Page 21 of The Bones of the Cursed

“You wouldn’t, it’s only accessible to those who work for the crown.”

“That’s a shame.” I murmur. It’s important to know thehistory of your world, so that you don’t repeat the mistakes of the past. That’s what my father always taught us growing up. Too bad that isn’t how most people view it.

My chest aches at the thought of my parents. My father in particular. I miss his booming laugh and his awful jokes more than anything. Hendrix rests a hand on my shoulder, as if he senses my discomfort.

I rub at my chest to ease the ache and look up when I feel eyes on me. Kailu is watching me closely, with a look almost like concern on his face. He glances at Hendrix and then his hand, still on my shoulder. I feel Hendrix stiffen before he pulls his hand away.

Odd.

“Centuries ago, long before even Kailu graced this land…” Siveral pauses while everyone around the table laughs, myself included. I laugh a little harder when I see the irritated look on Kailu’s face.

“Siveral, we don’t have all day,” Kailu grumbles.

Siveral swallows his mirth. “As I was saying, at least eight centuries ago, there was a war. It started small, just rebels defying the royals who ruled the realm at the time, but then it started to gain momentum. One man, Iclas, began to gather small creatures, everything from rabbits to pixies. He used the sacrifices to barter with the Hell Gods for more power, but he didn’t stop there, for greed consumed him.

“At the time, the Isle of Rimoldi held a small town, where Iclas was born and raised with his brothers and sisters. Most of the island was sympathetic to the rebel cause, and they were prospering because of the sacrifices Iclas was making. It wasn’t enough for him, though. He began to sacrifice any manner of creature. Deer, tree imps, mermaids, even sick Elves or Fae. This caught the attention of the Gods.”

“The Hell Gods?”

It’s Kailu who answers me. “No, the Gods of the Eternal Vale. Caselia, the Goddess of Law and Life, and Viros, God of Magic and the Land.”

Siveral continues: “They were angered by the rebels’ lack of respect for life and did not like what had become of the people of the Isle. They found their greed and lack of empathy to be punishable. Thus, Caselia and Viros cursed the Isle together. Sickness fell on the people, but no one knows what exactly happened to Iclas. Everyone on the island died within a fortnight. The legend is they cursed the people and the land for their greed, and left the bones of the cursed to haunt what remained.”

- MALAKAI -

I step out of the dingy inn and into the fresh air, taking a deep breath. Company on the road is never hard to find, but decent accommodations are another thing. The female from last night saunters out after me, fixing her hair.

“When can I see you again?” she purrs.

I stifle a snort with a yawn. “Probably not anytime soon. You know I am a busy male.” I shoot her my most charming smile. It’s gotten me out of trouble many times. I hope it will do so now.

“One more night?” she begs.

I roll my eyes, no longer able to hide my annoyance. “No,” I snap as I turn and head down the road, her curses dogging my every step.

As I walk down the dusty road leading to the village center in the Lower Shrol, I think about everything I’ve discovered. This ghoul issue is tied to something, I’m just not sure what. From my brief conversation with the Witch, it would seem the influx of humans is drawing them in, not to mention creating a feedingfrenzy for some Witches. The ones who dabble in dark magic, the kind that comes from the depths of Hell for no purpose other than selfish means. It’s a magic that does not come from the land or any of the Gods or Goddesses, but blood sacrifices.

What I don’t get is why these once erratic ghouls are now seemingly plotting and planning. And why these Witches with no coven are now attacking people.

The rundown bar with green paint peeling off its facade comes into view as I pass by the fish market, my thoughts still racing with many theories. If someone is controlling these things, I need to find out who and how.

I flex my hand, the skin scarred from countless fights, but no doubt going to get worse with the increase of attacks. The man who may be able to give me some answers is inside the pub, slumped over a pint.

I slide onto the wobbly stool next to the man, the bar top sticky to the touch. The stale stench of ale lingers in the air.

“You Sal?” I ask.

The drunk’s eyes slide lazily to my own, his gaze unfocused as he slurs, “Who’s asking?”

“I am. What do you know about the missing people in this realm?” I say calmly, pulling a coin from my pocket, flipping it through my fingers.

He scans my face again, recognition finally settling in. “No-nothing,” he stammers.

I cluck my tongue in annoyance. “Try again.”

“I swear!” he gasps.

I lean closer, flashing my teeth at him. “Just know that I do not take kindly to being lied to. Your name keeps coming up when I ask around. You saw something and I want to know what it was.”

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