Chapter 3

Perhaps . . .

Perhaps we may be able to receive a reprieve from this curse, the curse of Kolima. All of us people of Bilbin are scared of this curse, that it might target us. This curse is unlike what I've heard about curses. In the books, curses are only cast by evil magicians. This curse, though, is different. Who ever heard of a tree casting spells? It's not a common sight, for sure. In fact, I believe that it's never been done before. The history books could be wrong, though. There was that one book about Yanno of Tolbi, saying that he married the lady of Tolbi. That was merely a poet and a poet's foolishness, however. Not a single shred of truth.

How that deals with this curse, I do not know. My wife says that I'm prone to talk about nothing for a long time. Some of the other woodworkers agree, as well. It must be true, but I've never noticed myself. I never pay much attention to myself. In fact . . .

Where was I? Oh, yes. This curse has the power to turn people into trees. As I stated before, it does sound ludicrous. Yet, it still is happening. When it first happened, no one believed the messenger. We believed that he was toying with us, rather badly, though. But his story turned out to be true.

Barely a week ago, a lumberjack from Kolima, the nearby lumberjack village, had come to Bilbin, and had spoken that the holy tree was angry. When he started his message, I did not believe him. We thought he was a crazed lunatic. We all scoffed at him. But, once I saw his transformation, I had been shocked. We all had been.

". . . break . . . this . . . cur—" he had rasped, before turning into a tree himself. If I go outside now, I can still approach the city walls and see it, yet again.

We all worried about whether the curse would reach us. Kolima isn't that far from Bilbin. I was a simple carpenter, with dreams of being a researcher, perhaps even studying at the University of Tolbi. My wife always did complain that I spent too much time with books, with my head up in the clouds. Nevertheless, I had worried, and still do worry, over myself and my wife, and the children we plan to have. I mean to call daughter eldest son Geren, after my father. Maybe I'll name our daughter Jayna, after Queen Jayna in the legends.

After the man had turned into a tree, a change had come over our village. We had been just a simple town, ruled by the rather normal (if slightly eccentric) Lord McCoy. Bilbin was just the small town between Kolima, where all the wood comes from, and Vault, which was recently terrorized by thieves. Now, it no longer is the carefree village it had been; now, we all live in fear. Take the youngster next door, for example. We all called him Merry Maeg, for his always cheerful countenance. This curse scarred him, however. He is betrothed to a lumberjack's daughter, and is perpetually terrified now and jumps whenever anyone touches him. We fear that if—when—his girl is turned back, he'll tremble in fear just remembering that she had been a tree, once. A few of the lads have taken to calling him "Mad Maeg." He doesn't know, his only thoughts concerning the curse.

Lord McCoy, the leader of Bilbin, had frantically sent some of us to build a blockade to Kolima when he heard about the incident. I found it very pointless, since a curse would not stop for a barricade. A curse would just go through one. All the books say so. But a lord's orders are a lord's orders, I suppose, however foolish they are.

Lady McCoy was hysterical, but not because she was afraid of the curse. (I must say, if anyone else were Lord McCoy, he would consider Lady McCoy to be a curse. Lord McCoy sees only good of his wife, no matter how much we all hint to him that she is a worth bitc—I promised my wife that I would keep my language clean.) Lady McCoy was in shambles. Most of the workers sent to build the barricade had been working on her palace before we left. Though Lady McCoy is my lady, I felt relieved when we workers were sent to work on the barricade, if only to be away from her constant haranguing.

On our way to the barricade, Old Jens was ranting about the curse. We all feared it, but none of us others went mad over it. Even in his sleep, he talked about the curse, how it would kill us all. Blaming Lady McCoy for this, he even talked about killing her. If the lord or lady found out, he could be hanged. I prayed to the gods that he would never speak of this again.

Three fine young lads came to Bilbin yesterday, and from what I had gathered, they wanted to help us end this curse. They were foreigners, all three, but they easily befriended the few villagers they had spoken to. I heard that they had spoken to Lord McCoy to allow them to pass through the barricade, but he had said that they were too young. They were young, these aspiring heroes.

Young or not, those boys looked determined. Their leader, a golden-haired one, seemed to be a boy nearing adulthood, a boy filled with quiet determination. The second boy, the red-head, looked slightly older, but filled with the same determination, if one not so quiet. The last boy was younger than the others, perhaps only fifteen, but he behaved with wisdom beyond his years. They weren't nobility; neither were they warriors, but perchance . . . they may be the ones to break the curse.

Although Lord McCoy had not given them the key to the barricade, the boys had still looked as if they wanted to rid us of the curse. Wanting to make their job of passing the barricade simpler, I had motioned to their leader. "Building the barricade to Kolima was a rushed job," I had said. "Even a strong wind could knock it over." The leader had looked at me with surprise. "Just a thought," I had murmured.

I am sure that he understood me. He had muttered a quick thanks, and had gone to speak with the rest of the group. The red-haired one clapped him on his back, and the leader had staggered from the force. The youngest one was chastising them, and then they turned a corner, and I could see them no more.

I wonder why these boys are so willing to help us. Although young, they have the look of adventurers, of people that have seen much of the world. Perhaps the bridge-operators have been turned to trees. Yes, that would explain it. These adventurers can get nowhere if the bridge was not moving.

Will they defeat the curse? There is a nagging feeling, one that tells me that I have sent them to their deaths. Yet the determination in their faces, I know that they will find a way to cross, and Sol burn whoever stops them. Still, that thought persists. I only hope that they succeed . . . for my own sake as well as well as theirs.