Free Web NovelChapter 31: Chapter 31: What Master Said
Elian sat cross-legged on the ground in front of the pot and thought.
Not touching it. Just looking at it. The silk wrapping, the clay, the specific way it had been positioned in the earth.
In his old world, this kind of thing had been rare. Most of what he’d dealt with had been people who wanted their fortune told, or buildings with bad architecture that people had convinced themselves were haunted, or the occasional genuine haunting that turned out to be a drafty window and a guilty conscience. Real dark workings — objects buried with genuine intent, made by someone who actually knew what they were doing — those he’d read about more than worked with.
His master had shown him one, once. Walked him through the theory. Made him memorize the steps.
He was very glad, now, that he had memorized the steps.
Mostly, he thought. I mostly memorized them.
* * *
The problem with burning things was that burning didn’t always mean destroying.
His master had been very clear on this. Some things burn clean, he’d said. And some things, when you burn them, you release what’s inside. You don’t destroy the intent. You set it free.
Dark intended objects fell into the second category more often than the first.
So not just burning. Not straightforwardly.
Elian went through everything he knew.
Kapoor, he thought. Camphor. If I had camphor I could burn it correctly — camphor burns clean, takes the darkness with it.
He didn’t have camphor. He’d looked. This world had something similar but not identical and he wasn’t certain enough about the difference to risk it.
Neem leaves. He’d ordered them through the trade council weeks ago. They hadn’t arrived yet. Could be days. Could be longer.
He looked at the pot.
Garlic? He turned it over. Maybe. As a supplementary measure, not a primary one.
Black thread? Binding, not destroying. That just kept it contained, didn’t end it.
Oil lamp and prayer? To which god, exactly. The divine being outside had already admitted it was running low on power.
He pressed his fingers together.
Come on, he thought. Master told you this. You were seventeen and it was the middle of the night and you didn’t want to be there and he made you listen anyway. What did he say.
He closed his eyes.
The memory came back in pieces. His master’s voice, dry and precise. The smell of incense in the small room. The object on the table between them — different from this one, but the same category of thing.
The person who buried this believes it is buried, his master had said. That belief is part of what makes it work. The intent and the concealment feed each other. If the concealment breaks — if the person knows it has been found — the working weakens. Not destroyed, but weakened.
So you show them, Elian had said.
You make sure they see it, his master had confirmed. Then you neutralize it. Water with turmeric. Lime. Chilies. Rock salt. Leave it in the sun for a full day. As nightfall comes — then you burn it. In that order. Not before.
Elian opened his eyes.
That’s it, he thought. That’s the sequence.
He looked at the pot.
Turmeric he had. Lime he could get from the kitchen. Chilies — yes. Rock salt — yes.
The sun was out.
He had everything.
Except—
Make sure they see it.
He sat with that for a moment.
If the person who buried this saw it — knew it had been found — the working weakened. That was the theory. That was what his master had said.
But.
If he carried this pot through the palace where someone could see it, he wasn’t just showing the person who buried it. He was showing everyone. Every servant, every guard, every person who walked these corridors and would look at the consort carrying a wrapped clay pot and wonder what exactly the consort was doing.
He’d spent months keeping this quiet. Nobody in the palace knew what he was actually doing. They thought he was eccentric, possibly, with the incense and the symbols and the herbs. But they didn’t know.
If he walked through the palace with this—
Everyone will know it’s me, he thought. Everyone will know I’m the one working against the curse. And if the person behind this has eyes in this palace — and they do, I know they do — then I’ve just told them exactly who to target next.
He looked at the pot.
But if I don’t show them. If I just take it somewhere quiet and do the ritual without letting anyone see it. The working stays strong. The spirit keeps feeding. The bracelet keeps darkening.
He sat in the narrow path between the palace wall and the outbuildings, dirt on his hands, a cursed object in front of him, and turned the problem over.
There is no good option, he thought. There’s just the option with better odds.
He looked at the silk wrapping.
What would master do, he thought.
His master would have said: assess the cost of each choice and pick the one you can live with.
Elian looked at the pot for a long time.
Okay, he thought. So. What can I live with.
* * *
Sable found him still sitting there twenty minutes later.
She looked at the pot. Looked at him. Sat down on the ground beside him without being asked.
"You know what to do," she said.
"I know the steps," Elian said. "The sequence. Exposing it, the water treatment, burning it at nightfall." He looked at the silk wrapping. "But the exposure step requires someone to see it. Someone who can connect it to the working."
"The person who buried it."
"Yes. If they believe it’s still buried, the working stays strong. If they see it’s been found—" He paused. "It weakens. Not enough to break it. But enough to make the burning more effective."
"So you carry it through the palace in plain sight."
"So I carry it through the palace in plain sight," Elian agreed. "And then I’ve shown my hand. They know someone found it. They know someone knows how to handle it."
Sable was quiet.
"The alternative," she said carefully, "is that you do the water treatment privately and burn it quietly and the working stays strong because they still believe it’s in the ground."
"Yes. The ritual is less effective. But my cover stays intact."
They sat with it.
A bird landed on the outer wall nearby, looked at them, left.
"What does your gut say," Sable said.
Elian looked at the pot.
My gut says the bracelet has ten darkened beads and the possession happened last night and I am running out of time.
"Carry it," he said.
Sable nodded once.
She stood up and brushed the dirt from her clothes.
"I’ll prepare the water mixture," she said. "You carry the pot."
"Thank you," Elian said.
He looked at the silk wrapping one more time.
Okay, he thought. Let’s go.
* * *
He carried it through the palace.
Past two footmen who glanced at it and looked away. Past a maid who stopped and stared and then continued on. Past Edmund, who appeared at the exact right moment as he always did, looked at the wrapped pot, said nothing, bowed his head, and walked in the opposite direction.
Elian kept walking.
See it, he thought. Whoever you are, wherever you are — see me carrying it.
The courtyard was bright. He set it in the direct sun, prepared the water, went about it methodically.
The turmeric turned the water deep gold. The lime. The chilies. The rock salt stirring in.
He placed the pot in the basin.
Left it.
Went about his day.
Did the consort’s correspondence. Reviewed two household accounts. Signed off on an import request.
He was, he noticed again, genuinely decent at this job.
My con man skills translated, he thought. Who knew.
At sunset he came back.
Built the fire.
Held the purpose clearly.
Burned it.
When the fire went the wrong color — briefly, just that flash — he held steady and kept the purpose in his mind and waited until it was ash.
Then he stood there for a moment in the empty courtyard.
Done, he thought.
He went inside.
One more thing removed.
Not enough things. But one more.
He updated his mental list and went to find dinner.
He looked at the silk wrapping one last time.
Whoever buried you was patient, he thought. Patient and skilled and specific about what they wanted.
But even the most patient people make mistakes.
And I found this.
He picked it up carefully.
Walked toward the palace.
Today was the day.
He picked up the pot.
Walked.
One step at a time.
The courtyard was empty. fгeewebnovёl.com
Just him and the pot and the sun.
He set it down.
Prepared the water.
Got to work.
