Trapped: Cursed, #1

By Alyce Sky Reyes

It's been centuries since seers started traveling. Using mirrors as the gateways of time, their souls could travel to wherever, to whenever they liked. For centuries, it was safe. Nothing happened. Until one day, the soul of a child was lost.

 

Without a trace.

 

With no way back.

 

Nyx was desperate to get her missing sister back. The clock was ticking. Every second, every minute that passed was a countdown for the soulless body lying on the bed.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Alyce Sky Reyes
• Release date: Mar 20, 2024
• ISBN: 9789811896552

Book preview

Book 1 of Cursed Sequel:

Trapped

A Novel

Alyce Sky Reyes

Copyright © 2024 by Alyce Sky Reyes

All rights reserved.

The characters and events portrayed in this book are fictitious. Any similarity to real persons, living or dead, is coincidental and not intended by the author.

No part of this book may be reproduced, or stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without express written permission of the publisher.

Ebook ISBN: ​978-981-18-9655-2

Paperback ISBN: 979-832-02-5656-6

Hardcover ISBN: 979-832-09-7818-5

Printed in the United States of America

To those with fantasies that never end.

Contents

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

Chapter 20

Chapter 21

Chapter 22

Chapter 23

Chapter 24

Chapter 25

Chapter 26

Chapter 27

Chapter 28

Chapter 29

Chapter 30

Chapter 31

Chapter 32

Chapter 33

Chapter 34

Chapter 35

Chapter 36

Chapter 37

Chapter 38

Chapter 39

Acknowledgements

Chapter 1

Iwas writhing. Writhing in pain that went deeper than torn skin and broken bones. My heart splintered with loss. My whole self hurt – as though I was being ripped in every way possible. Memories that were once sweet now bore sharp edges that shredded me from within. The soul wound that transcended lifetimes tore at me. I couldn’t breathe.

The shimmer beyond beckoned to me. A whisper of peace, an absence of loss, the call of the promised paradise. A place of emptiness. Not yet. Just once more, and I would be done with it. Or would I ever? Was it worth it? Had it been worth it?

Ivory ribbons seemingly pulled by a reversed gravity fluttered serenely in the vast expanse ahead.

It is time. A voice that came from nowhere and everywhere boomed. In this place where the beginning and the end converge, where a delicate balance was maintained, the price of every deed was meted out.

Decide now or never.

I took a deep breath, made to grab one of the white strips, and plummeted.

The fall jerked me into consciousness. A distant owl hooted. From the corner of my eyes, I caught the rapid, soundless flapping of wings.

I gulped down a lungful of crisp night air, willing myself to calm down.

Breathe, breathe.

Slow, deep breaths.

The heart-wrenching sorrow – where did that come from? My blanket was soaked in a mess of snot and tears. Disgusted, I flipped the blanket aside and pushed the lingering thoughts away. Descending into another bout of restless sleep would be a pointless endeavor. Dawn’s nascent glow had begun peeking through the haphazardly drawn curtains, the sounds of early chirps a prelude to yet another day. I wriggled out of the suffocating blanket and tip-toed out of the room that we girls shared, away from my still-sleeping younger sister, Trixy.

~*~*~

The morning walk down the forested area to the outskirts of the marketplace was peaceful. I drank in the refreshing smell of fresh morning dew on leaves as I hopped from rock to rock across the rapids, carefully avoiding the water to keep my boots and pants dry. Water from the rapids was much clearer and sweeter than the slightly murky, brownish water lower down the river.

I routinely filled my wooden bottle and a huge earthen jug with water from the last rapid nearest to the marketplace. The sound of running water was soothing. It calmed my heart rate and slowed my breathing. I soaked myself in the serenity of nature before taking the shortest path to my destination.

The marketplace at the heart of Mount Betel was where most of the activities took place, where proper huts and shophouses existed for conducting businesses. The outskirts of the marketplace, however, were generally where grey transactions were made. Anyone setting up a business in these rental-free makeshift tents out of their own accord risked being raided by the officials. Despite that, businesses in these tents were easy to set up, and not paying rent meant more coin for our daily take-back.

I spied my green tent with a Closed sign hung on its flaps as the forest thinned to shorter shrubs and bushes, its overhead sign proudly declaring "Betel’s Best Apothecary Seer".

I slipped into the tent and made a beeline for the table along the walls of the tent. Mornings were generally the most peaceful time of the day. Not everyone was an early riser. It bought me time to work before the customers started streaming in. I plopped my backpack on the table, emptied out my supplies and set myself to work.

I had taken a quick stock the day before. Some of the potions had started browning. The unusable potions would have to be discarded, and the bottles would have to be rinsed with clean water to remove any leftover residue before they could be reused. There’s much to do today.

I carefully selected the right combination of dried herbs from my shelf and began working them into fine powder, losing myself in the rhythm of the pounding. Quiet mornings were always the best for my soul. Away from the hustle and bustle of everyday life, being alone with my own thoughts.

I measured two parts water to one part powder and shook the mixture thoroughly. The first bottle was gently put aside to let the yellow gradually leech into the surrounding water while I started on the preparation of the next potion. Each bottle was lined up neatly along the counter for easy monitoring.

By the time the powder had sediment at the bottom of the various bottles, the sun was hanging directly overhead. I strained the liquid extract into their respective clean bottles and introduced a thin layer of oil to keep them fresh. The stock bottles of potions were then neatly shelved away in their regular locations.

Having a good reserve of dried herbs was a practice I swore by, especially during winter. Without magic, most potions and salves had a shelf-life of a week, shorter when temperatures were warmer – which was why I had dedicated the start of every week to restocking.

While almost all seers in business possess some form of magic that they could tap on to enhance the efficacy of their potions, mine were ordinary salves and potions. Most townsfolk knew that my magical power ranged from zero to none, but cheap treatments were affordable and sufficient for minor ailments. That, together with any fortune-telling for passing travelers made up the bulk of my coin.

The sound of bells from the tent flaps pulled me out of my thoughts. I looked up and saw a head peeking in between the flaps.

Um… Sorry. I know it says closed, but my son needs help.

Come on in. Is he here?

A lanky child padded in behind his mother, cradling his arm with a stricken look.

I carefully set his arm on the counter and examined it. The outermost skin was gone. Singed, by the look of it, leaving an angry raw wound screaming in pain.

I laid out the items in my wound care set. A basin, a roll of cloth, a knife, the wound care bottle from the topmost shelf and its accompanying salve. I eyed the now empty water jug and groaned inwardly, feeling mighty reluctant to make a trip to the river.

Please give me a moment. I balanced the empty basin on my hip and motioned outside. Wait outside while I go collect some water.

The nearest accessible water was a little murky, with a hint of slightly orange-brownish soil mixed into it. Not the best, but I doubt they’d be inclined to wait an hour for me to journey back and forth.

They were sitting by a rock outside my tent when I returned. I scooped a cup of water from the basin to wash the grime off my hand. Then another scoop, just to be on the safe side.

This is going to sting, I cautioned before guiding his wounded arm over. He hissed through his teeth as the first scoop of water graced his wound but said nothing otherwise. I led them back into the tent after the wash.

The distinction between the roles of an apothecary seer, a specific branch of seers, and that of a healer had always been blurred in certain aspects, especially when it came to the treatment of minor ailments with potions and salves. What was clear though, was that apothecary seers could identify soul wounds masquerading as physical disorders. Experienced apothecary seers who wielded magic were highly valued, as was the case for all lines of work.

I popped the cork of the wound care bottle, dabbed the corner of a clean cloth with the solution and placed a few gentle presses of it on the raw flesh. The grinding of his teeth was now audible, earning a dismayed look from his mother, worry etching into deep creases on her forehead.

It will take some time for the wound to heal, I said as I smeared a thin layer of orange salve on it and wrapped his arm up in linen. Keep the wound clean, and change the salve twice a day, preferably after a shower. I slid the bottle in her direction.

Her head bobbed in understanding and she emptied out her pouch. A couple of bronze coins clinked as they fell out.

These are all I have. I’ll return you the cleaned bottles after I’m done with them and pay for the remainder that is owed next week.

I nodded – empathizing with her situation. There would be better days ahead.

~*~*~

The sun had set. Hours of camping here in the chilly weather had worn me out.

The uphill walk to the Tower of Vision was a journey much like the hike I had taken in the morning. Except that it certainly felt longer uphill, and when my legs were sore and aching from standing the whole day. My calves and thighs protested with each step. Sometimes I wished I could simply close my eyes and appear at my destination.

In the first few weeks of living here, I had carried my small stash of potions, herbs, and charms across daily, fearing theft in the absence of a watchful eye. I had since realized that superstition was a great deterrent against the theft of sacramental objects, even though it was known that I was a magically muted seer. It was better to be safe than sorry. I guessed that’s the motto the townsfolk live by. Either that, or these weren’t worth much without the knowledge of how to use them.

The canopy of leaves overhead was a masterpiece of nature, an exquisite tapestry of fiery red, warm orange and golden yellow intricately weaving into each other. I drank in the smell of damp earth and woody fragrance of after rain as I leapt over puddle after puddle of water, avoiding them to keep my boots dry.

Winter would be upon us soon. It was time to gather the last herbs to store away for the winter. I kept an eye out for them along the way, plucking every useful herb I spied. These were good for warding off illnesses, if properly prepared. Ailments in winter were typically higher in numbers than the warmer seasons. The influx of those seeking comfort meant the need to stock up supplies that would otherwise not be available during winter.

I set my bag along the riverbank, rinsed the soil off the leaves and wrapped them gently in a small towel before continuing my trek uphill.

With each step, the majestic tower became more and more visible. Its gigantic convex glass cut in the shape of an eye perched between two ends of a helical spire was breathtaking. How the glass got up there in the first place was the mystery that had always bugged me. With no stairs for the last helical stretch, hauling that massive artifact up was unthinkable.

From a distance, Trixy squealed and bounced excitedly in my direction, her backpack swinging left and right. The setting sun cast an amber ray on her golden brown hair with streaks of blond – the hair that ran in our family – casting an angelic look on her face. At twelve, she looked much smaller than her peers, and still had her adorable cheeks as if she were ten. Nyx! Look what I got for you today! She thrust the book into my chest, nearly knocking me off my feet. My sweet little sunshine.

I got this from the Archives during research hours at school today.

Ooo… a book on potions! I exclaimed.

Uh huh! A better pillow than that torn book you’ve read a thousand times over.

I jabbed her ribs playfully, earning a yelp in return.

What did Umma cook for us today?

How am I to know? You’re the one who can see the future.

Trixy giggled. We are only starting on that next week. The trip to the Archives today is to read up about amulets.

After next week, please tell me that we are going to have an amazing future with good food.

I definitely hope so! Oh Nyx, the food at the marketplace always smells so wonderful!

Trixy waved goodbye to her best friend, Megus, before we left for home. She chatted excitedly about her day along the way, recounting the lessons she had learned, and the conversations with her friends. We trekked downhill, towards the lower plains where a trail of huts cast long shadows in the evening sun.

The wind blew towards us, bringing the lovely smell of Umma’s cooking. Trixy’s stomach grumbled. I laughed and raced her to the hut. Those were the good days. Though we were far from rich, we were contented for most parts. Had I known it then, I would have savored each day a little more, especially when it came to Umma’s food.

Umma, we are back!

Oh! Perfect timing, girls.

We dumped our things on the floor and gathered around the hearth, soaking in the delicious heat. Eat up, Umma said as she handed us our bowls of soup and sat down with one of her own.

What shall we have for Fireside story today? Umma asked as she blew on the steaming hot soup. I took a greedy mouthful of it, earning myself a tongue burn. I refrained from spitting out and opted to blow air through my soup-filled mouth while fanning my mouth uselessly.

Legends! I love legends! chirped Trixy.

Alright, legends it shall be. And so Umma began.

Chapter 2

Before the dawn of civilization, our ancestors lived in the wild, amongst the Mother’s creation. Every living creature was subjected to the same laws of nature – to hunt or be hunted. Animals that hunted in groups had a better chance of survival than lone hunters. People soon modeled after these animals and formed their own tribes.

With a greater chance of survival, numbers within the tribes grew. More food was needed to feed a larger group, and so they started looking for ways to sustain their lifestyle. The Whitehorns dwelled in the south of the Sage River, while the Fiorins, the north. The Whitehorns prided themselves in hunting huge wild game. The Fiorins, on the other hand, were gentle people who had begun exploring the concept of caring for certain plants that brought them a consistent food supply.

Every morning, Oeda traveled back and forth between the Sage River and her orchard to keep the crops watered. To the Fiorins, plants are divine blessings from the Mother that provide them with nourishment and protection from diseases. Spells were often used to enhance the potency of their protective elixirs, granting them a long and healthy life.

One day, while collecting water from the Sage River, she spotted a man slumped beside a tree, his mangled leg drenched in blood. She waved and called from across the river, only to realize that he was unconscious. Fearing that he might be in danger, with no means of contacting his tribe, she brought him back to hers with the help of her friends.

She cleaned his wounds and staunched the bleeding with a paste derived from a yellow root. Throughout the night, his temperature rose, driving him into a state of delirium. With permission from the Head, she fed him one of their precious potions reserved for emergencies. His bandage was replaced with a spelled salve. He subsequently took a turn for the better, and regained consciousness a few days later.

Upon awaking, he was alarmed to find himself in an unfamiliar environment. He grabbed the nearest object, arming himself against any potential threat. Oeda quickly explained that he was found injured, and they had brought him back for healing. But the man could not understand a single word of what was said, and he replied in rapid bursts in his own tongue. Understanding the confusion, Oeda pointed to his legs and reenacted what happened over the last few days, showing him the salves and potions, then offering him food and water.

He became calmer, though he refused to touch the offered food and water. It was only after Oeda drank a sip from his cup and took a bite from the food did he deem them safe for consumption. Oeda gestured to herself and said her name. The man stared blankly and did not reply, either not understanding, or was still on his guard.

Over the next few days, he slowly became more comfortable with the Fiorins. He patted on his chest and introduced himself as Raphael Whitehorn. During his short stay, communications between them were difficult but pleasant once they warmed up to each other. Conversations were filled with gestures and phrases in their respective tongues. On the day of his departure, he gave two thumps on the left of his chest with his right fist as a gesture of thanks, and they returned with one of their own.

From time to time, Raphael would bring wild game from his hunt to Oeda by the river. Oeda would sometimes accompany Raphael on his hunts, learning the basic use of spears and other hunting instruments. In return, she introduced Raphael to the various plants that were used for potions.

To cope with the food demands of an increasing Whitehorn population, the Head of the Whitehorns decided to expand their territory to across the river. Hearing this, Raphael proposed to have a discussion with the Fiorins to come to a peaceful resolution. The two Heads met up for a discussion, with Raphael and Oeda as translators for their respective tribes. The Fiorins suggested teaching the Whitehorns farming, but Whitehorns vehemently refused, claiming that their people would not be insulted and domesticated in such a manner. The Whitehorns insisted on fighting it out with honor like true warriors.

Fearing that the war would claim either’s life, Raphael and Oeda planned to flee before the war broke out at dawn. They sneaked out in the middle of the night, but were caught by Raphael’s father, who shot an arrow through Raphael’s chest, declaring that he would no sooner have a dead than a disgraced son. Oeda was devastated. In a desperate attempt to save him from death, she began summoning the dark magic to bind his soul to hers.

Dark magic was known to claim payment from the caster for every spell cast. The exact cost varied from caster to caster, though it was known that the cost will always bring back the balance that had been upset. Dark magic was the strongest during full moon, and the eclipse of a full moon was a night where dark magic was the strongest, but also the most unpredictable. Dealing with dark magic on a night such as this was to be avoided at all costs. Yet it was on that very night that Raphael was at death’s door.

Raphael urged Oeda to let him go – he would see her in the next life if fate permitted. Oeda refused. She uttered the final words of the spell and sealed it with blood from his wound and a slash along the lifeline of her palm at the exact moment when the full moon was completely eclipsed.

Their soul threads that entwined during the casting were momentarily visible. The dark energy released during the binding was so great that it sent out a radial blast. Tremors were rumored to be felt even on neighboring lands. A sizable patch of the surrounding land was permanently charred, rendering it incapable of supporting life.

When the moon once again shone into the night, Raphael breathed his last. Even soul binding could not save him from death’s claim. Oeda was crushed. She carried his body with her, refusing food until she died of grief.

Chapter 3

S o… the soul binding didn’t work? Or did it claim Oeda’s life instead? Did the soul binding work beyond death?

My voice sounded strangled. But it was nothing compared to Trixy. At this point, Trix had been reduced to a puddle of tears. I quietly stuffed a napkin into her hands. The night had gone eerily silent. Even the crickets had stopped to listen. Outside, the moon was shining in its full, glorious form.

Nobody knows. Magic works in its own mysterious way. Who knows what happened after death. Even the most powerful Fiorin seer could not summon Oeda from the realm of the souls. Umma shrugged.

I stared into the licking flames, heart twisting at the tragic ending. And the war?

The Fiorins were a peaceful tribe. The cost of war was not worth it. They were no warriors. There was no chance of winning. Not unless they cursed the Whitehorns. They took what they could and fled in the dead of the night.

If they had waited, then maybe all these would have been avoided.

Perhaps.

The Fiorins found Oeda?

With Raphael’s body. They followed the blast and found her a short distance away, dragging the body along.

I fell silent. Trix had stopped sniffing but remained thoughtful. Sensing the end of questions, Umma gathered the empty bowls and hobbled into the kitchen. Her gnarled fingers were not suited for washing in cold water. She had been rubbing her joints more often these days.

Go wash up and rest for the night. I patted Trix on her shoulders as I made to join Umma in the kitchen.

Let me. I gently nudged Umma aside with my hip and took over the dishes. Umma ruffled my hair and mumbled her thanks.

I mulled over the story as I worked, finding the story strangely close to heart. A lump was lodged in my throat by the end of the story.

Oeda must have been irreparably broken. I couldn’t imagine the full scale of how that had affected her. I’d never had anyone close to my heart in that way, but if anything were to happen to Trix or Umma…

At some point, I found myself staring blankly at the dishes – hands not moving for how long, I had no idea. The bite of cold water snapped