The Curse of the Blessed

Chapter Four

Hopeful as they may have been, the villagers did not see fit to provide us with horses. Bran pressed the matter, his face growing red with anger, his words sharp and fast-coming, like a storm of daggers. Lark had to step in to calm him down.

"They believe our magic is good enough," she told him. "They believe our powers will see us through it all."

"But we're going on a quest for their sake!" Bran snapped.

Lark simply shrugged. "It's for our sake, too. And no one has ever returned. The way they see it, it would be a waste to give us horses."

Bran sneered, but he said nothing else.

We were given provisions, though when I later looked through the packs, they appeared to have been filled with things the villagers did not want or need: stale bread, small, blighted fruits, strips of dried meat that had been salted a bit too heavily. Our parents were less stingy. Mam outfitted me in new clothes. She gave me a warm coat, and a pair of thick-soled hiking boots.

"You'll make it," she said calmly, "I know you will. You were raised to be strong."

At that, I couldn't help the tears that spilled down my cheeks. "I can't make it, Mam. I can't. You don't understand; I'm scared! I want to stay with you!"

She tenderly laid a hand against my cheek. "Fyra, my daughter, you can't stay here with me."

"Why not?" I asked.

"Because you have a task to complete. You and the other Blesseds are the only ones who can free us. Without you, the curse continues on. But with you..."

"I'm not strong enough."

"Yes you are." She smiled, wiped a tear from my cheek, and stood, offering a hand to me. I took it. "When the time comes, you'll find the strength to do the impossible. The whole town believes in you. I know you won't disappoint us."

We stood there for a moment, mother and daughter, holding hands and staring deeply into each other's eyes. I tried to read her emotions, but only pride was visible. No sorrow. No worry. Perhaps she truly believed I'd return. Perhaps she didn't care at all. Or—the most likely alternative—she was simply hiding her worry and her pain, doing her best to encourage me, to make me believe I could do it.

Lark walked up to stand beside me, settling a light hand on my shoulder. "We should get going," she said. "The town elders have said they want us on our way by nightfall."

Mam smiled. "Go."

I gave her hand one last squeeze and followed Lark to where the other Blesseds were waiting.

If any of them were reluctant to leave, they didn't show it. No backward glances. No slow, hesitant beginning steps.

We began slowly at first, but Bran quickly sped up, seeming almost eager to leave the town behind. Unlike Reed and Lark and I, he wore the same clothes he'd been in at the market. I wondered why. Hadn't his parents—or the town leaders—seen fit to outfit him in good clothing?

Perhaps that was why he was in such a hurry to get away.

The sun began to dip behind the trees, sending an achingly beautiful smear of colors across the sky, and Lark suggested we stop for the night. Silently, we sat down to eat our dinner. I chewed half-heartedly on my stale bread and salty meat.

"So," said Bran, "what are we going to do?"

"Defeat the Magician," I said.

Bran shook his head and laughed. "Really? We're going to set out on their fool's quest?"