The Cure of All Diseases: The Gods of Seraph, #1

By Jack Stockley

How far would even the best of men fall with fear of death as the driver?

Newlyweds Meneteth and Neral visit Meneteth's uncle Valyn but wake to find they have been subject to a terrifying magical transformation reverting them to pre-teens. Leaving Meneteth's similarly transformed sister Cantathera they flee Valyn's stronghold. Trapped in the bodies of children and branded thieves they cannot return home and are reduced to following the advice of Valyn's desperately worried apprentice: they seek out the Master of Castle Aiding.

But Aiding's lord has a reputation as dark as Valyn's ambition, and enemies of his own. The young couple have little to bargain with except their lives -- and their souls. Somehow they must recruit the Master to their cause and uncover the mystery at the heart of Valyn's change from benevolent uncle to evil sorcerer while striving to keep their marriage intact. Will what they have be enough to buy the help they need to stop Valyn sacrificing Cantathera to achieve the healing he craves?

• Language: English
• Publisher: Jack Stockley
• Release date: Dec 7, 2019
• ISBN: 9781393871422

Jack Stockley

Born in Lancashire, UK, and growing up in Scotland, Jack was an avid reader from a young age. He settled into reading fantasy and science fiction at about 10 and started writing for fun when he went to university to read mathematics in 1982. Most of his early writings were thankfully lost when he moved to Australia in 1989. All that survived was an outline for "Famous By My Sword", which was finally restarted 15 years later, and finished in 2015.  Jack Stockley is the nom de plume of a justly obscure academic living in Sydney.

Book preview

Prologue: Escape

Neral had never believed in luck, but now she was sure that theirs was going to run out.

She flattened herself against the wall as the guard and his dog crossed the castle grounds towards the inadequate shadows hiding her. She could hear the dog panting: sunset had brought no relief from the day’s heat, and the storm that would have helped cover their escape had held off. The dog was sure to pick up her scent. Neral squeezed her eyes shut, waiting for discovery. She felt a touch on her leg. She looked down and caught a glimpse of something furry bolting around the corner.

Just as Neral realised it was a cat, the dog barked: a lackadaisical bark, the dog too wrung out from the heat to care. She did not catch the guard’s response. Then man and animal came into sight, facing away from her. The dog sniffed the ground occasionally, but neither member of the patrol looked around and so missed both Neral and the light from the stables.

Seconds after they had disappeared Meneteth poked his head around the stable door: Neral, he whispered, there are two horses ready, come on!

He can’t have done that so quickly, she thought. She scanned Castle Fangal’s moonlit courtyard: it was deserted. Neral followed her husband into the stable. He had put the candle down on a shelf and was stroking a bay colt’s muzzle. Both the colt and the sorrel gelding beside him were saddled and ready.

Someone had already got them prepared, Meneteth said before Neral could ask. Just the right size too, how lucky’s that?

Neral did not reply as she went to the smaller horse. She was unsure if she could ride it after the transformation, but the gelding did not seem to pick up her nervousness. There was a piece of paper pinned to the saddle bags; without thinking she unpinned it. As soon as she unfolded the paper, words appeared.

Neral, take the horses, she read aloud. Ride northwest. Read the letter in the bag when you’re well away. S.

Let me see, Meneteth said. He took the note from his wife’s unresisting hands. The paper crumbled as soon as he touched it. Damn! he swore as the shreds fluttered down.

Tied to me, Neral said. There must have been an attraction on it too: I couldn’t tell.

Was it Sylvana’s writing?

I think so.

Meneteth looked inside the gelding’s saddle bag: There’re two letters in there  —

Don’t touch!

I won’t. Let’s get out of here before anyone comes.

Meneteth extinguished the candle and pocketed it. Then husband and wife each took reins and led a horse out of the stable. Every clop and every jingle made Neral’s heart jump. How have we got this far? To get out of the tower after what Valyn did to us was unlikely enough, but to avoid all the patrols, then horses ... Sylvana must have spun a glamour over the guards, she whispered.

Why is she helping us? Meneteth whispered back as they led the horses carefully across the castle grounds. And why didn’t she just stop Valyn?

I guess the letters will tell us.

A few minutes later they reached the gate. Castle Fangal had known too many years of peace: Meneteth had commented how lax security was when they had arrived as guests the previous day. Despite what Meneteth’s uncle had done since then he had not tightened it, for which Neral was grateful. The guards were all inside the gatehouse, moaning about the heat. Once across the moat, Meneteth helped Neral onto the gelding, then mounted the colt. Thank you, our angels, that he grew tall young, Neral thought as they walked the horses through Fangal village, not wanting to risk anything noisier until they were further away. But how far can we get, trapped in the bodies of children?

1: Ascolin-by-Aiding

Neral had never believed in the undead, but now she might be faced with meeting one.

Of course, that’s only one story, Kalt said from his position at the stern of the barge.

Do you believe it? Meneteth asked.

Lev the barge master had come up on deck as the boy spoke. Spinning tales again, Kalt? he asked the summoner. Which one now?

That the Master of Castle Aiding is a draugh.

Afterwalkers do not exist, the barge master said. He touched the sun-and-stars amulet on his breast and lifted his hand to his mouth. Father Sun would not permit soulless monsters to be.

Neral could see Lev’s beliefs did not weigh with Kalt. She was no theist either, but she also doubted that the man they had come two hundred miles to ask for help was a soulless, undead wizard who changed his appearance at will, kept his heart in a magic box and could never be killed.

Kalt’s story had been prompted by their first view of Castle Aiding as the River Namak swept them north into the valley. To the west the valley walls were thick with trees to halfway up. The eastern walls were less steep, tree lined to the ridge, and on a spur thrust westwards Castle Aiding, secure and confident, menaced the valley.

The castle’s outer walls stretched four hundred paces along the edge of the ridge, stepping down halfway with round towers at the corners and where the walls began to dip, with the keep itself on a motte inside the walls. The trees on the ridge came right up to the outer walls: the Master of Castle Aiding clearly had no fear of any assault using them as cover.

Do you believe it? Meneteth repeated to Kalt.

The summoner shrugged. No, not really. But if he was that might be why I can’t get the sprite to take us past the castle.

Have you ever asked the sprites? Meneteth asked, referring to the spirit that Kalt had called up from the river itself to drive their barge up the Namak against both wind and current.

Kalt shrugged. I don’t know how to explain undeath to a sprite.

Neral turned back to the castle. As they came nearer, she could see an apple-green, swallow-tailed pennant flying from a cupola on the keep. Then the barge shifted direction, diverting Neral’s attention from the castle. She looked over and Kalt was driving the barge to wharves on the opposite bank from Castle Aiding. They were still three or more miles from the bridge across the Namak leading into the town that lay in the castle’s shadow: Ascolin-by-Aiding, their destination.

Meneteth turned to the barge master. We paid to get to Ascolin: why are we pulling in here?

The sprite won’t go any closer to the castle, Lev said. Your money takes you to the wharf, laddie: if you and your sister want to go any further, you pay more.

Neral put her hand on Meneteth’s arm before he kicked up a fuss: they could not afford to make an issue of it. We can walk the rest of the way, she said.

Meneteth turned to her. We paid all we got for the horses to get to Ascolin, he moaned.

I know: but if the sprite won’t take us  —

Horses can. Meneteth pointed to where draught horses were being hitched up to pull a barge further along the river.

I’m going back anyway, laddie, the barge master said. I don’t pass up-stream of Aiding. You’re lucky to get this far. I’m a good Retharian,  —  he again touched the sun-and-stars amulet on his breast and lifted his hand to his mouth  —  and I’ve taken you as far as you paid. Anyone else would’ve taken your gold and sold you both to slavers, letter from a wizard or not. Twins and what, twelve? Just the age they want.

Neral stopped her husband as he reached for the sword he no longer had, anxious that his petulance did not lead him to give them away.

We know, sir, she said to the barge master. You have been good to us, and my brother and I appreciate it. I’m sure we can persuade our uncle  —

I know, Lev said, regular cargoes from a respected merchant. He laughed. I don’t know I shouldn’t keep you as jesters. He went grim. Watch what you say in Ascolin. Anything that can be sold can be bought there. You’ll be in enough danger without making some of the scum that hide there think you’re valuable as hostages.

I thought slavery was illegal in Ascolin, Neral said. They say the Master of Aiding...

Sells slavers as slaves when he catches them, Lev said. Aye, but he don’t make much effort to catch them. He leaves the stews and drug dens alone: not every girl or boy goes into the old trade unwilling. If you want to sell your body or your soul, he’ll not interfere.

But he’ll make sure you get a fair price, Kalt added. You deal honest in Ascolin, or you don’t deal in Ascolin.

In Ascolin honesty means not cheating the Master, Lev replied, Give him his cut and he don’t interfere.

Neral turned away and tried one last time to get a look at the sprite as it pushed the barge into a wharf, but it was impossible to see anything in the murky water. Once the barge was against the dock the two other crew members ran out a gangplank. Meneteth paid the barge master the last instalment of their fare, then he and Neral went ashore. Dockers had started to gather around Lev’s barge, waiting for someone to supervise the unloading. The summoner, sporting a large knife on his hip, came off the barge to join the couple.

Don’t you need to keep the sprite ... Neral tailed off as Kalt shook his head.

She’ll hold long enough for them to tie her up, he said. I’ve a day free and a fancy to spend it on land. Ascolin’s just the place for that. Besides, you kids could do with an escort.

Neral could not think of a good reason to refuse the offer, although she was eager to be about their task in Ascolin without someone she did not trust hovering around. All three set off through crates and barrels, past warehouses, dodging carts and horses and porters until they reached the road to the town. The rain they had passed through the previous night had fallen here too and the road was muddy. There was a towpath that stuck close to the bank, but the road was on a higher level and cut out some of the river bends. Despite this, Kalt suggested they walk the towpath to avoid being soaked by passing carts asserting their right of way: the few horses pulling barges past the mystic impediment of Castle Aiding plodded along and raised no mud.

What are you young uns coming to Ascolin for? Kalt asked after a few minutes. You said something about an uncle.

We’re going to live with Uncle Bradys, Neral said. Practice and familiarity had made the story easy to tell. When our father was killed a few weeks ago, we were left as orphans: both our parents worked for Lord Valyn of Fangal, and he was kind enough to pay for our passage to Ascolin  —  our uncle’s a corn merchant and often comes here.

His lordship wasn’t so kind as to arrange an escort, Kalt said.

Uncle Valyn gave us talismans, Meneteth replied, pointing to the brooch he wore: it was enamelled with a yellow rose on a blue background.

He’s a very powerful wizard, Neral added. They’ll knock out anyone who tries to attack us and also signal to him.

We’ve a letter too, Meneteth said. It explains we’re under his protection until we’re safe with the one we’re looking for.

Not much use if you meet someone as can’t read, Kalt said. They walked on in silence for a few minutes. How much did he value these parents of yours?

He’s always been kind, Neral said. He liked us to call him ‘uncle’. Mother was his favourite cook, so Father told us: she fell ill and died when we were young, so we didn’t know her.

Pity. If she’d lived longer she might have taught you how to cook, my lass.

Neral did the best she could, Meneteth retorted, it’s not much of a  —

Joking, laddie, joking, Kalt said. She’s six times the cook Lev’s old lady is: we’ve had cabin boys say they’d be happier starving to death when Wenda’s in the galley!

They walked on. Neral wondered why Kalt was being so nosy  —  in the four days they’d been on the barge he’d hardly spoken to them, and had seemed not to care a fig for them. Now he was prying into their lives. She was worried Meneteth would let slip something that would expose their story as the lie it was. Although Neral had covered up for him calling Valyn ‘uncle’, more and more she felt that the transition they had suffered was leaving her husband less and less in control. I wonder if Kalt knows what we told the other crew? I hope Teth remembers our story, she thought. And can act a little more upset over—

Clyst told me your father was a stableman, Kalt said.

Yes, Meneteth said. He was thrown by a colt he was breaking and died before Lord Valyn could help him.

Neral watched for Kalt’s reaction. Meneteth had repeated the lie they had told the crew word for word, but as if he were reading it. I hope Kalt just thinks he’s numb with the shock.

Sorry to hear that, Kalt said: he sounded genuine. Hope I haven’t upset you asking?

We ... we’ve sort of come to terms with it, Neral said, trying to put a little catch in her voice. Meneteth picked up the cue and put his arm around her: she buried her face in his shoulder briefly, then came up wiping away non-existent tears. She stole a glance at the summoner: he was looking away, embarrassed. Neral was relieved to see his reaction.

As if keen to change the subject, Neral returned to discussing the Master of Castle Aiding. What other stories have you heard about him?

Oh, several, Kalt said. What have you heard?

I’ve heard that he sacrifices a baby every winter solstice to give himself another year of life, Neral said, borrowing an idea from one of her sister-in-law’s favourite stories. Changing face to look like the adult the baby would never become.

Or that every few years he casts a spell to move his spirit to a new body, Meneteth said.

Kalt snorted. Not heard the first one: I have heard it said that he bathes in the blood of the young to renew himself: youth heals all ills, as they say.

What do you really believe? Neral asked.

I reckon the true story is the dullest: there’s a cabal of wizards up there, has been for centuries, and they each call themselves the Master of Castle Aiding as it suits them. That’s why it looks like there’s a new one every so often: that’s the only thing about him  —  or them  —  as everyone agrees on.

They walked on in silence after that. Neral was unsure whether to be relieved or worried about Kalt’s suggestion. If several men were responsible for the Master’s deeds, then he was  —  or they were  —  not as powerful as Valyn feared. A cabal that kept aloof from the day-to-day running of Ascolin chimed with the way Lev had spoken about the town. If what Kalt says is true, that makes it more likely we’ll get to put our case and survive; less likely that we’ll get any help from him  —  or them.

AFTER TWO HOURS PICKING their way through the puddles and manure on the towpath, and with a light drizzle falling, Neral, Meneteth and Kalt reached the bridge across the Namak. They climbed up a set of slippery steps to re-join the road while the towpath continued under the bridge. The buildings on the west side of the river were mainly warehouses; goods were taken on small wagons or handcarts or ported across into the town.

Two buildings caught Neral’s eye: one was very plain and drab, with an unlit yellow lamp over its door. A drug den, she realised. Beside it was a gaudy building with a red lamp over the door, this one lit despite it being noon. Neral hoped the summoner would leave them for the brothel, but he seemed to have appointed himself as guardian and accompanied them across to Ascolin.

Where are you going to meet your uncle  —  or your uncle’s people? Kalt asked as they crossed the river.

Lord Valyn said to go to the Merchant’s Hall, Neral said, continuing the story she and Meneteth had worked out. Uncle Bradys should have left a letter, or something.

And if he hasn’t we’ll find out where he’s likely to be staying and go there, Meneteth added.

I’ll see you safe to Angel Square, Kalt said. If anyone asks, say I’m your father.

Thanks, Meneteth said.

The guards on the town side did not stop them, being more concerned with collecting duties  —  and bribes, Kalt whispered  —  from the carters and porters taking goods into the town. The three travellers continued along the muddy streets: the traffic was not so heavy that Neral could see a good way to lose their escort. The market square was busier, full of bustle, the people talking common Vorselic but in a northern accent Neral had not heard before. As she looked for a chance to make a break, she noticed that nearly everyone was openly armed. Before she could quiz Kalt on this, he grabbed their hands and led them across towards the Market Angel standing her eternal watch over the stalls and hawkers. The Merchant’s Hall was the usual self-important, guarded and fortified building behind the Angel.

A dark skinned, fat old man in crimson, hooded robes was sitting on the steps under the Angel, leaning forward, his hands crossed on the top of a silver-tipped black cane that had a russet coloured stone set below the handle. A skinny youth held an umbrella over the man’s head to keep the light rain off. Behind and to the old man’s left stood a broad-shouldered man in chain mail, his hands likewise crossed but on the pommel of a bared blade whose point rested on the ground. Neral could see him closely watching the crowd in the square.

The old man  —  a judge, Neral realised from the blindfold he wore  —  was giving his verdict on the case before him. The plaintiff looked to be the fat woman in her twenties; a toddler was clinging to her skirts, looking apprehensively at the vigilant soldier. The other party was a heavily muscled man at least ten years older than the woman. Neral didn’t hear what the judge said, but after he rapped the end of his cane on the ground to declare the case closed, the woman looked the more content of the two.

Hear ye all, the soldier announced. This day’s final judgement is given.

The judge pulled his hood forward to hide his face, the youth helped him to his feet and led him away, with the watchful soldier following.

Meneteth and Neral followed Kalt past the suspicious guards and into the Merchant’s Hall. The entrance chamber was almost identical to the one Neral knew from her home town. At its far end was a table covered by a green and white striped cloth, and a queue was lined up waiting to speak to two harassed looking clerks seated behind it. Meneteth started to walk forward, jumping the queue as a duke’s son would, but Neral pulled him back before he brought attention to himself. The three travellers joined the end of the line, behind a large middle-aged woman who smelled of vanilla.

After a few minutes, with the queue not moving, Kalt said, I’m not hanging around here: you two know what to do if he arrives, don’t you?

As the women in front of them looked around with interest, Neral said, Yes, father. When uncle’s factor arrives, we can tell him everything.

Good, Kalt said. "I’m off to The Shipwright, need a drink. Come and get me when it’s sorted."

Neral bobbed an acknowledgement, and after a nudge, Meneteth did likewise.

Don’t you worry, sir, the woman smelling of vanilla said. I’ll keep an eye on your young uns, they’ll be all right here.

Kalt tipped his hat at her and she turned back, bustling with pleasure at being able to interfere. The summoner winked at the couple then strode off, closely watched by the guards.

Neral covertly spread five fingers: her husband nodded, and they turned back to wait.

Typical boatman, the woman said after half a minute. Can’t keep them away from their ale, as soon as they come to land, straight to the pub. She turned around, smiling. You’re lucky he led you here, my dears, didn’t just send you, but I dare say you know what your father’s like.

Neral and Meneteth looked at each other. How ... how did you know he’s a boatman? Neral asked.

She tapped her nose. Bless your angel, my dear, I can smell the river on him, and on you too. She laughed, a strange tinkly laugh. When you’ve been in herbs and spices as long as me and had two husbands and three sons who couldn’t keep out of the pub or the narc rooms, you trust your nose to tell you everything.

Neral smiled back as she cast around for a good excuse to leave before the spice-seller talked them to the front of the queue.

The clock on the wall struck a quarter hour. We have to go, sister, Meneteth said before the chimes had faded. Excuse me, madam, he said to the spice-seller. Our uncle asked for us to see him at an inn called ... called ... the Sprite and ... something.

"Do you mean The Sprite’s Delight?"

Yes, that’s it: can you tell us where it is?

Oooh, that’s a high-class place, my dears. Your uncle must be doing much better than your father, if you don’t mind me saying so.

He doesn’t want father to show him up, Neral whispered, as if embarrassed.

The woman put a hand on Neral’s arm. "I quite understand, my dear, quite understand. The Sprite’s on Aiding Rise, on the north side. Safest way is to go across Angel Square to Laurel Street, head towards the Castle, then left on Salt Road, you’ll be properly safe when you get there, then right when you get to Aiding Rise, it’s on your right, a hundred paces."

Thank you, and please, if our father comes back  —

The spice-seller put her hand on Neral’s arm again. "Don’t you worry, my dear, I reckon you’ll have time to get to The Sprite and back before he leaves The Shipwright."

Neral and Meneteth thanked the woman again, then cut out of the queue and back to the market square.

How did you know there was an inn with ‘sprite’ in its name? Neral asked her husband once they were clear. Luck?

I remember Papa recommending it to someone, years ago, Meneteth said. I reckoned it would be a good place, somewhere out of the way from the likes of Lev and Kalt.

Do we risk going there?

If it’s a place Papa recommends they won’t let us in, not the way we are. We need somewhere else  —  and to find out how we get to see the Master.

Well, let’s get out of here, and see if we can’t find somewhere.

What story do we use?

Now they were in Ascolin, most of the ideas they had discussed on the river seemed unworkable to Neral. She had never had to deal with anything as mundane as renting rooms at an inn, nor had Meneteth. Doing so as children would be doubly awkward: Neral could not even trust herself to judge what was a safe place to stay and what was not. How about this: Father’s sent us to rent a room, he’ll be along later?

How much of Sylvana’s money do we have left?

A couple of crowns.

That doesn’t sound a lot. Meneteth pointed to a stall selling cloth. A bolt of spun wool, undyed, was listed at a crown an ell. We use that sort of wool for our infantry, and that’s half as much again as it sells for in Torysia: what with tips we could be looking at a florin a night for a room at a good inn.

So five days ...

"If we’re lucky. Come on: if The Sprite’s Delight is in a good location, something close to it should be worth the risk."

THE LANDLADY OF The Crane Inn oozed sympathy.

Angels ha’ mercy, she said when Neral told her their father would be along later. Leavin’ you youngsters to come all the way through the town alone, and in the rain too. What would your ma say to him?

Mother’s dead, Meneteth muttered, while Neral pretended to choke back tears.

The large woman patted Neral on the shoulder. There, there, my dear: don’t you think on it. I’ve a room for you up top at the back, it’ll take three easy. She reached behind the counter and pulled out a box from which she extracted an iron key. Come on, my ducks, she said, and led them out into the courtyard where a lad who looked to be about fourteen was sweeping up straw and rushes. He winked at Neral: she ignored him, not trusting Meneteth’s reaction. The landlady took the two children to the back of the courtyard, up a set of wooden stairs and then back away from the street. Here we are, my dears, she said, and unlocked the door, ushering her charges inside.

The landlady handed the key to Meneteth, then went to the window, unlatched and threw back the shutters. Now Neral could see it, the room was far sparser than she had ever experienced. It had only a large bed, a table bearing a large earthenware ewer in a bowl, a candle in a holder, three stools and a chair. There was a neatly folded, yellowish sheet at the end of the bed, beside three blankets, four pillows and two threadbare towels. It ain’t luxury, the landlady said, but it’s quiet away from the tap room and street. Now, my ducks: you can have dinner here, that’s extra, but breakfast is included  —  and all for ninepence a night for three of you.

Neral had no idea if that was a lot or a little, but she reasoned that the landlady would expect their father to take up any overcharging, so she handed over a collection of coins to make one shilling sixpence.

I’ll get Darnis to bring you a pitcher of hot water, the landlady said from the door, so as you can wash yourselves in something warm. The pump’s over the yard.

Once she had left, Meneteth closed the door, but left it unbarred. What do we do now? he asked.

Neral had picked up a towel. She took a stool off the table, set it down, sat on it on it to try to dry herself a little. Her husband did likewise. Neral gave up on the towel, sighed and took Meneteth’s hand. I don’t know, she said. We need to find out how we get to see the Master.

Maybe we should petition the judge in Angel Square.

What happened is outside his jurisdiction.

Yes, but he might be willing to pass the case on  —  he probably refers harder cases to the Master, anyway.

Neral sighed again.

"It’s worth a