlds. Defined by rituals recognized by Audience Members, this was what Magik was at its core.


It was a distracting subject to say the least and would merit further investigation. But at least the king sounded off with a good notion. It still called for a simultaneous cutting of the buoys, but only two, not four. The Gousheralls would be able to handle it.


In the time it took to explain the idea, Vest and Terry were at opposing corners of the square raft. Each vivican buoy was anchored with a sturdy twine that probably measured five meters in length. The pair was confident that they could perform as needed. With a coordinated effort, the Guards swung.


Terry’s sword cut a buoy free.


Vest’s did not.


The raft almost instantly became slanted towards the freed corner. Tuette had dropped to the surface of the raft, adhering herself to it. Looking up, she saw that Vest had his free arm hooked around the buoy line he had just attempted to sever. Sylvester was clutching the same twine. Dermy was holding onto on of the other twines with Cherry holding onto him, her face actually looking horror stricken.


It was a scene of chaos.


She couldn’t see Terry from her current position. Looking again at the king and Vest, Tuette saw the twine they were both clutching. It didn’t look damaged at all. Hardy rope indeed! But why has one cut and not the other?


Is Vest’s blade dull due to years of inactivity? He seems like a competent Guardsmen. Maybe Terry’s is just that much sharper?


No, Terry’s is Sealed! She recalled that Sylvester said he had ordered the younger Guard’s sword be Sealed with a Sealant Spell when he had aimed to cut through the chain of the selswan statue’s pedestal, for the sake of ultimately saving Tuette. How ironic that that action might have ultimately led to our death! Especially if we fall into the waiting pack of tigashes!


Swiveling her head to look behind herself, she saw two hands gripping the metal hoop. They were obviously Terry’s but the Guard wasn’t shouting and he was closer than any of them to hungry predators below. And with the fourth buoy gone, they had slowed their ascent, to be sure.


But it also seemed like they might be sinking. Why hadn’t she thought of that? Why hadn’t she trusted the villagers? Generally, because I’m distrusting of almost everyone. Tuette recalled that they had selected specific buoys, probably the oldest. That meant the air inside of them would decrease naturally. The Vican Villagers had been traveling this way for quite some time. I should’ve trusted them!


Terry still wasn’t shouting or making any other types of noise but Tuette knew he was most likely afraid. She could hear the tigashes below splashing about as if they could almost sense that the odds had turned in their favor. Resurveying the situation, she realized that she might be doing more harm than good. The axis of balance was largely beneath her. Tuette had the compulsion to climb down and at least attempt to pull Terry over the side but she knew it would be a futile gesture. The best way would be to make her way towards the king’s corner and let the raft find balance.


As she did this with fear keeping her limbs shaky and her grip questionable, she saw Cherry moving in her peripheral but she dare not move her head to see what she was doing. Her cheek was so close to the raft’s surface that she could only smell the waterlogged wood but realized that the raft was supposed to have hardly ever touched actual water. She couldn’t help but think about the implications of that. If the villagers travel this way often enough, shouldn’t they have more reliable means of traveling from one island to another? Surely they know about the tigashes? Perhaps the villgares are fishermen too and that’s why the raft has a watery scent.


That, or the seas below are invading my nostrils she thought with slight stupor.


But either way, she could be mistaken. Clinging to the surface of the decanting raft made her question her own thinking process. How do other people handle a capsized skiff? The only people that came to Tuette’s mind were the Freezers under Ta Bep’toj and his watchful crazy-eyes. And how Fy’tay had managed to bring her to him partially against her will, using scaled-down Mighty Grips.


The same kind the villagers used.


Perryta Fy’tay also had not expressed surprise over her swan-shaped means of travel. As Tuette’s energies bubbled internally, her thoughts churning at the burgeoning of possibly plummeting to her gnashed-up doom, she could only further think about the coincidences. Is Fy’tay from Vican Village? Or somehow working with Vican Village? It’s clear that Craspone most likely was and had even planted the swan house. But have those two been part-time players in a grander scheme that seems to be working against us all? Maybe something even orchestrated by the Potentially-sentient kingstone? The conjecture is certainly compelling!


Finally reaching Sylvester’s leg, she noticed the raft’s weight shifted towards them as she turned onto her back and tried to lift her head and look down. Indeed, the raft had lowered a little on their end, raising Terry’s corner by a degree—


But Cherry was gently shuffling herself back to the other side of the raft.


She had her leg – a rather well-muscled extension of smooth flesh that some might find appealing – exposed and entwined serpent-like with Dermy’s, who had entwined his own arm, the truly degenerate arm, with the thick string connected to the buoy there. It seemed like she was trying to save Terry, but how could she hope to?


Sylvester grabbed her shoulder and Tuette, for some inexplicable reason, jumped slightly. What do I have to fear here, directly behind me? A Gousherall and the king? No, the danger is below and we all know it.


Well, it seems Cherry might not know it. What a costly way to teach a lesson should she fall! “What’s she doing?” asked the king.


Tuette snorted slightly as a means of hopefully shrugging off the obviousness of the question. But she did answer. “She’s trying to save Terry for some reason.” She began digging into her rucksack, the westward sun providing ample light.


“That’s a good thing, trying to save Terry,” said Sylvester. In theory, it was. In fact, it was making the overall situation worse. She possessed no subtle means of traversing the short distance and the steadily-sinking raft was rocking. Dermy looked like he was going to start laughing, which might’ve translated to him looking like he was going to be sick. Tuette herself had begun to feel a little queasy as well.


In the rucksack, she found her oft forgotten Climbing Mitts. They had become folded and tucked into the corner of the sack through wily means that were akin to dresser drawers unwittingly moving pairs of stockings. She withdrew the Mitts and thought to call Cherry’s attention so she might become aware of her actions and try to catch them. Perhaps they might help her find surer handholds.


But Tuette paused.


Will Cherry be able to use the Climbing Mitts to save Terry? The Magik that the Mitts harness is translated through the wearer’s intentions and directions. Cherry is unavailable to Magik though she’ll definitely be able to at least wear them.


But will they act as little more than a fashion accessory?


Taking the chance, she called to Cherry and tossed the Mitts.


The act surprised Cherry but she caught them and landed hard on her shoulder, causing the raft the shift again. Dermy grunted, probably about taking on more weight, despite the fact that Cherry had little to begin with. “Put ‘em on. They’ll help.” I hope, she silently added, knowing that announcing such a sentiment wouldn’t do much for their present level of morale.


Cherry only nodded and put them on. When she regained her crawling-stance, her hands were no more frictional than before as they slid easily over the surface of the air-raft. The Magik of the Mitts won’t work! Cherry still stretched the short distance available, obviously not caring that she had no advantage right now, and caused the raft to tilt further with one quick stomach-knotting jolt.


The movement had obviously caused Sylvester some worry as he reaffirmed his grip on Tuette’s shoulder. She felt uneasy about it but not because of the closeness, she knew. Because of—


When she realized the error, it was too late. His repositioned hand pulled the shawl from around her head and her hair came free for Brill and all to see. Sylvester let out a cry; obviously as it had not been expected. Vest ducked down as the full wingspan took up a lot of his standing room. He dropped his sword and grabbed the twine with his other hand. The sword slid the length of the raft and Dermy caught it in his other free hand, the effort producing a strangled grunt from the diminutive man.


The wind that had been barely perceived moments before now became aptly present; Tuette could feel it tugging at her embarrassing mass of Cursed follicles. She knew that she was technically Cursed throughout her being but it was the mass up top that brought out the most unappealing aspect of Voidet’s Curse of the Hood. If only I’d chosen a hummingbird or even a penguin to display for Menginal!


With the gales pushing, she was further braced against the king. Sylvester bent his neck forward to stick his head under the hairy statue but he was providing a stable means of support at least. Vest was not crouching under the wing anymore but had decided to stand behind it; it obviously was acting as a shield from the strong breeze.


With the wind pulling at her, she felt the urge to just go with it and see how far she could soar but instantly recognized that as an easy means to end her involvement with the quest. And she was determined to see it through and not concede any satisfaction to Corunny Voidet.


There was a shout from below, where Terry was. She looked down with her eyes, not being able to truly pivot her head against the current, and saw that Cherry had reached him. The Climbing Mitts were supposed to work like Mighty Grips in that they made clutching easier. But with Mitts, the clutch was more adhesive-based rather than power-based. One couldn’t crush someone’s bones with Mitts without having to put a tremendous amount of personal power behind the attempt. Unfortunately, Cherry couldn’t do either action; otherwise, she might’ve had a good chance of holding onto Terry.


The shout had come from Terry’s surprise at being touched. But in the immediate distance, Tuette could’ve sworn that she saw even more tigashes trailing after the raft. Has seeing them made the Guard shout out finally? It seems likely. In straining her ears, she could hear less and less of the pack of predators below the raft. Is the wind that loud around my ears? Most assuredly so!


Cherry was holding onto Terry hands… but she didn’t have the Mitts. Tuette finally realized that Cherry and Dermy weren’t as entwined as they had been moments before. It was Dermy who was wearing the Mitts, or one of them at least, as he deftly clung to Cherry’s petite ankle. His other arm was now crooked around the twine, their combined mass finally disturbing its predisposed straightness and in that hand he gripped Vest’s dropped sword with white knuckles. The other Mitt was still in Cherry’s hand and Tuette saw Terry move one hand from the metallic hoop to the edge of the raft. Cherry, with her balance more steadied thanks to Dermy, was able to provide some discomforting support to Terry while she slipped the other Climbing Mitt onto his hand.


The Magik worked well for Terry for as soon as the hand holding the edge of the raft was secured, Terry was able to somewhat crawl over the precipice and lay with his belly on the unbalanced air-raft. He did use the Mitt to finally move to Dermy and he took hold of the twine as well. Cherry, with Dermy providing support and Terry providing direction, made her way back into their graces and it was then that Tuette realized that she heard no tigashes in the water beneath them but saw several in the distance.


The wind still pulled her and Tuette began to wonder if—


“We are moving more rapidly,” stated Cherry. At last, Tuette noticed the difference. The breeze she was feeling was not only what the wing-sail was catching but also what was produced in the wake of their faster movement. She was elated to learn that they were traveling more quickly as that would mean they could reach Boost before—


“We’re still gonna hit water first,” said Vest from behind her in a dishearteningly clear voice. “We might have to cut our buoys and ride them to the island.” Is he serious? For Tuette, the idea sounded quite insane: mostly because he had not been able to cut the buoys before with his sword but also because he had no sword to speak of. Dermy was holding it as he, Cherry, and Terry stood huddled in their corner of the raft, the six of them basically letting the weight of the other side be handled more or less by the lonely buoy. Tuette wasn’t certain why she considered the buoy to be lonely because it obviously didn’t feel those same sentiments. If it feels anything, it’s probably happy to not have a small gaggle of humans clinging to its tail.


Shaking the distracting thoughts away, she realized that if they didn’t do as Vest suggested, they might actually hit the water. Knowing that they wouldn’t acquire as much distance in the water without the extra wind boost, Tuette realized the tigashes would be upon them in moments, the sleek bodies cutting through the water like black ribbons of scaly death.


“Okay. We cut. You three, the Mitts should help you. Just hold onto Cherry.”


“I think you might have to go on that buoy, Tuette,” proffered Vest.


What? She asked him to clarify. “Cherry and Dermy as so small, they almost equal Terry’s muscle mass alone. With you added, you’ll be sure to not overshoot the island. The king and I are heavier and heartier and should anchor the buoy just fine.” It was logical but it nagged at Tuette for an unidentified reason.


She could only shout her agreements; the wind made nodding a thing of the past and near-future. Tuette then had a thought. “Won’t my wings make us travel erratically?”


“No,” said Vest with the slightest twinge of impatience. “If anything, it’ll let you travel more quickly so we arrive at the same place, if not at the same time. Give or take.”


It was a vague answer but Tuette still could not deny the logistics behind it. Finally she asked how he was to cut his twine. “I’ve got a small blade in my sleeve.” It sounded more sinister than it should have to Tuette. “We don’t have much more time. The water is only a few meters below us now and Boost is still a generous distance away.”


Bowing to his statements, Tuette tended for herself a moment of bravery as she let Vest and Sylvester push against her wing-sail, allowing her to awkwardly join the others. It’s not an issue of size, but of weight. Numbers aren’t everything. The raft became more unsettled as she moved and she even feared that she would relive her experiences atop and beneath Vican Village. But before she could feel anymore tugs, Terry, with his Magiked Mitt, pawed Tuette’s shirt hem in an otherwise-unsavory manner.


Tuette found herself not minding and thought to remind him about it later with hopes of reliving the event. Minus the numbing fear that causes my joints to shake. The tigashes were heard splashing in the immediate distance, their efforts to maintain speed with the wind-powered raft doubled. It served to distract her from Terry and let her think about how truly hungry she herself was, off and on, while aboard the raft. The hunger grew as the heights lessened and she realized the irony right away: to rise meant safety from the tigashes and forgetting her hunger because of the fear of falling. Closer to the water’s surface, she could recall a time when she was stuffed full with food and wanted only that, all the while not even worrying about the deadly fish. And, of course, she also had time to focus on Terry’s seemingly-inappropriate gestures.


But Terry knew it to be a gesture of aid and Tuette somehow wondered if it could be nothing more than that. Cherry leaned forward and grabbed her shoulder while Dermy used the other Mitt to pull her arm’s sleeve toward him. Their combined efforts prevailed more swiftly against the winds and Tuette immediately saw that the other had wound the twine around Cherry arm while they clung to the buoy’s rope with the Climbing Mitts. She mimicked Cherry’s movement while Dermy handed Vest’s sword to Terry; he had the better angle. Dermy was mostly inhibited by her hair.


Just as he swung the sword, apparently timing the strike with Vest unseen behind her, Tuette could only think how the sword had not cut through the other twine. Now Vest expects it to cut through and he plans to cut his twine with a sheathed dagger?


There wasn’t much time to think and, as she saw Terry’s acquired blade slice easily enough through the twine, she noticed the sky darken again and she felt her hair drop as well. Looking behind her, she saw that a length of cloud that stretched across the sky had finally met up with Brill and aimed to block his view. Tuette felt elation and horror: one because she wouldn’t have to suffer the visible aspect of her Curse anymore and the other because that meant she wouldn’t have wind to help propel them and assist in keeping up with Sylvester and Vest.


As the buoy floated up from the water, Tuette watched the remaining buoy succumb to the weight of their vehicle. The tigashes had subsequently caught up with the air-raft, some being directly beneath it when it slammed edge-first into the water. The water around the wooden device bubbled and frothed with quick and fishy activity and Tuette was instantly grateful that they had not been given the option of sailing the shallow seas between Schove and Boost.


Looking to their immediate destination, she saw that Boost was much closer now; her wind-boost had apparently helped more than she realized. But the king and his elder Guard were moving much more quickly towards it. Or, rather, Tuette and the others seemed to be slowing somewhat. This discerned Tuette but she was thankful to be remaining at a fairly constant level above the lethal coastal waters.


It was no time before she felt like her arm might be pulled from her socket. Dermy and Terry, their Mitts – my Mitts, she remembered with an uncharacteristic tinge of resentment – were keeping them from forcing exertion and even though her and Cherry had wound some of their limbs with the dangling twine, it felt, overall, to be a very precarious situation. The clouds bothered Tuette more than anything and helped to distract her from the odd situation. Surely Vest had noticed them and knew that my swan-shaped locks would melt away. But he had offered up the advantage as means to convince me.


Thinking desperately, she tried to recall if she had informed the Guards that it was the sun that brought out her condition. Tuette couldn’t recall if she had; otherwise, Terry might’ve objected to it because he could readily see the clouds as well. She realized that she had assumed their understanding of her situation, or had decided that Sylvester would inform them. Had she told him? Again, she couldn’t remember but he did seem to own a sense of understanding at least.


No one spoke and it seemed best that way. Tuette realized voices might help abate this anesthetizing experience of theirs. Still, no one spoke and she really had nothing to say. What’s to be said? The moment we touch land, we’ll begin our final leg of what ultimately has turned into a manhunt. It was an unsettling line of thinking but it couldn’t be helped. She wanted to ask if everyone else was thinking the same thing but decided that assuming as much would be good enough for now.


What else could be on their minds?





*          ~          *          ~          *





The four of them were obviously not equal to the weight of Sylvester and Vest, the older and mildly bulkier Guard, but it did appear like the smaller bodies might allow for too much acquired height. As it was, they landed next to an older-looking structure. It wasn’t a smooth landing but was rather abrupt. Tuette felt wobbled inside her knees, which is why she felt that standing might not be a good idea.


Thankfully, they were in the shade of the shack and her swan-hair wouldn’t be an issue should the sun make a surprise appearance. Sitting up, she drew her damp and dirty shawl around her head. They had little time and hopefully, the residents of Boost Island wouldn’t cause them any immediate problems. In fact, if they’re Cursed like the rumor states, the islanders might actually assist us! She hadn’t really thought about that but realized that they did indeed have more potential allies than enemies at the moment.


Who wants to live without thumbs anyway? In this later part of the afternoon, it didn’t seem like anyone was outside and available for speaking. Perhaps they had seen the floating sky-buoys and became frightened. Looking into the sky at the ever-rising Sealed plant, Tuette couldn’t help but wonder if it would make it to the Immortal Realm or if it might eventually just descend elsewhere, with the seeds being lost to the ocean. She knew she’d probably never know so she stopped wondering.


Standing, she did find that her knees were incredibly unstable and that she might even wretch slightly. Terry did wretch, telling even more solidly of his deficiencies in regards to the practice of his own profession. Tuette couldn’t help but feel sorry for him. Cherry stood with a balance that might never be known by another. Dermy didn’t even get up, resigning to the sick feeling in his gut. But they were nearly finished with their quest. That prospect excited Tuette like no other because it meant she was that much closer to locating the chicken flock and being rid of her own Curse. Thinking how the swan-shaped hair and its wingspan had actually helped them wasn’t lost on her. Of course, if the Vican Villagers truly did travel that way as commonly as they led the group to believe, Tuette could only assume that they knew the benefit of using harnessed wind. It’s a marginal idea when applied to seafaring skiffs so why not think to adopt it for air-rafts as well? No, the more she thought about it, the more she deduced that the villagers weren’t sure exactly how to get rid of the Cursed group of troublemakers – How long will Jack and Joy choose to remain rooted there, anyway? – but just that they needed to be gone.


After several minutes, Dermy finally righted himself and wiped the dust off. Tuette pressed the shawl to her head a little tighter. “We are here,” said Cherry. It was a harmless and pointless statement but when she uttered the words, it had sounded more like a question than anything.


“Yeah, we’re on Boost. Or in Boost,” she said scratching her scalp through the shawl. “I’m not exactly sure if the township is named after the island or not.”


Dermy took off the Climbing Mitts and handed them back to Tuette. “’hank ya fer da’, T’ette.” She gingerly took them, rolling them back up and tucking the small package into her rucksack. “I’s no’ be sure’n they gonna be workin’ fer me, oh, buddit di’.” He then rubbed his dilapidated arm and she was finding herself feeling surprised that it hadn’t become dislocated when Dermy put the weight of three others on it at one point or another. It had probably been a practice of determined will that brought out the necessity of the situation. If he had revealed his broken self, they would’ve all plummeted into the thrashing tigash pack that was still probably moving just off the coast.


The thought chilled her as she inhaled a scent of the salty sea air. Turning to face away from the coast, even though she couldn’t presently see it, Tuette saw the small castle that was supposed to host the nefarious count. She didn’t know what it was called – Why do castles have names, anyway? – but she knew that Count Roost was most likely up there.


“Time we got underway, people. Sylvester and Vest are already up there as a kind of contingency.” Like we need one. “So the quicker we get this done, the better off we’ll all be.”


She ended with looking at Cherry who was looking at something else. Tuette turned, letting her temporary fear of the distantly lethal fish leave her mind, and followed Cherry’s line of sight. From this vantage point, it looked like any other statue. Except that it was of a very wide human, a man. It probably had a chiseled face, literally, but it was facing away from them all. The artist, who was obviously not Burtle, a fact she could denote even from this distance, had opted to put an encompassing cap on the figure’s head rather than attempt to fashion some type of hair. “That is a man?” asked Cherry.


Tuette wondered about the question. Surely Cherry had seen statues before. But she then recalled that Cordia’s only form of stone-imitating-life were the giant frogs. And those drive the residents out of town once a year. In Vican Village, the selswans had all been brought to life as well so it was any wonder Cherry didn’t assume that the poor statue of the portly man might jump off his high pedestal any moment now.


Absently, Tuette found herself wondering who the fellow was and quickly deduced that it had to be a former leader or dictator that served the township well before Count Roost took over. It had to be that way because the count had been described as being well-built and handsome. Obese wasn’t always used to describe a well-built person but she knew that people had many interpretations of what they liked.


She gently curbed Cherry around then, towards the castle, saying, “Yes. Or rather, not really a man but a… copy or… imitation of a man. It’s just a statue.”


Cherry averted her gaze to watch out for anything she might accidentally trip over but continued with the questions. “The statutes in the floating village came to life. All of them.” She knocked her chin backwards. “Will that one?”


Tuette knew the question was quite typical but realized that she didn’t have an answer. The statue was obviously of a living person or a once live person. If the Life Spell is used on it, would that particular person come back tethered to it or would someone else? It’s probably been practiced before but I’ve never heard of such an experiment.


“It could, I guess.” She paused, looking absently at Cherry. “It might. Probably not today though. Come on. We’ve got work to do.” Cherry only nodded. The task being asked of her had been explained in detail before they even left Schove but Tuette couldn’t help but wonder if it needed repeating. As they walked, Tuette reached for Dermy’s rucksack. He willingly gave it up as he was becoming winded from the short trek; it’s sloping upwards, she realized, and he had about as much sleep as the rest of them.


Taking deeper stock of the area, she realized that the small castle was obviously not built for defense of the local leader but rather to display him. Or her she silently amended, grimacing at the lack of respect for her own gender. It appeared to be exposed to open fields on all sides, had a curved path leading right up to the front gate, and wasn’t on well-elevated land. No, Boost Island has obviously never run amuck of invading seafarers. But then who would invade? All the neighboring islands that made up the Seagulf Island chain were at peace with each other and, in mentally recalling map weave details, she couldn’t remember seeing any other islands close enough to be of any significance. The islands were under protection of Javal’ta which didn’t say much because their stint in the region had not brought them against any militant or enforcement agents that might operate independently of Mount Reign.


Tuette wondered if there was even a national level of law enforcers. The Gousheralls were said to operate at the king’s command but there couldn’t be enough of them to be spread across the country, to be sure. Perhaps the Gousheralls have some type of lawmen that answer to them? Looking at Terry, she thought she would at least strike up a conversation while they walked. Dermy would let them know when they reached a good spot to begin anyway.


“No. There’s no one that answers to us,” answered Terry. “I mean, I’ve been with the Guard for about three or four years now.” That long? She was a little stunned, given how fresh-out-of-the-barrel he behaved. “But I’ve only been on duty for roughly a year.” He went on to explain that there had been an accident during the latter part of his training period that forced him to spend time healing and going through physical training and whatnot, though he failed to mention exactly what had been damaged and how. It might be embarrassing to discuss. She didn’t press the issue. “I was on duty at Majramdic before being called to the mountain to serve with the king personally. I was excited, to say the least!”


“How’s that?” asked Tuette.


“Because I’ve never met the king.” He certainly seemed excited enough to be retelling his tale and Tuette actually found herself envying him. She had not met the king before finding his companionship and she used to think she was dealing with an inept leader of questionable qualities and intelligence. Now she knew some sad truths about why he had appeared that way and she wondered if she might have been better left in bitter ignorance instead of her current state of pity mixed with subtle notions of contempt. But Terry continued as excited as ever, as if he was still meeting Sylvester for the first time later that day. “And we Gousheralls, well, my dad served under King Gould mostly. I was born a couple years after Sylve… After King Sylvester was and, uh, it was exciting to enter the academy, knowing the future king was there.


“Then King Gould died and Syl… And then his son had to go back to Mount Reign. I never got to meet him back then.” His eyes had gone distant with reverie and she worried he might trip over a rogue rock or root. “I remember thinking that I could be his friend even. Ya know? We was close to the same age, almost, and I figured he might be lonely, being an only child, like… like me. So I thought we could be more than just king and protector.” He looked at Tuette then. “Ya know?”


She couldn’t say that she did but at least she now understood somewhat why a person like Terry would maintain such loyalty to the crown. Does Sylvester think the same way?


Possibly. He most likely had a lonely and sad childhood despite the types of friends and associates that his then-future title might invite.


The whole conversation had begun with her asking about the possibilities of national lawmen existing and it had turned to talking about possible friendships and the legacies that a family might build; both the kings and Gousheralls were literally passed from father to son like a duty-bound inheritance. It all made Tuette feel a little sad and even a little angry. She had left her own home in New Opal several years ago and had grown up resenting the monarchy for practically robbing her parents of a normal life. Just because her father had made the finest footwear for the mountain didn’t mean he needed to always be on call to the king for whatever ridiculous reason might beset such a man.


Thinking about it and remembering that King Gould was also most likely an only child, Tuette couldn’t help but wonder if perhaps her father had been constantly called to Mount Reign if only to relieve Gould of his bouts of loneliness. It seems desperately pathetic but wholly believable. With that kind of scenario in her mindset, Tuette actually found herself, yet again, feeling angry with her father for choosing the king over his family, but she also felt much sorrow for the man. Having to choose between keeping a monarch from a depressing situation and having to tend to a family that was fairly self-sufficient because of his loyalty…


And, indeed, Tuette realized that the only reason they had never known economic hardships when she was a child – Part of why I even had so much free time to develop an interest in Magik – was because the king had obviously made sure they were well off; that, of all people, the king’s footwear-provider had nothing to worry about.


Looking at Terry’s own booted feet, she wondered if those too were of her father’s design. Probably. And she might even just verify the suppositions she had just formulated with someone that might work on the mountain while King Gould had been there.


Suddenly, the sadness she remembered feeling in regards to missing out on Ed’s revelation of her full name struck again and she now understood why. On a level deeper than her anger, Tuette had obviously known the truth regarding the importance of her father’s activities and that he had been looking out for the best interest of his family. Am I a selfish daughter in that respect? She suddenly realized that she probably was.


And it only made her question the role of a parent even more: in order to provide an economically stable situation for a child, a parent has to spend time performing services for others that ironically draws them away from the family. It only helped her affirm her own situation regarding procreation. I don’t want children.


Tuette knew it was a selfish ideal that had largely been fueled by her own upbringing but she also knew that she couldn’t spend what few years were afforded to any given person with helping shape another person’s mentality and morality. She was devoted to the science of Magik and the many different and beneficial properties that could be churned after years of practice and performance. No. A child will only slow me down. She knew what she wanted out of life, ultimately, and it might’ve made her feel selfish but Tuette understood that she most likely was not the mothering type.


At least, not yet.


She, maybe more than anyone, was well aware of the how the head energies could start flowing differently as one’s life goals changed. Tuette knew she didn’t want the responsibilities that came with children now but it was entirely possibly she might want it at some later date.


Dermy stopped them, his breath seeming more ragged now as he gasped and gestured to a spot on the ground. “Tha’… Tha’… a good’n.” Looking around, she saw they were closer to the castle and off to eastern side of it. The quickly-setting sun was on the other side of Roost’s castle, the shadow it cast being all around them. Dermy made a circling gesture with his arm, the truly non-decrepit one. “’roun’ th’… th’ cas’le, oh. We ain’t workin’ fer a pe’fec’ circ’, oh. Nah, jus’ ‘roun’ an’ ta dis poin’. Oh.”


He pointed again to the spot and looked at Cherry. Cherry only looked blankly at the short man. Dermy began to cough a little as the gasps decreased. Tuette spoke up. “Cherry, now’s the time to do it.” Cherry looked at Tuette. “With the seeds? The kernels? And your Key Phrase?”


Cherry didn’t nod but said, “I know. I do not have the kernels though.”


Tuette’s heart hammered into her head then, her pulse threatening to drown in her head energies.


Without the kernels and the Corn Circle, Sylvester and Vest are in terrible danger! Has she lost them? Has she… “Ooops, oh. Fergot ta give ‘em over, oh,” said Dermy as he reached into his rucksack and withdrew a couple ears of corn. “Here’n,” he uttered, his face flushed red as he handed the ear to Tuette. She felt her own face might be red but she knew it wasn’t from embarrassment. Without meeting her gaze, he began trying to pluck kernels off of another ear. She started as well, letting the momentary anger pass and found it was difficult to do.


When finally she got one off, she had a good place to start prying more away from the cob. Tuette voiced the incantation that would begin the ritual. She had drilled it into her memory with the direness of the mission behind each syllable. She handed a kernel to the young woman. Cherry mumbled her Key Phrase, blew on the kernel, and the stalk sprouted almost instantly after the seed hit the ground. Even though Tuette knew it was one of the most Potent forms of Magik she had ever seen, the novelty was wearing thin rather quickly, especially since she was spending so much time simply plucking messy corn kernels. The means justify the end though, in this case, because we simply have to stop the count.


She knew it wouldn’t be long before they finished and the situation almost felt mundane at this point, despite the fact that they were literally calling a Primary down to claim a spot of land and a Cursed mad man. To pass the time, she decided to spark more conversation with Terry as she still thought it curious that no national lawmen existed. And even more curious that he wouldn’t outright know. Of course, spending such a large amount of time recuperating does tend to leave one out of the loop. “Would Vest know about any lawmen? I mean, I realize that some towns and villages have local enforcers of policy but I would think that some existed on a more kingdom-wide level.”


Terry’s face screwed up as he watched their surroundings. “Uh, well, Vest might know. He’s certainly been with the Guard long enough to, uh, know rules and policy and… and stuff.” His words were meant to be reassuring but his voice carried a different message of uncertainty.


“What do you mean?” It certainly was a curious manner in answering he question.


“Well… It’s just… I don’t know Vest that well.”


Tuette was confused. “Isn’t he your superior officer?”


Terry was quick to acknowledge this. “Oh, yes, indeed! Yes, he is. Well, technically. I’ve never served under him. Not directly. I usually serve under a Guard named Nuerio. Cip Jah’t Nuerio.” Terry shook his head. “And, actually, I thought I was going to still be under him. But when I showed up to report right before meeting Dermy here and the king, Cip Veer – or Vest – he was there.”


“Cip Veer?” asked Tuette as they continued along in a curving path. They had planted probably twenty stalks, only an arm’s-length apart. “S’that what you called him?”


Again, Terry looked a little confused and even embarrassed. “I thought that’s how he introduced himself. I guess I heard wrong. When that Ed guy, when he said that his name was actually Sylvester, or Vest, I was surprised because I’d been calling him Veer the whole time. When I asked him about the mix-up and tried to apologize, he told me to forget about it. And I did.”


As he spoke, Tuette’s mind began to rattle slightly at the similarities of the situation between Terry and his superior and Tuette and Sylvester, when she had been ignorantly calling him Celester. But something else was nagging her. Admittedly, she knew little of the Gousherall Guards except for their blind allegiance to the Decennian crown. But if Terry served under a different cip than Vest normally, why would they change that, whoever they were when regarding the Gousheralls? Is Vest more qualified to handle this decidedly important situation? Do they often change out officers? It seemed like a rational means of seeking cohesion amongst Guards, by having them work with different styles of management. Tuette often wondered how her Magik-styled life would be different if she had had access to more than just one freelance Mage like Corunny Voidet. Different, that’s for sure, she thought rather quickly.


Still, she was bothered by the revelation. Terry seemed earnest enough to be telling the truth and if that was the case, why would Vest introduce himself as Veer? Was he trying to hide something, or had Terry truly misunderstood him? “Terry, what reason did Vest give for replacing Nuerio for this mission?”


Terry shrugged his shoulders, keeping his eyes cast outwards. “He just said that he was my superior. That Cip Nuerio had been reassigned to that detail working the Serres Mor merchants all of a sudden.”


“Did he have, uh…” She couldn’t think of the terms in a militant vocabulary. “I mean, did Vest have texts or wraps or something to… to verify it?” Terry’s brow shot up as he finally looked at Tuette. “Proof!” she finally said a little too loudly. “Did Vest have any kind of proof?” Terry just shook his head. “Well, aren’t some kind of credentials required for such an immediate shift?”


Terry looked sheepish. “I… I don’t know.” His face flushed again as he attempted a weak but toothy smile. “We got our instructions via scripts a couple days before. I still have… mine…” he said with a grunt as he reached beneath his small sheet of armor on the front. He pulled out a folded script and tried handing it to Tuette. She waved it away in slight irritation. Why does he think I need to see it?


But that did give birth to another notion. “Did Vest have one too?”


Terry paused, his eyes looking in the distance. After a still moment for them both, time enough for Cherry and Dermy to silently advance by four more stalks, Terry finally said. “No.” After a small but audible swallow, he said again, “No. He didn’t.”


“You’re sure?”


Terry nodded. “In Lorstelta, the morning we left that place. Vest and I took off our plates to wash ‘em off somewhat.” His face looked sour then. “Why doesn’t the king keep his clothes clean? Or have any to change into? Doesn’t he realize he smells like—”


“I don’t know, Terry. I can’t really fathom why. But Vest? What’d he do?”


“He took off his front plate. This one,” he said while tapping his small sheet of abdominal armor that had just hosted the still-clutched mission instructions. Absently, she wondered how hard it was to follow instructions that might simple read Protect the king but she didn’t want to ask. “He took it off and we are told to keep our papers and identity slips in it. Case we die away from the mountain.” He took a weak breath. “Vest didn’t have ‘em. He took off his plate to clean it and I saw that he didn’t have ‘em. I thought to ask but then Jirra had me tell the king about breakfast being ready and Vest got dressed up quickly again and was back inside. I thought about asking him when we got a moment alone but then those seleagles took us and I pretty much forgot. Till now.”


Vest was posing as a Gousherall or truly was a Gousherall Guardsman but had finagled the circumstances so he could participate with this dangerously important mission. Why? He’s been helpful and he’s even defended our very lives.


Or not all of ours, but Sylvester’s at least.


Maybe that’s the point.


If he was working with Roost, he’d be trying his best to make sure Sylvester survives and everyone else was fodder for Salrouge. But he could be working for anyone, really, or he might even harbor his own private agenda. Whatever it is, it’s becoming clear that Vest hasn’t been completely honest with us all.


Looking up at the castle, Tuette thought it was quite a serene scene. The setting sun outlined the darker structure with a golden border that belied the true evil that was supposedly housed within the bricked form. Like a cold slap to her face, she realized that the king and Vest were together inside the castle. The only entrance she had seen was now on the other side and they were more than a quarter around the castle proper.


Quickly rehashing the situations they had encountered over the past week or so, Tuette realized that if Vest did have alternative plans, now would be the optimum time.


And she felt like an idiot all of a sudden because it was Vest who had recommended abandoning the air-raft in favor of riding the buoy lines in the groups they had. She hadn’t suspected a thing and that had to have been less than an hour ago. And it was Vest who had failed to cut through the twine in the first place that had caused them to abandon the raft. No wonder I felt odd when he cut cleanly through the twine once Sylvester and Vest were the only ones available to ride it!


“Terry, keep your eyes open. Watch out for anyone trying to stop the Circle from being grown,” she said while deftly reaching into her rucksack for her Freezing Pote. No matter the outcome, she knew that Sylvester had to survive the day. And besides, he doesn’t deserve any death that might come to him. Not as far as I know. Tuette couldn’t help but mentally compare Sylvester to a lame fig pup but, in a sense, he was still young and had a lot to learn about the world. If the Malforcrent hadn’t been stifling him for all these years, he might’ve developed into a decent leader, with or without the kingstone. Yes, King Sylvester still had a life to live. Tuette realized she had started this journey with one mindset regarding the monarch but, through exposure and understanding, she was feeling something else entirely. It couldn’t be pinpointed just yet but she knew that a sense of empathy wasn’t lacking.


She bolted up the gentle hill and back to where they had seen the main entrance earlier. If Sylvester was found dead, especially after realizing a kind of truth like she just had, she knew she would also feel guilty for years to come. Clutching the Freezing Pote, she knew she would be giving up something important to herself: that she’d been clutching for years in order to Reverse her Curse.


This is more important. For some reason, I know this is more important.


With that keeping her insides warm against the suddenly-chilly evening air, Tuette found the entrance. No guards were posted and she remembered Joy stating that it seemed like only Count Roost and a servant existed there, along with the Cursed fly named Puze.


The massive door wasn’t barred and she found it easy enough to slip inside. She couldn’t help but feel afraid though. It was as unfamiliar territory as any they’ve come across but it felt more insidious. Roost might not be here and if he wasn’t, when will he come back? What if he’s away from the island? What if he is here and Vest has already delivered Sylvester to the count? Or what if he’s already murdered the king? Too many questions assaulted her wondering mind and she was startled to see Sylvester approach, unharmed, from what looked like a cooking area across from the main entrance hall.


“Tuette! Where are the others?”


She pointed out the door and said, “Making the Circle,” as she glanced around. “Where’s Vest?”


“He went up the stairwell there. Apparently, he heard a noise. Like someone was up there. He went to investigate and I went into the kitchen area. Been in there a while.” Sylvester then looked around. “I don’t think anyone else is here though. But, hey, you’ve already been here before, haven’t you?”


She looked at the king, baffled by his question and then remembered her dizzying experience with Joy. “Oh. Well, yes and no. I stayed in the…”


Then Tuette heard a small buzzing sound and that was the last she remembered before blacking out.