Sylvester & Tuette: Cursed Doubt

Chapter Thirty

The scene before Tuette was subtly horrific.


Her former mentor – though not quite the same man – was before her and waging a kind of fight with King Sylvester. Tuette didn’t want to think how long a man like Sylvester could hold his own against a ruthless monster such as Voidet. Especially since the elderly bastard in the dungeon designed the very pikes that the count is using.


But Sylvester had been quick to take up Vest’s sword and give it a significant try. While kneeling next to him, Tuette administered to Dermy’s needs. Or tried to. He had just been doubly pierced in the chest. Dermy was clenched into a ball on the floor though, his hands being held against his chest by his knees. He was obviously doing a good job at restricting blood loss as Tuette didn’t rightly see any large pool gaining ground underneath the farmer.


Thinking about Cherry and Terry and wondering what had drawn Dermy to the interior of this dreadful and dreadfully small castle, Tuette went partway up the stairwell to look out the window to the west, stepping over Vest’s traitorous corpse in the process. Thankfully, the sun had just set but twilight bathed the nearby grounds graciously. Plus, the fullness of Estella provided detailed accounts of what was happening. Namely, Cherry was spied slumping into Terry’s arms.


The constancy of deep breathing had taken an unexpected toll on her and Tuette felt bad for not seeing the outcome beforehand.


But I’m not a Seer. I can’t plan for every contingency. In seconds, Cherry was back on her unsteady feet and planting another stalk and then another.


From her vantage point, sounds didn’t carry as well as she would’ve liked but she did hear the high-pitched shriek coming from somewhere outside to Tuette’s right. A few seconds more saw a young lad, a teen, running full-tilt at Cherry and Terry. He looked battered, like he had encountered one-too-many street toughs in his urchinite lifestyle. Tuette saw a note of resignation pass across Terry’s face as he went to meet the kid with his long sword, which Tuette had just realized had been drawn the whole time, except when Cherry had fallen into the Gousherall’s arms. Clearly, by his actions alone, he was not going to betray Decennia as Vest had.


But it’s not the country that Vest had a problem with, just the man at the head of it, she said to herself. Clearly, Vest saw himself as the ultimate patriot and she felt sorry for him. He had been raised to believe one thing, probably having it almost literally drilled into his head since childhood, only to grow up and serve that belief wholly, only to find that it let him down. That it didn’t quite meet his expectations.


She turned around to look at Voidet and Sylvester still swinging blades and she realized that Vest was completely wrong about the monarch, as she had been. He was keenly devoted to the kingdom as much as the deceased Guard had been; he just hadn’t been sure how to express that devotion. Now he was here, literally battling for time against a certified terror.


Looking back outside, Tuette was surprised to see the teen on the ground and Cherry and Terry continuing. A small sense of dread filled her as she imagined that the boy might’ve just been cut down for good, being sent to fight for what he was told to fight for, whether he believed it or not. Was it a wasted life? That’s not for me to decide, she reminded herself.


But the guilt had almost become tangible.


When I was his age, I was learning how to make footwear. She heard a gasp, as if someone had just been kicked, and when she looked, she saw that it had been Sylvester landing a possibly-unexpected kick into Voidet’s side. The count staggered and clutched an open palm to the area while he held the pikes out in front of him to keep Sylvester at bay. But Sylvester’s foot seemed unsteady too: she noticed that he was now putting more weight on the other one, as if the kick had hurt more than expected.


Doing a quick mental calculation, Tuette decided that it was still another few minutes before Cherry and Terry finished. With that small amount of assurance, she focused her attention onto Corunny Voidet and his posture. In short, he was rigid. He hadn’t been as graceful as he should’ve been with weapons he had possessed most of his life. And he’s fighting a man who, admittedly, has little practice with the mettle of combat. Is the count not keeping up with his martial practices, or is he being stinted by something else? Tuette suddenly found herself wishing that she could help the king, if only to buy more time for Cherry.


She also suddenly realized that she almost didn’t want the Corn Circle to be completed, and it wasn’t because the fighting lad outside might’ve been slain. If the Circle was complete, then Dorothy was to be expected. Part of her was nervous with excitement at having been part of such a ritual. But part of her – the same part that was probably similar to what had driven Vest to the point of trying to kill Sylvester – was fearful of what might happen after the Circle was there.


What if she doesn’t show up? What if this Magik isn’t real?


Tuette found herself dreading the moment that the Corn Circle might be finalized, only to have nothing happen. She knew that Magik was deftly real and that it shaped and defined her very life, but the Magik she used and was affected by was unique only to Valent, was defined by Valtos. But beyond Valtos, she had no experience.


The texts and scripts named the names but there was no proof beyond Valtos that something else existed. What if it’s all some false ideal sewn by the Toll Brothers or whomever centuries ago, if only to provide false hope for those of us that need salvation beyond Valtos? She suddenly found herself wondering about the existence of even the exiled Wishing Gods but knew that she was only panicking in the final hour.


She decided to abandon her worries and devise any manner in which she might be able to help—


But the immediate absurdity of it all finally struck her. She nearly leaped from her step to land next to Vest. When she stood up, she yelled out “Hey! Hey!”


The combatants gave her their attention after stepping away from each other. “Tuette, what’s wrong? What hap—“


“He’s not trying to kill you, Sylvester. Coge already confirmed that.”


Voidet’s eyes widened slightly. “So you did see my father! What did you do to him? Did you…” A smile seemed to haunt the corners of the count’s mouth but at this distance and with the light becoming dimmer by the minute, it wasn’t easy to tell.


“She just used that Stone thing on him,” spat Sylvester while shifting his eyes between friend and foe. “But you’re right, Tuette.” He settled on Voidet. “You are not trying to kill me. Otherwise, I imagine you would’ve Cursed me with something or used a Pote or something else that I would assume you keep with you at all times.”


The mention of a Pote startled Tuette as she had just realized that she still possessed the Freezing Pote. A slight grace came upon her when she recalled, in the dungeon, the possibility of having to use it to get away form the menial Coge. And how she had been more than content with the idea. But if she used it now, Tuette knew it wouldn’t matter because Roost was Voidet and if he just disappeared, then her own Curse would too. Still, she knew she could use it to at least Freeze Voidet if only to buy them the time they needed to escape the Circle.


But with Dermy…


At the thought, Tuette turned to look at her friend, only to find him still and silent. She felt an urge to rush to him and realized that if she needed to Freeze him if only to save him later, that might have to happen… If he’s not already dead. Thinking that was almost overwhelming but she knew she had to maintain some kind of composure.


Turning back to the paused battle, she realized that Voidet had just said something about how he didn’t need any kind of Magik to stop the king. “And you clearly can’t be directly Cursed. Otherwise, I’d have taken care of you long ago.”


“What do you mean?”


The clean-shaven man nearly laughed. He finally pulled his hand from the point where Sylvester had landed the kick but also dropped his pikes a little. The weight or imbalance is probably bothering him. “Your precious…kingstone!” The way he said it, it was almost like a vile fluid in his mouth that he had just spat out.


Sylvester looked like he had just been spat upon too. Tuette then realized that while she had private knowledge of the kingstone beforehand and Sylvester himself had filled in the rest of the details, no one else should have known about it.


Corunny Voidet knows. But how?


Another realization caught up to her as well: Voidet had said that he had tried Cursing Sylvester directly before but had been unsuccessful, and had attributed that failure to the kingstone’s protections. Whatever the kingstone doesn’t do for the man, at least it protects him from that much.


A sense of peace uncomfortably invaded her mind then and it was a moment before she realized that it wasn’t for herself but for Sylvester: an answer of some kind had finally fallen in his lap regarding the very thing that seemingly defined his existence.


Too bad we’re on the brink of a sea change, she thought to herself while feeling sorry for the unfortunate circumstance that brought about the conclusion. She also silently swore at herself for not thinking about attempting a Curse on Sylvester before, if only to see if she could. Of course the kingstone had partially intrigued her but she hadn’t thought to help the man out in such a potentially-invasive manner. He hadn’t thought to ask either but she should’ve known that Sylvester wouldn’t consider such an avenue. She could’ve provided him with an answer… but it was her former mentor and current tormentor that had imbued King Sylvester with a piece for his puzzling life.


And it didn’t seem right.


“You’re saying that I… I can’t be Cursed?”


The count stared blankly and instead of laughing, as Tuette had imagined he might, he became quite discolored in the face: darkening reds. She wondered if something were happening but realized that Corunny was incredibly upset about something. Without warning, he punched his fist downward, against the stone floor. His pikes retracted and his large fist smacked with a fleshy wetness, enough to make Sylvester and Tuette wince simultaneously.


Corunny then stood up and stepped back; the rush of blood to his head making him lightheaded. He stood with his feet shoulder-width apart and brushed both hands through his short dark hair, blowing out a deep breath in the process and directing his gaze to the ceiling. Finally, he let out what could only be described as a clucking-bark. “Ca-auf! You don’t even kriffing know about what your possessions do and don’t do?”


Sylvester slowly lowered his weapon and stepped back, his own face becoming a shade similar to the count’s though Tuette recognized it as something more like shame than anger. She felt a similar heat rise in her own face and knew it probably looked blotchy. She truly felt for Sylvester in this moment.


“J-just give it here,” said Corunny while stepping forward quickly and impatiently and holding out his hand; his eyes looked like they were on fire. Sylvester stepped backwards a couple steps but didn’t raise his sword. He looked like he might drop it. “Just give me the kingstone. You obviously aren’t worthy to have it anyway.”


It was a like a slap in the face and Tuette found herself stepping to Sylvester’s side if only to defend him from the likes of the count. Why say such a thing that sounds so similar to what Vest was spouting before? She looked at the corpse of the man and wondered why Corunny would slay such a like-minded individual. When she had stepped up, Corunny only met her gaze without retreating; he obviously didn’t feel threatened anymore. Sylvester should just cut him down where he stands, if only to prove he can. She looked at the monarch then in all his crownless demeanor and knew he could probably never do such a thing.


Tuette also realized that if anyone deserved to be a leader, it was someone just like Sylvester: who could never cut down another man when it wasn’t necessary.


“I won’t be doing that,” said Sylvester, though it sounded flat and a little shaky.


Corunny raised his eyebrows and clenched the fist at his side while suppressing a grimace. “I’m sorry?” He sounds so pretentious I just want to smack the man.


She did just that.


Corunny took it in stride and Sylvester looked shocked. “Tuette!”


“What? I’ve got nothing to lose. And he can’t Curse me anyway. Can’t Curse you either, apparently. Might as well get some slams in before…” but she cut herself off as she didn’t want to entirely tip their hand.


She saw Sylvester press his lips together and do something absurd: the king slapped the count too. Tuette’s hand snaked its way into her pocket and she clutched the Freezing Pote vial one more time as Corunny, in an act that he probably hoped wouldn’t incur more hits, extended his pikes toward the floor with a defining shhinkk.


The king didn’t step back. Neither did Tuette. “I can’t give you my kingstone.”


Tuette knew that Sylvester was speaking only the truth: with the stone part of the king’s anatomy, there was no way it could be removed without bringing permanent harm to the man. He had also said that it would literally melt once he passed away so whatever half-truth Corunny was running with, it was useless. He will never get the kingstone if he thinks it’s something to be bartered.


“You don’t understand,” continued Corunny in such a manner that Tuette thought he might start having a fit. Focusing on the count’s mood was probably what allowed Tuette to find herself in his clutches suddenly; he had lurched forward and grabbed Tuette by the wrist, twisting her and holding the partially-extended pikes against her temple. “I said that you should give it to me. Or else my failed pupil dies.”


Being forced to face the king now, Tuette saw true anguish on his face, like he might start panicking; his grip on the sword slackened and it fell to the ground, the metal clanging loudly in the muted dimness. “No, no. I can’t!” Sylvester then turned slightly while raising his hair and pulling down on his upraised collar. “It’s… It’s in me! It’s a part of me! It can’t be removed. Not ever. I—“


“Liar!” shouted Corunny in such a way that Tuette felt her muscles tighten with real fear. She wondered if he might accidentally push the pikes into her and blame it on pure rage. “You vewming, mother kriffing liar!!” The count’s grip around Tuette’s upper chest tightened considerably and she felt his body heat rise. Whatever anguish was on the king face, it had to be quite the opposite on Corunny Voidet’s.


Sylvester’s eyes actually began to glisten as he held up both of his hands as if to stall something atrocious yet unavoidable. “I’m not lying! I can’t lie! I’ll show you!” He fumbled in his robes; they looked quite dingy and unrefined and Tuette couldn’t believe she hadn’t already noticed and made fun of the man for it. When he pulled out his hand, a vial was clutched within. “This is that stuff that… that Dermy used to break off his… Charm or thing. Whatever. It should tell you if I’m trying to deceive you, right?” Tuette was baffled. What was Sylvester talking—


He unstopped the vial and upturned the contents into his mouth before she could work it out. Fear caused her heart to race suddenly as the king obviously didn’t know what he was doing.


But before anything devastating or drastic could happened, Sylvester spit a fine mist of the fluid against both the count and the Cursed woman. Tuette knew what it was by scent alone: Truvis Pote.


True, it’s designed to bring deceptions to light, but its Potency can’t possibly be used in this manner. Maybe if Sylvester pours it on the kingstone or just rubs it—


Corunny let go of Tuette in a violent rush, backing away from the pair and against the wall. His physical features began to become violently distorted and she wondered if she had guessed incorrectly about the Pote’s power. Again, she felt fearful and she looked at her own hands as they were covered with the liquid. She looked at Sylvester. He was wiping his chin. “It tastes awful, Tuette.”


“That Truvis Pote?”


“Uh… whatever is used to break Dermy’s disguise.”


“So, why’s Count Roo—“ But she realized that she was answering her own question even as she looked back at Corunny Voidet. He was sliding down the wall and shaking fiercely. It was several seconds before his appearance settled and he wasn’t the same man he had been moments before, but many years before.


Though he might’ve been Count Roost these past few months, he was now, truly and utterly, Corunny: the obese and vindictive man that had Cursed her four years prior.


         *          ~          *          ~          *





She felt… nothing. Looking at Sylvester, she said “This is the real Corunny Voidet, Sylvester.” She moved forward and bent down on her haunches to look the man in the face, in the eyes, but the Cursed man wouldn’t comply and just cast his gaze downward, at this thumbless right hand. His legs were stretched before him and she recognized that he had been using a more grisly form of tethering to achieve the same kind of disguise that Dermy relied on. Corunny looked like he might start to sniffle or even cry and a wave of revulsion washed through her system. Or is this sympathy? She didn’t want to know so she stood up and looked at the king. “How’d you get the Truvis Pote from my rucksack?”


He rolled the empty vial between his fingers and then stuck it on his pinkie finger before answering. “This is the one Dermy gave me back in Cordia. Said it might come in handy. Guess it did.” Mentioning the king’s specialist made Tuette’s eyes dart to the other side of the room, where Dermy’s body still lay.


As if inspired, she rushed to Dermy and rubbed her still-damp hands against the man’s face. It was cold, for sure, and she nearly gasped. But he’s wearing a disguise. It’s supposed to be believable. Sylvester joined her but said nothing.


Dermy’s face began to ripple like the surface of a lek and the disguise quickly faded. “Come on, Dermy. I don’t even know why you came in here in the first place. If anything, you have to still be alive to tell me why you’re so damned foolish.”


After the gentle ripples faded, Dermy was still on the floor. He looked only marginally cleaner but his right arm – the one he was putting all his weight against – looked to be anything but useful. Much to Tuette’s surprise, Dermy flexed his good hand against his chest, causing her to cry out in agonized relief. “I came to tell you,” he started before taking a quick gasp. “That Cherry was getting… dizzy.” He sat up with Tuette’s assistance. The king put a stabilizing grip on the man’s shoulder to keep him sitting up. When she grabbed Dermy’s right arm, it felt like raw and battered meat, nothing more. “And that she might pass out, so we might need to… stall.” He continued rubbing his chest. “That hurt,” he finally cried out much louder. “What good are those if they can’t be used to protect from something so…”


“The Curse,” cried Sylvester suddenly.


Tuette looked up at the king’s strained face and then to where the king was looking: at Dermy’s hand.


At Dermy’s thumbless hand.


She stood up quickly and went to the window but saw nothing through the gloom. Terry and Cherry would obviously be operating without any Glow Globes. Is light from the tiny castle aiding them at least? Are they almost finished? Maybe they were attacked again?


Tuette looked back inside. At Sylvester helping Dermy to his feet while the king looked more disappointed than ever. At Dermy looking amazed at the sudden loss of thumbs. At the failure of a count and Master Curser in all his gluttonous glory.


Most of all at the failed count; at Corunny Voidet, or Count Roost, or whatever the hell he wanted to be called. Tuette felt tangible amounts of energy crackle just beneath her skin. It was like Magik only more substantial. Quite literally, almost palpable: she felt it encasing her heart as she let a discourse of hatred rush through her. Contempt for the one man that had ultimately caused her more pain than any other might ever have a right to bear.


At this moment, Tuette could truly state that she felt hate.


She wasn’t proud of the paramount invasion of negative emotions but she wasn’t trying to push them away either. Because Corunny had done it again. He had fashioned an even more reprehensible Curse than the comparatively minor Curse that Tuette herself suffered. “A forest of chickens,” she muttered to herself while shakily withdrawing the vial in her own pocket. “Freeze a flock and make a forest out of kriffing chickens!”


Tuette had shouted that last part, drawing the attention of all three men in the room. It echoed briefly up the stairwell and she thought that she saw the ineffectual Joy just at the lip of her vision. The World Spirit wouldn’t know what to do in such a situation. Which is what allowed this all to happen, she thought sourly. She sent a cold gaze up the stairwell and saw Joy shrink into oblivion. She felt guilty for thinking such a thought but the guilt vanished quickly when Corunny spoke up from his defeated position against the wall.


“That’s right, Tuette. Perform the Reverse and your Curse is done.” He knocked his bulbous chin towards the king. “But let him do it, and you stay that way, and the kingdom’s Curse is over.” He shook his head, the motion sending bulging ripples down the malignant Mage’s neck. “What to do. What to do.”


“It’s not like there’s a flock here anyway, count,” said the king in a bewildered tone.


“That’s right, dear king. Dear kingstone. Dear selfish-kingstone. No flock here. But what if I said that a wrangler was just on the other end of the Jorii Stone?”


“What’s that?”


“It’s the next in line of the Ring of Ten Minus Two, Sylvester,” stated Tuette. “But that’s irrelevant, Corunny.”


The defeated man looked up; new, feature-devolving shadows formed so that it seemed like he was all eyes and clothes. The eyes widened slightly and Tuette knew her message got through. She stated her meaning anyway though, for Sylvester’s benefit. “I kill you, we all are free.”


The words came out easily enough but they made Tuette feel cold in her arms and legs, like her heart had just drastically limited her blood flow. But she could almost taste the indescribable energy that had been building up inside. It was actually sweet and she wondered if she was absently chewing on her tongue.


Sylvester looked sharply at Tuette. “Kill him?”


“That an order?” she knocked back at the king.


He didn’t accept the dark humor so well. “No.” A kind of blankness crossed his face briefly. “No. No, not an order. A… question. I’m questioning your logic—”


“No more logic tonight, Sylvester. Your kingdom just went through a very dramatic adjustment.” She stopped talking to let a growing range of noises seep in through the walls and windows. “Hear that outside? The people of this island, they’re suffering the shock first. But they’ll organize, and they’ll blame this man. They know he’s a Curser by nature and they know that killing him is the only way to bring about a definitive Reversal.”


“Th-then let them—” but he choked on the words. Tuette could see his mouth quivering and she felt a wave of deeper sympathy wash through her body. It threatened to take away whatever was driving her to finally stand up and actually deal with – Take care of – Corunny Voidet. She moved forward to remove another of Vest’s small daggers off his person. Just as fluidly, she moved to stand before Corunny in all his finite existence.


“What about Dorothy?”


The question caught Tuette off guard, but not in a surprising manner: in a bitter one. She was coming to the realization that Cherry and Terry had either finished the Circle and nothing occurred, or they had fallen to more of the count’s followers. Tuette instantly thought of the singular youth she had seen from the window, lying on the ground. Wounded or worse, I’ll probably never know. She thought of Dermy and his provision of hiding in plain sight. Of Sylvester’s dead splint and how it was absurd for anyone to want to harm such a creature. She thought of the very nature of Cursing and Magik itself and it threatened to overwhelm her because here she was, standing in front of one of the most deceitful men she might ever know with the intent to kill, and what was going to stop her?


What force in all of Valent or Creation is going to keep me from this?


Sylvester touched her shoulder, causing her to turn. His face was that of a sad, defeated man.


It made Tuette feel loathsome.


But Tuette clutched the dagger more fiercely all the same, as if she couldn’t stop the driving power inside from doing what she knew was morally reprehensible.


I don’t really want to kill him, do I? Then why do I feel like I will anyway?


“Tuette, we’ll just go see the wrangler. I’m sure a second flock will become apparent. Let’s just go.”


She looked at Corunny who now made eye contact if only to be thought of as a man who faced his final moment. “I can’t wait that long. Not for justice or whatever passes for retribution in the eyes of Valtos. Not when he’s right here. I… I can’t!”


Sylvester guided her eyes back to his with a soft tug on her chin.


“But I can.”


The statement was small and simple, yet it threatened to break whatever was inside of Tuette, be it a thirst for blood, a need for vengeance, or a yearning for freedom. King Sylvester was offering up time on behalf of his entire kingdom just so she wouldn’t fall upon the wayside of life.


And with that gesture, Tuette began to shed tears she hadn’t known were building.


When she closed her eyes and wiped at a tear with her free hand, Existence changed momentarily and forever.


She hadn’t expected the suddenness of it all: she hadn’t anticipated the blinding, deafening light that exploded into her closed eyes to shine against her aged spirit, nor the soft embrace on her upper body, as if she were being keenly and tenderly squeezed. The feeling was warm and flooded out whatever had been there before. She swore that she dropped the dagger then but never heard it clatter on the stone floor.


Probably because it’s not there anymore.


Probably because Dorothy finally is.