Chapter Twelve
Atop a mass of slithering, hissing serpents, Aidan tried to stem his panic. A tight coil clutched his arm, dragging him deeper down into the abyss.
Licks preceded bites. Serpentine bodies twisted around his limbs, and fiery pain shot through him. Not ordinary venom, but cursed poison burrowed into him, pulling him toward death.
He gritted his teeth. Death wasn't an option. He couldn't let the curse strike down someone else in his place. Power surged within him, burning away the poison. A faint green light flickered in the pit as his Star Magic manifested, illuminating the abyss.
He was waist-deep in snakes of all sizes.
They wriggled around, trying to reach him.
Desperation to spare his loved ones sent more energy into his magic.
He released the power, intending to dispel the Curse Magic.
A loud burst echoed, and foul-smelling chunks went flying everywhere.
His mystical attack had ripped through them, something only possible if they were more Curse Magic than life.
The slithering sensation around him showed he hadn't ripped through enough.
Fear pushed him. He propped himself against the unscalable smooth wall of the pit. His bitten hands smeared blood on the stone and almost slipped. But he pressed against the stony wall, determined to shape it into what he needed. Magic was intent more than incantation, spirit more than spell.
He hoped.
The rocky surface twisted, shaping into spikes.
As his power poured out, the flickering of green light showed him that he only crafted half a dozen protrusions.
But the act wore him down, and the glow grew dimmer.
As scaled bodies swathed him, he started scaling the pit.
Though exhausted, he unleashed another mystical burst, repelling the reptiles.
Spike by spike, he climbed until he reached the top.
He scrambled out, falling on his back, and released shaky breaths as he listened to the hissing from beneath.
It took one bleary look around to confirm that Cal and his cohorts had left.
Poison still burned in his veins, so he summoned his Star Magic. Agony followed as the magic seared away any curses, and he blacked out more than once. He had practiced twice under controlled circumstances, and both times had been no more than a fiery prick on his finger.
This was an inferno.
The excruciating heat slowed the healing.
Every stab of pain caused the gossamer strands of magic to escape his grasp.
After some time, his instincts assured him of success.
His eyes slipped shut, and he focused on breathing.
As if it would soothe the residual discomfort, he kept telling himself that Bella was fine.
That should be worth the torment.
A flapping interrupted his daze. He opened his eyes to see a Curse Raven circling the sky overhead, likely hoping Aidan's flesh would offer a meal.
He heaved himself up and almost jumped out of his skin. Carys stood near the pit, fixing her fathomless eyes on him. Shivers struck him as the demonic raven landed at her feet. The bird didn't chill him. He understood the creature. It wanted to eat his flesh.
He didn't understand Carys.
Ordinarily, he greeted her, and she grunted.
After coming so close to death, he couldn't manage a word, and she saw no need to compensate for his failure.
She didn't ask why he was beside the pit, covered in bites.
He didn't ask why she stood there, watching him.
She turned and began walking to Ghost Tower.
The spell necessitated following her, although he would rather fling himself back upon the serpents.
The countless steps pained him more than the climb out of the pit. After he collapsed on his quilt, Carys brought the food tray into his room and set it down next to him. That was the only acknowledgment of his pain. Normally, she left it outside his door.
He would have preferred if she left it outside. Hard black bread and a chunk of meat that he hoped didn't come from a Curse Creature. The meat tasted like burnt leather, leaving a stinging sensation on his tongue. He managed a few bites before agony pulled him to sleep.
The next day wasn't much better. He struggled to get up and stumbled out into the hall. Carys leaned against the wall, reading an old battered book. The sight of yellowed pages stirred up his longing for books.
"Is the book interesting?" he asked, attempting to distract himself from the pain.
"No." She turned the page. "And it's not a book. It's a tome of spells."
"Of course." He slumped against the opposite wall, trying to summon up the courage for a request. "Would it be so terrible if I stayed here today? We wouldn't be very far apart."
She didn't look up. "Do you want to chance it? After all, the curse wouldn't kill you, just your bonny princess. Perhaps the Curselands have finally affected you?"
"By the Old Dragon, fine!" He huffed. "It was... I don't know. At least, may I have something to read?"
"I only have spellbooks."
"Of course, that's all you have," he mumbled. "You never read for fun?"
She looked up with a blank expression, and he gave up.
The next two days were hellish. Cal and his confederates kept coming for him. Aidan fought back but always ended up in the pit. His fighting became more desperate and vicious, but using the magic took a toll on him. The third morning, he almost couldn't crawl away from his quilt.
He struggled to follow her down the stairs. His body ached more than the previous day, and the unaccustomed use of mystical energy drained him. He stopped every third step, vision blurring as his knees shook.
On the seventh stop, Carys paused and looked back. "Can you make it down?"
He swallowed a cry of pain. "I have to make it. Otherwise, you might push me down."
She didn't disagree. "Why don't you say who keeps pushing you down into the pit?"
"You knew I was pushed?"
"I didn't imagine you went down there for a lark."
He wondered if she lied about having no sense of humor.
"I saw no point in mentioning it." He shrugged. "It's not as if you'd care."
"You are my responsibility."
He had risen from a thing to a pet in her estimation and didn't know if that was better or worse.
The staircase creaked as he forced his foot down. "Law of the Beasts. If I'm weak enough to be thrown down a pit, I deserve to be thrown down a pit. Right?"
She looked away. "You are risking your love by not saying anything."
"I have to find some way to manage," he said, barely making the next step. "If it isn't those knaves, it will be someone else. All of you hate me. It's a risk, but I can't expect protection from a witch with no heart."
His spiteful reply surprised him. An apology almost slipped through his lips, but his tormented body killed the words. She offered no response, nor appeared insulted.
The following day, she confused him with a change to the routine. She carried two buckets and led him to the back of the cottage. He discovered the reason for the foul stench: mounds of gooey gray substance and disgusting debris. The stained walls indicated it originated from a small window.
"By the Old Dragon's Tail!" Aidan's nausea made the oath slip out. "What is that?"
"Mystical waste." Carys set the buckets down and held her sleeve over her mouth. "Mistress Claudia and I've a fair amount of unusable leftover potions and such. Some magic is still quite potent. You are to put it in buckets."
He stepped back. "Is that a jest? You want me to touch that putrid mess?"
She coughed. "It's not that different from the atmosphere of the Curselands. As long as you don't ingest it, you will fare well enough. I've gloves for you to use."
"Forgive me for refusing the honor."
She waved her hand as if that would disperse the odor. "My brother says the reason that you keep finding trouble is on account of your princely laziness."
"Oh he does, does he?"
She gave an emphatic nod, as though her brother was a fount of priceless wisdom. "Aye, he said if I could come up with no task for you, he would have the recruits use you for target practice."
"Are you sure he didn't mean that he was already having them use me for target practice?"
She tilted her head. "So it was the recruits?"
He fixed his gaze on the ground.
She let it go. "I couldn't think of anything that you would be good at doing. We've no need for your princely skills here. Mistress Claudia thought up this task."
He glanced at the sickening slush and shuddered. Claudia must really hate him.
Carys sighed. "I shan't force you. Law of the Beasts. Do what you will. No one is bound by the dictates of kings. Either clean up the mess or learn to fight off the recruits."
Bitterness churned within him. "You always offer a choice that isn't a choice. You force me to pick whatever seems least horrible at the moment."
"The moment?" she echoed. "Do you regret the moment that you sacrificed yourself for your princess?"
His stomach twisted, likely from the mystical miasma.
"Do what you will, Aidan," she said softly.
He didn't dignify her with an answer. She walked away as he picked up the buckets and fished the gloves out.
Scooping muck consumed the rest of his day.
At one point, choking on the stench, he puked right into the bucket.
He wasn't sure if the vomit would affect the mystical properties of the waste and didn't care.
It grew harder to keep track of days. Every day, it seemed like the fetid substance returned with a few extra buckets.
As his fingers sifted through the mess, he found bones and bits of hair.
Wariness washed through him as he glanced at the cottage and wondered what sort of dark practices were transpiring.
Sometimes he was certain that the waste infected him, almost feeling the poison eating away at him.
He had to stop periodically, summoning Star Magic to cleanse his body.
The use of so much power exhausted him more than scooping up sludge, making the work take twice as long.
After a time, the stench lost potency, and it stopped feeling as though poison crept through his veins.
Haunted by the uneasy suspicion that he was growing accustomed to the poisonous atmosphere, his thoughts drifted to home.
He saw emeralds forests rather than green goo, Niall's brave face rather than gray gunk, and Bella's smile rather than mysterious muck.
It became harder as time passed. One particularly grueling day, he stared inside a bucket, trying to visualize his home.
Every fleeting sketch dissolved into the decaying mess.
"By the Blood Dragon! That stench... I shouldn't think 'vile' is a strong enough word. How are you not getting ill?"
The miasma blurred his vision, but he blinked and saw a young man, only a few years older than Aidan. He didn't dress like the recruits, only wearing a nondescript dark tunic and trousers. His hair had a silver sheen, but his eyes caught Aidan's attention.
Everyone in the Curselands had eyes tainted by Curse Magic, a black mist forever hiding their true eye color. But rather than ebony magic, silver shielded his eye color.
Something about the specific shade seemed familiar to Aidan, but he couldn't place it.
The young man coughed. "In truth, I might get sick. The guts of Curse Creatures are a rose garden in comparison."
Aidan rose, the sludge squeaking underneath his boot. "May I help you?
None of the recruits bothered him since he began the revolting task. He almost felt safe among the muck.
"Aye." The stranger bobbed his head. "You're the prince?"
"Why?"
"I'm looking for him..."
Despite being left alone, Aidan kept his Star Magic readied. He needed to fight off the poison of the waste and prepare for anything. Determined not to end up in the pit again, he summoned a mystical shield to ward off mystical attacks.
Only for his friend Kane's words came back to him. He seldom paid mind to the mage's explanations of magic. But the warning jumped into his head as if Kane was there explaining.
Protective shields will repel all Curse Magic.
All.
And Aidan stood in the middle of piles of cursed muck.
A loud crack shattered the silence, and filth flew everywhere. The shield stopped slime from striking Aidan, spinning it into a wild tornado of foulness before launching the debris in every direction. The fetid fragments spattered the cottage, shot up to the sky, and hurtled into the distance.
Putrid chunks flung in the young man's direction, almost hitting him. It was good that he wasn't as tall as Aidan originally believed. It missed the top of his head by inches.
As the grimy dust settled, the silver-eyed man took in the aftermath. "Damnation! Does it always go flying about?"
Aidan jerked his head, struggling to stop his body from trembling. "No. I think that was my doing. I was trying to repel Curse Magic and..."
"And you repelled it all over the place?" The young man shook his head. "Why were you trying to repel it? Is it dangerous? Master Bradon complains about the danger of the waste. No... wait, were you trying to repel me?"
Aidan didn't know what to say. He tensed as the stranger laughed.
"I'm not here to harm you," he assured Aidan. "I have books for you."
"Um... what?"
"Carys told me you wanted something to read." The young man smiled. "There's not much choice down here, but my sister collects what she can."
Aidan's body clenched in doubtful defensiveness. "That's why you're here?"
"I promise. If you've any doubt, ask Carys. But you'll have to go to the cottage alone. I know from experience that she hates being interrupted."
Still cautious, Aidan approached the newcomer, a spark of trust flashing through him for the first time since arriving in perdition. The mystical sheen gave this stranger an eeriness, but his smile was warm.
Too warm for this land.