Hey, all! Finally, the long-awaited explanations (or at least most of them)! I was really happy I was able to crank this out before my vacation ended. Sorry the story's been dragging for the past, oh, I don't know, eight chapters? =) Well, to make up for it, here's a longer chapter!

Have a wonderful 2009! I know it's going to be a great year!

Happy reading!

Curse of the Dragon Chapter 9
Curse: The cause of evil, misfortune, or trouble.

The lake was calm, peaceful, and clear. If one stared toward the horizon, it would seem that there were two skies; the swirling whites and unending blues of the heavens reflected in the waters just right.

The boy took a deep breath, inhaling the crispness of the spring air. The sun smiled down on him and the breeze danced through his hair.

And he was frustrated beyond comprehensible belief!!!!

The last four words were obnoxiously jagged and thick, and the exclamation points became rips in the page. The tip of the quill broke off as Fakir furiously scribbled out everything he had just written. He slammed the book closed, the quill crushed between the pages, and plopped the book next to him on the dock.

With an aggravated sigh, he leaned his elbows on his knees, his feet kicking at the lake beneath the dock he was sitting on, disturbing the calm waters. It was a hot day, so his brown vest was folded neatly next to him. The top four buttons of his white shirt were left undone and his sleeves were rolled up to his elbows. His brown trousers were folded up to his knees. Fakir didn't even bother wearing any boots today.

Why couldn't he write?

Everything he had written all day was uninspired and cliché. Was he so desperate to get something down and thus had settled with writing about the lake? The lake which many, many, many writers have written about in the past? The sun smiling? The breeze dancing? The same descriptions that have been made thousands of times in thousands of stories?

Fakir hung his head in defeat. His creativity was shot for today.

He slowly puffed upwards in a futile attempt to blow the dark bangs away from his eyes. Reaching behind him, he felt around for his gemshorn. He brought it into his field of vision, holding it up to his face as his emerald eyes stared at it thoughtfully for a moment. He brought the tip of the instrument to his lips.

It was a quick, simple, lighthearted melody. One of Fakir's favorites. Elder Edel taught it to him just a few days ago.

The music was abruptly interrupted by a startled "Gah!" and a splash.

Orlin grinned, standing triumphantly on the dock and looking down at Fakir, who was now sitting in the shallow waters below the dock, thoroughly soaked and thoroughly irritated. With Fakir's dripping wet bangs clinging to his forehead and his foul expression, he looked quite ridiculous.

This was not his day.

"You have to admit. I got you good." Orlin's devious aquamarine eyes glinted, and his short, dark hair shined a navy blue in the sun. He wore a gray shirt tucked into brown breeches which were, like Fakir's, folded to his knees. Black suspenders hung down the sides of his thighs from the waist of his trousers.

Fakir grumbled as he lifted himself onto his feet in the knee-deep water. He lifted his gemshorn and tilted it sideways, letting the water trickle out of the horn and the tone holes. He shook it to sprinkle out any excess water, then promptly chucked his instrument in the direction of Orlin's head.

"What the- hey!" Orlin exclaimed, fumbling and just barely catching the horn before it collided with his face. "I just thought you'd like to cool off," he mumbled, seeing his actions as justified, "It is pretty hot today, you know.."

Fakir hefted himself back on the dock, water dripping everywhere. He reached back to squeeze his low ponytail dry, and then folded his arms in a futile attempt to look dignified in his drenched state. After a moment, a smirk grew on his face.

"Watch yourself, Orlin. I'm getting you back for that."

Orlin's grin disappeared and his eyes widened in a paranoid expression.

"Guys!" came a call from the distance. Fakir and Orlin turned to look toward the source of the sound.

Gust ran toward them through the field between the lake and the village. His yellow hair was tied into a short, high ponytail, and side bangs framed his face. His violet eyes were bright with excitement as he waved his arms to the two at the dock.

The blonde young man came to a halt in front of them, stopping to bend over and catch his breath. He tugged at the collar of his blue shirt, attempting to allow cool air to reach his perspiring body. "You guys…" he paused to take another breath, "…should come back to the village and-" Gust paused and observed Fakir's dripping form. "What happened to you?"

Fakir glared and gestured to Orlin, and immediately Gust got the picture. "Oh. Well, in any case, you guys got to go back to the village! There are some visitors from Lindworm City staying at Elder Edel's."

"Lindworm? Where the gaudy rich people live?" asked Orlin with a raised eyebrow, and Fakir and Gust snorted in amusement. "What are they doing here? It's not like anyone besides us knows about our abilities."

"I don't know, but it'll sure bring some excitement, don't you think? Plus, I think Raven wants to have a music and dance festival for their arrival. It's not every day Wyvern gets visitors."

Fakir squeezed the bottom of his shirt, wringing out some of the water. "I really could care less. But I guess we should head back. It's not like I'm going to get any writing done like this." He gestured to his clothes, which were clinging uncomfortably to his skin.

Gust ran a hand through his yellow bangs, smiling. "I'm actually quite impressed that Orlin got you!"

The emerald-eyed young man stared at the other two, then smirked. "Hn."

With a quick yank and a shove, Gust and Orlin found themselves tumbling over the edge of the dock and into the shallow waters below. They resurfaced, flailing and sputtering.

"Okay! Orlin deserved it, but what'd I do?!" Gust complained.

Fakir bent down to pick up his vest and book, and hung the leather strap of his gemshorn over his shoulder. "Nothing. I just thought you two would like to cooloff. It is pretty hot today, you know." He turned to leave when he heard Gust and Orlin scrambling to get out, rambling and grumbling.

Fakir walked away from the lake to the direction of Wyvern Village with a satisfied smile and an extra hop in his step.

Wyvern Village was one of a kind.

For Fakir, words such as romantic, simple, and, of course, magical, came to mind. It was a quaint village and, in his honest, unprejudiced opinion, the prettiest small town in all of Terra. It retained elegant charm and rugged character. Simple, but chic country homes surrounded the village green, complete with unique markets and artisan studios. Blue skies, babbling brooks, and gardens of flowers enveloped and delighted all who lived and visited there.

Fakir couldn't help but enjoy Wyvern's unhurried pace of life, but it was the villagers themselves that truly made the town.

They were an enchanted folk, a small, dwindling race descended from a curious mix of wizards and ladybugs.

Fakir simpered at the thought. Most of the wizards had faded into the sands of time as legends. Those that were still living were immortal hermits that practiced their spells in the isolation of mountains and deserts and other remote places, living their eternal lives alone.

What amused Fakir the most, however, were the ladybugs, who were still thriving. In fact, he knew for certain that there was a large colony that lived next to Wyvern itself.

They were odd creatures, but beautiful. Once in a while, a child would be able to spot sparkling lights by their windows, but only in the deepest, darkest, nights when the moon made its monthly disappearance.

The blinking lights were tiny, flying, dancing ladies, so graceful and dainty in their movements, their pixie-like wings glittering and their small bodies glowing with an unknown light. They only come out during the darkest nights, Fakir knew, because they glowed all the more brightly and all the more beautiful, and the smallest bit of vanity sat well within the hearts of the tiny ladies.

"A fairy!" they'd exclaim excitedly as only children can, "It's a fairy!"

And the mother or the father would chuckle, "Oh, my child, there are no such things as fairies."

Indeed, thought Fakir, unable to stop the smirk that played on his lips, There are no such things as fairies.

Ladybugs, however, are everywhere.

Wyvern's villagers lacked the magical capacity to create multiple spells and enchantments on command like their ancestors did, but the remnants of the wizardry in their blood left them with certain talents that set each person apart from the rest of the world. The abilities they had, the powers they wielded, needed to be kept secret, hidden away from everyone else in order to protect the lives they built for themselves.

That was how they knew what ladybugs were, and where the wizards live, and that the Wyvern villagers were, indeed, related to them in some strange way. Autor had written all about it.

Fakir snorted. Autor had it easy. All he had to do was write things that already happened.

Some talents were more accessible than others. Some talents were more convenient than others. Some talents were more dangerous than others.

Fakir's talent's accessibility depended on his mood and inspiration, really. And he had to admit that, if he could learn to control it, it would be a very convenient gift to have.

But the power to make stories come true would always be dangerous.

It was with this thought that Fakir reached the open gates of his beloved Wyvern Village. He clutched his book to his chest, unknowingly dampening the leather cover with his wet shirt.

And that's why he made a vow to always write happy endings.

When Fakir arrived home, he knew something was amiss when he saw Rue sitting on their couch and staring out into space. Her scarlet eyes were clouded, and her expression blank.

"Rue?"

She turned to him so quickly he almost jumped. "Fakir…" Rue looked him up and down. "Why are you all wet?"

"Orlin," he replied simply. Fakir immediately moved to sit next to her. "But never mind that. What's wrong?"

"Get off the couch. You're soaking the furniture."

A scowl formed on his face. "Stop changing the subject."

For a moment, she just sat and stared at him, as if searching for something. She pushed back the hair from her face, then folded her hands in her lap. "I was talking to the crows today."

"As you always do," he murmured with a shrug. That was Rue's strange ability; she made friends with birds, and crows in particular. He didn't understand why. Crows weren't the nicest of creatures. They were scavengers. But he supposed that they were known to be quite wise.

"They warned me of things." At this point, Rue shifted uncomfortably, wringing her hands together in her lap. After another moment, she began to finger the edge of her apron. "I don't know what's going on, but…"

"Rue…"

She turned to him, eyes completely serious. "Something will happen. The crows told me so. They said something about the two aristocrats staying at our village. They don't think those men can be trusted…"

Fakir wanted to tell her that they were just birds that didn't really understand the world of the humans, but he knew better than to question any news that they brought. They haven't been wrong thus far. He placed a hand on her shoulder. "What's wrong with the aristocrats?"

"The crows didn't know. But still…they are always right when it comes to these things."

Fakir shrugged. "I'm sure that whatever happens, I'll be able to handle them."

Rue picked up his hand. "You need to be careful, alright? I know I'm your younger sister, but you need to let me help you once in a while. Stop putting everything on your own shoulders." She paused, then wrapped her arms around his neck, her chin resting on his shoulder. "Mother and Father are gone. You know we're all we have left."

His emerald eyes softened as he held her gently around the waist. "Don't worry. I won't let anything bad happen.

He felt her nod against his shoulder. As she pulled away, she yanked painfully on his low ponytail. "Look now. You've got me all wet!"

Fakir scowled and rubbed his head. "Doesn't give you an excuse to pull my hair like that." He stood up and stretched. "By the way. Gust told me about a possible music and dance festival. I'm guessing you're in it."

She smirked and rose to her feet next to him. "Well, who else?"

Everyone gathered about the village green, setting up for the celebration.

Fakir rolled his eyes. So a couple of rich guys come from over the mountains to see the town. Was it really worth all this trouble of celebrating? He doubted that the construction of booths and games was necessary for a mere two visitors. Perhaps the villagers just wanted an excuse to have a carnival. Whatever the case was, he was stuck helping out, no matter how much he grumbled about it.

"Fakir," said a voice behind him. He turned to see Rein, his black, wavy hair that almost reached his shoulders glinting in the sun and dark brown eyes staring back into his emeralds. He held the neck of his cello in one hand and the bow in the other. "Have you seen my brother? Gust, Autor, and I have been waiting for him to come practice, but he hasn't shown up. He's more than an hour late."

"Hn. I don't think so," Fakir said after a moment's consideration. He finished hammering the sign on the booth, then turned to place his full attention on Rein. "Come to think of it, I haven't seen him all day. He really should be helping us with all of this." Fakir ran a hand through his bangs. "This is just a big waste of time, really."

Rein shrugged and gave a small smile. "Eh, it's fun to do this stuff, isn't it? Really brings the village together."

Fakir smirked back. "Whatever you say." He paused, then spoke again. "What's been up with Ryver anyway? He seems more…"

"More like a hormonal teenage girl?" offered Rein with a grin.

Fakir chuckled. "Something like that."

"Well," began Rein, face immediately turning pensive, "He's been talking about weird stuff lately. He and Walden…well, I suppose I can understand where they're coming from, but all the same…"

The emerald-eyed young man sighed. He knew exactly was Rein was talking about.

Ryver and Walden had very destructive powers. At first, Elder Edel allowed them to use it, but only when it was absolutely necessary. But when Walden used his inhuman strength to almost make a building full of people collapse when he lost his temper and when Ryver almost burned half the village down with his fireballs, they were forbidden to ever use their gifts as long as they lived in Wyvern.

They were the only two to be held back.

"So," Fakir murmured, "what have they been talking about?"

Rein swallowed. "Just some random stuff about us keeping our powers secret. How we deserve credit from the rest of the world and all of Terra should know about our so-called 'greatness.'"

Fakir's eyebrows drew together. "…Someone should talk to him. Soon."

"I already told Elder Edel. She told me she'll talk to Ryver as soon as possible."

"Rein!" called Autor, who had impatiently went to look for him. His glasses glinted as he marched right up to Fakir and Rein. "I thought you were finding Ryver! We're losing valuable practice time! Find him and hurry up to the practice area! The performance is tonight and if we are anything less than perfect, I am finding a new cellist! In fact, I'm finding a new violinist as well if Ryver doesn't show up! Rue will be there, and if I fail to impress her tonight…!"

"Sorry, sorry! I'm coming!" As Autor stomped back to the direction he came from, Rein turned back to Fakir and waved. "See you at the festival tonight! I'm sure you and Rue will do great." With that, the brown-eyed young man trotted after the fuming purple-haired pianist.

Fakir couldn't stop thinking about what Rein said about Ryver. The things Ryver was thinking about…It was too dangerous for the world to know. Who knows what kind of people could take advantage of all of the gifts they had. How long had Ryver thought this? Did Walden also think such things?

A firm clap on the shoulder broke Fakir from his pensiveness.

"Wake up, Fakir. Daydreaming on the job?"

Fakir turned to Raven. "Just a lot on my mind, that's all."

Raven ran a hand through his pitch-black hair as his bright red eyes scanned over the young man before him. "Girl troubles?"

"Wha-?! No!" A blush crept all across his face.

"Ah, I remember when I was your age; young, vibrant…the hormones must be raging, hm?"

"It's not like that!" Good lord, it has nothing to do with that kind of…!

Raven guffawed, clapping his hand on Fakir's back once more. "I'm just kidding with you. Relax." His gleeful expression softened into a more understanding one, a small smile still gracing his face. "But you seem very concerned with something. Anything you'd like to share?"

"…Not in particular." There was no reason worrying Raven over such a stupid topic. "I better get back to work. There's lots more that has to be done…"

The older man placed a hand on his chin, then shrugged. "Alright. I know you well enough that you'll try to keep everything to yourself and handle every single problem you face on your own. Just keep in mind that you should always ask for help if you really need it." He winked one ruby eye, then jogged ahead to help set up another booth.

Despite Fakir's earlier complaints, the festival was not as pointless as he expected. Rein was right; it did bring the village together.

Freya grew the floral decorations that seemed to brighten the entire village even during that evening. Malen offered to draw and paint portraits of people, whether it be entire families or couples or even just a single person. Denos, the black-haired small girl with pale skin and glittering hazel eyes was even able to drag the platinum-blonde burly Walden to working at the game booths with her, despite his grumbling.

Fakir suspected that, as much as Walden wanted to seem like an outcast or bully, he never felt as alienated from the rest of the village as much as Ryver was.

The music was phenomenal, especially because Autor found Ryver and forced him to perform with the group as they usually did. As expected, Ryver ran a hand through his black, curly hair, rolled his brown eyes and grumbled about how they needed him much more than he needed them. But in the end, he played his violin right beside Rein on his cello, Gust on his guitar, and Autor on his piano.

He and Rue danced, and while the audience saw no flaws in their show, Fakir's experience enabled him to pick up on the slight changes in Rue's performance. She seemed distracted, occupied, far away from where she truly was. Fakir knew she must've still been bothered by the crows' warnings.

"Will you be okay?" Fakir mumbled to her when they finished.

"It's fine. This celebration was worth it. See her smile?"

Fakir knew who she was talking about. He turned toward the audience and spotted the beautiful, pale doll-like face of the Elder Edel and her daughter, Uzura. No one would ever think that the Elder Edel was approaching the age of fifty-one; she seemed thirty at the most.

Elder Edel had always been special, even as a child. She had so many abilities: healing, protecting, transformations…the list went on. No one was even sure if she herself knew of all of her talents.

And she was smiling, and Uzura in her lap was laughing. Rue was right. It was worth it.

But then he felt eyes burning a hole into him, and he met the gaze with equal intensity.

Wyvern Village's two guests, Drosselmeyer and Monte, sat beside the Elder, clapping with the rest of the audience.

They both sent chills up his spine. Monte, with his Spanish wardrobe and small, but piercing eyes, and especially Drosselmeyer, with his large, brown eyes, and his colorful feathered hat, his strange lizard coat, and his red pendant…

And then Fakir didn't know how it all happened, but it did, and he could only lie there, listening to the screams, bleeding profusely from a gaping wound that ran from his right shoulder to his naval, and recounting just what happened in one large blur.

In the cold space between one moment and the next, Monte released a flurry of what Fakir vaguely recalled to be some type of flower petals, and the village, Wyvern Village, the home he had come to love and cherish and always remember, was obliterated before his very eyes. The clear night skies were stained with red smoke and the gardens full of flowers, the ones Freya cared for and loved were swept away by the petals of destruction. The lake disappeared with the babbling brooks, the dock blown away, the buildings smashed in, fire lit up the shops and the artisan studios and markets, while the people were still in there...

Fakir remembered, as he looked on in horror, people screaming and dying around him, not knowing where his sister was, or who was still alive, or why any of this happened to them, Drosselmeyer and Monte approached him.

Through the cloudiness of the tears, and the searing heartache he suffered, he could only scream why, why, why, why?!

He remembered Drosselmeyer's sickening grin. "I want your power." And then Monte released more petals, straight to him. And then, all there was left was absolute pain and tears.

And Fakir remembered a glowing light escaping from the wound in his chest, flying straight into the hands of that sick, twisted, grinning, bastard…

"Yes, your power is mine…perhaps I should take everyone's, hmm?"

Fakir could only lay there, struggling for breath, but at the same time, wishing he would die.

He felt so utterly useless.

And he let the darkness claim him

"Dammit, Fakir, wake up!" screamed Autor, shaking his friend as best he could with all of the destruction and chaos surrounding him. Rue sobbed next to him, desperately trying to stanch her brother's heavy bleeding with her apron.

"No, no, Fakir, please, stay with me, please!" she begged him.

Autor felt another presence, froze and looked up. "…You…"

Drosselmeyer smiled down at him. "This boy's power feels incredible…my writing hand just tingles with possibility!" he cackled, and Autor wanted nothing more than to slice that grin right off his nasty face. "Before I let my friend Monte over here have his fun with you, as you're both the only survivors, I think I ought to take your powers, too. Just in case."

Monte lifted his basket of flowers, and Rue and Autor instinctively covered their eyes.

Suddenly, a small sound, like a bell, jingled in the air, and a bright, blue light smothered the entire destroyed village, reaching both those who still lived and those who had died.

Fakir opened his eyes, almost fully healed, left with a scar.

They all heard Edel's voice.

"…I will protect you…my children…

"Raven, please lead them to happiness…

Until I awaken…be safe…

And take care of my little Uzura…"

The ground shook violently, the remains of the village sinking into the earth.

When Drosselmeyer and Monte opened their eyes, there was nothing left to even suppose that a quaint, pretty little village used to sit in this meadow.

There was nothing but pure white grass, and a lofty ivory tree that glowed in the calm, dark evening.

Monte grumbled. "So much for gaining the powers of the legendary enchanted village. I don't suppose you still get those abilities using that new writing technique you received from that boy…?"

Drosselmeyer grinned. "Well, I'd like to…but then they'd all die. And that's the end of it." With a flick of his hand, a book and quill appeared before him, floating in midair. "I was actually starting to regret killing them off so quickly just now; it's a rather good thing that Elder lady brought them back. So many more characters to play with! Especially the little cretin, what was his name? The one that told us about their powers and Fakir's special ability?"

"Ryver, I recall."

"Yes, him! He was quite the amusing little mislead and confused character…searching so hard for approval and attention…

"And I'd much rather have an unfinished story. Those are the most tragic."

"But what about the powers?"

"Perhaps your time will come when you can receive them for yourself. As for me, even if I die before the story ends, I'd still enjoy their tragedy in death." And he began to write, all the while grinning.

Monte growled. "What is the purpose of keeping them alive?!"

"Why, amusement, of course!" he exclaimed excitedly, fingering his pendant.

And Wyvern Village sunk to the ground, forever protected by the slumbering Elder Edel, who took the form of an ivory tree.

She did not know, however, than in becoming their shield, she had become their captive.

A man and his wizard placed a dreadful curse upon the village, one that would seal them to this place and to dragon forms for three centuries.

If one dares leave his underground prison for more than a fortnight, he will disappear in a flash of light.

Only with the death of the man's descendant, when the stars of the Dragon constellation finally align at the end of three hundred years, will the Elder Edel awaken, and the villagers of Wyvern be free from their prison and their monstrous forms.

Ahiru collapsed by the library's desk in a fit of sobs and tears.

Exhausted, Autor slumped in his chair, emotionally drained from reliving that horrible experience once more.

He swallowed. "Maybe now, you see why we need you to…die. It's you. You're Drosselmeyer's descendent."

She didn't want to believe it. It couldn't be true. How could she possibly be related to that horrible, sick, monster of a man?

Ahiru felt the bile rise up in her throat, but she swallowed it down, fighting to keep her composure.

She heard Autor slowly get up and leave, but she couldn't find the strength to get up.

She…wanted to help them! She really did! But what about her life? What did she do to deserve this fate?!

…What do I do…?!

With a loud scream and a sob, Ahiru ripped off the pendant from her neck and threw it across the room.

It lay there, flickering in the candlelight, mocking her.

Uh…done!

Have a great day, folks! =)

Fun Facts:

-Lindworm is a dragon from Germanic mythology.