I Will Help You

I Will Help You

                Dytja climbed the mountain, despite the blizzard that raged around her. It wasn’t much of a storm in her view – the snow was soft and small, as much as it was blanketing everything. A rock storm, now that was a storm…

                She trod on silently. If it wasn’t for the heavy pack (containing a dangerous artifact she intended to have destroyed somewhere none knew of its temptations) the trip would be fine. Easy, even. As it stood, however, she was regretting comments made in the past to those less capable of strolling through a blizzard.

                “Howdy there!” came a voice, almost from nowhere. Looking around, Dytja spotted a burly man a bit off the path, standing under a tree. The foliage made him hard to spot.

                “Howdy back,” replied Dytja, stopping to respond.

                “Can’t say I expected to see someone trying to make it through this ‘ere blizzard, definitely not a woman carrying a huge load,” the man said.

                “I’m fine. The pack’s lighter than it looks,” said Dytja.

                “I’d hope it is! But listen, ma’am, if you’d like you can shelter with my wife and I for the night. I don’t think this blizzard will let up until the morning – and I’m betting it’ll worsen overnight,” the man said.

                Dytja almost declined immediately, but her tiredness (she had been walking for two and a half days already) made her consider it. And how she was tired – as often happened, what had seemed an alright load had become heavier and heavier as she walked; until now she was regretting bearing it. Internally, she sighed, as any load that was more than a human could take was not one she could haul around for long.

                “Strange for me to say, but I think I will accept your offer!” Dytja replied, calling out loudly through the snow. She adjusted her pack and began to make her way towards the man.

                For his part, the man started smiling. “Oh, good. I was truly worried about you – you must be truly mighty to get this far but the storm will get worse in the night; and I’ve found too many frozen on this road in my time,” the man said, relieved. “Follow me!”

                With a wave of his arm, he indicated their general direction of travel. Dytja followed behind, catching up to the man quickly (much to his surprise). “I’ve no idea how you’re doing it, but that’s the fastest I’ve ever seen anyone walk through a blizzard! Are you a traveling hero of some sort, head to toe in magical gear?” the man asked.

                “More or less,” replied Dytja. “I’ll ask that you don’t open this pack while I sleep – it contains a dangerous artifact that I’m taking all the way to a great master smith to be destroyed.”

                “Ah, a responsible traveler? Fear not, I’m not foolish enough to meddle in things I do not understand. Nor is my wife, who’ll be awaiting us inside,” responded the man. “I’m Francis, although I prefer Frank, by the way.”
                “Dytja,” Dytja replied.

                “A guest?” said Angeline upon seeing her husband and Dytja make their way inside. Angeline was a matronly woman; quite pretty in a reserved sort of manner. She had ash-blonde hair that hung down to her shoulders.

                “Yes dear, her name is Dytja. A wandering hero of sorts, she says,” replied Frank.

                “Really? How interesting. Perhaps a couple of tales over dinner?” asked Angeline.

                “Sure,” answered Dytja. “I can retell a couple you might enjoy, and a few that might stretch credulity – you can believe them or not as you wish.”

                “That sounds wonderfully entertaining. I better prepare dinner quickly!” said Angeline, bustling back to the kitchen.

                “Why did you look sad when she mentioned dinner?” asked Dytja, as she followed Frank through to a sort of ‘lounging’ room. Set facing a fireplace were several chairs – enough for Angeline, Frank, and several guests. From the looks of things, the room saw little use – not unusual, given how far they lived from civilisation.

                “Oh, nothing,” replied Frank. Dytja decided not to press him; although it was certainly not ‘nothing’.

                “Would you care for a drink?” asked Frank, making his way to a small bar.

                “Sure,” replied Dytja. “Make it a double if you don’t mind.”

                With a chuckle, Frank complied. Shortly, the pair were sitting opposite one another in comfortable chairs, sipping well-aged whiskey.

                Conversation ranged over several topics – why Dytja had taken the risk of the mountain in a blizzard, how she needed to take the mountain path to avoid anyone falling prey to the artifact, how Angeline and Frank lived up on the mountains, and why they had come.

                Soon enough Angeline wandered in. “Dinner is served,” she said. Leaving their empty glasses behind, Dytja and Frank followed her through.

                “The guest seat,” said Angeline, indicating a seat on one side of a small table. It was the least worn – the spots on either side were obviously those used by her hosts.

                “Thank you,” replied Dytja, taking the seat. The dining room was fairly large, especially compared to the table – as if a bigger table had been planned, but never added. A couple of hunting trophies – antlers from what was likely a very large dear, and some kind of horn – adorned the wall.

                The meal in front of her – still steaming – was bear meat, along with a helping of still fresh vegetables (the blizzard being the first snow this part of the mountain was seeing). Dytja licked her lips. “Bear, I take it?” she asked her hosts.

                “Why yes,” replied Angeline. “Frank killed a bear a few days ago, he says.”

                “That I did,” replied Frank. “Thank you greatly, Angeline; this meal looks absolutely delicious.”

                “Dig in dear. Oh, and you too, Dytja,” said Angeline, beaming in response to Frank’s praise.

                Dytja needed no other prompting. She hadn’t eaten for a few days – not uncommon for her – and was quite famished. The truth was, she’d prefer to eat about twice as much as was before her; but it was still quite a generous meal.

                Angeline and Frank made light conversation around their eating as Dytja thoroughly devoured her food. Despite her perfectly graceful, absolutely proper method of eating, she had finished before either Angeline or Frank had eaten even a third of their – despite their quite speedy, uncultured method of eating.

                “Wow,” said Frank, after Dytja neatly arranged her utensils out of habit. “I’ve never seen anyone eat quite like that.”

                “Old habits,” replied Dytja.

                “Well, it’s certainly a sign that you enjoyed your meal!” said Angeline, smiling. “Perhaps, while we finish, you could tell us a couple of tales?”

                “Sure,” said Dytja. “Perhaps ten years ago…”

                Dytja regaled the pair with three tales as they ate; tales of adventure and travel. Though entertaining, Frank and Angeline didn’t quite believe them – or, at least, believe them fully. In part, it was the fantastical nature of Dytja’s adventures – conversing with kings, fighting great and terrible monsters. But the other, more unusual part, was how she would start with, ‘about one hundred and fifty years ago’; or the third with ‘a couple of millenia past’.

                After Dytja finished her third tale (some time after the meal was finished), Angeline stood and said, “Time for me to clean up.”

                “I’ll give you a hand, dear,” said Frank, also rising. “Dytja, do you recall the corridor before the lounge? At the end, the first door on the left, is a guest room. You can make yourself comfortable within.”

                “We’ll be around if you need anything,” added Angeline as she disappeared through to the kitchen with her plate.

                “Nice people,” mused Dytja as she stood. “Like many in this world.”

                Dytja heaved up her pack, and hauled it through to the corridor Frank had spoken of. Curious, she checked the other rooms. Interesting,she thought, they seem to sleep apart. Two guest rooms means they probably can’t have kids or something sad.

                Dytja placed the pack, her adventuring pack (hidden underneath the pack containing the artifact) and her belt of pouches on the floor, and gave the bed a try. It was soft, obviously rarely used but well kept. “Aaah,” she sighed, relaxing.

                She relaxed for a while before she came to the conclusion that talking with her hosts was probably the polite thing to do. It didn’t take long before she found Frank in the lounge, having another drink.

                “Catching up?” Dytja asked, playfully.

                Frank sighed deeply. “I’m sorry. Stuff’s just getting to me today. Help yourself if you want another,” he said.

                “What sort of… stuff?” asked Dytja, curious. She took a chair opposite Frank.

                “Angeline,” said Frank, putting a hand to his forehead. “I… I’m not sure how long I can keep doing this. I miss her.”

                “Miss… her?” said Dytja, confused. “She was here while we were eating only half an hour ago – I didn’t hear you guys argue either.”

                “Ah, sorry, I should be clearer – that was her ghost. She doesn’t know she’s dead; she just… keeps coming back on certain evenings, especially when we have guests. Seven years now,” said Frank, swirling his glass.

                Dytja, on the other hand, was still pretty confused. “I’ve been many places, Frank. Ghosts don’t work like that,” she said. “Ah, but she might still be dead, I’m sorry for your loss ack sorry.”

                “Really?” said Frank. “Maybe not quite a ghost. A torment for me, every day, when she comes back. By the snow…”

                Feeling awkward, Dytja let silence continue for a couple of minutes. Frank simply ruminated, lost deep in thought, staring at the swirling liquid in his glass. Then Angeline walked into the room.

                “Oh, I guess you’re not a ghost,” she said to Dytja, ignoring Frank completely. Dytja quickly glanced over at him – he didn’t seem to have noticed or heard her.

                “This was always the room Frank was proudest of,” Angeline continued, putting a hand on one of the chairs. “He often brings guests in here.”

                “What did you mean just then?” asked Dytja, staring at Angeline.

                “That you’re not a ghost? Oh. Sometimes the guests we receive are ghosts – they disappear after a dinner, just like Frank. It was nice to see him again,” replied Angeline. “It’s. It’s hard, sometimes, but it’s better to see him from time to time, even if it’s not for long. He’s a ghost you see, he has been for several years.”

                Yet, at the same time, Frank had said, “By the snow? Just an expression from around here.” Neither he nor Angeline seemed to notice each other, at all.

                “May I ask a question?” said Dytja, leaning her head back.

                “Of course,” Angeline replied, while Frank said, “Yeah.”

                “Have you had any guests not of the same gender in the past seven years?” asked Dytja, rubbing at her eyes.

                “No actually, you’re the first,” replied Frank. “Strange that.”

                Angeline, after pausing to consider it for a moment, said, “No, not a one! How strange. Now that I think of it, all the ghosts Frank has brought home were men. Very unusual.”

                “Bloody curses,” muttered Dytja. “Okay, both of you: neither of you are dead, I’m guessing seven and a bit years ago you pissed someone off? Probably accidentally, or they were just an arsehole, since you’re both really lovely.”

                “What?” both said, simultaneously.

                “I’m not sure how it convinced you both that the other’s dead, but you’re both under a curse that removes you from the sight of the other gender. Except at dinner time. I’ve come across this sort of curse before – it’s old magic, not from here, but it interacts with people and the nature of this world to really, really inflict pain on those it targets,” explained Dytja.

                Both looked shocked, and Dytja could see they were quickly moving towards ‘outrage’. “Okay, come over here and push the side of my cheek closer to you around,” she said. “And I’m immune to the curse because I’m not human, if that helps.”

                Hope won out over outrage, and the pair advanced on Dytja. Tentatively, Angeline reached out towards Dytja’s left cheek – but she gasped as Frank roughly started pressing Dytja’s right cheek around.

                “Who’s doing that?” she gasped.

                “That’s Frank. Can you – thanks,” said Dytja, swapping what she said as Angeline more gently (though still not really gently…) pushed her left cheek around.

                “Angeline?” said Frank, hope in his voice.

                “She can’t hear you and I’m guessing you just walk through each other – no, it’s not because you’re both ghosts – but do you believe me?” Dytja said.

                “Y-yes,” both replied, tentatively.

                “Tell me of anyone you remember visiting just before your spouse died. I’m going to end this curse by forcing them to recant it, and any others they’ve cast,” said Dytja, forcefully.

Noticing that her forcefulness was off-putting, she calmly added, “I will help you.” It was enough; the pair started to look at her with pure hope, no longer a mix of hope and concern. In that moment, as in many others, she was truly a hero.

                There was only one likely suspect – and he was very likely. He had possessed a strange bracelet (memorable enough that both could describe it to Dytja, who had some clues as to its make). He had argued with both Frank and Angeline, and though he had left without violence, had sworn to hurt them. Sworn that they’d never see each other again.

                Though the man never returned, a few months later Angeline and Frank found each other ‘dead’. They dug a grave in the same spot, and buried the corpse there; leaving an inscription on a stone they dragged over. Unlike all others, when Dytja read the stone she saw two messages scrawled over each other.

                From experience, Dytja guessed that the curse had heavily messed with their perceptions for that short period; and then –given that the intent of the curser was to hurt them as much as possible – settled on causing an immense amount of pain. Some nights, they would be together – and with the curse’s manipulation they would each believe the other knew nothing of their death.

                Conveniently for Dytja, the man who cast the curse was a traveling jeweler, headed in the same direction she had to take to destroy the artifact. Ten days later she stood outside his shop, a lush boutique in a very large town. He was, quite obviously, doing very well for himself.

                Dytja entered, and laid her pack on the ground. “Is Omeric in today?” she asked the counter girl.

                “Yes, he is. Are you interested in a custom piece?” the girl asked. Leaning forward conspiratorially, she added, “I’d ask for something complicated – he’s been getting his apprentice to do the easy ones of late.”

                Dytja smiled and said, “Thank you, but no. I’m here to enquire about a bracelet he may still own, actually.”

                “Oh, that daft black stone piece? It’s dreadful. But, ah, I mean, no, it’s truly dreadful. Are you a collector of some sort? You do have some interesting gear,” the girl replied.

                “Of a sort, yes. May I head through and speak to him?” asked Dytja.

                “Yes, head through. I have to keep an eye on you as we go, though,” said the girl, indicating the doorway behind her.

                “Of course,” replied Dytja. She made her way through the door and a short corridor beyond, into the jeweler’s workshop. The only person present was a middle aged man – obviously Omeric. He wore a black stone bracelet around his left wrist. Barely perceptible light gray material of some kind linked together the pieces – Dytja knew it would be a type of plastic, although few others would recognise it.

                “Omeric the jeweler, I presume,” said Dytja, walking up to the man. The counter girl disappeared from behind Dytja, now that Omeric could keep an eye on her.

                “Yes. Who, may I ask, do I have the pleasure of speaking to?” said Omeric, sizing Dytja up. Dytja could unfortunately tell that he liked what he saw.

                “My name is Dytja. I’m here about the bracelet, and the curse you foolishly placed upon a lovely couple on Mount Arbile,” said Dytja, moving closer towards the man. Despite being seated, he realised exactly how tall Dytja was – easily fifty centimetres taller than he.

                “I – I – What are you talking about?” he asked fearfully.

                “I don’t know what you had against them, but seven years of suffering is enough. They cannot see each other – much like you screamed at them as you left. That bracelet you are wearing is a ‘curse-bank’, a device from another world that stores unformed curses for anyone to use. Or blessings, if you truly know what you are doing. But I presume you do not,” said Dytja, glaring down at Omeric.

                “And if I have learnt how to use it? If you do not leave I’ll curse you to never see good fortune again!” replied Omeric viciously. “It’s mine, and I’ll never revoke a curse!”

                Dytja grabbed Omeric by the shirt, and lifted him wholly up off the ground. “I CURSE YOU TO DIE!” he yelled. The bracelet pulsed visibly – the darkness in the stones starting to flow out. Half a second later, all of it had.

                Omeric started to laugh as Dytja glared at him. The magic dissipated, becoming invisible as it began its work. As the last little bit of darkness left the bracelet – leaving only clear crystals behind – the plastic dissolved, sending the crystals tumbling to the floor where the burst into sand.

                “Hahaha, terrible to lose it but soon you’ll be dead and I’ll be fine!” said Omeric.

                Several minutes later, when Dytja was still holding him and glaring the same as ever, he became worried. “Why aren’t you dead yet? Or perhaps you’ve died an- URK!” he babbled, cut off when Dytja grabbed him around the throat.

                “Listen, idiot,” she whispered in his ear softly, “I’m immune to curses because they don’t understand me. I’m not from this world either, and I’m not bound up in its rules. Where I come from, this sort of magic can’t do anything; so when it obeys my world’s rules – which it tries to, to try and make a curse – it just fades away.”

                “So you have one choice, right now. Say what I tell you to say, or I end the curses you’ve cast by killing you. I know you’ve cast others. Probably had to get rid of a little competition, right? So do you understand me?” Dytja threatened.

                Unable to breathe, Omeric nodded his head as much as he could.

                “Okay.This is what you say: I break all curses I have cast. If you say anything in the five seconds after that, I will kill you,” said Dytja.

                She slammed Omeric into a chair and released his throat, moving her hand to his chest to keep him down. After a coughing fit (while glancing frequently at Dytja in case she was about to attack him), he wheezed out, “I break all curses I have cast.”

                Though it was only five seconds, it felt to Omeric like he spent an age beneath Dytja’s glare. It was worse than the rest that were merely anger. This glare promised pain, torture, death, if he dared to cheat her.

                Once the five seconds had passed, Dytja let go of Omeric, and cracked her neck. “You better hope I never have a reason to see you again,” she said.

                As Dytja left without a single glance behind her, Omeric’s mind was busy reconsidering a large number of less than moral plans he had had for the future. He’d never do anything he knew was wrong, even slightly, ever again.