The Curse of the Blessed

Chapter Forty-Two

Our day of freedom passed far too quickly.

We hung out with our friends and laughed with the rest of the rescue team. On the morning when we planned to leave, we ate breakfast with them and said our goodbyes.

"You're coming back, right?" Jaret asked. "You'll at least visit us from time to time?"

Sharla grinned. "They'd better. They've each got one of my creatures, so they've got no excuse for avoiding us."

"We'll visit," Lark agreed.

"Maybe we can even catch a ride back to our village with you?" suggested Bran.

Leith nodded. "As long as there isn't another Blessed in need of rescuing, I'm sure we'd all be happy to help you."

Sharla looked at me and, almost imperceptibly, a bit of worry flowed onto her face, her grin fading slightly. "Take care of yourself, okay?"

"I will," I promised.

Sharla stepped forward and pulled me into a short hug.

I smiled. "We'll see you again soon."

"We'd better."

I glanced at Bran and Lark, and when they nodded their readiness, I turned to Leith.

"You're good to go?" he asked.

"Yes."

He summoned his mistlings, and they lifted us gently, quickly transporting us to the ground. I looked at the sky all the way. Dark clouds in the east hid the sun, but the moon rested just above the horizon in the west, a pearl amid a sea of blue. For a moment, I felt a shadow of hope.

Leaves crunched beneath my feet as the mistlings set me on the ground. Bran and Lark arrived only a moment or two after I did, and we watched the ship sail away before turning to look wordlessly at each other.

"So," said Bran after a moment. "I guess it's time. Are we ready to start walking?"

Lark shrugged, and wrote, "Ready as we'll ever be."

"We already had our practice round," I said. "Time for the real thing. Let's get going."

And we began to walk.

Hours later, as a deep pinkish-orange tinge began to spread across the horizon, we arrived at the Magician's cave. The black stone that lined its edges sparkled in the darkness. I stepped back, turned away. Memories flashed against my skull.

"This is it," breathed Bran. "Should we camp here? Or do you think he might attack us while we're sleeping?"

I dropped my pack to the ground in answer. "We'll be fine. He promised not to harm us if we made it out, and we did." Slowly, I lowered myself to the ground. "Do you think we'll be all right without a fire?"

Bran shrugged. "I don't think it'll hurt us if we don't."

"Then, if it's all right with everyone, let's just eat in the darkness."

"Fine by me," wrote Lark. As it had begun to get dark, we'd discovered that the pen she used to communicate worked in darkness, too. The letters gleamed gold only a few moments after she'd written them. We had to read fast before the light faded, but it was better than nothing.

"It's a plan, then," said Bran. "Eat in the darkness. Fall asleep. Start the plan in the morning." He stole a glance at the dark hole in the cliff face and shivered. "I know that I, for one, will not be sleeping with my back facing that direction."

I smiled. "If it makes you feel any better, if the Magician tries to do anything to you, you probably won't be able to stop him. Or fight him at all."

Bran smirked. "That's comforting."

"So," Lark wrote, "are we excited or terrified for tomorrow?"

"Terrified," I said.

"Both," Bran decided.

Softly, Lark smiled. "I'm both too. If this plan works... we'll have done everything we came for. We'll have won."

"We'll have Reed back," I added. "That's what matters most of all."

Lark nodded in agreement. "I just hope he's okay. He's always been scared of small spaces. I remember when we met-"

She dropped her hand to her lap, cutting off in the middle of the sentence.

Bran gently nudged her. "You can tell us."

"I know," she wrote. A sigh burst from her lips. "Reed learned he was a Blessed a long, long time ago. And he knew I was a Blessed, too. He'd seen me working magic. He hadn't told anyone.

"When he realized what he was, he came to me immediately. He asked me to use my own magic to take away his. I tried my best. I must have played for an hour, trying everything, every technique, every song I knew—even making up a few. But nothing worked. So I suggested he draw something himself."

Lark shook her head. Her hand was a blur as it penned letter after letter in the air. "He tried. He made a sort of... parasite, that would eat his magic. But it quickly grew strong. We had to fight it. We had to kill it. It was terrifying." She closed her eyes for a moment, drawing in a slow, calming breath. "It's a miracle the townspeople didn't realize what we'd done. No one realized. We did our best to hide it, and we succeeded.

"During that time—when we were fighting the thing Reed had made—he tried to trap it inside a cupboard he'd drawn. It was supposed to let him step out, and leave the parasite inside. But the parasite used its stolen magic to fiddle with what Reed had done. It wouldn't let him out. He freaked out." Her eyes grew far away. "When I finally opened the door, he fell out. I thought he had died. As it turned out, he'd hyperventilated so much that he'd passed out."

"Maybe he doesn't know he's stuck," I said, though I didn't think it was likely. "Maybe he doesn't know he's a statue. Reed might be in there, but he might be sleeping. Waiting for us to wake him."

"I hope so," wrote Lark. "If not... it's impossible to predict what state he'll be in when we get him out."

"Then we get him out as soon as possible," Bran said firmly. "We'll rescue him."

"Yes," I agreed half-heartedly. "We'll get him out of this." To my surprise, my voice turned hard, like the steel blade of a dagger. "And we'll make the Magician pay for what he's done."

"Good," wrote Lark. "I can't wait."

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