Page 7 of Magic Cursed

“Not just any spit.” He puffs up his chest with pride. “Dragon spit.It has magical properties to it. It’s going to save us from the shadow demons.”

I stop and stare at Rock. Now he has my attention. Shadow demons are a plague on the land. They came the night of the Blood Moon, and there’s no defense against them. If they attack, you’re dead. They’re not from this world. They breached a gap in our world when magic was abused and evil called unto evil. On that day, the most notorious sorcerer murdered our good King Berhane. On that day, magic users turned from friends and neighbors to hunted and hated. The tentative treaties that King Berhane had negotiated with the other magic-wielding races, allowing for real peace for the first time in five generations, were abolished. The image of castle halls filled with blood and flames flashes through my mind. That day triggered a new war. War against magic users in Thaaryn land. Everything changed after that and it was all because of one man, the evil sorcerer who betrayed a kingdom, betrayed the king he swore to serve and set the shadow demons on the land, Lord Ronaan Devoe–––my father.

I school my features into mild curiosity. “How exactly is dragon saliva going to get rid of the shadow demons?”

“Like I said, I can’t get into details.” He tips his head to me. “But it’s the best chance we have.”

Dragon saliva getting rid of shadow demons? That can’t be true. It’s probably just something he’d heard in a tavern one night and the hero in him couldn’t resist the possibility. I shake my head. “You’re wasting your time. There’s no stopping them.”

He takes a step forward, determination in his eyes. “Maybe. But I’ll never give up trying. Because if there’s a chance, even the slightest chance, I’ll do everything I can to stop them.” There’s pain in his words. He knows loss and it drives him.

“I truly hope you do.”

We start off again and I almost feel bad about what I’m going to do.

* * *

We’ve been walking for hours. My new bruises ache and my stomach growls. Conversation with Rock has been surprisingly pleasant. He continues to flirt every few minutes, letting me know that my little distraction of telling him what he can’t have is working.

We’re now trekking through rolling hills covered in knee-high green grass with scattered clumps of trees here and there. I haven’t been to this particular area in my own travels, but Rock insisted it was the fastest route. A river brings the sound of rushing water nearby and the sun makes its final descent, where shadows and silhouettes come out to play. It’s my favorite time of the day. My eyesight is sharpest when it’s darker. Another one of thegiftsmy sorcerer-father gave me, though this one I actually enjoy.

With my shadow-sight, I can see things in this hour that normal humans can’t, including the telltale signs of pixies. Their softly illuminated, violet trails curve and arch in the air above our heads. Trails from the evening before. Pixies typically only come out at night and are ruthless if they catch you in their territory without an invitation.

The problem is, pixies don’t stay in one place for very long, their territory is constantly moving. The trick is paying attention to the signs. Signs which warn others that pixies are hunting. Because once they start hunting, a blood lust takes them over. They can’t switch it off. My heart beats faster and I scan the area. I must have missed the signs.

“Are you cold?” Rock asks. He’s completely relaxed, oblivious to the danger around us. “It’s going to get colder, and our clothes are still damp. We should find a place to settle down for the night and start a fire.”

“No,” I say, my eyes still following the trails in the sky, trying to pinpoint the location of the pixie’s dwelling. “Pixies are nearby.”

Rock’s muscles tighten like he’s ready for a fight and he looks to the skies. It’s no use, though, he can’t see what I can. “How do you know?”

I shrug. “Just do. We need to find cover.”

I curse myself when I spot clusters of feathers hanging in the trees nearest to us. Beaks of various types of birds dangle below the feathers like morbid wind chimes. They chitter in the breeze, the sound raking claws of fear down my spine. The pixies hang them as an offering to their Goddess of the Hunt, signifying their feeding territory. How many have we passed that I missed? How could I be so careless?

“Vile creatures,” Rock says with hate, his hands balled in fists. “If I hadn’t lost my pack in the fjord, I could have protected us from them.” His eyes scan the area. “Wait, I think I know where we are. If I’m right, there’s an abandoned estate not too far from here.”

I spot the first pixie. She’s still a mile away. With my enhanced sight, I can see her in detail. She’s about a foot tall, with delicate, willowy features. Her wings glow and shimmer beautifully. The colors are memorizing, changing in variations of blue and purple the way embers shift colors in a fire. She’s magnificent–––A predator’s trick: it’s how they bring in their victims. It’s not until you focus on her cruel features that you see the danger. Big, slanted eyes as black as a moonless night with no whites, sharp cheekbones, and red lips that pull back to show fangs that will drink your lifeblood in minutes. Their claws are what you have to avoid at all costs, they contain a toxin that will render any limb useless. And once you’re paralyzed, that’s when they’ll drain you until only a husk of your former self remains.

My heart thunders in my chest. I crouch in the grass, pulling Rock down with me.

“Do you see one?” he whispers.

I nod and point to where the pixie floats.

“I don’t see anything,” he says. He can’t see as far as I can.

“Trust me, I saw her.”

His face hardens with malice. Not a surprising reaction of a human toward a pixie. Humans and all the magic-using creatures share a mutual hate for one another.

Luckily, the pixie hasn’t seen us yet. I think about casting the cloaking spell, but I’ve already used my magic today and I’m worried that if I do it again, I might be too tired to run if I have to. And even with the cloaking, the pixies will eventually sense someone is in their territory. It won’t take long for them to discover us, and I’ll be too weak even to fight them off. The best option is to get to Rock’s abandoned estate and fast.

“Lead the way, and run,” I whisper to Rock.

I follow him, sprinting as fast as my legs will carry me. One pixie is bad enough, but they don’t hunt alone. I look back over my shoulder. The pixie is no longer there. Either she’s gone and we’re in the clear, or she went to fetch the rest of her hunting party and they’ll be on us soon. I run faster so that I’m beside Rock. About ten minutes into our flight, my lungs are on fire and my legs burn.

“Almost there,” Rock says.

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