Whatever Kit had done to Arte when their hands met must have seriously upset the green-haired girl because she jerked her hand away like she had been burned and fixed Jamil with one of the most hateful expressions he had ever seen. He felt his ears redden and he tried to avoid eye contact but she was staring at him so hard he couldn’t look away. Normally, looks like this didn’t bother him much, he was so accustomed to them, but there was something deeply personal about the hatred pouring out of Arte’s gold eyes. Before he could even open his mouth to ask what her problem was, she lunged at him with a wild yell. Jamil sidestepped and dodged her easily, but that didn’t stop his anger from flaring up.

“What the hell are you doing?!” He snapped, glaring right back at Arte while Kit tried to hold her back.

“It was YOU! You’re the one who destroyed the tower!” Arte shouted, pulling away from Kit. Now Jamil understood; Kit must have somehow shared their memory of events with her. How much of it had she seen? Panic as well as anger filled him, and he could feel the Curse boiling inside. Without thinking, his hand went for his sword.

“Jamil, no!” Kit cried, but he didn’t let go of the grip.

“Shut up, Kit! I’m not gonna do anything!” With some difficulty, he pried his own hand away from the sword hilt and thrust his clenched fists down at his sides. Directing his fury at Arte, he snarled: “You know damn good and well that wasn’t my fault! You saw the same shit I saw!”

“I was separated from my sister because of you!” Arte spat, and Jamil saw red. Drawing his sword, he jammed the blade into the soft ground before taking two big steps that put him right in front of the girl.

“It wasn’t my fault, you stupid girl! That tower was my home! Master Jesper is my family! I lost everything and you have the audacity to blame me because you were separated from your sister?!” The Curse surged inside him, ready to break free the moment his fragile control slipped. Kit let go of Arte and tried to approach but Jamil didn’t let them, holding up his hand to stop them.

“No, Kit! I’m not gonna stand here and take the blame for this! It wasn’t my fault!” He was beginning to shake, his emotions rising until he felt frantic. Ignoring his protests like they always did, Kit came over to him and put their hands on his chest, immediately causing the squall within him to quiet.

“Let me talk to her.” They said softly and Jamil nodded, breathing heavily and trembling. He still hadn’t the foggiest idea how Kit was able to do that, but he was so grateful for it now. The anger was fading as quickly as it had come.

While Kit took Arte aside to talk, Jamil found a quiet spot beneath a blossoming lemella tree to sit down and collect himself. More than ever he wished he could be normal, wished he didn’t have this Curse. All it had ever done was destroy the things he cared about. No one could see past it, no one saw the young man suffering beneath its weight. They only saw the Curse.

Kit sees you, he reminded himself, peering over his shoulder to where Kit and Arte were talking. Arte stood with her arms folded, expression stony, while Kit talked animatedly with their hands. The green girl’s eyes shifted and locked with Jamil’s; he quickly looked away, heart racing. Soon footsteps approached and Jamil felt his skin prickle just as a shadow fell across him.

“Um…I’m sorry for what I said,” Arte said softly. “I shouldn’t have blamed you, I just…I’m really worried about my sister and I guess I jumped to conclusions…” She sounded shameful and sad, which in turn made Jamil feel bad, as well. He stood, brushing some dried mud from his coat.

“I…guess I’m sorry, too. I get…defensive.” He shrugged, and over Arte’s shoulder he saw Kit approaching. They had an odd look on their face, like they were about to deliver bad news.

“I understand why you did. Kit told me how…unkind to you my sister has been…” she trailed off as Kit reached them, wringing their hands anxiously. What was wrong with them? Jamil opened his mouth to ask Arte who her sister was, as he didn’t know that many women, when recognition suddenly slapped him in the face. He knew Arte looked familiar!

“Your sister is Captain Morriarty, isn’t she?” He said bitterly, and Arte nodded. By the way Kit’s shoulders tensed, he gathered this was the bit of information that had them so stressed. Jamil sighed heavily. Oddly enough, it didn’t seem to bother him. Not much, anyway.

“What has she told you about me?” He asked, but Arte shook her head.

“Nothing, actually. I mean, I’ve heard her mention the mage’s apprentice a few times, but that was it. I…I didn’t even know you were the apprentice. I’ve been trying to find you.”

“Find me? Why?” His eyes darted to Kit for a moment. They gave a short nod for Arte to continue.

“Well…my sister sent me a letter, and she said some things that scared me. I didn’t know who to turn to for help and I couldn’t just sit and do nothing! I thought if I could find the missing apprentice, maybe they could help…” She trailed off again, and Jamil witnessed the moment Arte realized her plan wasn’t a very good one. Kit put a supportive hand on her shoulder.

“That was really stupid…wasn’t it?” Arte whispered as tears welled up in her eyes. Jamil winced in awkward embarrassment.

“No, it’s not stupid!” Kit assured her gently, “You ran into us, right? We can help each other now.” They shot Jamil a quick look and he nodded.

“Yeah, that’s right. We’re going to the same place, might as well stick together.” Though he was still on the fence about trusting Arte, more and more he was realizing he didn’t have to be. He, too, had been getting the feeling that this was exactly what they needed to do. It was just as Kit had said: it was all connected somehow.

The tears in Arte’s eyes spilled over and she covered her face, mumbling her gratitude while she cried. Kit held her and rubbed her back, assuring her that everything would be okay. Uncomfortable now with all the crying, Jamil excused himself in order to scout out a good spot to make camp for the night.

*********

The lights of Port Isteel made the skyline glow in the distance, and Jamil could smell the sea on the breeze. The briny scent reminded him of home, not Mutehall but his hometown of Troh on the Vorran coast. Closing his eyes, he inhaled deeply, images of his childhood home coming to the forefront of his mind. The first few years of his life had been so peaceful, he recalled, back in that little cottage by the sea. Strange, he could remember the summergrass smell of the cottage, but he couldn’t seem to recall either of his parents’ faces.

He must have had a strange look on his face because Kit, who had come to help him gather firewood, had stopped picking up sticks and was staring at him with concern in those big poppy eyes. He felt his ears redden.

“What?” He asked. Kit shrugged.

“I dunno, you looked sad. You were trying to remember your parents, right?” They asked innocently, but the question sent hot prickles marching across his skin.

“How did you know that?” He snapped, sounding far more annoyed and suspicious than he meant to. Kit looked taken aback and shrugged, frowning.

“If I knew how to stop seeing random chunks of what you’re thinking, I would.” Before Jamil could respond they were stomping away, bundle of sticks tucked under their arm. Dammit! Why had he said that?! Kicking himself, he gathered a few more limbs before heading back to camp.

What the hell is wrong with me? Jamil thought as he walked, far more upset about his own behavior than what Kit had said. He already knew they hadn’t seen his thoughts on purpose, and he knew their powers were a little unpredictable. So why had it upset him so much this time? Was it because he had been thinking about his childhood? Why would it make him so angry for Kit to know about that?

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“Is it really so hard to believe that someone just…doesn’t hate me?” He mused out loud, pausing just at the edge of camp. Kit had already started the fire; they looked up as Jamil approached but reddened and quickly looked away. Arte had caught a large gossfish from the nearby river and was making a mess trying to clean it with her sword.

“You’re gonna ruin it like that. You need a smaller blade.” Trying to sound casual, Jamil set his load down and approached Arte. He drew a small dagger from his boot and handed it to the surprised girl. “Here, this ought to work.”

“Oh, thank you! I’ve got to confess, I don’t actually know how to do this. I was a plays-in-the-woods kid, not a goes-fishing kid.” She laughed sheepishly, and for the first time Jamil didn’t feel the annoyance that usually accompanied her voice.

“I can show you.” Kneeling beside her, Jamil gave Arte a crash course on cleaning a fish. Though initially disgusted, she proved to have a knack for it and before long, they had four fat filets skewered up by the fire. Leaving Arte to mind the fish, Jamil took his dagger and her sword to the river to rinse them off. He admired the fine Vorran craftsmanship of Arte’s blade, missing the one he had lost, and made a mental note to look for it if he ever returned to Mutehall. The replacement he’d bought in Grandrest was nice enough, but it was a little unbalanced and small, and it just wasn’t his.

Kit came over to the riverside and sat next to him, bunching up their cloak to keep it off the damp ground. It had taken most of the afternoon but they had eventually succeeded in washing out all the gigafrog’s mud.

“I didn’t mean to snap at you earlier,” they said softly, gaze fixed out on the horizon. Jamil had not thought they owed him an apology but accepted it anyway and offered one of his own.

“Neither did I. I know you didn’t do anything on purpose. I’m sorry I’ve been…testy.”

“That’s an understatement!” Kit laughed, and Jamil joined them. It felt nice.

“Yeah, I know I'm not the friendliest guy in Ava Mara,” he sighed, leaning back on his hands. “I’ve never really had friends, or known how to make them.”

“How come?” Kit was looking at him again, their curious expression drawing him in.

“Because people are afraid of me.” Jamil said with a frown, picking up a twig and poking at the sand. He’d never had this conversation before, and he could feel the Curse in his chest, almost as if it knew he was talking about it.

“I take it your…other form isn’t a secret then.” Kit didn’t seem to like calling it a curse.

“People can see it.” With his twig, Jamil drew a little person in the sand, then drew another shape surrounding it. He glanced at Kit, who watched closely. “It’s like this. People can…sense it, sometimes even see it if it’s particularly strong. Like a…spirit hanging over me.” He thought of the looks, the uneasy stares and open hostility on peoples’ faces when they passed by him. Always being stared at, labeled a freak, Jamil had stopped going alone into towns altogether. Only when Master Jesper accompanied him did no one seem to notice him.

“Why can’t I see it?” Kit whispered. Jamil stared at them.

“What do you mean?”

“This…spirit you described…I can’t see it. I just see you.” Well, that ex6plained a lot. No wonder Kit never acted like they were afraid of him!

“I…I don’t know. Maybe it’s because you’re, well, you? I mean, I basically exist to protect you, I guess it makes sense that you’d be able to see past the Curse.” Twirling the twig in his fingers, Jamil began to sketch out his beast form in the sand.

“When I was 9, I…changed for the first time. I remember my mother had just died. My father had died the year before, so I was all alone. I felt so empty, like I was just a shell.” As he told the story, the feelings came flooding back as fresh and raw as the day it all happened. He felt Kit slip their cold fingers into his hand and he gave them a gentle squeeze. It encouraged him to continue despite the growing tightness in his chest.

“The heads of the village were discussing what to do with me since I had no kin, and I remember getting very angry. They were talking about me like I wasn’t even there, not a person at all but an unwanted object.” His hand not holding Kit’s clenched into a tight fist, but Kit reached over and gently pried it open.

“You don’t have to talk about this if it’s too difficult,” they said gently, and Jamil felt the now-familiar tug within him. He shook his head.

“No, it’s okay. I want to tell you. No, I need to tell you.”

“Okay, then I’m all ears.” Kit smiled, tugging lightly on their earlobes. Jamil nodded, his tension easing.

“I started feeling sick all of a sudden, like my guts were boiling. I tried to tell one of the Elders I wasn’t feeling well but he just ignored me, literally pushed me away. No one would see me, no one would hear me…I was feeling worse by the second, so I just laid on the floor and prayed I would die soon.” The memory took hold and played in Jamil’s mind as though it was happening all over again:

9-year-old Jamil curled up in a ball on the cold dirt floor, sobbing uncontrollably and clutching his stomach. The three Elders stood talking nearby, completely ignoring the crying child. One of them turned a cruel eye to the boy, and Jamil reached a shaking hand out for help only for the Elder to coldly turn away again. The transformation had happened then, the Beast exploding out of Jamil’s body and bringing the whole council chamber down on top of everyone.

Kit cried out and fell back, tears streaming down their face, looking at their hand as if it had been burned. They must have experienced the memory, too.

“I-I felt it…I felt it happen! Oh, gods, that was even worse than last time…!” Gasping, they looked at Jamil in shock. He nodded, helping them sit up.

“It’s not so bad now, I’m used to it. The first two or three years were the worst.”

“Gosh…I can’t imagine…” Kit dragged the heels of their hands across their eyes to wipe their tears. “And you can’t control it?”

“Not really. It’s tied to my emotions, so I’m okay if I can stay calm. I’ve gotten pretty good at keeping it in, most of the time, but if I get too stressed or angry…” He mimed an explosion with his hands. “Sometimes I think it’s trying to provoke me, to make me more upset than I already am. That’s when I get…cranky, unnecessarily.” He looked up at the sky, and he felt a tear slide down his face.

“I destroyed my village, Kit. When I changed for the first time. The Curse took over and I was gone, and when I came back…” he didn’t finish. He didn’t have to; Kit saw the memory, too: the village lay in ruins, buildings reduced to rubble and bodies littering the ground. In the center of it all stood young Jamil, battered and bleeding and crying in confusion.

“Sometimes I can break through the barrier the Curse puts up and regain my senses, like when I changed back at Mutehall. I didn’t want to transform, but once I did I was still somewhat myself, lucid enough to know I had to get you out of there. And I changed back pretty quickly, which is always nice.”

“I remember you still had claws and scales and stuff when you changed back, does it always happen like that?”

“Yeah…sometimes I don’t change back all the way at first. We never figured out why, but Master Jesper thinks it might have something to do with stress. Whatever the reason, it’s a pain, ‘cause sometimes I don’t change back fully for days. I got lucky last time, it only took a few hours.” Behind them, a limb snapped in the fire, sending a plume of sparks billowing up into the air. Arte was busy separating the cooked fish into three portions, and the campsite was peaceful. Jamil stretched his arms over his head and laid back, eyes closed. He heard Kit lay down beside him.

“You know, in spite of everything, I’m feeling pretty calm right now. Like…it’s hard to explain, I just…feel like I can handle anything.” Turning his head, Jamil met Kit’s gaze and felt the tugging more intensely. He smiled; they blushed.

“What?”

“I think it’s ‘cause you’re here, Kit. I don’t know how you do it, but being near makes me feel like everything’s going to be okay.” He watched Kit’s face redden more and they looked away.

“Don’t say that, you’re gonna make me cry!” They rubbed their eyes, laughing softly. “N-no pressure or anything!” Now they sounded a bit distressed, so Jamil sat up, getting their attention.

“I think you should believe in yourself more, Kit. Your potential is immeasurable! Hell, just you being here is calming this Curse in me, and not even Master Jesper could do that!” Kit didn’t seem convinced, so Jamil took both their hands in his and made them look at him.

“Kit.”

“Y-yeah?”

“Didn’t you just ask me to trust in you? Well, now I'm asking you to trust me. We got this, you and me; Arte, too, if she decides to stick with us. It’s scary, yes, and dangerous, but we have each other and we have you! I don’t think anything can stop us, Kit.” He rambled a bit, but his point seemed to get across. Kit nodded along, a spark of determination returning to their eyes.

“You’re gonna be right here with me, right?” They whispered, and Jamil couldn’t stop himself from pulling them into a tight hug.

“Of course, dummy. Every step of the way,” he replied, and he felt Kit nod against his chest. Then he felt them pinch his side.

“Don’t call me dummy.” They said it in such a deadpan way, Jamil laughed out loud. Soon Kit was laughing with him and together they returned to camp.

~