Sylvester & Tuette: Cursed Doubt

Chapter Fifteen

Count Roost had been with the chicken a whole day and he still didn’t know what to do with it. Puze had brought it back during the creature’s latest jaunt. At first, the bird – Is it a bird if it can’t fly? – had run around the room like a victim of decapitation. Puze explained why: when he had gotten near the group in the forest, following Roost’s own predictions, one of the women began to hack away at the chickens.


The one Puze had landed on had been running for it’s life and Puze, being so near his own termination, held on for dear departure, intent on bringing the rare bird back with him.


What the Cursed fiend didn’t know was why the woman had changed so suddenly: Roost clutched the lei cat tooth in his lower pocket, smiling to himself. The item was involved with a Potent Artificial-from-Afar Charm, to say the least. With the intricate makeup of the large tooth, Roost had been able to apply multiple Artificials to the design, a total of three. And when Puze, his proximity tool, came within range of the kingstone, the Artificial channeled through the tiny animal and performed whatever actions where necessary to insure the king continue his journey towards the count.


Apparently, the Artificial had slaughtered the chickens, an act which brought a level of grief to Roost; he knew how prized the birds were. What the count did cherish about the situation, at first, was the arrival of the avian with Puze. That is, until an hour ago, when the bird began to make a guttural screech of a sound before the sun was even up. Roost, assuming he could leash the bird in the same room as the large and odd plant, had left it over night.


But the awful sound drifted up the stairwell with relative ease, scratching against the insides of Roost’s ears. He fumbled around in the pre-dawn light, which he wasn’t accustomed to, and made his way quickly down the steps, wishing he had a banister of some kind to cling to. I’ll get Botch to build one this very day.


Arriving at the workshop door, he witnessed a strange scene: the chicken was perched on the eastern window, beginning another bout of the awful sound, like a sun-driven clock. Roost immediately wondered if the creature aimed to kill itself. And why does it sport that odd crest on its head? Roost recalled sketches of the rare creatures and none of them had it. This one seemed almost lean as well, which could’ve attributed to a poor diet, but Roost felt with certainty that it was more masculine in nature than he had previously assumed was possible. He felt immediately abashed at having thought of the creatures as being genderless, though such a thing wasn’t uncommon amongst Magik-supportive animals. Like lettados, and thief-ghems, and the atrocious night dragons. But this bird was none of them; just small and ordinary in most respects.


That wasn’t the most surprising aspect of the scene. Behind the bird stood a person, a girl. She was in her teens and… garbed in a feather dress. The colors were the same as the chickens and Count Roost was more surprised than anything to allow a proper response. When one finally came, he laced it was as much anger he could muster, saying, “Who are—“


As he had begun speaking, she turned, her feather dress shimmered to the same color as the floor she stood upon, and then she faded into nothingness. Her face had been bleached with stark surprise and Roost immediately felt more anger. The girl was either an Artificial, a rogue spirit, which wasn’t likely, or a World Spirit. The final option made Roost punch the stone wall, which he immediately regretted.


World Spirits, Roost knew, were troublesome creatures. They had been disallowed from leaving the Mortal realm after their bodies had died and were forced to adopt lifeless environments, like abandoned forests, stagnant lakes or leks, or even barren caverns. The location they attached themselves to was usually near the site of their death, and what was most bothersome was that they all had expired during the same point in time, roughly ten centuries ago. At least, the Mages brave enough to question varied World Spirits had reported as such.


Rubbing the soreness out of his knuckles, Roost recalled that the spirits, being faced with a solitary confinement on the Mortal realm for an untold amount of time, were justifiably bitter. If I’d been forced to reside in the location where I met my demise, I’d be fairly angry too. Why Valtos had commanded that Salrouge deny these spirits access was beyond anyone’s guess. There were etchings in Roost’s tome, he knew, but he took no interest in them because he had no concern for World Spirits.


Except during this moment.


How had he been living on a spot where such an entity had resided without him knowing until now? Had the chicken’s presence drawn her out? Count Roost knew she had seemed genuinely startled, to say the least. Perhaps she’s never seen a chicken? But that was unlikely as she would be centuries old and during her young and true life, she would’ve seen a plentiful amount of the ground-based ‘kens. He had been able to surprise her though and that should’ve been impossible as the World Spirits were supposed to be omnipotent within their confined environs.


Roost found himself feeling a little sympathetic because the girl had obviously been young when she died. He looked at his knuckles and the middle one had split open smoothly with rough skin flakes on the edge just waiting to be brushed away. “Mokheaded spirit,” he muttered, knowing he’d never coax the girl out of hiding to send swears into her useless face.


Another wonder popped up: why did she even appear? It was true that the World Spirits were limitedly omniscient but they could alter their form and affect their space however they wished. Was this why Castle Tigra Lei had been abandoned: the former governor was deprived of an even amount of head energies because the Spirit drove him insane? Roost left the workshop and went downstairs, wishing that Botch had been present to at least light the torches. But sunrise was fast approaching, signified by a soft glow permeating the castle’s interior.


In the kitchen, he opened the piping and let icy water run across his hand, watching pink fluid swirl in the basin. When he closed the pipe, he heard a crash from bellow, followed by some grunts and moans. Botch was below, then, and handling the decrepit Voidet. Roost recollected the past few days where he had begun teaching the servant a few useful Charms and even being so bold as to talk about Artificials. He didn’t mention that he had tied a trio of them to the lei cat tooth but did mention that it was easy to tether such creations to inanimate objects. He also didn’t mention that they could follow only simple orders, if made up properly.


His throat caught at the loss of the chickens again but that was temporary. Surely there are more elsewhere.


The sounds had not died away, telling Roost that Botch was showing a reluctance to stifle the elder’s pain. The boy knew he didn’t have to endure the man’s suffering. Does he pity himself for thinking such a selfish thought? Roost then wondered at how selfish it really was to force a person in ailment to go through the motions in peace.


For some bizarre reason, Roost remembered coming across a stray nit in a wood. The small feline was mewling off droves of pain as if forcing sympathy to live inside of any within earshot. Roost recalled feeling sad for the animal and angry that it could have so much power over something inside Roost when it wasn’t powerful enough to save itself from whatever had caused its pain. It was a handful of seconds in which Roost had to decide whether to put the nit out of misery, adopt it and try to heal it, or leave it to die.


The anger he felt had grown because running over the options and spending time contemplating on another creature’s fate had delineated Roost from his own life, from time he wished to spend traveling and not thinking about death.


He picked up the animal and the creature screeched more, as if the movement caused the pain to grow; it could do nothing but complain and hope that the human would bestow good health. When the count snapped the nit’s neck, a wash of grief ran over him. The animal had clearly thought that salvation was at hand – that much was evident in its sorry eyes – but Roost had managed to let his anger steer the situation into what it was: an act of mercy. He knew that killing the animal would’ve been best in the long run, but he also knew he could’ve cared for it and made it his own. In time, any bone could be mended.


So when Voidet came to burden Roost with his poor health, he knew he couldn’t kill the old man: he could only alleviate the pain. Since no manner could take care of Voidet’s internal malfunctions, Roost opted for the Pain-Less Stones, designed for people like the count who couldn’t stand to let the pain of others affect the decisions in his own life. To, in the end, affect his life.


Finally, the subterranean groans died away and Roost knew the old man was suffering his pain in silence. He wished he could actually alleviate the pain, thinking of the dead nit as the futile prayer washed inside his skull, but only the Godblade could do that, according to Voidet. And that was Roost’s whole intent.


Botch ascended the stone steps in silence and when he opened the door to the infirmary, he stopped cold when he saw the count. Was he embarrassed to have evoked such a selfish spell, after other methods he most definitely would have tried had seemingly failed?


Roost dried his hand with a rag and Botch looked like he might start crying. Had Voidet struck him, or did the struggle have such a toll on his young, malleable spirit?


The count didn’t know what to do. Seeing the boy and his obvious state of uneasiness was affecting his own thought process and he knew he could ignore it and act like he didn’t recognize the symptoms of shame or grief, or he could acknowledge it and try and speak with Botch on the issue. What would that lead to? Maybe the servant would try to embrace Roost? He couldn’t recall a time when he’d been hugged or even held, but the action had to have occurred when he was young.


The skeletons tended to embrace him wholeheartedly in his nightmares, a feat accomplished well for those with no hearts. But closeness with that of the living? With a person of even Botch’s position? Roost had never thought much about children but with Botch, it almost felt like he had found one for himself.


Roost stepped forward and awkwardly put his arms around the boy.


Botch clutched Roost around the waist, causing the count to stifle laughter for it was ticklish at first. Then the boy began to gently sigh and Roost really didn’t know what to do then. “I… I tried… But he… wouldn’t… stop!”


Nodding even though Botch couldn’t see it, Roost empathized with the lad. It was his first real instance in quelling the man’s physical actions as linked to his irregular bouts of anguish. His hand instinctively moved to tousle the boy’s black hair and Roost found that he was feeling suddenly uncomfortable. He made to step away and Botch immediately let go, wiping his eyes on the overstretched collar of his tunic.


“Botch, it’s all we can do. I’m working to help him permanently.” He leaned down more, attaining level eye contact with the servant, being reminded that he was, in many ways, just a child. “But we cannot let it run our emotions, our feelings. His pain cannot dictate our actions. What I work towards isn’t only for helping only him, but for helping everyone. In the long run. That’s what tells me that the cause is worthwhile: because I’m being so self-sacrificial to obtain the end result.”


The boy nodded, wiping his red-rimmed eyes again and Roost resisted the urge to hug him again. The first one had been enough of a display of weakness for a lifetime.


He clapped Botch on the shoulder and said “But that’s done with and breakfast is due about now.”


Roost almost invited himself to help the boy but, thankfully, Botch said, “Then… Then I’ll jump at it, yes, sir. You, um, upstairs and such. I’ll have your basin behind you and then get started, uh, on your eggs and meats, yes. Sir.”


Theirs eyes met in the most uncomfortable, revelatory way, and Roost was thankful to have an excuse to leave the boy’s company, if only for a bit. But their dynamic had shifted, if not subtly. He knew he could never purposefully misspeak the lad’s name now: as a servant or even an apprentice, that was satisfactory and almost expected, but now it felt like an alien form of their relationship had infected them both. Roost knew it to be the long-lost stipules of friendship, but he wasn’t sure he wanted it. At least not in someone so young, and so unlike Roost himself.


If I could only Curse the boy. That would draw him to remain ostracized from others and be forced to rely on Roost as his only friend. But would Botch appreciate that? Roost didn’t know and did not want to think about it anymore.


As he ascended the stairwell, his physical distance approximating the mental energies spent on Botch, Roost began to think again of the World Spirit problem that he hadn’t even realized he had.


Anger arrived inside his head again and he immediately regretted the presence of the Spirit for it had so directly affected him and he could do almost nothing to alter her. Unless he found exactly where she was rooted and compressed the space. It was obvious that the stones with which the castle was built had come from an infected site. He would ask Botch – no, not him, not now. He’d ask other’s of Boost though, maybe even Botch’s father, about where the stones had come from. It’d have to be the island, yes, but it was a large island, indeed. And he didn’t like the idea of having to persistently travel and possibly even stumble across a larger area of the Spirit’s infection.


If the stones had come from somewhere else, why hadn’t the World Spirit enveloped all the space between? Maybe she does? She was curiously shy: most of the known World Spirits made themselves known in many harsh and sometimes harmful ways.


He had time to kill anyway. By any estimation, Sylvester would arrive in Boost near the full moon and that was days away. And he had the Artificial-from-Afar Charm as well. All he had to do was send Puze to the king again, possibly even order the irritant to tell the king the truth of the matter, because who would believe that? And Puze didn’t know everything anyway, so what would be the harm?


Thinking of what Puze had related to Roost, his mind wandered even further. Who is traveling with the king? His illustrious Gousherall Guards, obviously, but Puze had stated seeing two women. Were they sorceresses? Had the king, recognizing that Magik was being handled heavily in his situation, hired Magikal hands to assist him? That seemed only logical, from Roost’s standpoint, but they could only serve to hinder the king, throwing multiple options his way and possibly delaying his arrival even.


Yes, he would alter instructions for the second Artificial to dispose of the Magikals in any way necessary. Especially if they are going to actually attempt a ‘ken search instead! What foolhardy leader would bow to the demands of a terrorist rather than seek out and destroy that menace? Obviously, King Sylvester and his easily-swayed mind. Was he not guarded with suspicion about such possibilities, as provided by kings of the past through his envied stone?


It occurred to Roost for the first time that the two women might be purposefully curbing the king’s situation because they wanted the power of his kingstone for themselves. Yes, I might arrange to have them both killed. He couldn’t risk losing the kingstone to a couple of naturally wretched creatures as those that would try and travel with the king. And end up driving the Godblade further into the annals of mythology.