Andrew's Curse

Andrew bore the curse well. Or was he flattering himself again?

Aching knees carried him slowly among the ruins. Some long-forgotten king or noble had built the castle. He imagined long-dead children squealing in delight as they chased geese, their spirits passing like smoke among the weeds.

He turned right, following a sheep trail along the river. A scarred hunting horn slapped his ribs in the usual place. He remembered that time an orc spear would have skewered him in the same spot except for that horn. He felt his thumb instinctively rub across the orc-gash.

Yes, he had been spared that day when so many others of better quality had died. Was it all a random toss of the dice? Some days he thought so.

So why keep coming to the ruins? Why keep the ritual if it was all random chance?

"Well met, this sunset," the hawk said from her usual perch. Her voice was a faint peep-skwee among the gathering shadows. She too was a creature of habit.

Andrew skweed back, "Well met, Rabbit Bane." Ritual complete. Niceties observed.

Rabbit Bane bobbed her head and flexed one golden wing. "You are late."

"My knees hurt today."

She flexed the other wing. "Rain soon. Tonight."

Andrew continued to a narrow trail that turned left toward the river. He saw Rabbit Bane ascend overhead, her wings catching the last of the sun.

He stepped into the river, hopping gingerly from rock to rock. Fool. I am too old for this.

"Hear us. We come to you," Rabbit Bane skweed high above.

Sir Andrew of Salvania, King's Ranger of the Realm, blew a long blast on his battered horn.

"We free you this night to walk among us and be whole again." Rabbit Bane turned slowly, calling into the forest across the river.

Another horn blast.

"Protect us, silent ones, as we sleep. Cover us with your honor."

A final horn blast.

"Until we cross the veil to meet again."

Rabbit Bane turned twice more and sailed back toward the north, the direction of wisdom, some said. Ritual complete.

Andrew hobbled back to the broken castle wall and sat on a horse-sized stone. He imagined his slain brothers and sisters stirring the dark tree line across the water. So many battles. So many faces.

Would they walk the empty ruins tonight as the wizard had promised? Would they remember the joy of midnight air and the hope of a sunrise to come? Would they forget the despair of eternity for a moment?

"You were spared because you have a purpose. A holy purpose." The wizard had been persuasive. And Andrew had drunk the bitter potion in his gratitude, and he was changed forever.

The first star came out. Ritual complete. Curse complete.

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