A strong breeze kicked up the dust all around Wes Tenley and his mouth filled with dirt. He coughed and spat the mud made in his mouth into the ground and continued to plant his beans. The day was almost done, though, and soon he would return to his cottage where his wife Rose and his little daughter Margarette, new to the world, waited for him. The thought of his babe made him smile through his sweat-drenched face.
"The girl's got your looks, Wes," said Garth, "that's unfortunate!"
"True," Wes conceded, "still, she's got more teeth than you."
Garth guffawed, showing the few teeth he had left. Wes and Garth had been friends since they were children. Growing up in Harshel, they had many memories, most of them made in mischief. Stealing the clothes of those who swam naked in the lake, sneaking into the manor house to hide sheep shit, and sneaking off into the woods with a barrel of ale to drink the night away.
But most of their friends had gone away. Dennis went off to become a monk, Fredrick never came back from the war, and Lyndon took an ax to the chest by a drunkard one late night. Now, it was just him and Garth, yet their wives and kids were not as wild as their old friends were.
"Rose's birthday is next week, yes?" asked Garth, "I know a butcher from the city, says he owes me for pulling him out of the path of a mad horse. How 'bout I get a fat capon for the both of you to feast on?"
"That would be wonderful," said Wes, taking in silent delight as his bag of beans was almost empty, "But you must join us, my friend, you and Leta. Bring Alfons as well. A growing boy has got to eat."
On the main road, marching into the village were three men. Two of them Wes recognized as Hamil and Tans, who, for this month, were tasked with guarding the village. Between walked someone he did not recognize. He was an old man, wearing a tattered, dirty black robe with it's torn hood drooped over his head. He had a long unkempt, greying beard with scarlet and black streaks in it. Around his neck dangled a cord of dry oyster shells that clicked and clacked as he shambled along.
"Strange looking fellow, that is," said Garth as he sat and picked the pebbles out of one of his shoes.
"I wonder what he did," said Wes after seeing that his hands were bound with hempen rope.
No sooner had he asked that a horse came up the road with a man being carried in a cart.
Both there day's work done, Garth and Wes made their way up the thoroughfare to see what was amiss. A small crowd had gathered around the man in the cart. Demond was the man's name. He also currently serving as a guard. Though, it seemed his days were few. He writhed in pain, holding his belly as his suffering drew every drop of sweat out of his body.
"It, It, ... " Demond shuddered, "that man ... I knew he was dangerous ... stupid of me to ..." His breathing became laborious, and he clenched his teeth.
The sudden horrid scream of his wife from behind startled all of them. She shoved her way between Wes and Garth to fall on her knees to take her husband's hand.
"Someone, ride to Chestoys," she demanded, from the crowd "bring to us a doctor to save my husband. Please!"
Demond took his wife's hands in his.
"My sweet Donna," he said as softly and sweetly as he could, "there is no doctor alive that can undo a curse. Just stay with me until it takes me."
"No," she said her cheeks soaking with tears, "you mustn't leave me."
A low murmur amongst the crowd rose at the mention of the curse.
"What is happening, my love?" Rose had appeared by Wes's side, holding Marge in her hands.
Leta and Alfons found Garth and asked of him the same.
"Perhaps they should move him into the Sanct," said Leta after being told of what befell Demond, "the presence of the Great Father will surely heal him." At this, she solemnly brought her palm to her forehead and then to her lips and whispered Vita.
Leta was always at her prayers, Garth had told him. Before meals and before bed, she would silently say her little words to give thanks to the Great Father who reigned overall. She had taken on this way of life after Alfons survived the bite of a honey lizard. For days, little Alfons life seemed to dwindle away. His fever burned, he could scarcely move, and his vision forsook him.
Every doctor that they consulted all said his death was near and how surprising it was for him to survive as long as he did. Leta had prayed for the first time in years and for days and nights she never seemed to stop as she knelt by his bed. When he recovered, it was as if though she was afraid to stop giving praise to the heavens, as if Alfons soul lingered in the Great Father's debt.
Demond's friends carried him back to his house and the crowd dispersed, worry, and fear in their eyes. If that strange man is kept here and he is truly responsible for Demond's pain, thought Wes, then I too would be afraid.
Wes did not quite believe in curses. They were frightening things, to be sure. One having the power to destroy another through the bending of the shadows was someone to be feared. Such things could not exist, Wes believed, but only because he has not seen such mysteries himself. A sudden strange fascination bloomed in Wes's mind at this realization, but there was also room for fear of what he did not know.
Perhaps, Demond became ill or got bitten by some vile creature and blamed the old man for it. He had many superstitions, Wes remembered, so it would be no surprise if suspected foul arts to be in play. This thought, however, did little to mitigate his fear.
ns 15.158.61.6da2
