~ Episode Six ~

The Curse:

An Unforeseeable Ebbing

“Terra’s my sister—your daughter, for God’s sake!”

Prince Jarem Sufocus’s war hammer came down upon the impenetrable-jaggedness of the Black King’s serrated broadsword. They exchanged parries in an intense toe-to-toe duel, dancing with passionate hatred for each other. The Cathedral of Lions’ chapel was their arena.

“Terra is the icon of the world’s purification, my son!” uttered King Viktor Sufocus within the inky shadows of his hooded cloak. No matter how hard Jarem glared into that black abyss, the face of his father—the once Kind King of Leola Country—was forever obscured by darkness, now.

Jarem’s Star Warriors—Arissa, Faran, Relina, and Obiere—found themselves helpless spectators to the fight, suspended high up above the pews by an invisible force that pinned their bodies against the cathedral’s walls and stain glass windows—the work of black magic.

King Sufocus’s Kenah’dai-controlling black magic.

This fight, this final battle, was between father and son, only. The fate of Terra Leigh Sufocus—the fate of the world as they knew it—was dependant on the victor between their clashing weapons.

“You’re a demon! I’ll kill you!!” Jarem promised.

“Warrior of Fire! You have already failed.”

Meanwhile above them—Father Eric Lodoss and Lakmir the Elf scampered along a catwalk, each carrying a single Mage Staff, careful to not take the notice of the Black King or any of his minions that might be lurking nearby.

“Here.” Father Lodoss stopped to raise his Mage Staff overhead. He thrust down into the floor, the staff’s spiked end sinking into the tile like a knife through warmed butter.

Lodoss twisted the Mage Staff in both hands, locking it in place. In an instant, the ruby crystal bound to its head throbbed to life with crimson-glowing heartbeats. This was a reaction to identical palpitations that emanated from the pair’s first Mage Staff, set up within the organ loft above where the Star Warriors struggled to free themselves of their magical bonds.

“Master Lodoss, let me aid Prince Jarem while you prepare the final staff,” said Lakmir. She withdrew the Mage Staff she carried around her shoulders and passed it off to him. “I must find Lady Terra!”

“Lakmir, wait—!”

But she had already hopped over a railing that dropped down into the main area where Jarem and his father fought. Lakmir shuddered at the sight of them exchanging hate-fuelled blows—then turned her attention to the unheard wailing of an infant.

Lady Terra.

The baby’s cries led the Elf up a set of steps near the rear of the chapel, towards a marble altar that oversaw the battle at-hand. At the foot of the altar lay the corpse of a headless goat crumpled in its own gore. Lakmir’s gaze flicked to the altar’s robed surface.

It bore a single copper basin, spattered in blood.

From within, a tiny fist slowly rose into view, clutching for the rafters.

Lakmir leapt over the cadaver, slamming down her hands on either side of the basin. Before her squirmed a runty-looking three-month-old. The infant’s alabaster skin and ginger tufts were smeared with blood that was not her own—what looked like a ritualistic act.

“Lady Terra…”

The sound of the Elf’s voice calmed the child. Her eyelids fluttered open and she stared up at Lakmir with impossibly natural apple-red irises, cooing happily.

The Eyes of the Devil Goddess—The Child of Destiny.

She, who could bring Restoration to the world.

Or, Annihilation.

“My precious liege, oh…” Lakmir scooped the infant into her arms. “…What have they done to you?”

Behind her, a figure in a grinning porcelain mask appeared from the shadows of the back sacristy. A sudden blow to the side of Lakmir’s head dropped her to the floor in an instant. Pale claws slid the blood-spattered child, squirming and whining again, out of the Elf’s unconscious grip.

“Shh, shh, there, there ... It’s time to go now, Lady Terra...” The porcelain-faced man hoisted her against his shoulder and slipped back within the shadows. “My beloved Ghetta will ensure us a safe journey…”

Below the altar steps, the Black King knocked Jarem’s war hammer clean to the floor and lunged upon his son before any chance of evasion could be had. Sufocus clamped down a mammoth gauntlet overtop of Jarem’s head, leaving only his mouth exposed to scream agony.

“Jarem!” cried Arissa. She struggled against the invisible force that kept her and the other Star Warriors pinned in place high up against the cathedral walls. But the strain only wore the war-princess down. She let out a sob of anger, blood-spittle flecking from her lips.

“We—we have to—do something!” Faran croaked. Beside him, Obiere grunted behind a sweat-dotted sheen of lungs-crushing torture.

“Stop it, King Sufocus—he’s your son!” Relina begged him through endless tears. “For God’s sake—have you no mercy?!”

“Star Warriors!—My daughter’s clutches on this pathetic world is imminent! Soon, the Kenah’dai and all the lands beyond Atrea will be mine! This is prophecy! And it shall commence!”

With a rumble of laughter, King Sufocus hoisted his son in the air by the face, letting him dangle. He tilted a curious look, observing the thin trails of blood that ran down Jarem’s anguished features.

“P—please…” Jarem croaked. “T—Terra…”

“There is no other way to proceed, my boy.” Sufocus declared. “I must end you.”

His metallic claws clamped down on Jarem’s skull. A crunch deafened the cathedral. Shrapnel made of bone and brains flew, and the Warrior of Fire’s struggles went limp.

Arissa screamed. “Jarem!!”

Eri awoke with a start.

Her apple-eyed reflection stared back at her, gasping with fright, in the closet mirrors at the end of her bed.

“Just a nightmare … just another nightmare…”

She took a deep breath and ran fingers through her sweat-matted hair. Then, buried her face into her hands to shake off the jitteriness of frail nerves.

Why was this happening?

It was then that a peculiar stickiness between the sheets caused her to turn a downward gaze. Eri froze, all warmth in her face draining with horror.

She was sitting in a pool of blood. It had leaked through the thighs of her pajama pants, staining her linens and the underside of her Hello Kitty comforter.

Eri screamed murder at the top of her lungs.

Hurried footfalls sounded out in the hall towards her bedroom. The door broke almost clean off its hinges when her parents barreled through. From the look of their wrinkled sleepwear and tousled hair, this had been their wakeup call.

“Eriya, what—” Her father Ken froze in mid-stride. “—What—what did you do to your bed sheets?!”

Helen swooped past her husband, fuelled by maternal adrenaline. She snatched Eri by the shoulders, who now cowered against the corner of her bed with the comforter crumpled in a heap on the floor.

“Eri, what’s going on? What happened?!”

The words that followed tumbled out of Eri’s mouth in what could only be described as a stark-raving train wreck. Between crackling sobs and desert-dry hiccups, she tried in desperation to relay the string of medieval nightmares to her mother—the magical war hammer she had summoned from a necklace the night before. The fifty-foot Monster made of oozing eyeballs she’d fought with it, and Sealed into a little glass tennis ball.

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Whatever remained of Helen’s drowsiness folded into realization for what was really going on—what had happened in the night. And with the realization came impatience for her daughter.

“Honey, everything’s fine. You’re okay—”

“I’m not okay! I’m dying!”

“Eriya Marie. You’re not dying. Calm down. You’ve just had your first—”

“Don’t tell me to calm down!” Eri screamed at her. “Why aren’t you listening to me?! You never listen to me! I’m not fine! I’m—”

Helen slapped Eri across the face, shocking her into silence.

“A woman, now,” she snapped. “So stop making a fuss and act like it.”

~

Eri nuzzled her chin against her knees from where she sat curled up on the toilet after a much-needed shower. She was wrapped in a giant pink towel, most of it draped over the seat, with what felt like a sack of bricks in her guts. She pondered the blood-stained pajamas laying on the floor by the tub.

Why…?

She thought back on the fight with Kyupo the night before. Its thousand eyes all upon her amidst the destruction on the arboretum. The deafening screeches it made while trees exploded all around Eri, mowed down with shrapnel made of bark and branches.

The heaviness in her guts shifted like boulders. Nausea followed.

She groaned from the discomfort.

Maybe this wasn’t … it.

Maybe this was just … an injury … from fighting the Monster…

Eri buried her face against her knees. No. That was stupid. The forest had repaired itself after the battle. There were no wounds to be had from Sealing the Monster. Eri had gone to bed the night before, fit as a fiddle, and feeling good about her conquest in the arboretum. Her victory as a Monster Sealer. Her birthright as the Warrior of Fire.

This wasn’t an injury at all. This was something far worse.

Revulsion shivered through her.

Why now? Why on the day she and Macks were supposed to give their class presentation? Why today?

Eri fought back fresh tears that stung with confusion—betrayal.

Why didn’t they warn me it was gonna be like this?

There was a bang at the door.

“Hey, get out of the bathroom! You’ve been in there for like an hour already!” It was Noah.

“I’ll be out in a second.” Eri mashed her palm against a tired eye and turned her attention to the small window above the toilet. A pair of mated doves appeared to her outside the sill.

The doorknob rattled. “What are you doing in there?! I need to get ready for school!”

“So do I!” Eri snapped. “I said I’ll be out in a second!”

She listened as Noah stormed away. Probably back downstairs to the basement where his bedroom was. Probably to wash his hair in the laundry basin.

Eri raked fingers through still-damp hair. She dropped a dour gaze upon the box of menstrual pads laying just off the edge of the sink alongside a folded pair of clean underwear.

A box of menstrual pads her mother had sent her into the bathroom with—without instruction. Without any words of wisdom. Without reassurance.

You’re a woman, now—so act like it.

Eri caressed the flesh where her cheek still stung. The sack of bricks in her guts wavered into painful contractions, a sudden need to urinate. She sniffled.

The sight of the half-empty box was a hateful thing—what it meant for her life going forward. But what she hated most of all about it was her mother, for acting like this whole situation was … no big deal.

Like it was Eri who was overreacting. Like it was her fault this happened.

Like waking up covered in blood was just another inconvenience for Helen Seruma to deal with.

And then her father. Angry that the bed sheets had been ruined. Angry that he might have to buy a whole new set.

Like it was her fault this happened.

Eri wiped away tears. She snatched the pads off the counter, praying for a new set of parents.

~

“…And until the Atom bomb dropped on Hiroshima in 1945, the Halifax Explosion was considered the first most horrific bombing in history.” Shinji pointed to an aftermath image displayed through a projector. “Thank you.”

He gave Evan a small nod, cuing his best friend to flick the lights back on in the classroom.

Ms. Youse, the eighth-grade teacher at Mother Teresa Catholic Elementary, let a rare smile of approval cross her youthful lips from where she sat in the front row among her students that day.

“Very good, boys,” she said over the class’s half-hearted claps. “Now, if you’d please hand in your rubric … thank you, Shinji.”

From their desks at the back corner of the room, beside the computer station, Eri and Mackenzie paid little attention to the goings-on at the front of the class. They were busy catching up.

“Shinji filled us in on what happened last night,” Macks explained. “Said you Sealed a Monster all on your own! That’s really cool, Eddi-chan! Sorry I missed it.”

“Don’t be. It was awful.”

“Nothing as awful as this morning, I bet. Welcome to the club: you’re finally cursed.”

Eri moaned, thumping her forehead against her desk.

“I can’t believe your mom made you come to school today, though.” Mackenzie ran delicate fingers through the lushness of Eri’s hair.

“At least she let me come to school late.”

“Still. Hey, don’t worry, I’ll do the talking. Then we’ll go for ice-cream and hang out at my place, ‘kay?”

“You’re buying. I want five scoops.”

“But of course. It’s your initiation! Bet your mom’s got a big ol’ cake waiting for you at home.”

“Ew, don’t say that…”

Ms. Youse called to them. “Mackenzie Thompson, Eriya Seruma—are you girls ready to present today?”

“Yes, Ms. Youse,” Macks answered. “We’re ready.”

Eri groaned.

The girls gathered their materials and headed to the front of the class. Eri stole a peek from where Shinji and Evan’s desks sat by the hallway door, a row that inwardly-faced the classroom. Shinji wasn’t even in his seat yet, instead wrestling his Bristol board into a garbage bag along with other paperwork. His broken nose from the night before was currently held in place by a flurry of self-applied gauze and bandages.

Beside him, Evan waved hello to Eri, grinning from ear-to-ear in his classic Evan Williams way.

Eri offered him a weak smile against the vice grip of fresh cramps.

“Ahem—We’re gonna talk about the Stock Market Crash of 1929 and its impact on the Canadian Economy going into the ‘30s,” Mackenzie informed the classroom in her best professional tone. She gave a toss of her long blue-black hair and motioned to their slightly-torn Bristol board, which Eri had hung on hooks above the blackboard. “Even though you’re all making notes, we went ahead and photocopied a brief summary of our presentation for everyone.”

A few kids in the room let out relieved sighs. To make sure everyone paid attention, Ms. Youse had instructed the students to take down notes of each presentation. Notes which she would look over and mark for accuracy.

“I want a copy handed in with the rubric at the end of your presentation,” she coolly requested as Eri wobbled by with a stack of photocopied papers.

Mackenzie dove right into their presentation: “The Great Depression, or ‘The Dirty Thirties’, was a world-wide economical crisis. In America, The Great Depression happened on October 29th, 1929, which is known as ‘Black Tuesday’...”

Eri forced herself along a track between desk rows, handing out copies of the notes she’d typed up over the weekend. She focused on Mackenzie’s words as best she could to block out the intensity of her body’s newly-acquired contractions and the bloating that tagged along for a ride. Mackenzie was notorious for being loud and blunt, sometimes crude. It was amusing for Eri to hear her best friend try to keep a professional and knowledgeable tone.

Regardless, she was grateful for Macks’ bravery in front of the class today.

“Thanks,” Shinji said when she passed by. He’d been staring at Eri the whole time.

“Welcome,” she murmured. “How’s your nose?”

“Kills. But still attached.”

Eri offered a sympathetic smile and continued on her way. She passed off the last of the notes to Dana Gardner at the end of the row and waited by the door for her cue to get the lights.

“Most families were left destitute,” Mackenzie went on. “Many rich people actually committed suicide, because they couldn’t bear to live with such a gran … gran … um … gran-dee-ose financial loss. Ahem—Now, to show you just how bad The Great Depression was, here’s a clip from the cinematic classic, The Grapes of Wrath.”

On cue, Eri flicked the light switch and helped Mackenzie wheel a metal unit supporting the weight of a large TV to the front of the class. She had no idea if the movie really was a cinematic classic—it’d just been a title her dad picked out during a Friday-night trip to Showtime Video.

Mackenzie squeezed the tape out of its protective plastic slip and pushed it less than gently into the hungry VCR. The word “Play” appeared in the upper right corner of the illuminated TV. Tracking lines skittered across the footage Eri had chosen, then faded away after a moment. The video clip rolled on in peace, showcasing hundreds of American citizens from every walk of life migrating cross-country, all for the golden opportunity of high-paid work in sparse supply.

“Holding up okay?” Mackenzie whispered.

Eri grimaced, shifting on her heels. “Feel like I wanna die. And pee. Both. ”

“Hang out with our new ‘friends’ long enough, you just might get your wish,” Mackenzie said, referring to the Monsters. “Dying, I mean. Dunno about the peeing part. Hey, um—by the way, Shinji says he wants to meet tonight. Debrief, whatever that means. Wanna go?”

Eri peered out the window on the opposite side of the classroom, where melting snow rained over the wall-length pane from the eaves. The sun made the sky look a peculiar shade of orange, casting shadows over the nearby water tower and church steeple.

She shrugged. Revisiting the previous night’s fight with the Monster of Velocity was the last thing Eri wanted to do. But it was either that or potentially walk in on her mother carving a huge “Happy First Menstruation” cake, while recounting all of the gory details to Nana Ferguson over dinner—like it were just another one of Eri’s track-and-field wins to tuck away in her craft room hutch.

No, that wasn’t right. Who was Eri kidding?

Coals of pain raked across her heart. Her mother didn’t care at all.

“I don’t wanna go anywhere,” she said. “I don’t wanna go to Shinji’s house. I don’t wanna go home. I don’t wanna go anywhere…”