CURSED
At Aunt Stace’s encouragement, Karigan went
downstairs to have some breakfast. Food did much to restore her
spirits. While she ate, Aunt Stace insisted she show the moonstone
to her other aunts. The moment it left her hands and passed into
theirs, its light extinguished and it became nothing more than an
exquisite lump of crystal.
She did not know
what to make of it. Why, she wondered yet again, did moonstones
light up for her when they would not for others?
Laurelyn-touched, Somial had said.
It filled her with a
sense of something larger going on, something beyond her own ken.
She felt caught in a story not of her own making, powerless to
direct her own destiny. She shuddered. She did not like it when
outside forces intervened in her life, like the Rider
call.
“Ugh,” she said.
Maybe she was reading too much into it, but so much had happened in
her life in recent years that the feeling wasn’t easy to
dismiss.
After breakfast, she
wandered from the kitchen into the main hall, fiddling with the
moonstone in her pocket, and soon found herself standing in the
doorway of her father’s office. Since she had no ready answers for
the mysteries surrounding the moonstone, and little else to do with
her idle time, she decided to at least try to distract herself by
looking through the family collection of books.
Her father was still
out and about and so she had no compunction about entering his
domain. She strode in and over to the shelves, and as her gaze
slipped across the spines of numerous leatherbound volumes, she was
conscious of the portrait of her mother behind her father’s desk.
She almost felt a sensation of being watched, of someone peering
over her shoulder. Maybe it was having handled her mother’s gown
earlier and talking about her that made her feel so present.
Karigan tried to shake off the feeling, but couldn’t quite, so she
focused her attention as best she could on the books.
The G’ladheon
library held numerous old ledgers and her father’s copy of
Wagner’s Navigation. Karigan used to
love leafing through it to look at the charts bound within, with
their vibrant colors and drawings of fantastical sea creatures.
There were also some histories and books on commerce on the
shelves, and another favorite, Amry’s Book of
Leviathans, which contained intricate prints of all the
porpoises and whales that inhabited the deeps. It was a venerable
guidebook found on many a whaling ship.
There were few
novels, but Karigan’s gaze was drawn to her favorite, The Adventures of Gilan Wylloland. She pulled it
off the shelf; the leather cover was dyed a deep green, and the
pages were edged with gold.
She sat with the
book in her father’s armchair, flipping through pages worn by her
own numerous readings. The book told of the unlikely exploits of
Gilan and his sidekick, Blaine, as they traveled around the
imaginary land of Arondel slaying dragons, rescuing princes and
princesses, running off outlaws, and the like.
It occurred to
Karigan that Gilan and Blaine did not seem to have any family or
home, or any reliable way of supporting themselves, except for the
occasional award of gold from a grateful prince or a treasure found
in a goblin cave. They escaped every adventure more or less
unscathed, more than ready for the next.
There appeared to be
few lasting consequences for their actions, even for the blithe
killing of villains. And while women continually swooned into
Gilan’s arms, poor Blaine was permitted no such romantic attention.
The author, however, made sure Blaine was devoted to Gilan and
admired him with the whole of her heart, no matter he was, Karigan
reflected, a self-absorbed boor.
Funny how her
perspective on the book had changed with her own experiences. If
she were to write a sequel, she’d have Blaine smarten up, leave
Gilan to his own folly, and work for a more noble purpose than
simply gadding about the countryside in hopes of encountering
adventure. No, she’d have Blaine offer her sword to the good prince
who ruled his lands with a fair hand. Blaine’s adventures would
have more purpose, be more realistic.
Maybe she should
make Blaine a royal messenger? Karigan laughed at
herself.
She removed the
moonstone from her pocket to better view an illustration of the
mighty, impossibly muscled and handsome Gilan clasping a sword in
one hand and the bloody head of a monster in the other while Blaine
gazed upon him with typical adoration.
The light dazzled,
brightened the office as it never had been before. Objects leaped
into brilliant relief, and the colors of the illustration jumped
off the page. The gold edging sparkled.
On impulse, Karigan
craned her neck around to gaze at her mother’s portrait. It was
almost as though her mother came to life, the flesh so warm and
real looking, her hair shining and eyes alight. There was more of a
smile to her lips than Karigan remembered. She glanced away with a
shiver and stared into the silvery white luminescence of the
moonstone, the book forgotten on her lap.
She could almost
hear her mother singing to her, singing to her of Laurelyn:
The Moonman loved Laurelyn, brightest spirit
beneath the stars, and he built her a castle
of silver moonbeams tall,
in sylvan Argenthyne, sweet Silvermind ...
Karigan couldn’t
help but glance once more at her mother’s portrait, remembering the
warmth of her mother’s arms around her as she sang of
Laurelyn.
That, combined with
the discovery of the moonstone, was, she thought, a remarkable
coincidence. Too remarkable.
Did her mother meet
with Eletians in the woods as Aunt Stace suggested? How else would
she have received the moonstone? The Berry sisters said an Eletian
gave their father the one they possessed. If that was the case,
then perhaps it was not so extraordinary that her mother had
acquired one.
And yet, it
was.
As beautiful and as
useful as a light source moonstones were, they were powerful when
unleashed. The one given her by the Berry sisters had ultimately
become a weapon when she fought Shawdell the Eletian, who had
breached the D’Yer Wall. She had wielded its light like a blade,
sharper and stronger than any earthly steel. When the wounded
Shawdell fled, all that remained of the moonstone were crystal
fragments on the palm of her hand.
She could not
imagine the Eletians giving away moonstones to just anyone. What
was their purpose in giving one to her mother? So that it would
eventually come to Karigan, as Professor Berry’s had?
She closed her
fingers around the moonstone, the sensation of being part of some
greater plot washing over her once again. Her aunts were pleased
the mystery of Kariny’s final words was resolved, but for Karigan,
there was no resolution, just more questions.
Secrets, she thought. Too many
secrets.
She was jarred from
her thoughts by the sound of the front door opening and closing,
and feet stomping in the entry hall.
“Stevic?” Aunt Stace
called from somewhere deep within the house, followed by footsteps
as she strode down the corridor.
“Snow’s stopped,” he
answered. “The clouds look like they’re breaking up.”
“Good, good,” Aunt
Stace said. “Then maybe you’ll take a few minutes to visit with
your daughter. It isn’t often she’s home.”
Karigan pocketed her
moonstone and crept to the doorway of the office. She peered into
the entry hall and saw her father heavily cloaked and holding a
pair of snowshoes. Snow crumbled off his boots and shoulders. Aunt
Stace faced him with her arms crossed.
“I will,” he said.
“But I still need to—”
“You need to talk to
your daughter. About certain things.”
“Certain things?
What things?” Then Stevic G’ladheon’s features clouded over.
“She told you about the
brothel?”
Aunt Stace’s
eyebrows shot up. “Brothel? What
brothel?”
Silence filled the
hall as brother and sister regarded one another.
Aunt Stace shook
herself and Karigan could tell she was just bursting with
questions, but instead said, “You need to talk to Karigan about her
family. Kariny’s family.”
“Why? What for?”
Stevic’s manner was guarded.
“She’s a right to
know,” Aunt Stace replied, “about what was said back on the island
concerning the Grays. How some of the women of that
line—”
“No.”
“Stevic—”
“No. I will not talk
about those lies. None of it was true, and I will have no such talk
in my house.”
“But
you—”
“It’s bad enough my
daughter is cursed and that damn Rider call has taken her from
me.”
His words stunned
Karigan. Cursed? He believed her cursed? She tightened her grip on the moonstone in
her pocket.
“But
Kariny—”
“Do not speak of
her—do not even bring up her name—not when you discuss magic. She
was untouched by the taint. She was perfect.”
Karigan swallowed
hard, feeling as if the floor beneath her feet were falling away.
She knew her father’s views on magic, an antipathy borne of fear.
It was not uncommon among Sacoridians whose ancestors suffered so
under the depredations of Mornhavon the Black.
Yet the vehemence in
his voice, the hate—it took her aback. He saw her as cursed, as
tainted by evil. A small cry escaped her lips.
Her father and aunt
both looked toward the doorway where she stood.
“Karigan?” Aunt
Stace said.
Her father
blanched.
Karigan barely
registered the tears on her cheeks.
“Karigan,” her
father said. “I didn’t mean to say—”
But then she removed
her hand from her pocket, the moonstone on her palm. It lit the
entry hall in a brilliant silver-white hue, illuminating her
father’s flesh with a deathly pallor.
The snowshoes
crashed to the floor.
“No,” he
whispered.
Before Karigan or
Aunt Stace could say another word, he flung the front door open and
bolted out into the wintry landscape.
Karigan sank to her
knees, the moonstone clenched in her fist. In two strides Aunt
Stace was there, holding her.