Sylvester & Tuette: Cursed Doubt

Chapter Two

The gentle wind of late afternoon brushed her face; that was the only bare flesh she dare expose. Her Curse disallowed her extremities much freedom in the sunlight.


She had lived in this area the longest since leaving home. She exhaled sullenly as she realized that the incident of that morning would eventually bring the usual mindless crowd. Tuette had become quite keen on judging the time it took for a small town to organize themselves and move against a blindly-perceived threat: less than half a day.


Once the setting sun broke the horizon, the torches would travel from the town’s center towards her uniquely shaped dwelling. Their chants would sound, to them, terrifyingly original, but she had heard it all before. “No more Magik in our sight!” “Kill the Mage!” “Hang the Harlot” That last she had heard on more than one occasion and it only fueled Tuette with the strong notion that these abolitionists of Magik honestly knew nothing of the craft. Harlots are half-breed humans for Valtos’ sake! she would think to herself after such a ridiculous statement. She had spent her midday mealtime packing up her belongings and securing her home for the trip, for the next leg of her unending journey.


Once she turned around, she heard the premature chants. Tuette turned and gazed to the north. Apparently, the residents of Pair Nor were quick organizers. She had little time to act as they were rushing against her. She knew the mob did not want her to escape. Most anti-Magikals either approached their target slowly, allowing escape, or they moved for a quick capture and a quicker death. The Pair Norists wanted the latter.


Tuette bolted into her swan-shaped home through the main entrance on the side. She did a final visual survey of her workbenches, shelves, wall-nets, and cupboards and decided that everything was secure. She snatched the only egg she had left on her fastened-down table. Clambering up the inside of the swan-house’s neck, Tuette reached the top and forced her head, arm, and part of her torso through the vacant eyehole-window. She could smell the smoke from the torches and saw the first of the previously-friendly Pair Norists enter her the clearing. She repressed a final shout and smashed the Charmed egg against the swan-home’s head.


Quickly, she retreated into the window and braced herself. Outside her front door, she heard bangs, shouts, and curses. They were not real and effective Curses, but they served to make her ears slightly uncomfortable. Peppered amongst the bouquets of verbal anger were promises that she would be sorry for bringing Magik into their lives.


Tuette could only frown and force back tears. These people, only a day ago, had been kindness personified. She finally hoped that she had found an accepting home in Pair Nor. But a damning ray of stray light had erased all of that. The sight provided by the sun had blinded them of who she was, washing away the self-made illusion and exposing who she truly was: a Cursed woman, a woman of Magik, a sorceress or Speller of sorts.


Tuette knew that all Cursed humans weren’t associated with Magik, but it was rare since Cursing required Magik. If someone had been Cursed, that usually meant they knew someone who performed Magik. Tuette was such a victim and even if she had not been, everyone reacted the same to a Cursed individual: blind rage that is the center of a mob’s mentality.


Outside, the hate-infused shouts continued. They also began to spatter expensively rare and flammable fluids against her structure but Tuette knew that no harm would come to her. The newly-Charmed home wouldn’t allow it.


As if in sync with her own thoughts, a honk from where Tuette had just been was heard and a shadow fell across her windows. She knew the shape of her home, the sawn, had become animated and was making for a retreat towards any safe haven. She wished for speed to embrace the Magik-inspired swan as Tuette did not want to hear the constant swears and heated shouts.


With the movement of the swan’s wing came shouts of surprise from the people outside. Their was a lurch of movement as Tuette knew her home had stood upon its stilt-like legs, inspiring gasp of awe. Tuette recognized more than a few voices and it panged her heart that the realization always affected everyone. It’s like being doubly Cursed, which is Magikally impossible!


The wings began to move rapidly as the swan attempted to liftoff. The mob outside was now quiet as they realized they were no match for an overbearing swan graced with a hide of mortar. Ordinarily, Tuette timed these departures for sunset so as to produce a fly-by-night endeavor, leaving her time to land in a new area before the Charm wore off at sunrise.


Such displays weren’t supposed to be witnessed, but she valued her life more than the commonly adopted rules that resided behind the use of Magik. When ordinary people witness a feat of power, they usually attempt to foolishly mimic it. And usually with drastic results. But with the early takeoff, Tuette knew she would have the chance to move even farther away. She had, at one point in the past four years, decided to travel slowly west. Sooner rather than later, Tuette knew she would run out of land and be forced to hide in some other manner. Unless she Reversed her Curse.


But that day was yet to come and the swan, following whispers from its mistress, would land in another remote location, most likely on the edge of a forest or lake. Tuette hoped it would be a forest as the swan tended to drink water from lakes. The water damage in the past accosted to the interior of her home had made Tuette aware of this possible threat.


After providing the guiding whispers, Tuette set herself upon her gentle bedding and felt a rush of exhaustion wash over her. She recalled a time when she had been afraid of heights.


That felt so long ago.





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Tuette awoke with a start.


She rubbed her eyes harshly, hoping to wash away the images produced by her horrible dream. The thin amount of water on the floor of her home told her it had been no dream, that she had been forced to abandon another decent living situation.


She propped herself up on her bed and took in the familiar scent of lake water and fish. Two such fish flopped about in the death throes. Tuette felt little sympathy for them and realized that it was probably those dying creatures that had ultimately awakened her.


When she started her travels, she used to have to tell the swan-shaped home to land in very specific regions. For the last year, the Charmed dwelling had seemed to develop a sense of what was a desirable location for its Charming mistress. Judging by the water and fish on the floor, Tuette realized that she had been mistaken in thinking she could afford such a luxurious sleep. The stench was subtle though, and didn’t serve to bother her.


Removing herself from her cushioned bedding, Tuette got a large shawl so as to wrap it about herself, concealing her lengthy hair. She needed to step outside and do a general survey of where she was and she didn’t need her Curse to make her stick out again in case her home had chosen a none-too-prime location.


Upon opening the door, she released what water was left, kicked her shoes dry, and stepped out. As she had suspected, the swan, now with its head and neck in their usual upraised fashion, had chosen a spot near a large and sparsely populated lake. Tuette looked around and saw further that she was on the edge of a forest that ended halfway across the lake. On the other side of the lake was a vast and clear open field that seemed to have been designed to solely give her a view of the mountain in the distance: Mount Reign.


Though it was the tapering end of a mountain chain that stretched from the northwestern corner of the kingdom to its just-east-of-center point, Mount Reign was the tallest of mountains. To Tuette’s great displeasure, it housed the residential king of the land. She didn’t care to know who the current king was as she was of the Magikal community. Tuette knew, like many other Magik casters, that the bloodline of the king had been chosen centuries ago following the bloody end of many dreadful conflicts, the last being the disastrous Dissociative Wars. She also knew that it was a poor manner for choosing a ruler.


Tuette felt that leaders, like the maperryta that guided Magikals, should earn their respective title either through being selected as a successor or chosen by a subservient mass. She recognized that the first king chosen – with Magik, nonetheless – might have been acceptable for that period of time but the kingdom as she knew it had fallen into shambles. There was no underlying supportive economy. There wasn’t even a reliable network of roadways to support regional travel. Had Tuette not possessed her unique building, she felt she would have lost her way in more than one manner of speaking.


Tuette did not appreciate her present location in regards to the land’s monarch. It was this sentiment alone that made her wish to be done with her running, with escaping. But she didn’t know how to end it.


She had been Cursed by none other than her own teacher, four years prior. With spite backing him, he had placed the physically astounding Curse of the Hood upon Tuette. Though it could often be construed as something comical, Tuette felt it was anything but.


At the time of being Cursed, Tuette had within her possession a hood that was designed to look like a swan when worn properly. Much to her amazement and horror, her lengthy blonde locks reformed themselves to make it appear as if a swan were perched atop her head. This occurred when sunlight touched the hairs on her head. It was a malleable form, but only in the sense that the neck and wings could be repositioned. And it was anything but a prime situation for Tuette.


She moved around the backside of her home, where the forest’s edge was. She went about reciting Spells of protection and dropping Charmed seeds with each sentence’s end to affect any who came near. These Spells were specifically designed to cause anyone who ambled upon the site to ignore it without alarm. She thought it was better than the decidedly final alternative.


Moving to the edge, she paused and gauged her current position. Looking behind herself, she noticed that the dwelling had suddenly taken on a golden ambience; the sun had finally peaked over Mount Reign. She took a deep breath of the lakeside morning air. The unmistakable scent of burning wood was present. Raising her head, she stepped backwards and sure enough, above the tree line, a stack of smoke was climbing towards the clouds. Tuette knew that where there was smoke, there were usually people.


And maybe a belcarotia.


She cautiously stepped forward as she was one of few people who knew of the truly inherent dangers surrounding the smoke fiends. Especially in an area as heavily wooded as these. But first, Tuette decided to turn and retreat into her home to retrieve a sturdy staff. It carried no Magikal properties, but was stronger than others of its ilk. Using it as a walking aide, she entered the forest once more, hoping to avoid exposure to the smoke.


Normally, such actions weren’t taken but Tuette knew that she was running low on resources, like foodstuffs, various spices and roots, powders for general hygiene and her ever-essential supply of eggs. Though older eggs tended to make her Give Life Charm less powerful, Tuette knew that to keep none in stock was foolish. She preferred keeping helpful items in supply rather than useless foolishness.


She made quick time in the forest and before long began to hear murmurs from other humans. She did not know their general nature but felt ready to deal with anyone at the moment. Tuette feared slightly that they would smell her before they saw her as she felt oppressively grimy, but decided that the smoke was probably masking her general scent.


Spying a glimmer of fire to her left, she moved in a cyclic manner towards it. Tuette felt that coming from a direction that wouldn’t lead straight back to her swan-home was an advantage worth having when dealing with strangers The crackle of dancing flames was then heard and the murmurs began to soften. She knew that these people behaving foolishly as, before long, the smoke stack would reach a diameter wide enough to house a territorial belcarotia. And the creatures loved wood.


Sinister in appearance only, Tuette knew a belcarotia was a being that existed entirely of smoke and fire. Some Mages believed it to be the product of a SecGen Curse – or Second Generation Curse – gone awry, leaving its victim in a perpetual state of Life, but only within the realms of smoke. The origin story made sense to Tuette because the belcarotia behaved like any human: always wanting more. It acquired more land and life by shooting combustive sparks that ignited wood and killed a human in a ghastly way.


It was unknown if more than one existed as none of the few reported instances had been sighted at the same time. Though she liked comparing it to a man, Tuette truly believed it was something a little simpler than a Cursed human with an affinity for destruction. She liked to think it was nothing more than some kind of Demon left over from the time before the one World became several Worlds.


As she neared the small clearing, she could see three men sitting to one side of a still-growing fire. They were simply clothed and Tuette felt a certain familiarity about them. She paused when she realized what it was that seemed familiar. It wasn’t the men themselves but their clothing and, more importantly, the rucksacks that each had on the ground between their feet. These were not regular people but Mages.


Which meant that Tuette was without hope.


Within a normal community of non-Magikals, Tuette could have attempted to blend in and keep to herself in regards to her Cursed condition. But with other casters, she knew better than to even try. It was a too-common occurrence that the Magikals would follow the myth surrounding Cursed individuals rather than the facts.


Many Magikals believed that life threatening maladies and activities gravitated around people who were under any type of Curse. It was nothing but mere coincidence and superstition as far as Tuette was concerned, but that idea was difficult to place inside other people’s skulls. She knew that wherever these young Mages had come from, it would be no safe harbor for her.


She turned to head towards her home and was stilled in her tracks by a soft, wispy purr. It was a gentle sound in her ears and mind. It was also enough to get the Mages to stop talking and pay attention to their circumstance in regards to the flames and, more importantly, the smoke. Tuette knew what had happened: belcarotia had inadvertently been summoned.


Peering over her shoulder, she could still see the slight clearing that housed the trio. The youthful Mages had ashen faces and looked unprepared as they fished about in their rucksacks. With clarity, she also watched as they were pierced by something that extended itself effortlessly from the smoke: small projectiles that left tendril-like wisps of smoke to define their paths. They must have had some notion of protection inside their sacks, but whatever that had been was beyond their aide. Smoke sputtered from their wounds as they writhed about in soundless agony.


Even at this distance, Tuette could see the clothing burn slowly, revealing the skin beneath as the veins became ash. By craft, a belcarotia had the ability to start fires just beyond its own range for the simple sake of expanding its smoke stack. This was how forest fires began. When humans got in the way, it was almost always a very painful death that followed.


Tuette aimed to keep herself in the exceptional category of survivors as she raced through the forest. But which direction had she come from? Witnessing the Magikal trio dying had unsettled her mindset. She was no stranger to death, but such a foolhardy means of passing disturbed her.


Whoever said ignorance was bliss was wrong.





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In the short time she had been in the forest, she had been turned around and wondered if another Spell might have been at work. It was rarely hypothesized that World Spirits offered up sacrifices to a belcarotia as means of preserving their wooded environ. Tuette doubted the hypothesis, but would not have put it past any World Spirit. Of the few she had learned about, none seemed too kind.


Still, she ran, using her staff to push brush away from her face and trying to remain soundless. The smoke fiends were said to have incredible hearing. This was not Tuette’s first encounter with such a creature, but it was turning out to be her closest.


Years ago, while under the tutelage of her former and accursed teacher, Tuette had asked about belcarotia and, in the middle of a vibrant field, had witnessed the summoning of one. The fire had started small but grew larger with controlled consumption, the lush field acting like a potential prison. Green, healthy plants were harder to burn. Then the creature seemed to materialize within the smoke and direct flaming projectiles from itself, purring in that hard-to-forget guttural fashion. With distance, Tuette and teacher were safe and she was thankful for the knowledge but now Tuette wished she knew what to do. Belcarotia were dangerous and why these now-dead Mages had been playing with fire was nothing more than a mystery to the Cursed woman.


As she moved, she started gasping for air; she was not much of a runner. Tuette’s side began to cramp and she cursed her own inactivity. The light, enjoyable, and often lazy times amongst the Pair Norists had produced unkind results. She labored on through the woods, hearing the rising sound of crackling flame and wood just behind her. A belcarotia could shoot considerable distances, but took time between each shot; firing upon an item that burns in the distance was thought to be wasteful as there was no guarantee the smoke stack would join the belcarotia’s. Tuette felt the rising heat and, ahead of herself, witnessed a thinning of the forest. She prayed to Valtos that it was the lake and, upon making it into the clearing, felt the warmth of the sun confirm the power of such prayer.


Behind her was the growing fire trail that, if the fiend was following her, was being blazed by Tuette personally. If the fiend made it to the clearing, it would know that traveling the tree line would have been easy enough to reach her swan-home. She was not sure if her slight Charms would hold up to a belcarotia. Deciding that they would not as the flames would destroy the seedlings that anchored the Spells, Tuette began to rumble over other alternatives.


If she did not act, Tuette knew the belcarotia might move to destroy her home, her only means of practical transportation. If she moved north of the shoreline, the creature could choose to ignore her and envelope the small building anyway. Either way, Tuette had to keep in mind that belcarotia moved however they desired. She knew she would have to stop the creature somehow. And, most likely, she was going to have to use one of her Potes.


Moving towards her home, ever mindful of her shawl covering her hair, Tuette knew that the Pote strong enough to possibly stop the belcarotia was her only vial of Freezing Pote. It was a Pote she had developed with a former associate during her Curse-inspired exile. The crafting of Potes was typically a solitary excursion of which Tuette had had plenty of time to practice and hone. Over the many months, she had perfected a handful of unique Potes, all of original design. She had based her uses of Pote Magik on already-existing ideas but tweaked them or reshaped them to her own needs.


The Freezing Pote was the only one that she had crafted with another person, an old friend named Dermitalus Tasciturn, or Dermy, as he was often called. He had not been much of a Mage but he knew a great deal about plant life and the properties inherent in each. Drawing on a rare blossom pointed out by Dermy that had protectively paralyzing venom, the sh’cor lip, Tuette was able to fashion the Freezing Pote.


Falling to financial securities that were offered up by the monarch, Dermy had moved to Mount Reign to assist under the agricultural division of the crown. Though the physically diminutive man had attempted to maintain contact, Tuette thought it better to avoid the traitorous man as best she could. The fact that she physically moved around made little difference for the duo shared Communication Gems. She never wore hers.


Entering her now-imperiled home, Tuette went straight to a cupboard she rarely opened. Her day-to-day Charms and items were kept closer at hand. These powerful Potes, due to the length of time it could take to make any one of them, were deemed too valuable to use on just any occasion. Presently, Tuette felt justified in using one.


She opened the cupboard that was no cupboard at all but a crawl-through; a space where she could access her precious concoctions. The space itself was one of the hollowed wings, now settled in the restive position. This was the best place for anything valuable because the Give Life Charm held all contents firmly so as not to betray any notion to the swan that it was anything but alive.


Hoisting herself up while being ever mindful of the slowly intensifying purr outside, Tuette put herself halfway into the dark crawlspace. She had not thought to bring a candle or torch of any kind which was for the better she decided: one of the Potes, the Firedom Expansion Pote, needed only a drop of flame to fulfill its purpose. It was definitely not the Pote that Tuette was looking for.


Feeling around in the dark and eventually growing tired, impatient, and deathly worried, Tuette finally found her rucksack, hoisted it out, and used the sunlight to see into the bag. After only a handful of seconds, Tuette had her Pote, but feared she was too late.


She carried the entire sack out with her, came around the dwelling and had to take a breath. A large portion of the forest’s edge just north of her home had been engulfed by the flames produced by the smoke-born beast. At the forefront of the intensely heated area was a thicker billow of smoke that seemed to possess itself of two faintly discernable glowing eyes and a nasty sneer of a mouth. The eyes were solid white and chilling.


It didn’t move or speak. She thought she would freeze on the spot, despite her vial being unopened. The vial. Momentarily absent from her mind, she remembered that she had to save not only herself but her home, her safe haven.


Tuette unstopped the vial of Freezing Pote, a twinge of regret in having to do it as it had taken three months to craft such a fine Pote. And also because of what she desperately needed it for in the long run. But this is surely a dire situation, Tuette! She hurled the Pote, vial and all, at the belcarotia.


No incantation was required to activate a Pote. The Freezing Pote sailed towards the belcarotia… and the vial passed right between its eyes to land upside down on the ground smoldering behind the creature.


Tuette froze as if the Pote had been poured onto her very heart. The vial had proved ineffective, passing harmlessly through the target. The belcarotia was going to burn her home to the ground and still attempt to claim her life along with the Mages. How could they have been so careless as to accidentally summon such a creature? She might hope to escape, but she would not find safe housing within the Magikal community that most likely rested on the other side of the forest. Surely, by now, they’re attempting to stop the forest fire from spreading elsewhere.. As if sensing her despair, a smile graced the area that would have passed as the belcarotia’s mouth.


Just as quickly, the smile waned and the creature seemed to enter a state of solidity, if but for a moment. With smoky rage, it turned and followed back along its path of waning smoke. Waning smoke!


She thoughts first how other Mages were dousing the flames, drawing the creature away from her as it posed a terrible threat to anyone nearby. But she saw that was not the case: the smoke was dissipating. If water were being applied, the smoke would have doubled in strength, surely killing Tuette in some fashion.


She finally saw the cause of the lessened smoke; her Freezing Pote had worked. It had traveled through smoke and flame to land upon the ground and Freeze the very embers that fed the fire. With no embers, there was no fire, and with no flame, there could be no smoke. Tuette heaved a hefty sigh of relief and could only smile while letting out some post-tension shakes and jitters. The belcarotia acted as if choking on the cleaner air and finally disappeared altogether.


First leaning and then sitting against her swan-home, Tuette rested for several minutes as the crackles of flame decreased and eventually extinguished. Again, she was a little disheartened that she had finally been forced to use such a necessary Pote, but for the sake of safe passage, Tuette was ever more thankful to have had it.


Fondly, she remembered Dermy and the seemingly brief times they had shared. Forgetting the fact that he had left her to work for the very government that she had vehemently voiced against, she had found their friendship as being convenient in more ways than one. Other than his extensive knowledge regarding fauna and floral properties, Dermy had been what no one else had been since: a companion. He had been someone that she had thought would be there with her, leading up to the point in time when she was able to Reverse her own Curse.


But he was gone, and that was that. Getting up and beginning to feel nostalgic, Tuette entered her home once more, reached into her rucksack that had remained in hand, and pulled out the Comgem. It was set into a bracelet and she put it on, thinking that she might suddenly feel the warmth that denoted the wearer of someone’s attempt for contact.


No such warmth came and Tuette, feeling foolish, moved to take it off.


In mid-motion, there was a four-tap knock on her door. It had been left open and Tuette saw a single woman there. The unexpected sight made Tuette flinch. The stranger was taller than Tuette, had lengthy brown hair tinged with gray, and she was dressed in a manner denoting her occupation - a lengthy robe comprised of a maroon dye.


She was a Magikal and around her shoulder hung a rucksack of similar design to Tuette’s. The stranger said nothing. There was no need. She could clearly see the tightly-clutched sack in Tuette’s own hand and already know plenty about what the Cursed woman was capable of. Except that I’m not Cursed, for all she knows.


As long as she stayed shielded against the rays of sunlight, she would be splendidly protected. The woman stared expectantly, not entering as that type of intrusion was thought to be extremely uncivilized.


Tuette finally spoke. “Yes?” she asked simply, quietly.


The woman looked as if she were about to cry. Her eyes were glossed over with unshed tears and Tuette faced her fully, putting her sack on the table. The vials of Potes inside – the unsecured ones– rattled around. Tuette herself counted three rattled vials so the woman also had to have heard them. Tuette didn’t know if it was best that the stranger was blind on how much defensive Magik was in her grasp.


The stranger took a deep breath. “Thank you” was all she uttered. She then threw her hood up to cover her hair and left Tuette’s frame of view. Tuette stepped forward to see where the strange woman was headed but when she peeked her head outside the window, she saw no one.


Tuette knew that teleportation without a wholly external Magik aide was impossible. More likely, the stranger had cast an Invisibility Spell about herself. That or she had blended Chameleon Silk into her robe. Either way, Tuette had decided against immediately seeking out the stranger as no malice had passed between them.


But she felt she would like to know what she was being thanked for. Tuette also didn’t like surprises when it came to people walking up to her home and leaving at their own will. She was a very private person. She reached into her rucksack, secured the loose vials into their straps, and placed the whole of it back within the wing-deep cupboard.


Grabbing more seeds, she cautiously stepped outside to replace her only passive means of defense. The forest, though still singed and burning in small spots, was safe. She then wondered, ever so carefully, if the belcarotia would have come her way or even tried to burn down the forest if her presence, in some mystical way, hadn’t distracted the young Mages from what they had ultimately been doing.


After letting such thoughts pass, she could not help but wonder if, in fact, life-threatening situations and maladies did encircle a Cursed person. Was she nothing but a threat for all that existed around her? She hated to think so. Tuette hoped, in the end, that her Mortal existence would bring about something wholesome for all of Valent in the long run. But, so far, she felt she might have set the circumstances for those young, dead Mages.