Curse of Stone

Chapter 4

I've never been in trouble with the law, not even a parking ticket. On Earth. But here on Elysium, I'm like criminal number one, or maybe number two, behind Anara. Anyway, we probably had the top two spots locked up. And locked up, we were.

Yay us...

I could not fault Anara, since her naivete was born of innocence. Despite the hardships, she had a refreshingly pure and selfless heart — truly a woman without guile.

Targon squeezed between the bars that separated Anara and me, then settled into my lap, purring as I scratched behind its ears. At least this little critter still believed in us.

After seeing how I ripped apart magic, the guards tossed us into the jail non-enchantment section, where only old-fashioned iron bars confined us. Effective enough.

The furnishings comprised a stone platform covered with a dusty mat and a musty brown blanket along the back wall, and a rusty bucket for sanitation. Also considering the bland food, they won't get a five-star review from me.

When Targon perked up to chase a mouse, I rose from my mat. Clutching the bars, I spoke in a gentle voice, "Anara, may we talk?" She laid curled up on her platform, facing away, inconsolable for an undeterminable number of hours.

"I have ruined everything," she replied in a faint voice. "You must despise me."

"I could never despise you. Well, I mean, we could have handled that better, but this outcome was unavoidable."

"I just--" A single sob interrupted her words. "I just wanted to make the world better. To end the curse. The Council does nothing."

"Well, in my experience, government leaders are best at maintaining the status quo. They don't like to take chances that might threaten their high status."

She turned a moist eye to me. "You are wiser than I, Micah. And here I had taken you from your home and placed you within my turmoil. I am sorry."

For all she suffered and her bleak future, still she was most worried about me. I pushed a hand through the bars. "Anara, would you come here?"

With a nod, she limped toward me. I extended my arms to hug her around the waist, as best I could through the bars. Anara grasped the bars and pressed forward, touching her forehead against my shoulder. "We will find a way," I whispered.

"You are kinder than I deserve, Micah," she whispered in return.

After breaking the embrace, we both slid down to the floor, sitting back-to-back, separated by only the iron bars. Targon hopped into her lap and curled up.

"Tell me of your mother, Micah," Anara said. "You seem quite fond of her."

I took a deep breath as conflicting emotions rose in my mind — warmth of memory and chilled fear of the future. "Dawn is her name, like the rising sun. She raised me, and everything good in me came from her. I am ashamed to say that I did not always appreciate this."

"Once long ago, my mother was such, but bitterness came with age. Sure are you that your mother came here?"

"Yes. She recognized signs of your spell, and told me to wait until she fixed it, then disappeared with her yellow crystal. The Reverent confirmed it."

From the darkness across the central corridor, a gravelly male voice made us both jump. "I know of this woman."

"Who speaks?" I challenged, turning to the voice.

"My name is Adam." A tall, lean man with gray-streaked hair and beard, wearing tattered clothes, came to his cell bars. "Only yesterday, the woman you called Dawn stayed in your very cell. Then they took her to the Citadel, or so the guard said. She spoke warmly of you, Micah."