The 4th Breed

THE CURSE

Perched high on the crest of a grassy hill, encircled by trees and a vast roaming meadow, the man glared at the pale woman trudging toward him.  Clad in an ashen cloak, the bearded man clenched a white staff with his long bony fingers.  Amid forceful screams that seemed to have swallowed up the howl of the wind, he flailed his rod wildly in the air.

Eyes locked, the woman let out a rueful cry.

The bearded man’s dark eyes grew wide, glowing pits of flames seeming ready to explode.

“How could you betray me?” he snorted.  “I’ve trusted you as you are my own flesh and blood but you disobeyed my command and even led the marauders into our domain!”

Shaking and overwhelmed by her Father’s fury, the woman turned wobbly and dropped to her knees, cupping her face with cold hands.  A curtain of thunder and the fireworks of lightning surrounded the pair, followed by a booming, mournful wail.

“Please, please, forgive me Father! I know not of what I’ve done!” said the woman, her bright blue eyes brimming with tears.

The man’s face, drawn tight with rage, spewed the hardened words, “You speak untruthfully.  You were completely aware of your immoral dealings with murderers, allowing them entry into the realm of our world, stealing away our lives, with nary a thought!”

Continuing with a voice close to hysteria, he spat, “I implore this curse, stripping you of our noble family surname and banishing you close to a place where the demons of discontent are kept.  Further, the sweetness of your speech will be impaired and your features of perpetual beauty diminished.  Your naivety will be remembered by a swirling ivory horn protruding from your forehead.  You shall only be allowed to roam free when the two crescent moons are at the center of the starlit sky.  Most of your life will be spent in solitude, ensnared within the bowels of a gnarly tree—”

The Daughter’s jaw dropped in disbelief and she hastily crawled to grab her Father’s legs, as if the hold could keep her from the quickly approaching storm of transformation.

She gasped, “Father, please!  I beg of you to forgive me!”

“—This curse shall only be broken when the time is right, when you are ready as all Men are ready, in many, many years.  But for now, your youthful face is now banished from this land!”

A loud boom erupted as the top of the staff pierced the ground, sealing the order.

Chains of thunder cracked and rattled the ground in the land of Trumblas.  Forceful winds ripped massive century old iron bark trees from their roots, grass was stripped away by the roll and the roaming, sloping hills of the velvety, lush meadows were leveled.  Soon, the winds died, leaving a trail of dust that began to settle over nothing but flat baron land.

Standing slowly and backing away from her Father, the young woman began to feel a tingling sensation in her hands but refused to rest her eyes on what she knew was not a dream.  As the burning itch on her skin turned into stretching, cracking and excruciating pain, she had to look.  Where once there were beautiful, long fingers that had teased and touched the forbidden, there were now dull, hard hoofs sitting on ugly twisted wrists.  Her face began to pull and lengthen, her golden silky hair turning into thick waves of knots. The pain only began to subside after a long swirling ivory horn broke through the surface of her forehead with tearing, groaning metamorphism.

The bearded man gazed stone faced at the retreating figure, watching her gallop far away to a place where she would remain a prisoner unto herself for an indefinite future.  Sure enough, the woman was entrapped with a curse that only time would tell when, or if, it would be broken.

And then, a legend was born. . .