Curse of Stone

Chapter 9

Galen Fen looked more like an oversized garden gnome than the premier historian Ferina professed. He scanned over an old, leather-bound book on a cluttered desk, grunting now and then as his brown eyes darted across the pages. Short and squat, a pile of cushions on his wooden chair elevated him enough to bend over the book. His tangled white beard contained bits of his last meal, and a dark mole stood out on an oversized round nose. A brown cap and stained overalls completed the look.

Ferina lifted an eyebrow. "Well, Galen, what have you found?"

"Uh, uh," he grunted, wagging a crooked finger dismissively without looking up. Galen slapped the book closed and chose another from a crowded bookcase behind him. The swiveling chair squealed as he twisted around.

Mom and I shared cloaked grins at his eccentric behavior, while Anara waited patiently, Targon snoozing across her shoulders. The four of us sat hip-to-hip on a narrow wooden bench in front of the desk, but only after first clearing it of piled papers, dirty dishware, and a surly orange cat. Sunbeams through a cracked west-facing window lit up dust motes in their paths.

After our Stone Curse expedition ended in failure, we teleported to Freehold, a Circulus Libertus settlement on the far side of Elysium, and also Ferina's home town. It contained an eclectic mix of homes jumbled between massive oak-like trees and a vibrant central market. The curse that marked Anara drew many sets of passing eyes as we walked along the winding paths, but mostly, everyone was friendly. Ferina explained that the settlement was hidden from the Council's diviners by a magic spell.

Galen closed the book and leaned back in the desk chair, lacing fingers behind his head. "Hmm..." he only said.

"Well?" Ferina responded after a few moments of inactivity.

"Most curious," Galen said, firming his lips. He said nothing more, and an awkward silence filled the small office.

"What is most curious?" she spat. "Tell us or so help me, I'll turn you into a toad."

Galen leveled his eyes at Ferina. "That actually cannot be done."

"An expression, Galen, but I can make you think you are a toad. Now, speak!"

"Harrumph," he grunted. Then Galen lifted a pottery teakettle from his desk and poured into a ceramic mug, but nothing came out. "Uriche!" he shouted. "More tea!"

A tall bushy haired young man, about my age, wearing a gray tunic shirt, swung the wooden door open and scanned us with suspicious narrowed eyes. Then he dashed in and out, snatching up the teakettle along the way.

"And make sure it be hot this time!" Galen called out to Uriche as the door slammed. The historian took a deep breath and raised bushy white eyebrows. "Now, where was I?"

"Something curious?" Ferina hissed impatiently.

"Ah, yes! The Curse of Stone. An ingenious spell it was, never duplicated. Did you know it feeds on magic used against it? That it also infected a witch is not unprecedented." He looked at Anara. "I am sorry, my dear. By historical accounts, it happened to only the most powerful witches that dared to interfere. So diabolical."

Ferina took a deep, cleansing breath and rolled her eyes up. "That much we know, Galen. Get to the curious part?"

Galen gazed at me. "A Symbio Magique appears every other century, but always as a woman. Never before had it been a man with no magical abilities, and never before in the line of Cephas Carne. Most curious, do you think?"

Mom and I gulped simultaneously, and my stomach tightened. We had not told him that Cephas was a distant ancestor.

"I see that in your eyes, especially your mother," Galen explained, answering our unasked question. He leaned forward, clasping his hands. "But most fascinating was the curse's reaction to your coordinated attack. The defense was adaptive, targeted, and, dare I speak, intelligent. Nothing such has ever been recorded."