The Elder's Curse by Andrew Walbrown (ereader for textbooks TXT) 📕

fields. Siege equipment was not left abandoned in the farms surrounding Accaria, nor had herds of cattle and sheep been systematically slaughtered to feed the mouths of a hungry army. There was nothing, except for empty homes and the whispers of swaying palm trees.

Amantius entered the city through the archway, hobbling as fast as his knee would allow. Kona was at his side, asking him to slow his pace from fear that he may injure himself further. Her words fell on deaf ears, though, as the anxiety growing in his stomach prevented him from caring about his well-being. With each passing step, his heart thumped a little louder, his palms filled with more sweat, until he was so overcome with panic he could not contain his hysteria any longer. He ran as hard as he could, pain be damned, as his heart guided him through the city. Knowing his hometown as well as he did, he utilized secluded backstreets and alleyways, hopped over stone walls, and even rolled down a small hill to get home quicker. After completing the long chain of shortcuts and running until his leg could take no more punishment, Amantius found himself standing in a courtyard surrounded by a strong wooden fence.

I’m home, Amantius thought as Kona called to him from somewhere in the street. Why do I feel so empty, though?

Many nights had passed since he last saw his childhood home, and for many of those nights, he dreamed of what it would be like when he returned. He expected to be overcome with joy, like a lost lamb who finds its way back to its flock. But that feeling evaded him, instead replaced by a melancholy that consumed his soul. Nothing about his return elicited positive feelings from within, despite how much he had dreamed of this day. Long had he yearned to smell the sea salt in the air, to hear the roar of the tide once again. Numerous times he vowed that upon his return he would climb Kevea’s Spear, only the next time he would reach the top. He planned to mingle with the maidens like in the days of old, perhaps even make one his wife, someday giving his mother grandchildren and Ulam some nieces and nephews to spoil with piggyback rides and hard candies. He wanted to sit around the table and tell tales of exotic lands, all the while eating a dinner that would have been warm if he had arrived on time. But this was no happy homecoming for Amantius, it was quite the opposite. Instead of finding the vibrant land he had once known and loved, Accaria was a city of ghosts.

“You run fast for a man with one leg,” Kona said as she passed through the gate and into the courtyard. “Is this…?”

“My house,” Amantius finished for her. He stared at the front door, debating whether to knock or to barge in with reckless abandon. He wondered if his mother was in there, although he could not imagine she would be. As far as he knew, he and Kona were the only two beings in the whole of Accaria.

“Are we going in?” Kona asked as she stood beside him. “Do you think your mother is in there?”

“I guess there’s only one way to find out.”

Amantius stepped forward and reached for the door handle, but before his fingers could touch the iron latch, the deep and haunting notes of a brass bell rung out over the city. To Amantius it sounded ominous, perhaps because the last time he had heard the bell was when he and Ulam had fled the island. Each successive toll resurrected another moment from that night, most vividly of the sea gate closing the ports forever.

“Where are you going?” Kona asked as Amantius dashed out of the courtyard.

“The only place in this city with a bell like that,” Amantius replied, grimacing from the pain in his knee. “The palace.”

They hurried towards the center of the city, where only a few blocks away from Kevea’s Spear stood the palace of Accaria. Amantius had never laid eyes on its hallowed halls before; he had only ever seen its ultramarine roof and ivory pillars from the hills where his house was located. Just as before, Amantius led Kona across the city using little-known alleyways, routes most often frequented by troublemakers and ruffians. Many of these paths had saved his life during his adolescence, their obscurity and gloom usually enough to scare off even the angriest of fathers or jealous lovers. He could not help but crack a smile as the memories flooded back, the mayhem he caused far more comical now than it had been back then.

With every passing street, the bell resonated louder and louder, until its clanging shook the insides of Amantius’ skull. There were still no signs of life as they drew near the palace, not even a stray dog or grizzled alley-cat. While crossing the King’s Gardens Amantius stopped by Kevea’s Spear, leaning on the tower as he rested his knee. No small degree of disappointment came over him as he stared at the spot where the loose brick had thwarted his ascent, the path to the top clearer to him at that moment than it had been during the last festival he had attended.

“It’s a beautiful tower,” Kona said as she ran a hand across the bricks. “Why is it here?”

“It is the last remaining piece of the original palace,” Amantius answered. “And if you think it is beautiful from here, you should climb up there and look around. But you can’t use the stairs, they collapsed a long time ago.”

Kona took a few steps back and stared at the top of Kevea’s Spear, appearing impressed when she returned her attention to Amantius. “You’ve climbed all the way up there? To the top?”

Amantius scowled. “No. I was one brick away and I fell. But I’ll climb to the top of this damned tower someday, even if I die on the