The Curse of the Blessed

Chapter Twenty-Two

We woke at dawn the next morning, with the other Blesseds in our room. For the first time in a while, I felt well rested—fully awake and ready for whatever the day would bring. We were quickly getting close to the end of our quest.

I hurriedly got dressed and packed up the few things I'd taken out of my bag. While doing so, I noticed that our bad jerky and stale bread had been replaced by the real deal. Dried fruit, hard-baked biscuits, meat that—when I tried a small bite of it—actually tasted like dried meat was supposed to taste. A medium sized rock was nestled beneath it all, and when I touched it, it unfurled into a perfect replica of a deathbird. Sharla had to have helped with the packing. I'd need to thank her before we left.

We met Sharla outside our room.

"I'm here to guide you to the dining hall," she told us. "We don't want you getting lost on the day you're supposed to be leaving, do we?"

Lark laughed. "No, we don't."

"Thank you for repacking our packs," I interjected. "We really appreciate it."

Lark looked at Sharla with an expression of amazement. "It was you who did that?"

"Yeah," said Sharla, grinning. "Dren told me that, when he'd brought the packs here, he'd noticed how horrible the food inside them had been. I thought you might want something better."

"Well, thank you," I said again.

Sharla shook her head. "No need to thank me. Those provisions were ridiculous. Anyway, I've been looking for an excuse to get into the private food stores for a while. I should really be the one thanking you."

With a soft laugh, Lark said, "Glad we could help."

Sharla nodded, turning a sharp corner and nearly running directly into Reed, Bran, and Dren.

"Watch where you're going!" Dren snapped.

"Sorry," said Sharla.

Reed turned to look at us, eyes moving to check that we had our packs. "Are you ready to go after breakfast?"

Lark nodded; I said, "We are."

"Look at this," said Bran. He held out his hand to us. In it was a rock, which uncurled to become a long, slender snake. "I'm naming it Cliff." He turned to Sharla. "It's one of yours, right?"

Sharla nodded.

He smiled. "Thanks."

"So you made one for all of us?" I asked.

Sharla grinned. "Yup."

I turned to Reed. "What's yours?"

He didn't answer. Sharla cackled.

"Come on," said Lark. "Show us. It can't be that bad."

Slowly, he held out his hand. A small pebble sat in his hand. Wings unfurled from its back, revealing a small body, short, thin legs, and antennae.

"Oh," said Bran disappointedly. "That's a butterfly. I thought it would be something bad."

Lark frowned. "Like what?"

Bran shrugged. "I dunno. A simple, unmagical rock. A tree. A reed."

"That would have been funny," Sharla admitted. "Now I wish I'd consulted you."

Reed glared at us all. "Ha ha. Hilarious."

"Oh, come on," said Lark. "It's just a butterfly. It's not that bad."

"If I blew on it, it would break." He turned to Sharla. "I don't mean to be rude, though."

"Nah, it's fine." She held out her hand. "Can I see?"