Chapter 16 #2
“I wish I could help but I haven’t the first idea how to assist in a manhunt,” Ezra admitted, coming to the table and taking the seat next to Raum without skipping a beat.
“I’m helpful if they need an artifact contained or a curse broken.
I typically don’t work with people at all unless they’ve been hexed or cursed. A manhunt is new to me.”
Raum eyed Ezra, curious. “What’s a typical case for you? An average day as a curse-breaker.”
Ezra read through the titles of the stack of books in the center of the table as he answered Raum’s question.
“Usually I get called in by local authorities if someone has been killed by an artifact or curse, or injured. Sometimes a family will hire me if they’ve got an heirloom causing trouble or they’ve inherited a haunted object, things like that.
The police or average governmental agency typically hires me to lift a spell from a person or place, break a curse, or break the object if they’ve got it in hand already.
Once in a while, I need to go hunt down the object if they don’t have it already or know where or what it is.
Sometimes a curse doesn’t hit immediately, and someone will succumb hours or days after coming into contact with an artifact.
That happens a lot with those urban explorers going into condemned or abandoned buildings, the ones who film their adventures and put them online.
I get to retrace their steps and find the source of the magic. ”
Raum was impressed. Ezra was living an interesting life, for sure. “What’s an interesting case? Aside from this one, I mean.”
Ezra sat back in his chair, expression pensive as he thought about Raum’s question. “An interesting case, let me think.” He paused, then grimaced a bit before shaking his head and chuckling. “There was the case of the cursed dog collar.”
“The what?”
“Just what it sounds like. A long time ago, a gem dealer had a prized beagle and they made the dog a collar with some spells in it for protection and obedience. Don’t pee in the house, no barking, don’t leave the property unless on a leash, no reproducing, basic things like that.
The dog wore the collar for years. Eventually the dog passes away, and so does the gem dealer.
The collar was made from leather and covered in gems. It sat forgotten for years in a dusty drawer, its magic structures eroding and warping.
It wasn’t thrown away, and there was no one to fix the decaying spells. Guess what happened instead.”
Raum winced, dreading the answer but saying it anyway. “Someone thought it was jewelry and started wearing it.”
Ezra cracked a smile and nodded. “Mundane nephew inherited the estate and thought the collar was a bracelet. He was wearing it around the property and kept getting shocked every time he talked, used the bathroom, or tried to get frisky with his wife. It was old, made back in the days of less compassionate pet ownership—once it was on, it could only be taken off by the owner. Who was dead.”
Raum couldn’t help the groan that escaped. “No.”
The image of some foolish mundane human getting zapped by a collar every few moments just for existing was both hilarious and sad. He felt even worse for the long-gone dog.
“Yup.” Ezra chuckled. “I got a frantic call from the wife about the collar that same day he put it on. Took me a while to get there. Had to fly in and then drive; got there the next day at noon. He went over twenty-four hours getting electrocuted for everything. He was pissing outside in the garden by the time I got there. Took me about a minute to dissolve the spells and get the collar off. Smelled like wet dog and piss. I don’t know what the nephew was thinking when he put it on. There was a dog tag still on it, too.”
Raum lost it, laughing. Ezra was grinning from ear to ear.
“Please tell me you got paid well for that.”
Ezra nodded. “Got my usual fee paid in full, and I got paid to go through the rest of the estate property, looking for anything else that might be spelled or cursed. Spent more time traveling to the job than I did doing the job. Got paid well for that trip, and I washed my hands a lot, too.”
Ezra
Making Raum laugh felt great. He was so attractive when he laughed too, eyes twinkling, laugh lines around his eyes. His laugh was deep and infectious and it made Ezra smile hearing it.
“It’s nice to know your job isn’t all doom and gloom all the time.” Raum said, smiling. “You get to have fun while working too. That’s great.”
“Do you have fun while working?” Ezra asked, the stack of books forgotten. He was curious, and Raum was easy to talk to.
“In between doing research, writing, and teaching, I try to have fun, too. I also enjoy the work a lot. It’s less a job and more a calling.” Raum answered easily.
“The book about the Dainsleif sword.”
“Yes, that’s the one. Its origins are from Scandinavian folklore and mythology. I’m focusing on the Dainsleif and its appearances in both history and myth and the correlations between them.”
“Wouldn’t Saemund have first-hand knowledge of the sword, if that’s the same family line, and he’s as old as I am assuming he is?”
“Sort of,” Raum said. “Grandpa Saemund was once known as álf, later known as Finnálf, a bastard son of King Raum Nórsson and an affair partner, Queen Bergdís. She was actually a High Court Sidhe. According to family lore, the sword stayed with the main branch of the descendants of King Raum through Bergdís. The sword eventually went to Saemund’s brother, Brandr. Grandpa Saemund said he lost track of the sword after it was passed down through many generations in the human line of the family, eventually getting lost about a thousand years ago when its wielder died in battle. ”
Ezra blinked at Raum, trying to wrap his head around that explanation. “That’s pretty complicated.”
“Easiest way to explain it is that a long-ago cousin lost the sword when he lost his life, and it’s either at the bottom of a lake somewhere, or in a private collection gathering dust.” Raum sighed.
“I shudder to think that a divinely forged weapon that never fails to kill is sitting in a vault somewhere, waiting to take the life of anyone who wields it.”
“That’s right—it will kill anyone who isn’t your family, if they fail to take a life with the sword.”
Raum nodded. “Yes. Grandpa Saemund says the sword is as lethal as the myths say it is, and he regrets losing track of it. That side of the family eventually died out. There’s no one left of Brandr’s line. Just Saemund’s.”
“So there’s no one left who can safely wield the sword, except the three of you? Saemund, your father, and you?” Ezra asked.
“Grandpa tracked the family lines extensively and every one was a dead end, literally. We’re the last.”
“That’s why you’re writing about the Dainsleif. It’s your family legacy.”
“I love how much you know about it.”
Ezra grinned and shrugged one shoulder. Artifacts weren’t just his career, but one of his passions.
“It’s my favorite cursed object out there.
And cursed objects in general are my passion.
The history, the origins, who made them and why, even the naturally occurring artifacts, accidentally made ones too, all different kinds.
There’s so much variety to magic when it comes to artifacts that I’ve never really seen the same thing twice.
There’s never a dull moment with this job.
Cursed objects and artifacts aren’t just a job, but a hobby.
I love them, even when I’m burning them to a crisp. ”
“If you had the Dainsleif, what would you do with it?” Raum asked, and Ezra answered, excited to talk about it with someone who knew as much, if not more, than he did.
“I’d love to examine it, see how it was built, what makes it tick.
Is it really possessed? Is it actually cursed, or was this the intent behind its crafting to begin with?
Was it really made by a god? What does divine magic look like for this particular god—is it discernible by mortal senses, or is it incomprehensible?
Will I even understand how it works?” Ezra took a breath and kept going.
“What’s the mechanism behind the Dainsleif—does it really demand a life once drawn from the scabbard?
Is the scabbard an artifact as well, is it a dampening field to keep the sword from constantly working on people around it, or will any sheath or scabbard work?
I’d really just love to stare at it for as long as I could, see how many questions I can get the answers to.
There’s so much I’d love to know. First, is it an artifact, a cursed object, a holy relic, or all three? ”
Raum stared at him with wide eyes and something of a half-smile, bemused and a bit alarmed. Ezra snapped his mouth shut and fought back a blush summoned by his rapid-fire rambling.
“Sorry, I got a bit excited. I tend to nerd-out pretty hard on topics I enjoy.” Ezra grimaced. “Sorry.”
Raum shook his head and reached out a hand, touching Ezra on the arm. “Don’t be sorry. I love the enthusiasm. And I love the fact that none of that focused on using the sword. It’s a powerful weapon—lots of people would consider using it for nefarious reasons.”
“Oh hells no, I’d never want to use it. Aside from the fact that I don’t want to kill anyone, everything I know about the sword points to it corrupting the wielder the longer it’s in their proximity, but only if the sword is drawn from the scabbard.
If whoever has it leaves it sheathed, the magic is dampened and concealed.
I don’t know if I’m strong enough to prevent the curse from affecting me, or someone else.
And if saving myself or someone else from it means destroying it, that would break my heart, but I would do it. ”
Raum smiled at him, a tiny lifting of his lips, full of something Ezra had trouble understanding, but it wasn’t annoyance or scorn, so he’d take it.
Usually when he got this excited about a topic and no one stopped him, he annoyed people and drove them away.
Raum didn’t appear to be annoyed at all, so Ezra took that as a win.