The Accursed: Chapter 1

I awoke with a start, throwing back the cool, silken sheets. The cold night air rushed against my sweat-soaked skin, shocking me back to reality. I tried to slow my breathing from desperate gasps to a measured rhythm. 

That had been more than a dream. I grasped at the images before they fled, turning them over and over in my mind, replaying them so I would not forget. 

There is a city, made of dark stone, with tall towers rising toward a clouded sky. Above the tallest buildings fly banners of faded crimson, taking on the sickly cast of dried blood. I hover above it as if disembodied, and then sink downward, quickly, impossibly, as one can only do in dreams. 

Beneath the city are dark tunnels that twist their way through the earth. I see a woman,  silver-haired, her skin the palest, fairest white. Before her stands a man: dark haired, skin just as pale, with eyes that burn red as hot coals. The woman cries out; she raises her hands, backing away, pleading for her life—

The fear she felt had jolted me awake as if it were my own. The images were too strange and too real to be the product of imagining. They felt like memories, and I clung to the possibility. The city was recognizable, even if the people weren’t. That meant I had someplace to start. 

I’d heard descriptions of such a city in my travels across the Southlands. People regarded it either with secret longing or open suspicion. As the famed City Without Law, Kratix fascinated the evildoer and disturbed the peaceful. As well it should. Such a city would not be for the faint of heart. 

Fortunately, I didn’t have to worry about such things. 

Swinging my feet over the side of the bed, I gave a soft hiss. The sun was barely over the horizon, but Sissillee usually returned long before dawn. An answering hiss confirmed her presence as the serpent slithered out from under the bed.

“It’s time to leave, Sissilee,” I said as I lifted her to my throat. The serpent coiled happily around my neck, never bothered by an early start. I looked back at the bed with a sigh. “They really are nice sheets,” I muttered. 

Putting on my clothes, I settled my hip sheathes into place and caressed the handles of each shortsword. I hoped I didn’t have to use the blades on my way out, but one never knew. I stuffed my spare clothes into my pack and slung it about my shoulders. Then I started down the hallway to the Duke’s chambers.

The guard in front of the door stared at me in surprise. I reached for the doorknob, and he reflexively lowered his spear to block me, before remembering who I was. He jerked backward, trembling. Cocking an eyebrow at him, I turned the latch and shoved open the door. The duke cursed, sitting upright as the tart in bed beside him pulled a sheet over her chest. She stared at me in horror while the duke frowned.

“What is the meaning of this?” he demanded. 

Keeping my hands away from my blades, I stood calmly in the doorway. “I’m leaving,” I said.  

“No, you aren’t,” he growled, throwing off the covers.  I’d already seen him naked, so the sight neither scandalized nor impressed me. He tossed on a robe and stalked forward to confront me. Without his boots on, I was nearly at eye level with him. The duke seemed oblivious to his lack of imposing height, relying on imposing tones instead. “I have your contract right here.” 

He held up a sheet of parchment with my bloody fingerprint on it. I remained impassive, our faces inches apart. I glanced at the fancy script which essentially said that if I left without proper notice or failed to uphold my duties, a terrible fate would befall me. 

“Here’s the money for the rest of the month,” I said, dropping a small leather bag on the ground in front of him.  “Don’t bother wasting men trying to retrieve me.”

The duke’s face turned red. He spluttered, reaching out as if to grab my hand, but I took a step back. “You’ll regret this,” he snarled. 

“I might.” Shrugging, I lunged forward, hand darting to the contract. I grabbed it and tore it asunder. “But I doubt it.”  

I turned on my heel and walked away, the duke’s glare like a dart between my shoulderblades. 

***

Two weeks later, I looked up at the harsh midday sun and wiped a sleeve across my forehead. I seldom wished for a hat, but today was one of those days. I scanned the road ahead and to either side. Nothing but small, wind-stunted bushes met my eyes. There’d be no shade to rest in for many miles. 

This was all my own choice, I thought with a sigh. I recalled the silken sheets and cool stone of the manor house, now miles and miles behind me. I shook my head slightly. It was silly to pine after such things. 

 Would the Duke send men after me? My lips curled at the thought. He knew better—but that meant little to a man like him. The duke had grown used to wielding me, and he’d quite enjoyed winning every battle he sent me to. 

A soft hiss came from around my throat. I laid a gentle hand to Sissilee, my scarlet-and-indigo serpent. Her scales undulated at my touch, and her body gave me some relief from the sweltering heat as she drew warmth from my flesh into hers. Sissilee hunted at night, and without the warmth she took from me, her blood would grow sluggish once the sun went down and the sand turned cold. 

I hiked my pack higher on my shoulders. I hadn’t seen anyone else on the road, which pleased me. I didn’t need any— 

I heard the thud of hoofbeats  ahead of me, but a rise of sandy soil blocked my view. Damn it! 

Sissilee hissed, a sharp, angry sound. A distinctive bray joined the racket, along with the shouting of men. 

“Zekesh!” I swore aloud.

I felt the lure of death drawing near. I knew that someone was about to die, but it wouldn’t be me. It was never me. My hands went without thought to my blades, slim, gently curved, and nearly the length of my arm.

Someone shouted, their voice indistinguishable at that distance. I hurried up the hill as Sissilee raised her head and bared her fangs, already dripping black venom. I raced up the incline, realizing the hill extended further than I’d first thought. 

I finally came to the top of the crest and  looked down at the scene unfolding in the hollow ahead, several hundred paces away. Half a dozen mounted men circled a lone figure on foot, a boy on the edge of manhood. Their mounts—dark-coated Imria from the Southlands—tossed the spiral-twisted horns protruding from the backs of their skulls. These fanged mockery-of-a-horse creatures craved blood as much as the brutes who rode them. 

I began down the other side of the slope. The men wore yellow and black, the colors of the Rimland Duke. Had he sent men to search for me? Curse me for thinking he’d ever let me go. 

Holding a battered sword, the young man stood his ground. He looked sturdy enough, probably a farmer’s son, someone who worked hard but had no training. His roughspun clothes were a little too small, showing tanned skin at wrists and ankles. A shock of plain brown hair fell partially across his eyes. He tossed his head as he lifted the blade, turning in a slow circle.

 “Stay back,” he warned the men. 

I admired his spirit, but he had no chance against trained and mounted soldiers. The Duke’s men grinned at him and rode closer. Spell-globes hung ready from their weapon belts, and a naked blade sat in every hand. 

“Put that sword down, boyo, before someone hurts you.”

I recognized the man who spoke: Frax Gerrik, a squadron commander in the Duke’s army. The battle-scarred veteran sat astride the largest Imri, which stood in front of the others. Frax brandished his sword at the trembling boy and kept his spurs to his mount’s sides. None of the soldiers had seen me yet. I could still leave, but I found that I didn’t want to.

“Yer comin’ with us, boyo, and we’ll make a soldier of ye. The Duke be needin’ more…” Frax looked the lad up and down. “Men,” he finished with a sneer. 

The boy tilted his chin higher and tried to hold the sword steady. “No! You’ll have to kill me!” 

I sprinted down the rise as the Rimland men hemmed the greenling between them. Frax leaned to the side and grabbed at him, but the boy ducked away. Snapping their pointed teeth, the Imria bunched and danced until their riders managed to get them under control. When the beasts stopped shifting, the men turned to stare.

I stood in their midst, each hand holding the hilt on my opposite hip. Sissilee’s head hung poised to strike near my right ear.

“Hello, Frax,” I said. 

Wide-eyed, the boy backed out of reach. The Duke’s men urged their mounts closer, surrounding me with their bare-fanged mounts. A slow, cold smile touched my lips.

“You!” said Frax. Though I knew him by sight from my time in Rimland, he hadn’t seen too much of me. “How lucky fer us. The Duke’s been looking for his silver-haired bitch, and there’s quite the reward.”

I huffed with disdain. “Then he should have come himself. I owe him something for his hospitality.”

“That ye do.” The commander spat, glancing at the boy. “Yer coming wit’ us, along with th’ boy. The Duke’ll be right pleased to have ye both.”

“You forget,” I said, fingering my blade hilts. 

The weathered skin around Frax’s eyes twitched. “Oh? What’s that?”

“What I did to the last men who raised weapons against me.”

No one said anything for several heartbeats. Finally, the creak of leather disturbed the air as Frax shifted in his saddle. “You was lucky. There’s plenty of us.” Murder lurked in his crooked smile. “And we have globes.” 

Fool. They were all going to die.

The first of them charged. I drew my blades and turned toward Frax, who shouted as I cut open his thigh. The other men swung at me in a rush. Sissilee lunged, and one of the Rimland soldiers fell screaming, her poison searing his veins. Blood-mad Imria churned around me. I dodged their hooves and  fangs while also avoiding their twisted horns and the gleaming blades of their riders. 

Sissilee swung toward an Imri that crowded my flank. Her coils tensed around my throat, anchoring her body against the strength of her strike. Hissing with glee, she sank ivory fangs into yielding flesh and poured her venom into its blood. The Imri bellowed, reared, and fell, twitching violently as it crushed its rider.

I turned in time to see Frax kick his mount toward the boy. Desperately, the boy lifted his old, dull-looking sword. Two Imria crowded me between them as Frax swung.

The boy screamed and fell to the ground. I lashed out, a powerful stroke to each side. 

One Imri staggered as I severed the tendons of its foreleg; the other sprayed blood from a slashed throat. I leaped toward the boy, who clutched at his chest, the sword sliding from his fingers. Frax turned the Imri, intending to trample the greenling under the hell-beast’s cloven hooves.

I made it to the boy’s side and lifted my swords. Sissilee swayed beside my ear, keening a low, grating hiss. Whether by blade or venom, both Frax and his damned Imri were going to die. 

I spun around and lunged for the beast, stabbing it through the center of its chest. Its spittle hit my face as it bellowed and fell, and I saw Frax jump off and roll away. 

Light flared behind my eyes. It burst in patterns so intense, my head throbbed with them. I fell to my knees beside the twitching Imri. Through the haze of shifting color, I could see Frax stumbling to his feet. 

There is a dim room, with mahogany chairs and a blackwood desk. The cornices writhe with strange, dark carvings as the flickering shadows bring them to life. The unsteady glow comes from one corner—unnatural hues of green, orange, and red. Spell-globes? Someone gives a mocking laugh…

My eyes snapped into focus. Frax stood before me, hand cupped, holding a spell-sphere in his palm. As the vision of the room faded away, Frax threw the globe at my feet, his laugh overlapping the last dim echoes in my mind.

The sphere exploded, and a million shards of energy burst forth. The whipping, crimson magic slashed across me in a whirlwind of pain. My skin tore, my body twisted, and my spine arched. By Zekesh, I hated spell-globes more than Imria – but not by much. 

The desert air felt suddenly cold as it brushed against my devastated flesh. My sinews snapped like cords pulled too taut, but refused to break—the only reason I could still stand upright. I would have screamed, but I no longer had flesh to call a throat. The slicing magic of a red sphere consumed living flesh and blood, leaving me no way to express my agony.  

The redness swirled more slowly, losing vigor, while I stood like a ghost trapped in my own bones. Frax smirked, waiting for my skeleton to collapse, lifeless, to the ground. 

As the reddish smoke faded, I straightened my spine. The ache of my missing flesh pounded at my skull, a phantom pain, a depthless hunger. He asked for it.

I clacked together lipless teeth and took one step forward. 

Frax staggered, choked, and fell back into a stunted bush. 

A mocking laugh grated from my throat as just a little of the flesh knit back together. How pitiful a man, to think he could so easily end me. I twirled my long knives with fleshless hands as he fumbled at his belt for another sphere. 

Desperate hunger welled up in me, an ache deeper than starvation, a madness I must sate before I lost my mind. 

“Die, Zekesh damn you!” Frax shrieked. 

Pain slashed at my skull. I needed to feed, to heal, to feel whole again. My clothes hung limp on my skeletal frame, but I still felt naked. I pulled at the part of my mind that connected me to blood. I remembered the Imri lying dead at my feet, and called to its blood. 

Nothing happened. I hissed angrily, looking down to see that the spell-sphere had consumed its flesh as well as mine, leaving a dried-out skeleton. Not a drop of blood remained for several feet around me. 

Rage flared up inside me. I raised my arms and called harder, until the whispered answer slid through my mind. Sluggish at first, and then faster, streams of blood rose into the air and coiled toward me, streaks of crimson writhing like horrid snakes. 

The hot, salty wetness of it slid along my arms and ran across my bones. It soothed the pain as it transformed into muscle, veins, and flesh. I bled the corpses of the men, then the two Imria I had killed. 

Not enough, not enough! Panic started to grip me. Sissilee had bitten the third Imri, but I grit my teeth and called to its blood. The stinging pain of the Kisha’s death-venom seared my body as the blood rushed across me, and I felt the power inside me burning it off. Such a waste of blood. It should have been enough, but it wasn’t. The skin across my torso still pulsed raw with open wounds. 

All mercy left me.

Frax shook like reedgrass before a monsoon, his face pale, his fingers useless as he scrabbled to palm another globe. I twisted my head, stretching my neck and shoulders, then turned each arm. I made a show of admiring the smooth, pale flesh running from elbows to wrists. Flexing my fingers, I twirled each blade, ignoring the throb of skin that had yet to heal.

“Damn me?” I repeated, my voice a dangerous purr. “Zekesh has already damned me. He refuses to take me beyond his gates. Why is that, do you suppose?” I took a step closer. “Is it because I am something too terrible even for him?”

I smiled to see the cloth of his breeches grow dark. “Don’t kill me,” he whimpered. 

“I have to.” My grim smile grew darker. “You’re wearing the rest of my skin.”

Heaving forward, I slashed him open from throat to navel. Blood spilled out, and I called it greedily, welcoming its touch. When Frax fell to the ground, his skin seemed pale as chalk against the sand. My skin knit together and sealed, the last of my pain fading. I sheathed my perfectly clean blades and looked around. 

I found the boy in a scarlet puddle, sprawled on his back and utterly still. I thanked whatever spirits cared to listen that Frax had given me enough blood to finish healing. I went to the boy and knelt. Splaying my fingers, I laid a hand to each side of the injury, pressing firmly against his ribs. 

Red sparks jumped around my fingers in a hot wave of power. A matching wound tore itself across my chest with a suddenness that made me gasp, spreading even as the boy’s receded. All the pain of that cut, from its opening through weeks of healing, became mine in moments. 

I lifted my hands and fell back, dragging at the hot desert air. Injuries I gained through healing others didn’t require much blood. A good thing, too. I’d otherwise have no source of it but the boy, and that would undo all my work. Looking down at his bloodstained shirt, I pushed aside the edges of the torn cloth. Nothing marked him now. The last twinge of pain faded as my skin pulled together and smoothed. 

The boy turned over and voiced a faint moan. Gaerin. His name burned in my mind. I knew everything about him now, and I hated it. His was such a bright and cheerful soul, it dimmed mine by comparison. 

Flicking her coral-pink tongue, Sissilee slithered free of my neck and down my arm. She made her way to the greenling just as his eyes came open. 

“Who…who are you?” he murmured.

“No one. You’re well now, and can go your way.”

Gaerin looked down at the blood on his shirt. “What happened? He cut me, and – ”

“You’re well now,” I repeated. “That’s all that matters.”

“You saved me.” He smiled, reaching toward my shoulders.

I let him grab hold of me and helped him sit. “You could say that,” I said, drawing away. “But I owed the Duke’s men a thrashing.”

“I never seen nothing like it! You were amazing, the way you took them down, and that snake…” Gaerin trailed away as he noticed Sissilee hovering an arm’s length from his face. The boy swallowed nervously. “Is she…safe?” he whispered.

“Not a bit.” I tried to make my smile genuine, but failed. 

When Gaerin looked back at me, I could see something stirring in his eyes. It puzzled me at first, until he gathered his legs beneath himself and leaned toward me. Then I knew. 

That boy looked at me with the first stirrings of devotion. I glanced sideways at Sissilee. If he’d seen me heal myself with blood, he’d have woken screaming, not smiling. 

“Where are you headed?” Gaerin asked, the knob of his throat bouncing eagerly. “Maybe I could come with you.”

“You’d better not.” I stood, then looked down at the Kishra. “Blue, Sissilee.”

The serpent lunged forward, then drew back. The boy looked from her to me, horror clouding his eyes, and then sank slowly to the ground.

Sissilee reared up, pale blue potion dripping from her hollow fangs. I leaned down and let her coil about my wrist. The boy would wake in an hour or two, well-rested, and forget me. 

I walked toward the ridge, retrieved my pack, and then left without a single glance behind.