The Curse of the Blessed

Chapter Fifty-Eight

The planning did not go well. No one could think of a plausible idea. There were plenty of good ones, but none of them were sure to work out—they were all too risky, or too far-fetched, or too half-formed.

Bran called us all to meet down by the river two weeks after market day to listen to another one of his plans. The townspeople seemed to have forgotten about all the incidents with the Blesseds, although there were still quite a few who raised their prices, or quickly walked away, or made unkind comments when they saw us coming.

When we had all arrived at the river, Bran said, "What if we offer to open a school for Blesseds?"

Reed shook his head. "My father would never allow it."

"Just hear me out. We build it somewhere outside the town borders—far enough away that no damage could be done to the town by any magic we cast. We teach Blesseds to wield their powers. We tell them when it's safe to do so and when it's not, and we show them how to hide them and stop from using them by accident."

"It won't work. My father believes—or at least he pretends to believe—that any use of a Blessed's magic will bring the curse back down upon us."

"So we figure out a way to say it that makes it clear any consequences will be felt by us, and not them. We tell him-"

"Help!"

Our heads all snapped up, turning toward the direction the voice had come from. It sounded like a young boy.

"Help!" he shouted again.

A few moments later, he came into view, young and soaking wet. We stood and rushed over to him. It took a moment to calm him down.

"In... the river..." he gasped.

I knelt down in front of him. "Breathe. It's going to be all right."

He shook his head frantically. "No! In... river..."

"Breathe," I repeated. "Your body needs air. You won't be any use to us if you can't speak. Breathe with me."

Slowly, carefully, we took a few deep breaths together.

"My friend," he said once he'd caught his breath. "We were all sitting on a branch. We told him it wasn't a good idea, but he-"

"What happened?" I interrupted. "Tell us what happened. What's going on?"

The boy wiped away a tear. "He fell in the river."

I shot to my feet, running over to the riverside. The boy followed me.

"How close to here did he fall in?" I asked.

"Just upriver."

I closed my eyes, trying to picture the upstream area, but I hadn't come here much at all. I had no idea what it looked like.

"Are there any falls? Any big rocks he might smash into, or trees that he might get caught under?"

"I don't know," the boy sobbed.

Reed knelt beside him, placing a steady hand on his shoulder. "Think. Close your eyes and try to remember."

The boy did, and after a moment, he shook his head. "There's nothing. The river should be safe."

"We need to catch him," I said, already pulling off my outer jacket. "I'll jump in and swim him to shore."

Bran stopped me. "Fyra, the current's too strong."

"I'll use my deathbirds, then."

"There he is," the boy shouted, pointing.

A small body struggled through the water. The boy's friend was thrashing around more than he was actually swimming—probably panicked from the shock of the cold water.