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#Writever 11.1 — MALÉDICTION Curse

I looked from my embedded thaumaturgy exam at the little man who'd let my people burn. That he'd chosen to save Second City—instead of together with Dryad Woodland—had masked his battlefield choices against the dragonfolk as heroism. He never referred to people like me as Tainted. Not that I'd ever let anybody know I was Folk. I needed no wand because my bones were calcified wood. My wand was fake.

I no longer hated him.

His lack of bigotry was my first clue. Second was whilst he saved Citadel State again and again, the country subtly bled territory, prestige, and the confidence of allies intermittently supported. The last clue was my professor scoffed at the idea of curses. He'd personally removed all books on the subject from the library, yet referred to titles I'd nonetheless found in the library stacks at Royale, our school's rival.

A magical machine you'd embed in an amulet was called a curse when embedded in a person to control them. The General kept an analog clock that he opened in class to explain the term "escapement." The ticking levers and gears beautifully illustrated a reciprocating casting. That it moved "hands" and rang chimes on the hours showed how the magic worked in the watch inked on my wrist. When he taught how to make amulets react to stimuli, it came together. My watch grew visible only when looked at. Alarms tingled. Some people's amulets spoke to them.

I remembered when he'd grown hoarse elaborating on the idea that we act on instincts programmed into us by society. Simply substitute "curse" for "society..."

Though mind control was a capital offense, it wasn't impossible. Clues, clues, clues.

I dismissed he was corrupt. He lived a humble life beyond soldiery and teaching. I concluded he was either bipolar—or fought an internal war against a curse.

I snapped the quill down on the desk, capping the inkwell. A glance confirmed I was alone in the lecture hall. I kicked the box beside my boot. The lid slid aside. Something buzzzzed. The General glanced at his watch, frowning as I descended to the lectern. He reached out a hand. "Taking your time today?"

"Savoring it," I answered and smiled.

What if his clues and omissions were targeted at me? I got top marks in embedding; it seemed natural but also too pat. Had he wanted me to notice he fought an internal struggle against a curse that could recognize him revealing it or fighting it? Was it a trap or was he crying for help?

Was I about to make a fool of myself or get myself killed?

He leafed through the pages, nodding.

I wore short sleeves and simple breeches that couldn't hide a wand. I hid nothing from the curse's sight.

/I'm not a threat,/ I told myself over my racing heart. I hoped he didn't smell me sweating, or the bad odor coming from something I'd purposely stepped in.

When a fly came a-buzzing, I swatted. His eyes followed the insect.

Hands raised, I swiftly brought them beside his temples. I didn't need a wand because I had ten: five fingers on each hand.

I got textbook feedback across the gap between my thumbs and little fingers. I sensed the ticking, then a network of timings that ran across his cranium to envelop his entire skull. Without my "wands" acting like antennae, I'd never have detected it. I jabbed my magic through my index fingers into the primary escapements and through my middle fingers into secondaries, stopping them mid-tick. I'd gotten Amelia to let me practice on her orchestra ear, so it went off like... clockwork.

Though my test papers zigzagged to the floor, the man looked away as if it didn't matter, or that my chest and raised arms didn't block his view. Was he going to let me disassemble the reciprocating escapement? I reexamined the feedback and it dawned on me that his entire skull was likely incised with castings. His head was a complex amulet. Yet... I found the keystone! If I burnt a pencil-width dot right there—

When he coughed, I glanced over. Sweat beaded above his upper lip as he mouthed words.

I read, "I've a sister who's my soulmate."

Innocuous, but I recognized the allusion. I found an antenna in the escapement. He worked not to trigger a link to a second cursed person, or a curse-defense mechanism. That response wouldn't simply be his voice cutting out. He wore his wand in a wrist sheath.

Break the curse?

Risk triggering a linked curse?

Believe him, the flawed hero who'd killed people I knew?

Intuition said— I jerked back my magic and wearily stooped to grab my test.

He smiled and said, "I'm looking forward to reading your essay," then walked away.

Now, I had to find his "sister." Worse, he knew I was Folk.

[3 hrs. Author retains copyright.]

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