The Living Curse: Book One of The Living Curse series (9 page)

             
“Of course I knew that, I just didn’t know if there was a spell that would help, that could also be used on us.” He said defensively.

             
“Wait,” Mira said questioningly, “Wyd isn’t a Markbearer?”

             
“No.” said Max incredulously, “Warlocks don’t bear marks; they don’t need them.  The mark you have just gives you the same potential that he has.  Or that’s what they tell you at the Vine, but there’s no substitute for a born Warlock.  We just provide the muscle behind the magic.”

             
“Guys,” interrupted Talar, “Check this out.”  He was pointing to a parchment page in the book.  On it was a black ink illustration of a Shask: The perfect black swirl, representing magic.  Above and to the right of the swirl, there were three dots, representing defensive magic.  Below and to the left of the swirl, there were three triangles pointing outward, representing offensive magic.

             
Under the illustration, there were words in a text that was foreign to Nameh, and by the look on her face, Mira as well.  Apparently, throughout their short training at the Vine, Talar and Wyd had learned to read these ancient scripts.  Talar continued to translate aloud.

             
“It’s sort of a list…” he began, “It says everything that the Shask can do. 
Offense, defense, strength, courage, silence, fearlessness, transparency
,” he read.

             
“There are legends that tell of Markbearers of ancient times who were once able to do much more than we can today.  They could have wings like half-harpies when they so chose or they could have gills like mer-people.  We lost the magic a long time ago.” He finished in a voice that sounded unmistakably forlorn.  Nameh stared at the page, lost in thought of those long dead and their ways of life.  They continued to pour over the pages, learning the basic magic that made up the Great Mark, and simple things they could do with them.  She had already figured out how to make a shield on her own, but she learned how to shield bigger things, and to make her footsteps silent.  She also learned how to draw all of her strength into one part of her body, such as one of her arms, if she were sword fighting, or throwing a punch.

             
Suddenly, Wyd, who had looked rapt with thought, shot up out of the chair where he had been sitting.  “I’ve got it!” he said excitedly.  He took the book from the hands of Talar and set it on the ground at his feet.  He closed his eyes and began to mutter a few words.  The book shuddered and swelled before breaking apart into two pieces, each exactly the same.  Two identical black books now lay on the ground before the warlock.  He soaked in the impressed looks before continuing.

             
“And now, for my next trick,” he began with a nervous arrogance, “I have found a spell that
will
let the two of you understand the book.” He finished proudly.

             
“See, it wasn’t a stupid question,” muttered Max childishly.  Wyd, ignoring him, placed a hand on her and Mira’s shoulders and repeated words in the same fashion as the book spell.  Nameh felt her mark burn for a split second, but nothing else.  She wondered if the spell had done anything.  Wyd seemed to be satisfied, though, because he picked up the books and handed one to each girl.  Nameh opened the cover of the book to the first page, the one with the illustration of the Shask.  This time, the page appeared entirely different.  She could see each symbol and its meaning clearly, though the words did not appear as English.  It wasn’t as though she could now read it as she could any book she picked up, but rather, she could understand each page’s meaning as a whole, not as individual characters.

             
“Sweet” she said simply. “Nice work, warlock.”  The boy nearly blushed, he was even shier around new acquaintances than she had originally thought.  Eventually, he would lighten up, she hoped.  “Alright,” she said, turning to Mira, “I believe we have some cramming to do.”

Chapter Ten: Masquerades

              He had returned to their room at least four more times, pestering them and trying to get them to take a break from the book.  He admired their dedication, but he had hoped to get to know them better before being forced to trust them.  He had even brought small vanilla cookies in a tin, the ones his mother insisted on sending him periodically.  He thought the things were bland and horrid, like chalk, but other people seemed to like them.  It had been so long since he’d been around girls, and he slipped clumsily back into his charming skin.

             
They’d turned him down, and Mira had practically shoved him out the door, though Nameh seemed grateful for the distraction.  Reluctantly, he’d retired to his room where his friends had, once again, made fun of him to no end for attempting to be hospitable.  He was, of course, used to the constant verbal assaults, and usually was a part of them.  Tonight, though, something was different and he couldn’t put his finger on it.  Perhaps it was the new acquaintances, or the tragedy of losing so many Markbearers, but he couldn’t take it.  He coped as he usually did when life was too much for him and grabbed the brown leather bag from beneath his bed.  “I’m going out,” was all he said, and all he needed to say.  His friends didn’t question him.

             
Now, he walked with a quick, forceful stride down the corridors of the Academy as he had many times before.  He ran his hand along the cool stone wall, calming his nerves.  It was so refreshing, that he stopped for a moment to lean against it, pressing his back into the cold.  He reached the doors to the outside, his salvation, and his body ached to feel the battle that was waiting on the other side.  He pushed open the heavy door’s golden handle, a thick bar across it, and took a deep breath of the midnight air.  The cold filled his lungs and bristled the hair on the back of his neck.  Like a drug, the Night filled his mind and brought him the satisfaction and peace that he so needed.  He muttered the words to his silent step spell and softly padded at a jog down the street.

             
He broke into a sprint, feeling oxygen burning in his lungs, and his muscles rippling beneath him.  Sweat began to accumulate on his brow, making a frigid barrier between him and the world.  He imagined himself running from all of his problems, his family, and his secrets—leaving them far behind.  Running made him feel free, and so did fighting.  Doing both was pure release.  Just as quickly as he had begun running, he stopped, his feet frozen to the spot.  His mark had begun to burn, but not the burn that told him a magical creature was near.  He had become familiar with the different kinds of pain soon after receiving the Shask, and now it was unmistakable.  This burning was that of danger, unknown danger to be more exact.  He whirled about, now feeling the follower with his own senses.  He could see only shadows, though they seemed to ebb and flow like some great and terrible dark ocean.  He saw movement from the corner of his eye, but as he turned, it ceased entirely, leaving no traces behind.

             
His heart quickened, he longed for battle, but longed more to know with what he would be battling.  He stood in silence for another moment, only allowing his paranoia to set in further, like a monster embedding its claws into his mind.  He walked now, his senses at the height of their ability, thanks to a small strength spell.  He smelled the other, all adrenaline and excitement, but no fear.  He felt their presence, like a thick fog suffocating him.  He heard the faint whispers of movement, however concealed.  He even tasted the other on the breeze, sweat and something else, almost sweet and pleasant but strong.  Yet, he could not see the other, the only of his senses that was now being deprived.

             
He changed his destination, deciding that anyone tailing him probably shouldn’t know where he usually went.  He stayed to the well-lit streets, not wanting to risk a late night metro or dark alley fight.  Finally he stopped, tired of running, and realizing that the stalker was not going to relent.  He drew his sword, chest heaving from running and fingers nearly twitching from adrenaline.  There was a streetlight behind him, and a small grocery store that would be closed for several more hours.  In front of him, there was a series of small, squatty buildings, strange for New York, home of the towering skyscrapers.  He watched and waited, the rhythmic sound of his own breathing soothing him. Suddenly, he heard the movement again, coming from somewhere in the shadows.

             
A dark figure suddenly materialized, dropping from one of the squatty buildings, hitting the ground noiselessly.  It stood and darted closer, taking him completely off guard.  A voice sliced through the space between them like a thin razorblade.

             
“Relax, if I wanted to kill you, you’d already be dead.” The voice laughed, filled with low and pleasant undertones, the voice of a woman, he realized.  The figure stepped into view, revealing a girl with shocking silver-white hair braided down her shoulder, standing out against the deep black of her clothing.  In the dim light, her dark eyes looked positively black and searching.  Her skin was fair, and her features had a mix of delicacy and fierceness: high cheekbones with a soft nose and a prominent jaw.  The girl stood with a powerful stance, her shoulders and hips set against him in constant challenge.  On her belt glimmered swords and daggers, mostly silver and black, but some with gold.  The entire image of the girl was overwhelming and unexpected.

             
“Nameh?” he said at last.

             
She nearly laughed at the boy’s surprise, and imagined that this feeling must have sparkled in her eyes.  She had been following him for over half an hour, and had begun to tire of the game, so she revealed herself.  It brought her a sadistic pleasure, the fact that he didn’t know how much magic she actually had.  Not only had she known many spells from the book to begin with, but she had quickly learned many of those she had not.

             
“You followed me?  Couldn’t stay away?” he poked slyly.  His forward attitude was, as he probably hoped, a mixture in equal parts of irritation and charm. 

             
“Funny how you think I intended to follow you.” She said with a nonchalant air.  “I convinced Mira that we should get some sleep and snuck out.  I’ve had a tracking spell on you since I sensed that you were watching me, and so I knew you were leaving too.  I got curious and tailed you.  It was easy.” She said with a sly smile.  His face betrayed surprise when she mentioned the tracking spell.

             
“So, now you’re just teaching yourself magic?”

             
“It’s faster than waiting for you to do it.” She said with raised eyebrows and a tone that was not as challenging as she’d wanted it to be.  He looked her up and down, and then studied her face.  She thought of Daniel and the way he’d done the same thing in the dream.  He had seemed to rip away one’s defenses to see what truly lay inside, but Max’s studious stare was gentler.  He seemed to carefully chip away at the outer walls, not wanting to damage the gem inside the stone.

             
She noticed now what she hadn’t before: he had the same habit of examining subtleties that she did.  She knew the conclusions she had drawn about him, but was curious of the adverse.

             
“What are you looking for?” she asked, taking him slightly off guard.  “My habits, weaknesses, the northwest passage?”  He laughed, understanding a joke she hadn’t expected him to.

             
“The former, but they’ve proved to be just as elusive as the latter.” 

             
“Charming, a history nerd.”  She said with a sarcastically curt tone.

             
“You were the one who brought fifteenth century explorers into the conversation.  I would have left poor Vasco DaGama out of it,” he said with a grin.

             
“Funny, you strike me as a person that rarely leaves anyone out of it.  Regardless of what
it
is,” she mused.

             
“So you think you have me pinned, do you?” he asked curiously. 

             
“I certainly do.”

             
“Well then, why am I here?”  He spread his arms in a gesture that welcomed her to answer.  She paused only for a moment, weighing each of her words with care.

             
“You are here for one, or a combination, of three reasons,” she said matter-of-factly, ticking them off on her fingers.  “One: you have a nasty habit of insecurity, and feel the need to prove your manhood on a nearly daily basis.  Two: you were kept on so restricted a lifestyle when you were younger, that you now compensate by doing whatever the hell you want.”  She paused for a moment, trying to glean reaction from his face, but he hid his emotion well.  A smile spread across her face as she mentally constructed her final point.  “Or three, my personal favorite:  you’ve got a broken heart.  I think that you’re betrothed.  Your family is of high breeding, and has set you up with a girl of ‘their standards’,” she finished with proud and challenging look.  “Of course, the tough guy attitude and sarcastic comments shouldn’t be neglected either; those come more from options one and two.”