Pucah

         Basically the first chapter of a story I'm writing on. There's a little of what I have done on the second chapter as well. I'll hopefully add more of what I've done to it later one. Any reviews/critique (structual of course)/or suggestions are welcome. And yes, there are still some spelling and sentence structure mistakes. If you happen to find one, let me know :D

Unnamed

I
Pucah's Curse

          The kiss of death was making its mark on the land. Dark clouds looming day and night, threatening to unleash a torrent, yet staying steadily at bay. The skeletons of trees littered the barren landscape that surrounded the once wondrous castle of white and onyx stone. A few stubborn strands of yellowing grass still poked out through the ashen soil.
          Hovels, even more depleted in looks then they normally were, poked out of the earth as if they had somehow grown there. A group of boils on the already diseased land. A single road lead through the dying villiage of hovels and up towards the collapsing stronghold. Along that dwindling road, the crows and vultures stalked. Waiting for at least one among the seemingly constant stream of fading warsteeds and broken-down soldiers to give out as they made their way into the relative safety of their headquarters.
          None of the soldiers paid any heed to the aging man as he trailed behind them, limping with staff in hand, and gnarled fingers rubbing at his nonexistant chin. Eyes of bright honey brown watched the dying landscape with the sadness of one who had actually seen it in it's most prosperous of days. Days that were long half a century past.
          Reaching into the sash around his faded and thread-bare tunic, he pulled out a pipe and began to habitually stuff a bit of leaf in and tuck it neatly between his teeth. He ignored the taunting of crows and leers of the vultures as he finally lit the stuffings and puffed out a relaxing cloud of smoke. Inhaling deeply, he looked around at a few of the blank faces as they peeked out from behind scraps of rotting tanned hide to watch them warily. As if afraid they'd take what little they had left in this world.
          Suddenly, as if to remind himself as to why exactly he was here, he reached back into his sash and fingered the desperate letter his estranged brother had sent him. Begging him to return from his self-imposed exile. To help him find a way to remove the curse upon his land before it became a part of the Wastes that resided on its border. He had recieved the letter several months ago. It had been slow going to remove himself from the Valley of Autumn, and travel through the cities of the Bajir. Myrlinne, a lovely lady of the Spirit Bajir who was certain to inherit the reigns, had nearly seen it fit that he stay by her side.
          He would have been willing. If the letter hadn't been so urgent. His dear friend, Marksi, a recruiter of the Bajir, had travelled with him to the edge of the Bajir terriotory. And from there on, he was on his own to travel through faerie claimed lands.
          More than once he had nearly been lured into the moshes by a will o' wisp. If it hadn't been for his tamed version, a Seeking Light, he'd have most likely found a pit of sinking sand and would be buried alive by now. He patted the the satchel he wore at his side absentmindedly at that thought.
          He paused as he arrived at the gate of the once grand Castle. The guards were checking the identification of every single soldier and traveller that passed through, and it had created quite a line.
          That was a sad thought in his books. He could remember when he was little and could run to and fro without nary a glance from his metal covered playmates. Travellers also came and went freely in the sea of people that flooded through it.
          He stood quietly in the line as it slowly increased, and decreased, in numbers. Many more adding to the tail behind him. From what he could tell, the men here were border guards. Coming in after their replacements had taken over. A good amount of them were visibly hurt, if not sick.
          He had lost himself so far in his contemplations, he almost didn't notice when he finally came to the front of the line, until a tired and grumpy request to see his identification papers was yelled at him after he didn't respond the first two times
          "Oh, so sorry," he mumbled as he clamped his pipe between his teeth and grabbed the letter from his sash.
          The guard, obviously annoyed at being ignored, ripped it from his hands and opened it.
          The aging man barely noticed as the guards eyes widened, and then narrowed in skepticism. He ran his fingers over the royal seal and held it closely, as if trying to confirm that it was indeed a forgery. Finally, he left his post and let himself in through the gates.
          A few minutes later, two more guards, who were moreso decorated than the one before, came out to greet him.

          King Leostrom stared quietly out the window as his counsilors bickered about how things should be taken care of. They had been like this for weeks on end. Nothing was resolving itself. Everything was only getting worse. What had he and his people done to deserve this?
          Knowing the gods and spirits, it was a trifle of a matter. Someone had ruffled someone elses feathers, and was taking it out on the entirety of the Kingdom.
          With a tired sigh, he leaned forward in his high back wooden chair, pinching the bridge of his nose as he tried to push the oncoming headache away. His ulcers were acting up, and the stress was piling so high on his shoulders that he barely had an apptetite anymore. A fact his wife was not appreciating as he continued to loose more and more weight.
          "Enough!"
          His gruff voice silenced the bickering as all turned to look at him. With a disdaining hand, he waved them away.
          "Be gone with you all. Until you can come up with some way of remedying the situation, or figuring out what went wrong, I want all of you and your abnoxious bickering out of my hearing range. Go!"
          Quickly, before Leostrom could remedy them with the use of his guards, they shuffled from the council chamber and into the halls outside of it.
          Silence. Complete utter silence was something he was barely able to find outside of his own quarters anymore. And it was a pleasure to experience it as he leaned back into his chair and slumped downwards. No one was there to watch him as he let himself fall deeper into the state of depression that had enveloped him. He was the worst thing for his people right now, and he knew it. Knew it and hated it. And there was no one else to take his place. If there had been, he'd have handed the reigns over without a second glance back.
          He sipped at the overly strong liquor someone had shoved into his hand, mulling over it as his thoughts slowly fell into place.
          Wait.
          He looked at the crystal glass in his hand and finally up at the weak lined face of his younger brother.
          "Hesteren!"
          Hope lept into his hardening soul at the sight of the slite form of a man that stood in front of him, honey brown eyes twinkling with some thought or other of amusement. Leaping from his chair, he grabbed him in his bearlike arms and almost squeezed the life out of the poor man in his rare bout of joy.
          Stumbling back from the hug, Ester straightened his worn clothing and smiled up at his bear of a brother. One glance at the worn look on the Kings face told him that the years had not been overly kind as of late.
          "A pleasure to see you again, Leo. And just Ester, please. I'm not really fond of the formality of my full name anymore. A certain lady kindly broke me of it." He smiled as he patted his brother on the shoulder, and seated himself without invitation in one of the smaller chairs the councilors had evacuated. "I see you still keep the old Councilors in a whirl."
         Leostrom muttered something that was just a little too low for him to hear as he sat himself gingerly in his own chair again.
         Wrapping long ink-stained fingers around the crystal glass of liquor he had helped himself too, he leaned back in his chair, crossing his legs as he looked his brother over studiously. He was slowly withering away from the stress of his world falling apart. He was still a large man, but not nearly as large as he use to be.
         The old king sighed deeply as he finally met Ester's gaze.
         "I trust you've seen the state things are in?" He looked over to where his brother sat. When he nodded and stayed silent, he continued. "Crops won't grow. I'm having to spend money we don't have just to keep my people alive. Most of the younger nobles who don't feel tied to the land like their parents have up and left, taking their share of the riches with them." He paused. "Spirits have been terrorizing those who have stayed. Making their servents so scared they won't work anymore. My borders along the Wastes have been being tested by the strange souls who live there. One of their bands have made it through our lines and tore an entire villiage that was still thriving to pieces."
         A lump formed in his throat as he paused again.
         "My eldest and only son went to sleep a month ago. He still hasn't awoken. He's alive. But it's like he's frozen. Nothing we do will stir him. His wife, who was with child, has disappeared. My youngest, Meais, has been taken. I have no inkling of where she is either. Her nanny just awoke one day to find her gone. Several other villiagers have reported that their youngest ones have disappeared as well. So the nanny is apparently not at fault. My only saving graces have been my wife, you remember Luzia, and my eldest daughter, Emai. She married into a family in the Bajir terrirtory. She's been sending my people as much food as she can without depleting her own sources."
         He sighed deaply and downed the rest of the gold liquid.
         "And before you ask why the rest of us haven't just up and left, you know very well why I can't. I'm bound to the land. I can't leave. People who come in can leave as they wish. The nobles who didn't feel bound to the lands here are few, and were born in outside territories to boot. Everyone of my people who have tried to leave find themselves pounding against an invisible wall at the borders or strange and dark spirits chasing them back. We're stuck.
         "We have no choice but to fight back. But we don't know what we're fighting, and we have no idea how to fight it."
         After pouring every inch of his stress into the lap of his brother, he looked up and stared sullenly at him. It was astonishing how they were so different in so many ways. His father sometimes joked that he wasn't certain that Hesteren was even from his own loins. It was as close as an accusation as his father would ever get to his mother. Old Queen Meais, who his youngest was named after, was just too high in morals to even think of betraying her husband. The mere thought of it would send her into hysterics, making her scared that even the thought of another man would be counted by her god and she would be punished.
         Looking down at his empty glass, he finally set it aside.
         He felt like a fool now, as silence passed into an endless stretch between them. Instead of even attempting to play host to the brother he hadn't seen in years, he had basically fallen at the tired mans feet, crying and begging like a helpless child for help. For him to take the reigns from him.
         "Quit beating yourself up, Leo."
         He looked up at Ester as he gave him a look that rivalled the one their mother had given them when they were younger and doing something wrong.
         "I know that look too well. You're beating yourself up for something you have no control of. And there is no way to control this situation." He absentmindedly rubbed at his chin. "I just hope that I myself am able to leave if I'm to help."
         "Sadly, no. If you were born in these lands, it appears you are stuck here. Whether you were here or no before the troubles fell. Anyone who wasn't born on the lands is free to come and go as they please, however.." Luzia patted her brother-in-law's starteld shoulder as he looked up at her. "A pleasure to see you again."
         "As always. I just wish I could have returned in happier times."
         He returned to his broodings as she placed herself beside her husband. He could feel her watching him and recrossed his legs as he turned away. That bit of news was not sitting well, but there was nothing he could do now. He was stuck. Slowly, his gaze fitted itself on the open window. A single crow sat on the edge, watching them with intent.
         "I've noticed Pucah's lackeys have been watching you and your people."
         "Pucah? That abnoxious horse of a spirit?" Leostrom hazarded.
         "Son of Aidien and Lunisia. Yes." He tapped his cheek as he stared out the window.
         "But he disappeared, after Grandfather beat him at his own game."
         Ester chuckled quietly. "Not quite." He turned to look at his brother again. "After giving his word that he would behave, and leave the people of Quarsted alone, he pulled a rather dangerous bout of mischief at a farm ladie's place. Nearly killed her eldest daughter because she would not come out to play. Supposedly Lunisia, or his aunt Levannah most likely, heard his oathbreaking. They, as we know, do not taking oathbreaking - whether or not it was said in a lie - lightly. He has been cursed in human form for a little more than a century now. He has been wondering around the Wastes since then, I believe."
         Leostrom's face fell at the mention of their neighbor once again.
         "And how, pray tell, is this to help us?"
         His gaze flickered to Luzia and then down to his lap. "Because, he, the great lord of mischief, mite know, and most likely does know - if he himself didn't cause it -, what exactly is plaguing you."
         Silence followed as he stated this.
         Luzia squeezed her husbands hand and looked to him as he wrapped his thick fingers in his graying beard.
         Sighing deeply, he looked up at Ester. "And now that you are back in our territories, you are bound here. How are you to look for him? I already know what my men will do. They will refuse, and even they can't leave our borders."
         Ester chuckled as he sat the crystal glass down and tucked his hands into the sleeves of his tunic. "Oh, dear brother, I wouldn't dare set foot in the Wastes. I'll stand at the border, yes, but never cross it. I am restricted from doing so by my position. Curse or no curse. However. I can attempt to call him. And he'll probably only meet me at the border, if he even does that." He nodded to himself. "If you will allow me a day or so to rest, I would be heavily grateful. I fear my body became rather use to the plush life again while I was in the Valley of Fall. I've never been so sore in my life."
         "Of course!" Luzia cried, as she stood ubruptly and scurried and ressurected what little bit of the part of host was left to be played and set about having his room aired and ready to recieve him.
         Leostrom chuckled, relieved to see his wife doing something other than worry over their children and himself. With a grunt he forced himself out of his own chair.
         "Come, Ester. We'll go enjoy a cup of tea while you make the call."
         "Ah, it brings back fond memories to be home," Ester chuckled as he stood and sighed as his bones cracked back into place. "Is Brutish still here?" He looked to his brother inquisitively, his demeanor picking back up with an air of pleasantry.
         Leading his brother out of the room and down the familiar hallways, Leostrom could only shake his shaggy head of graying hair.
         "I fear not, little brother. He's taken to the life of a Mercenary like we knew he would." He looked back at his crestfallen brother and chuckled. "He sends wordy regularly through that useful device you installed in the office. I rather like getting letters while the ink is still drying."
         "And sending them that way as well," Ester noted. "I believe I accidently smudged a few of the letters when I recieved it. Scared my dear feline friend as well. I didn't know they could screech so loudly."
         He chortled as a set of guards bowed them through into another maze of hallways. "Ah. Yes. Well. A hurry is a hurry." He shook away the depression that was edging its way back into his moment of happiness. "In some manner, which I'm sure included threats and rope, he acquired himself a wife. Or rather, a lady acquired him."
         Ester smiled at that. Brutish had sworn up and down that he would never marry. No one lady was enough for him and his many attentions. "I wish I'd learned to keep in touch with people better. But I forgot to install one of those devices on me as well. Oh well." Passing through an unmanned doorway, then entered the Hallway of Knowledge. A grand room filled from ceiling to marble floor with scrolls upon scrolls of different philosophies, beliefs, architecture, novels, anything his ancestors were able to get their hands on. What he was interested in, however, was the grand table set in the center that many used for resarch. He stopped in front of the large wooden table engraved with the swirls and images needed in the Calling spell.
         He had learned how to work it quite by accident one day, and had nearly broken all the strings of spell on it. A travelling High Mage had stopped by a day or two later, and with his fathers permission, proceeded to scold him, and forced him to restring all the spells upon the table. That in itself had taken several months, considering he was unlearned in magic. And then took him under his wing to study.
         He chuckled quietly at the memory of old Tobiasri as he would sit there scolding him for sniffing in his jars or sticking his nose in spells that should never be touched. "Any children?"
         The soft gray light shifted into that of a bright blue as he set three stones in a triangle at the center of the table. One above the head of a pigeon, one above the image of an owl, and one above that of a hawk. The three main ways letters were sent in Quarsted.
         "Nay. Well, there was one. He was kidnapped and murdered before he was even three, sadly. I don't think his wife ever truly got over that."
         Ester stared quietly at the table at that. "Oh. I'm.... Sorry. Poor las. What's her name, as you have yet to say."
         "Oh. Sorry. I'm still a little lost at times. Her name is Mifia."
         The light took on a magenta hue as he ran fingers dipped in water over certain circular patterns as to signify the reason for his calling.
         "Mifia. That name sounds familiar."
         The bear of a man chuckled as he found a chair unused for firewood to heat this great hall and gently perched himself on it.
         "Well, she use to run around with Emai when they were little. She was a daughter of one of my more experienced knights here. Her mother was a mercenary, and despite our laws and beliefes, she insisted that her daughter be taught the same thing as the boys. By the time she was sixteen, she was a better fighter than her father." He chuckled quietly. "But she followed Emai when she was married off. I'm sure you've heard a few tales of her following the attempt made on Emai's fiance, and so forth. But anyways. She was a grand bodyguard. Emai wanted her to stay with her, but from what my daughter says, the moment she caught sight of Brutish, there was no stopping her, she was off and following him around like a moon eyed calf."
         "As well she should. I think she made more for herself as a mercenary than as a bodyguard."
         The hue slowly turned green as traced the final line to the center of the table. Without needing to be told, his brother hushed.
         Holding his finger in place, he closed his eyes and relaxed. Slowly, he breathed in and out and felt for his soul lacings. There they were. He could see them within his minds eye, waving to and fro like silk threads in the breeze. With an invisible hand, he counted through them, until he found the one that was used for identifying the source of the call, and slowly began to thread it down through his arm. It sent a tingling sensation throughout his body as it finally connected with the focal point.
         Now the recipient would be able to find him when he decided where they were to meet up at.
         Reaching inside his sash, he pulled out two black horse hairs and one black crows feather. He set the two horse hairs on the owl and the pigeon, and the feather down on the hawk.
         "A meeting I do call between myself, Hesteren of Quarsted, and Pucah, Son of Adien and Lunisia. The southern borders between the Wastes and Quarsted."
         A light purple enveloped the room, and fled into the center of the table, taking his identifying soul thred, the hairs and feather, with it.
         Leostrom cocked an eyebrow as he looked over at his brother, as he wiped the table clean and replaced the three stones back along the grooved edge with the rest of the stones. "Think he'll show?"
         He could only shrug as he brushed the invisible dust and straightened an invisible crease in his tunic. "Not like he has a choice. He broke a promise to our family. He's bound to do as we say as long as he's cursed. You know how things go in Oathbreaking. Especially when Levannah does the cursing. Now. Where is this tea you mentioned earlier?"

II
Cursed Meeting

         He knew only too well how things went in Oathbreaking.
         Wheezing in pain, Pucah scratched at his throbbing head as he rolled onto his back. The identifying soul lacing had attatched itself right to the center of his forehead. A very sensitive place for him. And it burned like wildfire. Crying out he slamed his palms into the sweet smelling soil of the Wastes. How he wished he could harm the Caller. Or, more preferably, the soul who had created the spell for Calling.
         Slowly, the pain began to recede, until only a constant itch plagued him.
         He lie there, exhausted. He watched the swirls of misty fog as the earth exhaled and pushed them regretfully into the air. The mist whined as it was forced to find somewhere else to hover and seep into.
         He closed his colorless eyes. His stomache slowly unknotted itself. Slowly, he breathed in the scent of the Wastes. It was a sweet scent. One of decaying plants as they readied themselves for winter. Waiting for their moment of rebirth into the world of light.
         Letting his head roll to one side, his eyes slitted open to peer out at the the tall black trees that had grown closely together.
         Forlorn hooked itself into him as he closed his eyes again. He had spent the better part of the last century looking for these same woods. They were harder to find now that he had been encased in a human shell. And now that he had found the path through the everchanging mists, he would be forced to backtrack. To arrive at the southern border as speedily as possible. It didn't matter how long the Caller took. They could take months, at most a year, before they decided to show and relieve him back to his life.
         After a year, of course, the Call would be considered null and void. But that was year he could be using to find what he was looking for within the Ebony Grove.
         He sighed at that thought. Time use to mean nothing to him. A year was simply a blink of his eye. Now, here he sat using it as any mortal man would. Using it to watch his life tick by in a threatening manner instead of just enjoying himself and running through fields and terrorizing a flock or two of sheep. And of course the occasional drunkard that crossed path.
         How he hated this form. It was his own fault. He said the words, and his Aunt had heard them. And he knew how she was. You say it, you do it. No take backs. His own voice had become his curse. He hated his family.
         Sitting up, he wiped at the itching in the center of his forehead.
         He looked to his other side as a black mist of what seemed like beating wings billowed into existence, and settled into the form of a young boy. Or rather, something that was similar of a boys shape. Deep black eyes, and a face that was tinged an emerald green and flat looked down at him. His body so pale that he could trace the blue and red veins and almost see his vital organs working away. The hill and toes of his feet turned into bone claws, causing him to walk in a peculiar way. His favorite piece was his fingers, however.
         They were each a piece of artwork and elegance that was hard to find in much of the man made paintings. They almost seemed to be leaves that were trained to imitate the patterns on a butterfly. Except that they were razor sharp. Though fragile.
         Feathers, not hair, ruffled in an intricate mane on the creatures head. They took great pride in these feathers. They didn't particularily appreciate having to move them about to change into that of their cousins; the black crows that were counted by many to be unlucky. But they did it for him. For he took care of them. He didn't shy away or attack them for looking as they did. He was one of the few who truly appreciated them for their own beauty.
         Either that or he was tricking them into thinking such a thing.
         They preferred to think he wasn't, however. And that endeared them to him more.
         Prince of Mischeif. It bowed low as he acknowledged it.
         Pucah smirked besides the abnoxious itch.
         "I must have done something to offend you, little friend," he crooned, his voice like a luxurious velvet blanket. "Why the formality?"