Shadowcursed

By Gelo Fleisher

Bolen is a thief, plying his trade under the spires of an ancient and sprawling city. Worried that he's growing too old, Bolen has lined up a risky job, just to prove that he can still pull one off.

Tonight, he's going to break into a nobleman's vault and help himself to its contents. What he doesn't know is that inside is the key to a secret as old as the city itself.

Kings have killed for it, demons have coveted it, priests have prayed for it, and in a few moments it will be in his hands. And when it is, the adventure of his life will begin.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Gelo Fleisher
• Release date: Mar 23, 2013
• ISBN: 9781301803316

Gelo Fleisher

Gelo R. Fleisher is an author and game developer. He lives in the East Coast, with his wife and daughter.

Book preview

SHADOWCURSED

A fantasy novella

Gelo R. Fleisher

Copyright 2013 Gelo R. Fleisher

Smashwords Edition

Cover Art and Design by Ioan Dumitrescu

First electronic publication: Friday 22nd, 2013

http://gfleisher.blogspot.com

http://jonone.cghub.com/

Please contact [e-mail] with any comments.

Smashwords Edition, License Notes

This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to Smashwords.com and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

To Sun Myung Moon and Hak Ja Han Moon, my True Parents.

Table of Contents

Part I - The Crime

Part II - The Monster

Part III – The Curse

Part IV – The Key

Part V – The City

Acknowledgments

Play the Free Computer Game

About the author

Part I - The Crime

All through the city, the first signs of daylight made themselves known. Streaks of pale orange climbed the thatch and stone of its crooked skyline, and the night mists began their daily retreat back into the sea. As the fog burned away, the smell of salt water remained and soaked the pungent aromas of urban filth with a sour brine.

Over muddy streets matted with straw and excrement, bleary-eyed merchants carted their wares to market, and weary tradesmen shuffled off to fisheries and storehouses. City watchmen in their chainmail shirts, and apprentice mages in high-collared robes, watched the bustling crowd without interest.

Bolen’s eyes stung with sleepiness. The short, unassuming man was one of the hundreds wending their way between complaining oxen, chanting Sothay priests, and the upraised hands of beggars. His short, wiry frame moved unhurriedly, ignored by the lurching mob.

Bolen had lived his whole life amid the rhythms of the city and they comforted him, in a perverse way. It was a city of stolen dreams, his among them. Yet to see it stir, the same as it did every day, was like the taste of cheap wine on the lips of a drunk. No longer exhilarating or satisfying, but at least comforting in its reliability.

In front of him, the crowd slowed as a tinker’s cart, overladen with pots, stopped in the street. The tinker swore and slapped his donkey, but the beast stood its ground. Feeling the growing press of the mob behind him, Bolen stepped into an alley, following its tight bends until he arrived at a dilapidated tavern.

He knocked on the tavern’s sodden door with a calloused hand. The barkeep cracked the door open and poked out a fat, bald head. Seeing Bolen, he beckoned him in.

As he stepped inside, Bolen crinkled his nose. Thick smoke and sour sweat choked the common room. A smattering of patrons sat, dimly lit by sunlight filtering through boarded windows and the green, smokeless orbs that the barkeep’s apprentice son had conjured up.

The barkeep waddled over to a pot of boiling water and poured a measure into a clay cup. Bolen took it gingerly in his fingers and dropped in a packet of herbs. He let the bitter leaves steep as he leaned against a nearby wall and listened tiredly to the other patrons argue and laugh.

He let his gaze wander around the room, stopping on a young woman sitting alone. She stared back at him. With her raven-black hair and green eyes, she looked better than most of the women who hung around the place trying to lure patrons out back.

Hey!

Bolen jerked his eyes away. The shout came from an old man waving at him from across the tavern.

With his bony face and gap-toothed smile, Bolen recognized him immediately. The old man gestured excitedly toward Bolen, his boundless energy unaffected by his age.

Bolen pushed off the wall and settled his wiry frame down across from him. Hakar.

Hakar grinned, his rictus face tinted with a sickly pall under the light of a nearby mage-orb. He beckoned Bolen to lean closer. So tonight you try for it! He beamed.

Bolen nodded. Yeah.

Hakar looked at Bolen’s cup and made a face. Then you should drink stronger stuff, it’ll give you guts. You gonna need it for this jobby.

Bolen ignored him, taking a sip of the bitter brew.

Hakar let out a wheezing laugh, Fine, fine do it your way. The old man reached into the folds of his cloak and pulled out a tightly folded parchment. Here’s your map. Had to coin the bummers for it hard. That’s comin’ out of your cut you know.

Bolen reached to pluck the yellow packet from Hakar’s bony fingers, but the old man jerked the parchment away.

You solid on doin’ this? How old are you now? Most thieves your age hop over to my side of things.

Bolen frowned and looked down into his drink. Hakar was right. He had seen forty-two summers best he knew, and that was too old to keep sneaking around in nobles’ houses.

And House Tanni’s a favorite of Lord Falasade. Hakar continued. You sure you want to be messing with the friends of the City Lord? Falasade’s gutted people for less. Bolen could see a glimmer of concern in Hakar’s pallid face.

Everyone knew about Lord Falasade’s reputation for cruelty. There were enough one-handed souls walking about and corpses on the gallows gibbet to attest to that. But Bolen had escaped the harsh hand of the Mad Lord so far, and he’d make sure to keep things that way. He snatched the parchment out of Hakar’s grasp with a quick swipe and stuck it in one of his pockets.

Hakar squawked and slapped Bolen on the arm.

Bolen scratched at his gray-flecked stubble, hazel eyes tinged with annoyance. When did you get so concerned for my safety?

The old man bobbed his head like a chicken and fixed Bolen with a stare. Hey, you get grabbed and Falasade’s boys put the hot irons to you, you might be spillin’ my name. Hakar folded his arms. And besides, you’re good, done good by me lots. Don’t want no bad to come to you. Ain’t no sin right?

Bolen leaned back in his chair and downed the rest of his drink, setting the cup gently on the table. I’ll scope out the manor before making my move. If there’s too much steel, I’ll call it off. Just keep a candle in the window and I’ll stop by when the job’s done. Anything else I need to know?

Hakar flashed his toothless grin. Yes! Hakar beckoned him to lean in close.

You’ve got an admirer.

Bolen looked at the old man quizzically.

Hakar wheezed out another laugh. A lady’s been askin’ around on you. Askin’ for you by name.

Bolen remembered the young woman who had been staring at him. And a looker too! Hakar’s gnarled hands imitated a pair of curves in the air, then, still grinning, poked him in the chest. I put in a good word for ya.

Bolen looked over at the corner where she had been sitting, but she was gone, a solitary mage orb casting pale light across an empty chair.

***

Bolen squinted as a blast of bright sunlight outside his window woke him. He grimaced and draped a leaden arm over his eyes. It was hot, and an uncomfortable sweat dampened his body. Turning about in his makeshift cot, he heard a plaintive meow from on top of his chest. Bolen looked down to see a

Reviews for Shadowcursed

[R.W. Foster · Rating: 5 out of 5 stars]

I cared about every character I met. Well, except one... but he was a total scumbag, and only spoke about four or five lines, so I don't think he counts. Everyone else, though, regardless of their background, touched me in some way.

Oh, heck.

Even the scumbag touched me. Not in a sweet, happy, I-love-this-guy-even-though-he's-a-callous-jerk way, of course, but in a I-hate-this-man-and-can't-believe-anyone-could-be-so-vile-I-want-to-throttle-him sort of way.

Yeah, the emotions were a bit thick...

Shadowcursed includes a struggle between light and darkness that grips the reader, making them turn each page with abandon. This is not a novella that will allow you to easily take a break. Plan to read this one when you won't be interrupted for a while. Perhaps after everyone else has gone to sleep. Why? Let me give you an example:

My Husband:
"Rebecca?"
Me:
"...."
Husband:
"Umm, Rebecca?"
Me:
"..."
Husband:
(places his hand on my shoulder)
"Hey, Rebecca..."
Me:
(fangs break through my gums as my eyes turn solid black. Lightning crackles overhead.)
"WHAT?!?!?!?!!? I'M BUSY!"
Husband:
"I um... I just wanted to be sure you saw the glass of water I placed beside you forty-five minutes ago. You haven't touched it yet."

So, yeah. I was kind of a wee bit focused on this novella.

I recommend that you read Shadowcursed. It's something I would easily choose to read again. Fleisher has a great talent for drawing a reader's emotions to the surface, making a person evaluate their own actions in life, just as the characters did.

I mean, seriously... how many people do you know that can cause you to feel empathy toward a statue?

(This is a truncation of my full review on Undiscovered Tomes, where I awarded it the honor of Treasured Tome.)