The Cursed Kingdom | Book 1 in The Cursed series

11

I smell them before I see them. The scent of rotting flesh mixes with that of baked goods. I consider sneaking through the town unnoticed before I remember my tattered, blood-coated gown, which significantly decreases my chances of being glossed over. As I contemplate disappearing back into the woods I hear the sound of voices coming my way. I hide behind some empty crates just in time to see a party of goblins pass by. Bricks press against my back as I squeeze closer to the cottage behind me. Their shrill shatter makes the hairs on the back of my neck rise. I don't dare breathe until their figures fade into the tree line. Until I try to stand I don't notice how hard I'm trembling. My knees buckle underneath my weight. I grab on to the crates to compose myself before I go on.

Sticking to the wall I make my way around the corner. An uneasy feeling settles in my stomach when I spot the unattended clothesline next to the house. I desperately need clothes but the thought of stealing leaves me unsure. Then again, how can I be confident I won't be met with more creatures when I knock on the door? What if the people of this town have decided to join this wicked folk? Before I can change my mind I straighten my back, take a deep breath, and briskly cross the yard. My hands shake as I reach for a brown linen frock. In my nervous state it takes me longer than I would like to remove the clothing pins. For a moment I think I might get away with it until I hear an angry voice behind me.

"Oi, you there!" I freeze in my movements. "Put that back if you know what's good for you."

"I'm sorry!" Is all I can say as I turn around. The voice belongs to a plump middle-aged woman. Her brown hair is tucked into a white cap. The angry look in her brown eyes is quickly replaced by surprise once she takes in my appearance. Surprise then turns into pity.

"You better come inside, dear." I can't be sure this woman can be trusted, but I follow her anyway. I suppose she does have the high ground after catching my pathetic attempt at stealing. Ignoring her would only shatter my morality even more. And so–with some hesitation–I enter the cottage. The inside looks old and unkept yet cosy. I find a strange sense of comfort in the chaos of peeling paint and cobwebs. Various art supplies are shoved into a corner underneath a small window. The walls are lined with what I assume are original paintings.

Next to an empty fireplace sits a man–probably in his early 50s. His dark hair is littered with grey streaks. He regards me over the brim of his round spectacles as he puts his book down.

"Found this one trying to steal my frock." The woman speaks. "Figured she could use a nice bath and a hot meal."

The man laughs at this. "Ah yes, I always felt the penalty for stealing should be the tragedy of comfort."

"I'm sorry, sir. I didn't want to steal, I just-" Another one of his hearty laughs interrupts me. He gets up from his seat to put a large calloused hand on my shoulder.

"I'm only teasing, pet. You look as if you just fought with Dedur himself. Let Moira take care of you, girl." He smiles, gesturing to the woman waiting at the stairs.

Moira doesn't speak as she fills the bathtub, nor do I. A part of me desperately wants her to ask questions, yet I'm glad she doesn't. She seems content in the silence as well, seemingly still deciding if she made the right decision. Nonetheless, I wish to thank her. I stare at her kind face in search of the words to use, but her gentle nod tells me she already knows.

The warm water relaxes my aching joints. I can hear soft voices coming from somewhere beneath me. Though I can't make out what they're saying I have a pretty good guess of what it could be about. I lay there, basking in the sunlight that seeps through the open window until the water turns cold. Moira had left a grey dress out. The fabric feels soft against my damp skin. As I get dressed I look out at the village. A lump forms in my throat. The town is littered with cursed ones. Not just goblins but kelpies, enchanters, hags, redcaps. If this is just one town I'm afraid to imagine what the rest of the kingdom might look like.

"They came in the night." Moira's voice makes me jolt back. I had been so lost in my horror I hadn't heard her come back into the room.

"Why isn't the royal guard doing anything? Why aren't they fighting back?"

"I'm afraid the army has their hands full with the rest of the kingdom, and the rest of us could hardly be seen as fighters."

"Then why don't you leave." At this, she confidently shakes her head.

"I've lived here for 46 years, deary. I won't be scared away."

"Besides," she continues. "The entire perimeter is guarded, you'd have to be the Gods' favourite to escape unnoticed."

The smell of stew drifts up the stairs as we make our way down. The man from before sits at a small kitchen table. I almost drool at the sight of the steaming pot and fresh bread rolls. Up until this point I had nearly forgotten my hunger. Now, as I sit down to eat, the feeling of my empty stomach is nauseating. I throw all etiquette to the wind. Elegance is the last thing on my mind while I shove another spoonful into my mouth. Only when I'm finished do I feel slightly embarrassed by my lack of manners. Still, my full stomach greatly trumps my embarrassment.

"I don't know how to thank you enough for this. I am forever in your debt." I speak eventually. "Oh curse my manners, I never even asked your name."

"Pádraic's the name, girl. How about you just tell us your tale and we'll call it even?"

"I doubt my story would be enough to repay you both."

"Try us, deary." Moira smiles encouragingly. "We're quite good listeners."

A/N Niya has finally found a bit of rest, yay! (spoken as if I'm not the one writing one traumatic event after the other.) Don't forget to vote if you liked it!