Ch. 11— How to Cure a Curse
Moonthread, by Anthony Lee Phillips
Chapter 11
HOW to CURE a CURSE
Dawn flooded in.
Despite Nala’s drowsiness, she helped the boy lift Ica up, off of the floor, and onto the potion room table.
It was awkward work. They were small (Nala and this strange boy) and the hag was heavier than she looked. She was limp as a toddler too, which didn’t make it any easier.
“No, the other way,” ordered the boy. “Put her feet there. No, there I said!”
His voice was raspy as sand, and as thirsty. But when he spoke, Nala felt the urge to obey, and did.
They put Ica’s feet next to Gran’s face, and put her face by Gran’s feet. That way, they both fit on the stone slab table.
“There.”
Laying like that, they reminded Nala of the sister moons that were sewn into Mama’s curtains and washcloths.
One full and one empty,
One mean and one nice,
One aging sweet while the other aged sour.
Yes, Nala thought. They’re just like the sister moons, in all the old stories. In all the old stories and songs.
It even looked like they were similar ages, though Akha had clearly taken much better care of herself than Ica had.
Nala sat in the chair beside her gran-gran. The girl was still small enough to put her feet up on the seat. She hugged her own knees, and watched nothing, all quiet.
Light was streaming in now. Birds were chirping, too cheerful for the moment they were in.
Part of her wanted to pull the curtain closed. Another part of Nala wanted to take Gran and old Ica into the sleeping room, where there were blankets and pillows, more comfortable than the cold stone slab they were on.
But Nala was tired, and did nothing instead.
Full fledged day blazed in through the window behind her, baking her back in her midnight cloak.
“They almost look peaceful,” said the boy.
“Peaceful?”
Nala glared at him.
“What?” he said.
She said nothing, but her eyes gave him daggers.
“Sorry,” said the boy, not really meaning it.
Nala gave her gaze back to Gran.
Mmmm hummed her belly, as angry as she was.
mmm the Ring agreed. It tightened around her finger, like a cobra squeezing.
Only it didn’t hurt Nala. No.
It made her feel stronger.
It made her hand glow.
Her hand glowed
Dark black.
The shadows behind her pulled the curtain closed
Without anyone needing to touch it, or move.
Then, it was all quiet. All hush. Very still,
Like a tomb was but worse. Like a plunge in dark water, until
All that she heard was the two dying witches before her.
Not dying, thought Nala. Don’t think that. Not true.
“Yes it is,” the boy said out loud.
They locked eyes.
“It is true.”
“What is?” Nala demanded.
“They’re dying.”
“Don’t say that.”
“You want me to lie?” said the boy.
“DON’T SAY THAT!” screamed Nala.
The darkness screamed with her, and would it have been anyone else, they would have shrunk back in fear.
But not him. Not this boy.
He did not blink, or take his eyes off of her.
“Don’t play dumb,” he replied. “I hear your thoughts. I know you hear mine too.”
“How could that even be possible?” Nala said.
“Does it make a difference?” said the boy.
The shadow receded. Nala felt hollow, too hollow to cry.
“You’re horrible,” Nala wanted to say.
And maybe she did, because he softened a little. In that moment, when he went quiet, some part of the boy seemed penitent.
“Sorry,” he said. Only this time, he meant it.
More silence.
“So,” the boy said nervously, “where uh… where am I? Where is this?”
Nala studied her Ring as she spoke. It looked normal again. She did her best to keep her voice cold.
“Orcshire.”
The boy made a face, like he didn’t recognize the name.
“Why? Where are you from?” asked Nala.
“Doesn’t matter,” he said.
Nala noted him, saw him, took him in. He was her age, almost exactly. She wondered when his birthnight was, and made a note to ask him.
Nala had been born
In the very heart of winter,
On the darkest night
In a century or more…
Or so her Gran Akha had so much
Loved to say before. Before she…
Something else.
The boy was exactly her height, and skinny. Not “thin” skinny— starving skinny.
He had skin the color of sand, but his neck and wrists were spotted with splotches of red. He looked like a leopard with red freckles all over him. His three new face scars fed into the whole leopard-thing.
That, and he never blinked.
The boy’s clothes were filthy. He wore black leather boots and brown woolen pants. One knee was badly torn up like he’d taken a fall. His cloak had a ratty hem, and bites taken out of it. What looked like a thick, tough shirt turned out to be three shirts glued together by sweat and stale mud and a year of hard use. As they sat there, Nala began to smell him.
He itched his scars.
“Did you go through the swamps?” Nala wanted to ask. But words were hard.
“I did,” he answered.
Then he smiled at her.
“I could get used to this,” said the boy.
Nala decided then that she didn’t like having her mind read.
“Yeah, well… Don’t.” Nala rubbed her eyes.
The only nice thing that he owned was his tunic, which once must have been white. It was a worn linen, which once must have been fine. The tunic was loose and breathed well over his three practical shirts, as practically as a cloth covering a targe.
There were many little designs embroidered into it, in what looked like black thread. But now that Nala had a chance to study the boy, she noticed that the thread was just dirty. Specks of gold flashed when the light hit it right. The emblems at the hem and collar curled and uncoiled like mist, evaporating off a desert of white.
“Looks bad,” the boy said as he itched his new-healed scar. He itched where the scar got splotchy and weird, which was where his nostril met his upper lip.
“What?” said Nala.
“Them,” he said. “It doesn’t look good for either of them.”
Nala nodded. “Yeah.”
“That your grandma?” he grunted.
Nala nodded, listless.
He nodded gravely. “And her?”
Nala looked down at Ica, and shrugged. “I don’t really know her. I mean, everyone knows her, or… I know who she is, but… I don’t know.”
“You’re tired.”
“I’m fine,” Nala snapped.
“You really should sleep. What’s the worst that could happen?”
Nala said nothing.
“What, you don’t trust me?” said the boy, smirking.
“Of course I don’t. I don’t even know you.”
His smirk faded. “Hey, I’m trying to help you here.”
“Help me?” Nala scoffed. “Help me how?”
He just watched her.
She looked away. Nala clenched her jaw. Her tusks dug deep into her upper lip, and her temples shook with suppressed rage.
No tears. No tears.
“It’s okay,” he said.
Nala’s hands curled up into tight fists, so tight her nails were digging into her palm.
“Just let it out,” he said.
Nnnno.
As she clenched everything, the room shook all around her, eyes fixed on her Gran.
“They’re gonna die either way,” the boy said coldly. His slitted eyes were flat and hollow.
“Don’t say that,” Nala said.
“Unless…”
“What? Unless what?” Nala said.
He got up. He poked Ica, seeing if she moved or reacted in any way. She didn’t, of course.
“It seems to me,” he said, “like whatever curse I had (from that monster, that got me)… well, they have it now. Right?”
Nala shrugged. “I guess. But—”
“And the only way I know to cure a curse is kill the thing that cursed you.”
“Kill the…?” Nala began.
Then she remembered the shadow that attacked him, its formless maw gaping, its paw striking hard as its nails sliced through his flesh like warm butter.
“You can’t mean…? Kill that thing?”
“Why not?” the boy said.
“It’s—! No, you don’t stand a chance!” Nala said. “You’re crazy.”
“Not crazy,” he said, smirking. “Maybe just a little wild.”
“You can’t be serious.”
“I’m dead serious,” he said.
Nala saw him. Took him in. His tattered finery, his blue slitted eyes…
“What’s your name?” she asked.
He looked surprised. His haunted face looked eleven again.
“Oh. Uh…”
He’s nervous, Nala realized when he took so long to answer.
“I’ll start,” she said. “I’m Nala.”
“Nala,” he nodded.
“…Your turn.”
“…Bakura,” he said. “Bakura, Prince of the Yegorah. Well… Last of the Yegorah.”
They sat in silence, for a long time. Long awkward silence.
The cursed witches breathed shallow, quick in, long shuddering breath out, quick in, slow out…
Their breathing patterns should have been offset, but they weren’t.
They breathed perfectly in time with each other, as if they were entangled.
Hhhh…
Suddenly, the boy stood up. He stood up so fast he got light headed.
“So,” he said. “Are we gonna do this or not?”
“Do what?” said Nala.
“Kill the monster!” said Bakura. “Or… I mean, you could just let your Gran die, but I figured that—”
“Don’t say that,” said Nala. She said it more firmly than she’d said anything in her life.
“I don’t know what to tell you,” he said. “You can either stay here and let her die, or come help me. Those are your choices.”
Nala scoffed. “What kind of choice is—? Help you? How could I help you?”
“You could help me find my dagger, for one.”
“What dagger?”
“You know the one,” the boy named Bakura said. “You know, the—! The one I always have! It’s a bone dagger, and it hisses and… Come on, I can feel when you’re there. I know that you know.”
Nala hated the dagger.
She was afraid of it.
Somehow, the spirit inside of it knew when she was there, too. It could see her, and it didn’t even need eyes. The bone dagger could hear her thoughts when she thought things, and seemed to search her mind when—
“I dropped it,” said Bakura. “On the mountain path. On the way to… Well, it doesn’t matter. But then, the thing attacked me, and I dropped it.”
“What has the dagger got to do with anything?” asked Nala.
“It’s a magical dagger,” said Bakura. “A drinking dagger.”
“A…? What?”
“It— Look, it’s hard to explain, but… If I can get the dagger back, I can kill it, and save your Gran.”
“Really?”
He nodded.
“How?” asked Nala.
The boy shrugged. “I don’t know how gravities work, but I can tell you which way’s down.”
Nala didn’t know what a gravity was and that frustrated her.
“If we can kill that thing, then you can—”
“How could I help you?” Nala interrupted.
“Like I said,” he fumed, getting frustrated now, “you help me find the dagger. Then, I save your gammy’s life. That’s the deal.”
“But how? Why do you need me there?”
The boy averted his eyes and… Is he blushing? she thought.
“I… Well, I mean I… don’t,” he said. “So… I don’t need anyone, but…”
He looked like he wanted to say something, but couldn’t. Like he wanted to be vulnerable, but couldn’t. He looked like he was scared to say it, so Nala said it for him.
“You don’t wanna be alone,” she said. “Is that it?”
“No,” he lied. “Just— Nevermind. You’re right— I’ll go alone, like always, and get th—”
“No!” Nala said, hopping to her feet. “No I’ll… I’ll go with you. I’ll help you. I’ll help.”
Bakura smiled, then caught himself.
“You sure?” he said.
Nala nodded. “I’m not sure how much of a help I’ll be, but you don’t have to go it al—”
“You’ll need a weapon,” he said.
And just like that, the boy was gone from his face again. Before Nala stood a shell of a soldier, trapped in an orcling’s frail form. The emotion was gone, and he now spoke like a captain, a commander. He spoke like a prince— detached and oddly ruthless.
“A weap— wea— what?” Nala stammered.
“Just in case,” he said.
“I don’t want a weapon,” Nala said, shaking her head.
He gave her a look. “Yes you do.”
“But I can’t— I mean, I can’t kill anything.”
Bakura scoffed. “Well you’re gonna have to get over that if you really wanna do this.”
“I thought you said that y—?”
“It doesn’t have to be anything complicated,” Bakura said. “Anything can be a weapon, and… Look, don’t you have a butcher around her? Or a blacksmith or anything?”
Nala shrugged. “We’ve got fishing stuff?”
“That works. But the sooner we gear up, the sooner we can get going, and get this over with.”
Nala stared at her feet. She suddenly felt a little nauseous.
Bakura must have seen where this was going.
“Look, you… you won’t even have to use it that much, probably.”
Nala continued gazing in a downward direction. The boy kept talking.
“You get me to the dagger and I can do the hard part, but… it’s a long walk to where I dropped it.”
“You remember where it was?” said Nala.
“Of course I do!” Bakura said.
“You’re not…?”
“What?”
“Bluffing. You’re not bluffing, right?”
“Of course not,” Bakura lied.
Nala frowned. She knew he was, but said, “Okay. Okay. I trust you.”
“Finally!” he said, grinning. “Then let’s get to gearing up and foot it already. Before it’s too late.”
“Too late for what?” said Nala.
He looked her dead in the eyes.
“Too late for them.”
* * * * / * * * *
Next chapter: Kit, & Entanglement
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^.^
(Art by Jess Tyree.)