Page 9 of The Cursed and the Broken
There had been no sign of Hanna—not a single boot print or disruption to the foliage. I sighed, rubbing a gloved hand over my neck. I had expected this. Deep down, I knew I’d find her in the place none dared to travel. Deep in the Sötét Erdo.
Winter had many creatures snuggled up in burrows and sleeping away the cold, so we were reasonably safe. For now. The weather had a bite to it, but with spring approaching, the days were more temperate, growing longer and warmer. Soon the woods would teem with activity and birdsong and spring would bring forth new life.
But not at the heart. There, it was quiet and cold. Dead, some witches said. Which couldn’t be true if the banya lived there. Who would live in such a place? I had never really thought about it—why she lived in solace. No one questioned her choices. No one questioned anything about her, even when it meant sending daughters off on mysterious apprenticeships.
I felt stupid but, despite my reservations about this so-called saint, I wanted to win, if only to see what she was made of. To see why the elders heralded her as godlike in her power.
A scuffle in the brush had my heart pounding. Laszlo bared his teeth but, upon closer inspection, his nose soon bumped into a deer, the poor thing frozen with fright.
No,I realised as I hopped off Arló and bent down. Not fright.Pain. Its rear leg was broken. The deer was shivering, either from shock caused by the injury, or from the cold. The wound was dribbling blood, revealing large teeth marks—a bite and strength one might expect from the jaws of a wolf.
The deer had escaped their clutches, but if the wolves didn’t come back to claim their kill, starvation or other carnivores would.
I gritted my teeth. The wound was fresh, which meant the predator could still be in the area. But wolves hunted in packs and at dusk. Judging by the arc of the sun, it was around noon. What would prompt a change in hunting patterns?
A howl ruptured the stillness and I froze, bumps prickling over my skin as the eerie call echoed through my bones. First one, then another, and another. Arló pranced nervously, and Laszlo darted before him, ears pointed, hackles raised.
I looked deep into the deer’s brown eyes as every bone in my body told me to run. I should leave—it wasn’t my place to interfere with nature, nor my duty to tend to its wounds. But I was a caregiver of animals. A shepherd. And I couldn’t bear the thought of this creature being torn to pieces.
Lifting my hands to the deer’s leg, I closed my eyes, letting the world dissipate until only my magic and I remained. Well, my father’s magic, once upon a time.
I blocked out all thoughts, furrowing my brow. The energy speared through my hands and into the wound. My eyes snapped open and I gasped as golden light flashed—a nod to my father’s gift. The deer scrambled away before the light had fully dissipated.
Pain fired through my ankle and it felt as though someone had taken a sledgehammer to the bone. I grimaced as I peered at my leg. Not broken, thank the gods, but it was safe to say sprints were out of the question.
After several attempts at channelling the magic and suffering the consequences, I’d learned to take a blade to my flesh in anticipation. Bloodletting was payment enough for the power and it was better than losing my mobility. I’d tried hiding it from Mama, but she almost always spotted the bandages and scabs. She never lectured me about it, but I knew she hated this magic. What it cost me.
The power frightened her. After seeing the price I had to pay, she’d likened it to dark magic and necromancy. We’d had the conversation several times and I’d always argue, “How could a healing magic be evil?” but she would purse her lips, remaining firm.
What she didn’t know couldn’t hurt her. I’d helped many of our livestock from suffering critical injuries, prevented the spread of disease, even stopped them from dying by foolish missteps before.
An eerie whine swept through the trees, closer this time. The hairs on my neck stood up, and my heart thumped erratically in my chest. Laszlo rushed to my side, whimpering as he sniffed my wound and licked the deer’s blood from my fingers.
“Shit.”
I hadn’t spilled my own blood for fear it would bring the wolves right to me, but it seemed they’d followed the animal’s scent and had realised there was bigger prey on offer. I almost howled myself, frustrated with the turn of events and cursing myself for a fool.
“Arló,” I began, but another onslaught of howls had the horse bolting through the trees. I blinked at his majestic form retreating. “Really?!”
The sounds of shuffling foliage and twigs cracking forced me to move, rising to my feet with a grunt. I unsheathed the blade at my thigh, dashing through the woods. My ankle blazed with every step, sharp pain slicing up my limb.
Branches snagged at my hair and clothes, gnarled roots crisscrossing in a maze-like tripwire at my feet. I couldn’t outrun them. Not like this. “Should have left the deer,” I said between breaths.
Laszlo whined beside me in agreement.
I made the mistake of looking over my shoulder, and then I spotted them. Six black wolves, their jaws wide and fangs bared, their eyes sharp and cunning. Blood dribbled from their maws, and terror struck my heart as I turned, ready to—
I collided with something tall and hard, tumbling to the ground and almost slicing myself. It made an ‘oomph’ sound as they, too, stumbled. Sweeping my hair from my face, I glanced at my attacker and stared into dark brown eyes.
“You’re a táltos,” I breathed.
“How observant of you,” he drawled, stepping before me, sword raised and shoulders squared. “Get behind me and stay out of my way.”
I could only sit there dumbly, blinking back my surprise and staring at his towering form. My jaw set as my cheeks reddened. Who did this arrogant bastard think he was?
Laszlo whimpered, nudging my face and bringing me back to my senses before he whirled on the approaching wolves.
Pain spiralled up my limb as I limped to my feet, one hand brandishing the blade, the other stretched before me, readying my power.
