The Cursed

by Darkside
June 2002

Introduction by Sam King

It was about two years ago, that I came up with the concept for the "Cursed" universe. While I can't now fully remember the genesis for it, I know a good deal of it came from reading Dave Duncan's book, "The Curse" particularly his treatment of those cursed with involuntary shape changing. Over the next few years, I started the story a number of times, never getting very far, and always unhappy with what I did write, and so the concept languished. And then along came the Fictionmania bake sale.

Personally, I feel, that the advent of fictionmania, marks the Golden Age of TG fiction on the internet. Not that there weren't and still are many fine TG sites on the net, but it seemed as if, in the brief year after Mindy started it, that TG fiction exploded. Her excellent site, her mailing list, the chats with authors, including just before the end Jack Chalker, seemed to be pulling in simply phenomenal authors. Well a number of those authors have generously offered their time to help keep Fictionmania alive, and so I was lucky enough to get Darkside, to write this first story for me. I say first story because I always intended it to be an open universe. I don't want to spoil any surprises here, so I'll wait till the tale is complete, to post the rules.

Many, many thanks to the Fictionmania task force especially Darkside.

Sam King

 

Introduction by Darkside

 

Firstly I want to say thanks to Sam. Mainly for being so patient as months went by without me sending him anything, and secondly for letting me turn his excellent story idea into something that only bears a passing resemblance to it.

As with the Fury saga, this story contains song lyrics to help set the mood and tone of the story. By reading the story at my website http://go.to/furysaga you can listen to streaming audio of the songs.

Secondly as many of you will know, this is my last ever TG story(except for completing an unfinished rewrite of Fury Book's 1 and 2(I hate loose ends)).

I'm finding it harder and harder to get the time to write, and even harder to get the enthusiasm for writing TG fiction. I started writing to give something back to the TG community, and to practise writing for more 'mainstream' material. I believe I have achieved those objectives.

Lastly, many thanks to Vickie Tern without who's encouragement and advice I would never have gone past my first story.

I wrote for feedback, please feed any comments you may have(even a simple two word mail will do), to either darkside_nym@hotmail.com or Sam1am@att.net It's your feedback that keeps people writing, and why so many people give their precious time for free.

Hopefully my stories have taken you to the deepest darkest parts of human nature, to revenge, hatred, murder and genocide and then on to the parts that drive us on, those of love, forgiveness, redemption and hope for the future.

After eight years, about one half million words, just over 1200 pages and a lot of soul searching I find I have no more to give. They say end on a high, and I hope Cursed will be that high.

May God go with you in all the dark places where you must walk..

Darkside - June 2002

 

The Cursed

Turning and turning in the widening gyre
the falcon cannot hear the falconer;
Things fall apart; the centre cannot hold;
mere anarchy is loosed upon the world,
The blood-dimmed tide is loosed, and everywhere
the ceremony of innocence is drowned;
the best lack all conviction, while the worst
are full of passionate intensity.
Surely some revelation is at hand;
surely the Second Coming is at hand.
The Second Coming! Hardly are those words out
when a vast image out of Spiritus Mundi
troubles my sight: somewhere in sands of the desert
A shape with lion body and the head of a man,
A gaze blank and pitiless as the sun,
is moving its slow thighs, while all about it
reel shadows of the indignant desert birds.
The darkness drops again; but now I know
that twenty centuries of stony sleep
were vexed to nightmare by a rocking cradle,
and what rough beast, its hour come round at last,
slouches towards Bethlehem to be born?

William Butler Yeats

 

A small forest, near Eyam, Derbyshire England 1172AD

His heart sank to the pit of his stomach as he saw the plume of dark gray smoke rise from above the trees ahead. The blood red streaks of the sunset only served to heighten his concern. This was a bad omen. The smoke started to dissipate as it reached above the trees and it swirled and formed a million shapes and patterns as the wind blew it in all directions.

He urged his horse onward, faster and faster. His back and legs ached from the bone shattering ride that he had forced upon the poor animal. He bent down and whispered an incantation that would give the horse more strength and more speed. It didn't matter to him that it would kill the horse as soon as he stopped; only two things mattered now, more strength and speed!

He could hardly see as night rapidly fell and as he galloped into the forest gloom his fear rose. Not of falling off and hurting himself, but of failing to reach the source of the fire in time. He had to slow down, so as not to get hit by the branches rushing towards him at reckless speed. He trusted the horse to see its way thru, the incantation saw to that. But he could sense that failure and death was only a single mistake away. He ducked down, narrowly avoiding a thick beech branch that sprang at his head, as if waiting for him to come by. Another realization struck him. They knew he was coming!

That didn't matter. Only two things drove him forward; more strength, more speed. The forest was almost as black as coal, and now he could see the orange glow of the fire thru the thick, gorse covered thicket of trees. He slowed down and quickly dismounted, he would have to go on foot the rest of the way. He glanced back at his horse, she had served him well. He counted under his breath, "one, two three..," The horse rolled its eyes upwards, tried to neigh in pain, but no sound came out. It staggered for a few moments before gently and quietly falling to the ground, dead.

He felt no sadness; it was an animal, nothing more. He quietly made his way into the clearing and had to stifle down a scream.

A young woman and a child of about three had been tied to a long wooden scaffold. Underneath them had been lit a fire, which still continued to blaze into the night. Their once peach white flesh had been charred into dried black husks. He nearly ran out into the clearing, but caution checked him. He wanted to cry, wanted to wail to the gods and demand an answer for why this had been done to them, but better sense prevailed. Then it hit him, the sweet sickly smell of burning flesh, the wind must have changed and now its sickening, awful aroma assaulted him. "My love, My son," he struggled to say and fought back tears of rage and sorrow.

He looked around the clearing, checking to see if the murderers were still nearby. Then and only then did he rush out into the clearing to see if there was any hope at all.

Summoning his concentration he reached out his left hand and breathed a quenching spell. He closed his eyes and in his minds eye he saw the flames flicker and die down, as if water was being poured on them and extinguishing them. A few moments later he opened his eyes and saw that the once flaming inferno of wood, kindling and oil had been doused.

He ran to the now charred body of the woman and, ignoring the heat clenched her legs tight, tears streaming down his face. Her flesh was hard, crisp and almost too hot to touch. Worse though was the smell, the awful smell of her still burning skin, bone and sinew rammed itself into his brain so much so that he almost recoiled in horror. Only his love for the woman, his wife kept him there, still clinging to her dead and partially cremated body.

He had flash backs of the last time he had held her close, he had just come back from the holy land where he had been searching for relics from the old times and she had been waiting for him for over two years and he had missed her every heartbeat he had been over there.. He let out a long sob; the pain of hurt had to find its way out somewhere.

He let go of her and stared upwards at the body of his son, they had killed his son! Strands of his son's blonde hair still hung from the burnt skull like face. All the skin had been burned away and the once blue eyes, full of life and curiosity were now gone and only the dark, empty eye sockets remained.

He could hold in his grief and anger no longer and let out a howl that seemed to shake the very ground he stood on. His son, they had killed his only son.

He heard the snap of a twig and whirled around and saw ten or more hooded figures were now circling in on him. Why did he not see or sense their presence before? Each of the figures carried a sword and his heart sank as he saw the lethal outline of a longbow and quiver on the back of every figure.

He caught a glimpse of a red cross embroidered in on the breast of one of the hooded figures. Knights Templar! But no, that couldn't be! They would never get involved in such atrocity, but their presence would explain why he was not able to sense the ambush. He gathered his heart, mind and soul together and drew on the anger and power within him. Clenching his fist he went as if to throw a stone at the leading figure. A ball of white, incandescent lightning flew from his open hand and struck the figure.

He expected the figure to scream in pain but the ball lightning just entered the figure and was seen no more. Shock and fear rippled thru his body. Knights Templar should not have been able to defend against that attack so easily. Who were these murderers?

The lead figure spoke, "They died without honor. Screaming and begging for mercy, just like the ungodly demons they were."

He fought down the anger that welled up within him. That is what they wanted of him, to become so angry he would make an error. The time for anger would come later, not now. He was no use if he was dead. One thing did vex him. He was outnumbered and surrounded, so why did they hesitate to attack him? "You will not take me so easily," he hissed and readied another attack.

A figure stepped out from behind the row of hooded men, "That will not be necessary, old friend."

He almost took a step back in shock, "Bedwyr!"

The figure drew his hood back from over his head to reveal a thin, narrow face, framed with long silver gray hair. A pair of piercing blue eyes looked at him in sorrow, "They would not turn y'see?"

The smell of the still burning flesh hit his nostril again and it was all he could do not to vomit in revulsion and shock. He reached into his scabbard and drew his sword. As he held its long, black steel blade it gave him some comfort.

"Come old friend and pupil, let us parley for a while," Bedwyr replied softly. He recognized it as the same tone Bedwyr had used when he was his student and was struggling to perform the most basic of charms.

Thru fresh tears he managed to stammer, "Why, why?"

"Look around you, old friend. The old ways are dying. The new faith of the little Christs has come and swept all before it. This new god is stronger than our old ones and must be obeyed."

"What are you saying?" he managed to say. Bedwyr was right, since the Normans came many of his kin had turned toward this new single god. His kind, Bedwyr's kind, were a dying breed.

"I am saying it is time to renounce your power and the ways I taught you.

They were..," Bedwyr paused for a few moments and then added, "mistaken."

Still clenching his sword tight, his eyes darted around the clearing. He was looking for the slightest weakness he could use to escape. What curse had been put on Bedwyr that would cause him to do such a thing and renounce all that he had worked for?

"Why did you kill my family, my son, my only son. He was but a boy?"

Bedwyr turned his head away, "They had become evil, they were guilty of witchcraft and so had to be cleansed. My friend and my pupil, please turn from your ways of evil and join me or suffer the same fate as they."

Anger rose inside him until he could bear it no longer. Using all his power he punched a fist at Bedwyr. This time a glowing red ball of fire shot from his hand and exploded on Bedwyr's chest with a loud crack of thunder and bright, blinding burst of flame.

When the smoke and fire had cleared he was staggered to see both Bedwyr and his assailants still standing and untouched.

Bedwyr gave him a sympathetic look, "The power of the new god is way beyond that of the old. These robes we wear have been washed in water blessed by his holiness the pope himself. Nothing on heaven or on earth can touch us, while we still wear them. Now please, no more of this. Here, I have a precious gift for you, "Bedwyr reached beneath his robes and pulled out a leather bound book."

"Your book of power!" He breathed.

"In a way. This is my copy of the holy scriptures of the one god. It took many months of writing to complete them, and now, I give them to you," Bedwyr offered the book out in his hands.

He then had an idea, he would take the book and use it learn how to defeat this new enemy. "I will read the book," he said and took it from Bedwyr.

"Now come with us and be baptized," Bedwyr stated. It was not a request, more an order.

He saw his chance, one of the guards behind him was glancing around and not looking at him, if he could not harm them directly then maybe a distraction. With the slightest movement of his finger he chanted a noise maker. It was the simplest of spells, but in this case it was his only hope.

A loud crashing sound erupted thru the forest, as though the thunder god himself had descended on the forest. The guard behind him leapt in shock and for the briefest of moments was distracted by the noise.

He saw his chance and jumped at the guard, his sword already in mid swing. He felt a stiff resistance as the sword bit into the guard's fleshy neck. He quickly withdrew it and ran off into the darkness of the forest.

He heard a shot of pursuit and sprinted his way thru thick brambles and thorny bushes. He could feel the thorns scratch his face and hands but he could not afford to slow down. He saw shadows flitting between trees all around him and expected to be captured at any moment, but the crashing sounds of pursuit could still be heard from behind. In the glint of the moonlight, he saw the dim figure of a man, guarding some horses in a small clearing ahead. The man hadn't seen or heard him yet!

Gathering speed he ran up to the man and sank his sword deep into his body. The man screamed in pain and crumpled to the floor. It took both hands to remove the bloody sword from the body and by the time he had jumped onto the nearest horse he could see Bedwyr and his murderous group dash into the clearing. "Stop!" Bedwyr called.

He took no notice and taking hold of the reigns of the horse sped off into the night.

Bedwyr watched his old friend ride off into the night, There was only one thing for it now. He must not be allowed to escape! "Archers ready."

His compatriots took the longbow's from their backs and readied to fire.

Bedwyr hated to do this to his old friend, but it was the only way. Britannia

had to be purified. Still, the longbow was the most feared weapon in the

world, a trained archer could unleash up to twelve arrows a minute up to a

range of nearly three hundred yards and a skilled archer would be able to hit

and kill a new target each time. Each arrowhead would have been tipped in

blood , faeces and dirt and left to fester for weeks. If the wound were not

fatal, infection and disease would soon follow, more then likely killing the

victim. Bedwyr breathed deeply, "Fire"

He knew they would use the longbow against him, so he zigged the horse this way and that, trying to put the archers off their aim. arrows whistled past his head. Just as he thought he was clear a sharp, stabbing pain shot thru his shoulder and he slumped forward onto the horse's neck He forced himself back to consciousness and sped off into the night.

Bedwyr watched the arrow imbed itself in the shoulder blade of his target. He had time to see the man slump against the horses neck before the figure galloped into the night. He indicated to his comrades to mount their horses and pursue. He knew what the fleeting figure was capable of doing, should he be allowed to escape. Images of the small boy, learning his first charms sprang into his mind. How things had changed. Bedwyr thought back a few hours when he'd burnt his quarry's wife and child alive because they had refused to let go of the past and embrace the future. He felt sorrow for what he had had to do. He could still hear their screams as the flames started to lick the soles of their feet and the screams of agony rose louder and louder until they seemed to consume the very forest itself. The child had died first, his mothers name on his lips as the fire took him. The mother had died moments later, trying to scream curses at him as she too succumbed to the flames. In his old life this would have troubled him for the rest of this life. However his new church was a jealous one and didn't tolerate witchcraft. He just hoped and prayed his old student would see it that way, either in this life or the next.

Ignoring the pain from his wounded shoulder he sped into the night. He had cast a vision charm on the horse so it would not fall or stumble in the darkness. Before he could grieve or think on revenge he had to escape his pursuers, but where. Bedwyr knew all the secret places to hide. Bedwyr himself had founded many of them so he could not go there. He did know of one place he could go. Hopefully Bedwyr would not know of this place as he had only discovered it on his journey back to see his family. Rage, sorrow and unbelief crashed thru him like a bolt of lighting. Quickly he put down his feelings, he dare not succumb to them, yet. When he was safe he would allow himself to mourn, and after the mourning would come such revenge that even the gods themselves would tremble at his wrath!

He awoke, he knew not where or when, but from the sun shining bright, dazzling rays thru an open window he knew it must be sometime after noon. His vision was still blurred somewhat but he could make out the shape of a room, a table to one side and sitting, on a what looked like a wooden stool was the figure of a woman. He tried to move to get a better view but a stabbing pain shot thru his shoulder and he cried out in pain.

"You rest easy now, Myrddin. I've put some healing balm on your wound, it will stop it rotting," the woman's voice was comforting, like his mothers was when he was young.

His vision cleared and he saw that the room looked like the bedroom of an inn. How did he get here!

"It's alright. You are with friends now. They won't find you here," again the woman tried to comfort him. By the looks of her she was forty years old. Her face was wizened and deep lines creased out from a pair of deep brown eyes. Her graying hair had been tied back and by her tanned complexion he worked out she had worked on the land for some years.

"Who are you? Where am I? How do know my name?" He demanded.

"My name is Brigid, you are in my husband's inn at Eyam. We know your name because of who came looking for you."

Myrddin eyes opened wide in fear, "Bedwyr!"

Brigid nodded, "That was the name. He came visiting the village with ten of those dark monks of his. Offered five gold coins to anyone who knew where you were."

"You didn't..," Myrddin started.

"Fear not. No money is worth a man's life. My husband found you, on near the stone circle two days ago. Figured you'd tried to use it to heal yourself. We heard what had been done to that woman and child near the ring cairn. Old Cai found them yesterday morning. He saw the crows swooping and circling above the wood. Thought he'd take a look and found em. Been burned alive by the looks of em he said."

Myrddin glanced away in sorrow, "My wife and son," he whispered.

Brigid gave him a look of sympathy, "Thought as much. We didn't much like the look of that Bedwyr when he came looking for ya. We though you might need some help. It's not our way to give away strangers, no matter who is looking for them."

Myrddin managed a smile, "That I do," he silently thanked the gods he would live another day.

"Rest now, "Brigid said softly and suddenly he felt as though a stupor had come over him. He closed his eyes and slept.

Myrddin awoke to find it almost dusk. The flickering light of a candle gave just enough light for him to see by. He tried to sit up and much to his surprise his shoulder felt much better.

The door opened and Brigid walked in, carrying a large wooden bowl of what looked to be lamb broth, "You looked as though you could do with some of this," she smiled and gave him the bowl.

Myrddin ate one spoonful of the thick meat and vegetable stew and soon devoured the rest. He didn't realize he had been so hungry, "How long was I asleep?," he asked, handing the empty bowl back to Brigid.

"Two weeks."

"That long!"

"Your wound was bad, had it not been for my mothers healing balm you

would have died,"

Myrddin shuffled upright on his straw mattress, the pain in his shoulder had all but gone and only a nagging ache remained. "I am in your dept. What can I give you in return?"

"Nothing is required. A man who has lost so much, needs to give nothing in return."

Images of his wife and son, hanging on that scaffold and of the flames burning away their charred flesh hit him anew. For the first time in weeks he allowed himself to cry for them. Brigid seeing his pain and anguish sat down beside him and put his head to her ample bosom. She knew this had to be cried away.

Myrddin found that it gave him small comfort to release his dark despair to an almost total stranger. Mixed in with his grief was a fury that seemed to grow inside him. Bedwyr would pay for what he had done, those with Bedwyr would pay and in spite of all their kindness the entire world would know what it was like to feel the pain he felt now, "they will pay, the whole world will pay," he sobbed.

A few days later Myrddin gave Brigid and Cai a fond farewell. He owed them much and their hospitality would not be forgotten or remain un-rewarded. The last the few days he had spent in almost isolation, trying to come to terms with his loss and his betrayal. In talking with Cai and Brigid he knew where he was going to go. It was many days ride to the south but the marshes around Ely gave perfect refuge. No one, but a few locals knew their way thru the treacherous marsh and bog of that area and but a few generations or so ago Hereward the wake had held out for years, using the marshes as an impenetrable fortress against the Norman invader. Only the traitorous monks of Ely caused his downfall, or so the legend went. Now, it was the ultimate place of sanctuary for those who did not wish to be found. Of course scum and villainy was rife, but he hoped his status as one of the grand mages of the north would hold him in some regard. Bedwyr and his kind, the dark monks would not be able to find him there. He hoped that by now, the trail had gone cold and so he would be left in peace. The peace he needed to avenge his family and ensure the world would never forget the name Myrddin.

Ten years later.

 

Myrddin sat on his basic wooden stool and studied the manuscript in front of him. He glanced out of the window and saw a landscape of dark, almost black marsh and of miles upon miles of desolated barren beauty. The scenery was dominated by the sky, which seemed to go on forever and now, as the sun set it was alight with gashes of orange, yellow color. As though the sky itself was on fire. He had never got used to this places savage climate, as with no hill or valley to stop it, the wind would blow with an icy ferocity for most months of the year. That suited him perfectly. The climate and scenery outside matched how he felt inside himself, empty, cold and devastated. No one had come looking for him in this place, Bedwyr must think he was dead, or that even he was afraid to cross this most dangerous of places.

Ten years had passed, slowly and inexorably but he had quickly gained the local's trust and in some cases friendship by acting as healer and soothsayer to his local village. It had taken three years of study to decide what he needed to do, in order to avenge his family upon an evil world. Bedwyr's new holy book had been right about one thing. Mankind was inherently evil and needed to be brought back into line. Even this Christ who he had read about said that, but had gone about it in the wrong way. True power and true victory came from strength and fury, not the giving freely of oneself. He, Myrddin saw this clearly, and had used it to identify what he needed.

Six years ago he had met an escaped prisoner from the crusades and this follower of the God 'Allah' who had told him of the wondrous treasures and artifacts that had been found in the ruins of the cities of the Jews. The man, called Osman had belonged to a secret Guild of assassins, who would perform any task, if the price were right. Within a few months the men had become firm friends and Osman promised that he would return with the artifact that Myrddin sought.

Now, a messenger from the next village had told him that Osman had returned and bought with him a large wooden crate. At long last, the tool of his revenge was at hand. Osman was less than a day away and after tomorrow it would not matter if he lived or died.

The next morning was the strangest once Myrddin could ever remember. Although it was nearly noon the darkness had only just begun to brighten and the usual squawking of the gulls and birds could not be heard. He heard the sound of several horses drawing to the outside of his house. There was a loud knocking on the door and a loud, brash foreign sounding voice boomed, "Myrddin. Open up I have it!"

Myrddin leapt up of his chair, his pulse racing in anticipation, "Osman, old friend!" he called and flung the door open.

Osman stood there, soaking wet and muddy from the journey, but his face was smiling in triumph. Myrddin looked over his shoulder and saw six bearers lifting a large and heavy looking crate from the cart. "Please come in, and your bearers too. You must be frozen. Tell me all about it," Myrddin beamed.

It took a few minutes for the crate to be lifted into Myrddin's house and during that time Myrddin took the opportunity to throw a few more logs on the fire that had been smoldering for most of the night. He also put some vegetable soup he had prepared earlier, on to reheat. Osman walked in, closed the door and gave his friend a large hug, "Allah be praised. We were successful!"

Handing Osman and his porters a fresh bowl of soup Myrddin sat down on the floor, near to the fire and beckoned Osman to tell all.

Osman took a sip of soup and started to talk, "It was just where you thought it would be. We followed the path of the river Tigris until it met the River Euphrates and then headed east. It took us many years of searching but, in what looked like an abandoned plantation we found a large black granite slab. It looked as though it was covering something but it was like solid rock. We spent over a year, digging our way thru it so thick was it! We would have given up, but we knew this was the right place, something told us it was! In the end we came upon a dark cavern. I have seen nothing like it. Every torch we lit was snuffed out almost right away so we had to work in almost pitch darkness. We lost ten men inside that dark pit. Four of them accidentally brushed the side of the object and were instantly turned to fire and sulfur. You told us not to touch the object, but even we did not expect the ark of the covenant to have this effect."

Myrddin gave Osman a smile and then a nod, "I'm afraid I misled you a little old friend."

Osman gave Myrddin a look of suspicion. "Then, what in Allah's name did we bring you? We almost had a mutiny on board every ship we took it on. Where it not for my Guild companions the Ark would be at the bottom of sea."

Myrddin breathed out, "From my studies of Bedwyr's holy book I found out several things. I told you about the Ark of the covenant and how it held the ten commandment's given to Moses. It was also used as a totem in battle, and was said to represent the one God's power on Earth. Those who stole it had plagues and curses bought upon them until they gave it back."

"Yes, the Koran speaks of such an object. It also says the ark was covered in gold. The object we found is as black as the night."

Myrddin smiled at Osman, "Then you DID find it! There is a theory among the little Christ's that everything the one God creates, his archenemy Lucifer counterfeits. I reasoned that if the one God had created this all powerful ark then Lucifer would have done the same. The ark you uncovered is Lucifer's not the one God's!"

Osman was shocked to the core of his being, "What!. I suspected it was evil, but this!"

"The world is an evil place, it deserves nothing less than the ultimate evil unleashed upon it. My friend and mentor allowed my wife and son to be burned alive. What kind of a world allows that to happen, my gods did not watch over them, so they deserve to be punished. The Book of the one god is right; mankind is evil and deserves to face a greater evil."

Osman's face shot his friend a look of fear and of betrayal, "Myrddin. What are you talking about?"

"Osman, You know how they burned my wife and child while they were still alive. You remember how I told you that I found their charred bodies still hanging from the gallows where they had been murdered and how I barely escaped with my life. The anger and desire for revenge grew inside me year after year until I knew what must be done. I will unleash such a blight on mankind that they will suffer for all eternity. You, my friend have given me the power to do it."

Osman's heart sank. What had he done! He had thought Myrddin had wanted the ark to benefit all mankind, that he had wanted atone for all the evil thoughts he had had over the years. How wrong he was. He tried to stand, to draw his sword but found he could not. He glanced towards his men and saw them clutching their stomachs in pain, moments later a hammer blow of pain struck him, "What..." he managed to croak.

"Don't worry old friend. The potion I put in you soup will soon relieve you of you life. I hope your God is merciful You have done well," Myrddin glanced down at Osman now writhing in pain on the floor.

Happy that things were progressing well Myrddin turned his attention to the night black ark. He walked closer to it and saw strange writing inscribed in what looked like gold on the lid and on the sides. Before he could use it, he would have to translate the writings. His thoughts were interrupted by the cries of the dying men around him. He would have to wait until they had passed on before looking at the ark again.

A sudden draught of air made him whirl around and he saw that the door was open, he glanced around the room and discovered to his shock that Osman was missing. He must have escaped!

Myrddin gave a wry smile. It really didn't matter too much. Osman was dying and would never make it out of the marshes alive, besides it would save him the trouble of buying another body. By now the moans had subsided and Osman's men were still. The poison had worked well, better than expected.

Not waiting to dispose of the bodies, Myrddin turned his attention back to the ark. He knew better than to touch the ark itself. If the ark of the one god was deadly to the touch then who knew what effect the ark of Lucifer would have? He ached to open it up and look inside, but again his natural caution took over. It was likely to have traps and safeguards to stop the unwary or foolish, and Myrddin was no fool. He would wait and he would study.

Days flew by and little by little Myrddin managed to translate what was said on the side of the ark. It seemed odd to him that he managed to translate so easily. It was as if someone wanted him to read what was said on the outside. He had taken the time to write down and record everything he had discovered. It helped him to remember.

On the left hand side of the ark was written. "All praise and glory to the light bringer, true ruler of all creation," on one end "The secrets to all life and knowledge are within".

Underneath these proclamations were inscribed instructions on how to open the ark. He had to fashion poles of the purest yew and slide them into small holes each side of the lid, and then lift. Anything else would kill him. He glanced to the corner of the room, where two finest yew poles lay. The village carpenter had delivered them just this morning.

He turned his attention to the inscriptions nearest too him "Honor goes to the

prince of the air, for he has freed all mankind from the yoke of the Most

High"

Underneath that in small, precise writing was written something that he could not quite make out. He could see the word 'curse' but not much else. He sighed. It would have to wait until the morrow. He had been at this for hours. He thought on the word 'curse', yes it seemed as though he was very close indeed.

Part of him, a small diminishing part of him told him to stop what he was doing. He thought of Brigid, who had saved his life so many years ago. The times he had shared with his wife and son came into mind. Would they be proud of him for what he was about to do? Did they want him to unleash such power on an unsuspecting world?

He settled down to rest and was soon fast asleep.

He awoke the next morning after having the most vivid dream of his life. He rushed to his work desk and wrote down the details as best as he could remember.

He was visited in his dream by a being of such radiant beauty that he could not find the words to describe it. Jewels of every description encrusted the beings shining golden cloak and robes. He only saw a brief glimpse of the beings face and it was beyond beautiful.

"Who are you? Are you the one god?" He remembered saying.

"You can call me light bringer, my child," the beings voice was sweater than any he had ever heard.

"Have you come for your ark?"

"Not yet, what do you want?" Light Bringer asked.

"I want justice," Myrddin scribbled down the words, remembering feeling his pulse race in anticipation.

Light bringer pointed a ringed finger at Myrddin and instantly Myddin found himself staring again at the charred remains of his family.

Myrddin paused, his quill needing fresh ink. The images was fresh in his mind. Memories he had suppressed for over ten years came to the fore. He tipped his quill in the ink and continued to write.

"I too seek justice. Open my ark and receive your justice," light bringer stated.

"It was you, you showed me how to read the writing on the side," Myrddin wrote down, still remembering the triumph he felt inside.

Light bringer simply said, "Yes."

"What will it do? I know it will bring curses on the world, but I do not know what."

Myrddin could feel light bringer smile, a triumphant smiled, "It will bring a curse such as mankind has never seen. It is a living curse, one that will grow, think and change for all eternity."

Myrddin liked the sound of that. At last his wife and child would be avenged.

Mryddin finished writing and walked over to the ark. The inscription that had defeated him yesterday was now clear. He read it out loud to himself, "Woe to you, who defies the light bringer, woe to those who do not eat from the tree of life, woe to whole of creation, for the curse is at hand."

Myddrin smiled, now was as good a time as any. He walked over to the far corner and picked up the two yew poles. He located the holes in the black marble lid and slid the pole in. He was surprised at how easily it fitted in. The second and last pole slid in just as smoothly.

Suddenly there was a loud knock at the door and a loud voice called out, "Myddin open up."

Myrddin took a step back in shock, Bedwyr. How had he found him?

There was a loud crash and Bedwyr burst in, followed by ten armed men.

Another man accompanied him; it was Osman!

"Thank the lord we are not too late," Bedwyr breathed and glanced at the still shut ark.

"Bedwyr, Osman, How!" Myrddin shouted. He would not be foiled, not now!

"Take him," Bedwyr ordered his men.

Bedwyr's men rushed at Myrddin who bolted around the other side of the ark.

Myrddin grabbed both poles and shouted, "Stay or i'll open it."

Bedwyr screamed "STOP!" to his men who froze.

"You should be dead," Myrddin called out to Osman.

"Normally yes, but you will find that we of the Guild have many talents, of

which survival is the greatest. I only took one mouthful of your soup and it

was nearly enough to kill me. I knew you must be stopped and summoned

Bedwyr. Old friend, please do not do this. Think of those who have helped

you. Does the world deserve such a thing as you want to do"

"How do you know what opening this will do? The light bringer himself has told me, told me that I will get justice."

Sensing things were getting desperate, Bedwyr pleaded, "We do not know the specifics but do you want mankind to be blighted for all eternity? Surely those unborn do not deserve that."

"Like my son deserved his fate? Like my wife," Myrddin sneered.

"That was long ago. I was wrong Myrddin, I was so wrong. I thought you dead. For the sake of our friendship and our future please forgive me. The one God has, so please forgive me," Bedwyr pleaded.

Myrddin noticed the tears in Bedwyr's eyes, there was no doubt he was sincere. He tightened his grip on the yew poles, "You God may have forgiven you, you killed them in his name. You showed them no mercy, neither shall I you."

Myrddin shoved with all his might and the lid came loose. At the same time he felt an almighty searing pain in his chest and looked down to see Bedwyr's sword jutting from his chest. Still hanging onto the poles he collapsed onto the floor, dragging the lid off as he fell.

"NOOO!" Bedwyr screamed as all of a sudden a mighty wind, blew open all the doors of the house and seemed to shake the house to its very foundations.

From the now open Ark, rays of black light erupted from the inside, and a loud peel of thunder shook the whole house. The black light punched holes in the roof, letting the daylight stream in. Seconds later the light was extinguished, plummeting the room into near darkness.

Tormented screams of thousands of voices filled the air, deafening all in the room. The ark started to glow orange and red as molten, red-hot magma started to pour out of the now opened inside. Bedwyr was almost shook off his feet as the ground seem to heave an shake beneath him.

"Quick we must close it, before its too late!" Bedwyr shouted above the screams and the wind.

One of Bedwyr's men tried to pick up the lid but slipped and he just touched the exposed black marble. There was a bright flash of fire and smell of sulfur and the man was instantly turned to ash.

Pressing against the wind Bedwyr and Osman managed to grab hold of the yew poles and lift the lid back onto the top of the casket. The heat from the magma was becoming unbearable as they moved it back into place. Summoning all their strength of will and might they were slowly moving it back in place.

All of a sudden dark shapes, hideous in nature erupted from between the gaps and flew up out of the holes in the roof, screaming insults and curses as they flew, firstly around the room. With a final scream of anger and fury they flew thru the holes in the roof.

"Nearly," Bedwyr breathed. The demons that had escaped just now would cause untold havoc, but his fear told him something more malevolent was still inside.

The lid was nearly back in place when a black scaly clawed hand reached up out of the ark and pushed it off again. The creature, if it was a creature gave a loud scream, as though in triumph and rose into the air. Bedwyr only caught a glimpse of its face but for the rest of his life he would have nightmares. It was though all the pain, hatred and sorrow of the world had been given a face. Quickly lifting the lid back into place, he and Osman managed to close the ark once more.

The creature turned to Bedwyr and smiled, it was all Bedwyr could do to look away. In his mind images from his past assaulted him, everything he had done wrong in the past was as though it had happened that second. Somehow he found the strength to push it to one side. He had only one chance now. He alone did not have the faith or power to banish the creature, but maybe he could bind it until someone came who could. "I bind you!" he shouted.

The creature gave a loud laugh and the screams of pain and horror continued to attack everyone in the room. One of Bedwyr's men tried to slash at the creature with his sword and to Bedwyr's horror the sword passed right thru the creature. How could it be so solid and yet the sword had passed thru it, as though slashing at air? The creature breathed a yellow, sulfurous gas over its attacker and the man shouted in pain.

Bedwyr looked on as the man's body seemed to twist and flow. In a blinding series of light and fire the man's body seemed to take on the forms of animals, men, women and mixtures in between. Moments later in a bright flash of fire and lighting that was so bright Bedwyr had to shield his eyes, the man had turned to ash.

The creature started to rise, as though to escape from the house.

"I bind you in the name of the risen Christ!" Bedwyr shouted, "Men, Do not

look at its face, cover your eyes! God will give you the power. In the name of

Christ you are BOUND!" Bedwyr shouted at the creature once more

The creature gave a loud howl, as though in pain and stopped its ascent.

Taking encouragement from Bedwyr, his men repeated Bedwyr chant.

The creature tried to crash its way thru the thatched roof but was seemingly held back by an invisible force. Bedwyr kept chanting, trying to remember his exorcism mantras. The creature must not be allowed to escape.

The creature turned its attention to its assailants and stretched out its clawed hand. Blood red beams of light spat out from its hand and struck another of Bedwyr's men. The man glowed red, then yellow and then in split second of melting bone and flesh vanished.

For the first time fear gripped Bedwyr. Could nothing stop this creature from the pits of hell! He had already lost three men to it, and although it must be weak from being imprisoned for so long and the exorcism mantra's were starting to work he didn't know how long he could hold out for. "Lord help us!" Bedwyr called out loud. For a moment he was tempted to fall back on his old arts, but nothing he could think of would be of any use against such a terror. For the first time in his life he felt out of his depth.

Osman had drawn his sword and was about to attack the creature when Bedwyr screamed at him to get back. The warning was just in time as the creature was about to fire another fiery bolt at Osman.

Osman managed to dive out of the way as the bolt flew past his head and with a loud crash caused a large section of wall to explode. The wall then caught on fire, which was quickly spreading outwards.

Thankful of at least a little light a thought struck Bedwyr. He had heard of swords being blessed by wise men and prophets before, that by doing so they had gained power beyond their strength. It had to be worth a try now. He ran to help Osman up, "Give me your sword."

"You saw what happened," Osman breathed.

"Give it to me," Bedwyr demanded.

Reluctantly Osman gave Bedwyr his curved scimitar.

All he needed was a few moments, Bedwyr called "Men Pray! Pray like you've never done before!" He was already three men down; he just hoped the spiritual assault would be enough to quell the creature while he carried out his idea.

Bedwyr's plea seemed to lift the prayers and chants of his men and the creature seemed to be fighting against invisible chains once more.

Bedwyr held Osman's scimitar in front of him and prayed, "Most high God, grant us your protection in our darkest hour. Let you word and power fall over us."

The creature gave a loud cry of pain and in spite of its efforts to escape sank a little lower to the ground.

Bedwyr continued to bless the scimitar he held in front of him, "Most high fill me with your power, equip my arm with your might and wash this sword in your holy blood." To Bedwyr's amazement, the tip of Osman's scimitar began to bleed. Within moments the blade was covered in deep, arterial blood. Bedwyr went to touch the blood that now covered the entire curved blade of the scimitar but just before he could touch it the blood vanished, leaving the gleaming metal of the sword once more.

The creature cried a scream of rage and Bedwyr saw it reach out its claw once more. Bedwyr stood his ground and held the scimitar, so that its blade was facing the creature. Bedwyr managed to just see the bolt of red fire spit from the creature's outstretched claw. The bolt struck the sword and ricocheted off the blade, knocking Bedwyr of his feet and throwing him back several feet. The bolt had struck the edge of the roof, setting the thatch and wall ablaze.

Bedwyr stood up, still holding the sword upright, "Behind me men," he called and moved into the attack.

He lunged at the creature's chest but it side-stepped and started to breath its deadly, sulfurous breath at him. As if working on its own his arm brought the scimitar down and seemed to scythe thru the gas, dissipating it as it went. Again, as though being worked by someone else, the scimitar slashed upwards and Bedwyr felt it dig into the flesh of the creature.

With a howl of pain the creature, readied another attack. Bedwyr noticed that his blow had cut a gash several inches long in the belly of the creature. It was oozing thick black liquid that was slowly congealing and healing itself.

Another fiery red bolt was fired from the creature, and the scimitar seemed to catch it and deflect it harmlessly out of a hole in the roof.

Bedwyr moved closer in, the prayers and chants of his men behind him and the knowledge that at last; he seemed to have a weapon that was of use gave him courage.

Again, as soon as he neared the creature his arms felt guided where and how to attack. The creature took a swipe at him with its massive clawed fist but somehow the sword parried the blow and again he felt the blade dig into its flesh. He looked up and saw the creature's hand, almost severed and bleeding black tar like ooze onto the floor. Wherever the tar landed was instantly melted into a glowing red pool of magma.

A loud crash diverted Bedwyr's attention for a split second. A beam that had caught on fire had now burned thru. So busy was he fighting against the creature he had forgotten about the house, which once on fire in a few small places was now threatening to become a full scale blaze.

By now the creature was starting to weaken. The last assault by Bedwyr and his companions seemed to have taken its toll. Although its clawed hand had partially healed Bedwyr could still see dark, reddish flesh inside a huge gash. The creature was struggling now, as though being bound up in chains. Still chanting Bedwyr saw to his relief that it was slowly sinking to the floor.

'That's it. Get back to the abyss where you belong', Bedwyr thought as he struggled against the wails of pain, now coming from the creature itself. As soon as the creatures scaled and clawed foot touched the floor there was a tremendous Crack, like thunder and the ground seemed up open up beneath it. With the sound of splitting rock a fissure formed in the floor and in the dimness of the room it seemed to go down forever.

Again the power or whatever had been guiding Bedwyr's arm took control of him and he threw the scimitar at the creature's chest. Bedwyr looked on in amazement as the sword seem to change direction in mid air and avoided being swatted out of the way by the creatures good arm. The creature gave an almighty roar of pain as the scimitar sank deep in its chest. Still struggling and screaming against the force that was trying to send it into the chasm below it pulled at the sword, but every time it tried to grab it, the creature would call out in great pain.

Inch by inch the creature was being dragged down into the opened pit. It was now up to its chest and was scrabbling for grip on the walls of the crevice that had opened up. Anger built up inside Bedwyr. It wasn't anger born from any human emotion, more like a feeling of being defiled, as if this creature had no place being created in the first place. "To me, sword!" Bedwyr called out and from the creatures chest the sword flew back to Bedwyr's outstretched hand.

Pointing the sword at the creature Bedwyr imagined the anger and outrage he

felt being channeled thru the blade of the sword and out of the tip. He just

had chance to see a massive white beam of light erupt from the tip of the

sword and pierce the exposed chest of the creature. The beam punched thru

the creature's body and the ground shook as it struck the floor. Moment's later

Bedwyr was blown several feet backward under the force of the beam. When

Bedwyr managed to open his eyes he just caught the creatures head sinking

into the deep crevice. With a final roar of outrage, fury and pain the creature

was gone

The darkness that swept over the room so quickly vanished, and daylight shone in thru multiple holes in the room. The screams and fire went as soon as they had come and even the deep chasm had sealed up without leaving a mark. Bedwyr looked around him.

To his amazement all the fires had been extinguished and the walls showed no signs of the massive holes that been punched in them. The room however was a mess, the wind had knocked over almost every item of furniture, several terracotta plates, bowls and tankards had also been shattered. Bedwyr walked over to the Myrddin's dead body and pulled his sword from Myrddin's bloodied chest. Bedwyr looked at Osman in deep sadness.

"Why so sad? The creature is gone." Osman asked.

Bedwyr looked around him and shook his head, "It is bound and defeated, but not gone forever. We did not kill it, it was weakened from its long imprisonment. If it emerges again I do not think we will defeat it so easily."

Osman glanced down at the floor where the creature had gone to, "It will come back?" Easily! Bedwyr thought that the battle was easy! He thought.

Osman secretly hoped he wouldn't be around to witness it again

Bedwyr nodded. "We've have bought ourselves time, time to study how to defeat it and time to work out how to prevent the blight from falling upon us. Here take this," and gave Osman his sword back.

"What did you do to my sword, that was the turning point," Osman asked and examined his scimitar. It showed no signs of the battle and looked exactly the same as it ever had done.

"I called upon the one God to give us a weapon to fight this creature with. It appears as though he heard our plea."

Bedwyr turned to his men, "Thank you my brothers. Your courage and faith made the difference."

Osman thought back to Bedwyr's words a few moments ago, "How long have we got?" Osman asked tentatively.

Bedwyr shrugged, "Who knows. When the world's evil has spread too far.

When the end times are near it will emerge, if we do not move to stop it now.

As the world's evil grows, so shall its power of that I have no doubt."

"Why have all the fires gone, and the walls repaired," Osman asked in amazement.

"That I do not know. Only that I am glad they have. Come we will collect Myrddin's notes and we will send for a cart to move that," Bedwyr pointed at the black ark, "To a place where it can do no more harm. I will then embark to Rome to plea to his holiness to give me the scholars we require to prevent the creatures release once more. Come my friends we have much to do!"

In a place that no light had ever shone, no ray of sunshine had ever permeated down; the curse struggled against its chains. It would wait until its strength grew and it could emerge once more. The one who bound it was wrong. It had not been defeated, nor made powerless, instead of lying dormant and conquered, it would seethe for a thousand years.

-- oo -- oo --

 

"In the latter part of the twentieth century 'the age of enlightenment' was seen as the triumph of science over superstition. In the first years of the twenty first century, 'the age of enlightenment' was now seen as the death of hope and the shattering of dreams; for the curse had returned, and all knowledge on how to prevent it had been lost in the mists of time."

Excerpt from "The Origins of the curse' By Prof Richard nee Jane Andrews,

Chair Magic Studies, MIT. ISBN 353245543

 

Eight hundred and thirty one years later.

 

"Right, your money NOW!" The mugger shouted at the helpless woman and thrust his knife closer to her jugular vein.

"Pl.. Please don't hurt me," the woman whimpered and beckoned for the mugger to take her purse.

"Oh no I won't hurt you. You're much too cute to hurt," the mugger sneered.

Fear rippled thru the woman, like an icy cold shiver. She felt the muggers hand run up her skirt and she recoiled in horror as he felt her touch her pussy. She tried to scream but the sound didn't come.

Deep inside a place where no light had ever shone, no ray of sunshine had ever permeated down the curse pulsed with the power of the evil and corruption that had been feeding it, healing it, growing it for the past eight hundred years. He felt the mugger's pleasure in raping the woman and with a last push the chains that had held it captive snapped. Finally after centuries of torment it was free and more powerful than it could ever remember.

The curse had come upon the world.

-- oo -- oo --

 

"Everyone can remember where they were when the curse first struck. In the wink of an eye three million people, worldwide were changed on the first day alone. Of course these numbers seem almost trivial now. At first there was confusion, then panic set in. As the numbers grew from three million, to eight million to sixty million there was hardly a man, woman or child on the face of the planet who didn't think that the end of the world had come upon us."

Excerpt from "The Origins of the curse' By Prof Richard nee Jane Andrews,

Chair Magic Studies, MIT. ISBN 353245543

 

 

Curse +724 Days Pat's Story - Sugar Mice

 

I picked up my guitar from where it lay and packed it in its battered plastic case. I was just about to jam shut the lid when my eye caught the capo, lying just under the bed. I retrieved it and put it around the neck of the guitar. After grappling to get the clips on the case shut I picked it up, blew a kiss to the photo of my ex wife and closed the door. I had gone as far as the stairs when I remembered I'd forgotten to take my antibiotics. The last thing I needed now was the plague. I dashed back inside, poured myself a glass of water and rummaged around in a kitchen drawer for my bottle of antibiotics. A few moments later I'd swallowed two little white pills and dashed back out again.

I had ten minutes to walk to the coffee house where I was employed as 'the live music', it was loads of time even in the dreary wet November day. What in hell was I doing in New York, four thousand miles away from home and scratching a living by playing in second rate coffee bars? It wasn't as though many people came out anymore.

Only three years ago the streets of New York had been crowded to the point on claustrophobia, now two years after the plague had struck their numbers had thinned to a third of what they had been. Fear ruled the streets of New York, just as it did in LA, Lisbon or London. Still, live goes on, people need to eat, drink and meet and that's where I fit in. I'm the 'entertainment'.

It's odd how things change, only six months ago I was successful lawyer, on the verge of partnership in a small firm in Iowa. Then the partners caught the plague and the firm closed overnight. It's then that my wife announced she was leaving me, for no good reason it seemed. Just that 'we had grown apart' and she needed some space. I tried my damndest to get her back, but she didn't want to see me. No job, no wife and no home. So that was it, my life was fucked. .

A warning shout bought me back in to reality. The people in front of me had scattered in all directions, as though fleeing from something. I didn't see what the problem was straightaway but walking, no stumbling towards me was a man, well a wino really. What made people run in terror was the man's face. Half of it was that of a young Asian woman with long dark hair. The other half, as though split down the middle, was that of a sixty year old man. FUCK, Plague!!

I sprinted out of the man's path. Why in hell wasn't he in a camp? He knew the rules, everyone did! I dived into an alleyway, and far enough out of the way so as not to get anywhere near him. I waited for a few minutes before venturing out again. Man, that was close!

The rest of my trip to 'Joey's coffee house' was uneventful. I opened the glass plated door, disinfected my hands in the supplied sink near the door and walked inside. As per usual the place was nearly empty. I have no idea how Joey manages to make enough money to keep it open. Oh well, I guess that's his problem.

"Hey Pat. Thought the plague'd got ya," Joey's heavy Bronx accent called out to me from across the room.

"Nearly did. Some dumb wino walking out in broad daylight," I replied. I placed the guitar case on a vacant table, and took out my guitar.

"Where is everyone?" I asked. Usually there were a few people just stopping in for a coffee and bagel before work. This morning Joey had only about ten customers.

Joey looked at me with a look that summed up how he felt about his business slowly going down the pan. He wasn't alone, just about everyone's business was going down the pan. It's hard for anyone to make money when people are afraid to leave their homes, "You gonna talk or do what I pay ya for?" Joey commented.

I shrugged. I hope Joey wasn't expecting me to sing anything light hearted first thing. I picked up my guitar and gave it a quick tune. I was about to start on a rendition of 'I don't like Monday's' by the Boomtown rats, but I thought back to the wino I'd seen a few minutes before. My running from him was a natural reaction but I felt sorry for him. It wasn't his fault he had the plague. It wasn't anyone's. Was he and myself so dissimilar? His life had fallen apart, just like mine had. Soon he'd wind up in a camp, cut off from the rest of society until he was given a clean bill of health and who knows how long that would be. I'd been thrown out of my home too. I smiled to myself, 'this is song for both of us". Adjusting the guitar on my lap I started to sing.

"I was flicking through the channels on the TV

On a Sunday in Milwaukee in the rain

Trying to piece together conversations

Trying to find out where to lay the blame

But when it comes right down to it there's no use trying to pretend

For when it gets right down to it there's no one here that's left to

blame

 

Blame it on me, you can blame it on me

We're just sugar mice in the rain

 

I heard Sinatra calling me through the floorboards

Where you pay a quarter for a partnership in rhyme

To the jukebox crying in the corner

While the waitress is counting out the time

 

For when it comes right down to it there's no use trying to pretend

For when it gets right down to it there's no one really left to blame

Blame it on me, you can blame it on me

We're just sugar mice in the rain"

 

 

 

Curse +730 Days Maki's story - Homesick

 

God, I hate America. Why in hell did my parents insist on sending me to this dumb ass college in LA? Today was turning out to be a pretty crappy day, as usual! Not only did I have double European history I also had to put up with Dr Sellick all afternoon. At the start of the year I was so excited to be on a student exchange to America but now I'm regretting every moment of it. Because of this damn plague I have to disinfect everything, take antibiotics and all kinds of stuff. Why can't they take a more liberal attitude like my native Japan does? Sometimes being a fatalist has its advantages.

Actually I'm surprised they let me out of the country at all, but I showed clear on all the tests so they couldn't stop me. I guess I'm not enjoying it, is because I'm missing my family so much. My dad said a little independence would do me good, before I join his corporation. I want to do archaeology, not sit at some desk and slowly watch the stock markets crash. We compromised, I would study what I want and then would go and work for him. Some compromise!

Yawning loudly, I got up and ran the shower for a few minutes. It always started off with ice cold water so it was best to leave it to slowly heat up above freezing. Like every good citizen it was my first duty to check myself for signs of plague. It was a daily ritual of checking hair color and texture, skin tone and height. Every day bought the same feeling of trepidation and fear. Did I have the plague? Was I going to stay as I'm supposed to be for one more day? Will I be dragged off to a camp, never to be let out again? Being satisfied that everything was as they were supposed to be I stepped in the shower, ready to start the new day.

 

 

Curse +733 Days Matthew's story - From the front line.

 

 

I adjusted my bra, trying to get used to the feeling of being constrained and bound up. It had been three months since I had woken up, with long dark black hair, deep brown eyes and Mediterranean skin color. I remember being sick in my stomach, as I knew what was coming. Over the next few days I was going to change from a normal 40 year old man, into a woman with God know what traits. I had the plague.

I made a call to CNN, and told them the news. As someone with the plague I wouldn't be allowed to mix with 'normals' in case I infected them. But who in hell had infected me? I guess it didn't matter anymore. My career as a reporter was over and I was going to be sent to a quarantine camp for the good of society. Too late to protest, too late to do anything, martial law was martial law.

It seems so long ago now, that I was collected by the army, put into a hermetically sealed coach and driven to the Nevada desert for internment into Camp Anderson. I remember seeing the miles upon miles of barbed wire, minefields and other such devices to keep people in. Before I caught the plague I thought such camps were a good idea, now being interned in one my views are to the opposite extreme. But more on that in my weekly report later on today.

As I put on my black lace panties I again couldn't help but look at myself. Five four, with dark olive skin, and medium sized breasts. Well so I'm told anyway. My nose is a little large and my face a little too angular to be truly beautiful, but the key thing is I'm now female and hating it.

I slipped on my dark black skirt and rounded it off with a grunge style top. My arm still aches from the tattoo I'd had put on just the day before. I still don't know why I had it done, just that I felt as though I had to. Rather like a smoker has to have a cigarette after a meal. I checked the clock on the makeshift table in the corner of my room. It was nearly time to put the finishing touches to the re-write of my first report.

 

 

Curse +732 Days The Directors story - Pride And Prejudice

 

I had to work hard to suppress my feelings of frustration, as I clicked the remote to bring up the next PowerPoint slide.

"Mr President, Senators. As you can see from the trend analysis in Alabama the number of cases have declined for the third month running. This trend is echoed in California, New Jersey and six other states."

From the corner of my eye I caught the respective senators from those states breathe a sigh of relief. I clicked for the next slide and continued, "My counterparts in Britain, China, South Africa, and Australia all indicate that the plague is slowly burning itself out. The largest drop off is in Iran and Libya."

"Director?" the president asked.

"Yes Mr President," here it comes I thought.

"Do we still have any ideas as to the cause and method of infection," the president asked.

I saw the veiled meaning behind the question. No matter how he phrased it, every month it meant the same. I'm spending billions of dollars trying to combat this thing, I've millions shut away in camps for the protection of the general populace, I declared pretty much martial law for nearly a year and the economy is well and truly fucked. Give me some good news. I shook my head, "Not yet Mr President. Of those infected none show any signs of bacteriological or viral infection. They just wake up in the morning changed in some way. The only common factor seems to be close proximity to other plague sufferers. We WILL find out what is causing this."

"Mr Director?" Senator Jameson asked.

'Here we go' I thought, the same old battles with the same old people.

I looked at the overweight, slowly going bald man with as much patience as I could muster, "Yes Senator."

"I don't think I'm alone in this when I say that the decline in cases proves the segregation policy is working. I think we must continue to segregate plague suffers from 'normals' until we know what is causing it, can it be treated and how is it spread."

"Tell that to the two million people we have imprisoned in sixty or so camps around the country," I snapped.

"Reservations Mr Director, they are not camps, they are reservations," The president corrected.

I waved a hand, as though dismissing the point, "Whatever. My point is. We have two million American citizens in trailer parks surrounded by barbed wire and minefields. We have a policy of removing anyone who shows signs of plague to the nearest camp as soon as possible with little attempt to counsel them and the families they leave behind."

Another senator, interrupted, "When the plague first hit, we tried counseling. The numbers were too great and only a few would volunteer to risk infection and help them out. We voted in this very room, that the best people to help them were the people affected themselves."

"That's true." I admitted.

"Who knows what havoc these people will bring if we let them out prematurely, " Senator Jameson added.

There were nods of ascent around the room. I decided on a different tack. Holding my temper in I stated, "Mr President. You are not in control of this country."

"Who the hell is?" the president snapped.

"Fear is. We have millions of people afraid to leave their homes because they

are afraid of what will happen to them. Families stretched to breaking point

because wives don't know if their marriages are going to be over every time

they wake up in the morning. Husbands thinking the same thing about

themselves, their children and their wives. The only way to get back into

control is face the fear and bring those people back in to society where we

can relearn tolerance again. At the moment, fear rules the United States of

America"

Senator Collins, a middle aged man with filmstar looks and slicked back hair nodded his head in agreement, "That is precisely why the reservations must stay in place, at least until we know the full effects and consequences of the plague. People who contract the plague are usually affected mentally as well as physically."

"You mean Geas right?" I added, hoping to drive him off course.

Senator Collins, glanced down and read my definition. He was using my own words against me, dammit, "yes. Strong inclinations towards certain traits or activities while still retaining the full personality and memory of the person afflicted."

"I know what I wrote. Look, most of these Geas are harmless dressing or acting in certain ways. Suddenly becoming a chain smoker when you were a life long non smoker before hand for example."

"But what if they're not, what if someone becomes a murderer or terrorist? We already catalog them, but what about the others they hide from us. I hear of people who can now read minds, see into the near future, hell one person can even swap bodies with someone! What about all those who become less than human because of the plague? All these 'people' can and may well have a catastrophic effect on society if allowed to roam free. They must be examined, registered and in extreme cases, incarcerated for the good of the hundreds of millions of normal Americans like you and I! " Senator Jameson interrupted.

"Look, we have the same arguments every month. Just because the majority are in favor of the cam... reservations policy doesn't mean its right. The people in those reservations are still people, no matter what they look like and they deserve to be released. If it wasn't for the plague control legislation and the fear in the remaining people then you'd have rioting in the streets. We sit here in our sealed offices and carefully controlled environments safe and shut off from the squalor that's happening before our very eyes."

I saw the president's face turn red with anger. I'd pushed too far, "Squalor? We spend sixty million dollars a day on the reservations and I resent your implication that my administration doesn't care a damn for those people. We do. BUT our first duty is to the American people and those people demand that their lives and families are protected."

I felt my blood start to boil. For the next presentation I'd show how in Reservation Anderson there'd been an outbreak of Cholera and Dysentery, how the people in the reservations were basically thrown in and left to fend for themselves and contact with families was restricted to only those who paid the 'establishment' enough. Actually I'd mention it now. It couldn't hurt. I took a deep sigh "Mr President. We have all discussed this again and again, but those people in the reservations are starting to suffer needlessly. We have reported outbreaks of Cholera and Dysentery, corruption and people being denied their basic human rights. I realize that you have appointed separate state organizations, which report to me personally but I need the mandate to run these reservation how I think they should be run, with the respect those people deserve."

"You already have people who do that for you," Senator Jameson interjected.

I nodded, "Yes but I want and require to take personal charge of the situation.

No more red tape, those people need my direct assistance."

The president's face showed that he was mulling it over, after a minute or so he replied, "Agreed. I'll issue an executive order giving you direct control of all the reservations. As to the other matter, I suggest we postpone until we know more. Agreed?"

There was brief show of hands. Motion carried. I hadn't got everything I wanted but it was a good start, in fact it was a damn good start.

 

 

Curse +734 Days Christopher's story - Where It's At

 

I woke up with the biggest hangover of my life, which was odd since I hadn't even been drinking the night before. I felt as though a mad axeman had been smashing his axe into my skull while I was drinking my 20^th large tequila. I struggled to open my eyes, but managed it by a great act of will. Why in hell did I feel so tired?

I waited a few moments before getting up and staggered to the bathroom. My whole body felt as though it had been dropped off a very large building and I hadn't felt this bad since I'd got the flu a year or so back. A feeling of utter dread ran down my spine, and I felt sick. I rushed to the mirror and screamed in horror. Mixed in with my normal short mousy brown hair was a long lock of blonde. It wasn't a lot, just a section about half an inch wide.

I reached up and felt it, hoping to God that it wasn't real, but its texture was way different to my usual hair. It was real and that meant only one thing. I had the plague.

 

 

Curse +729 Days Matthew's story - Freedom of the Press

 

"I'm sorry Matthew, we can't let you broadcast that yet,"

"WHAT!" I heard my feminine voice squeak in outrage,

"It's political dynamite. The government is doing its best to cater for you all, and it can't be seen not to do its job. I know this is your first report and that CNN have asked you cover what conditions are like in the reservations, but this goes too far." the face on the other side of the videoconferencing screen tried to look sympathetic.

"But Governor. People are really starting to suffer. Awareness of their plight

needs to be raised so we can get the resources we need. We're human beings,

who've caught a disease not criminals, terrorists or prisoners of war,"

"My orders come straight from the Director himself. He's seen the tapes and

agrees with me. He's trying his damndest to get you all out of the reservations

and back into society. Do you want to put all that at risk just for the sake of a

story?" I read between the lines and saw the real issue, ' I'm too weak to do

anything about this myself so I passed it upwards'

I flicked back my hair and crossed my legs, even after all these months it still felt odd not to have anything in between my crotch. I thought for a moment, "But this helps his case. You know conditions are deteriorating as the numbers of people rise. Most folks here accept why they are here, but the numbers who want out, at any cost are rising daily."

"Matthew, take it from me the last thing the Director needs is an expose on how bad things are getting."

I was getting annoyed, "You don't know. You oversee this camp but you're not allowed in to look for yourself."

The governor shrugged his shoulders. "I would if I could, you know that!"

"Yeah you've your family to think of. Well haven't we all! I talked to a new internee called Robin this morning. He woke up on his wedding day and found that he'd become a 6ft blonde amazon, then there's Carl. He left a wife with 2 week old twins to come here, so that his wife wouldn't get what he has. The same story is repeated a million fold all across the world. The people who are left NEED to know what's going on. We're not just a black hole the government can just throw people in!"

The Governor gave me a look that said it all, he agreed with me. BUT policy was dictated from above. How could I win him over? "Ok say you did let it all out. What do you expect to happen?"

'That's more like it' I thought, "The people who haven't got the plague will see that we are still people, that they have nothing to fear from us. Once conditions are known they'll petition to get us out. Just like the Vietnam war, media exposure stirred up public opinion and it was that, that stopped the war."

"For a reporter you are remarkably naive. Here's what will happen. People will see what's going on and if they do get the plague they'll go into hiding rather than come to us. They'll hope they can lay low till they've transitioned and then rejoin society. 'Runners' do this anyway but thankfully the checks and penalties we've put in place have cut this figure right down. People would rather come to us and get help than go it alone. Now what if they knew conditions were on the decline. They would trust to luck more than come here. As a result the plague spreads more and we lose valuable data on how to treat it. We cannot afford to have people run and hide. Who knows, maybe the next person in will be the key that unlocks it for us."

The Governor had a point. There must be some middle ground.

"People need to know the truth," I muttered.

"And they will. Thanks to the government sanctioned media blackout being lifted you've got an exclusive inside track. I know you wanted your first broadcast to be something special, but trust me. Tone it down and make it seem less like a refugee camp and more like a mass treatment centre."

I nodded. A few reports had gotten out over the past year or so, but on the whole they were of the one shot headline or small series affairs. "I guess I could take that angle," I admitted.

The Governor nodded in agreement, "I look forward to seeing what you produce."

 

 

Curse +733 Days 09:15 Pat's story - Ever Decreasing Spirals

 

I walked into work again today, guitar strapped to my back and raincoat on. More people were out on the streets today. Whether it was because they had run out of food and needed to restock before retreating back inside or because of the announcement that the plague was at long last getting under control. In a crisis people take whatever good news they can. I felt no good news today. My 'let's try again' letter I'd written to my ex wife a few days back had just been returned. Not known at this address, or so the faded, scrawled writing on the back of the envelope had said. If I had the money I'd pay someone to track her down, I really miss her.

Joey's coffee house was a little busier than yesterday too. Obviously the rain hadn't dampened people's desire for fresh air and coffee. I guess people need to get out sometimes. By nature man is a social creature.

"Hey Pat," Joey called out to me from across the bar.

I waited until I was a little closer, "Hey Joey. Things looking better?" I replied.

"Yeah, best day for weeks. I reckon its because they've got the plague licked," Joey smiled. The defeated look of the past few days had gone, at least for the moment.

"I'm dying for a cappuccino, would you mind getting me one while I set up?"

I asked.

Joey nodded and smiled; "I'll take it outta of your fee."

I smiled back, "You always do."

It took me a few moments to set things up. I used this time to decide what my opening number would be. Usually it was from an event that I'd seen or heard that morning. I gave a smile; I had just the one.

"There's a line on her jeans that a ball-point made

From a careless mistake that she can't wash away

And there's a heart on her sleeve from a spill of red wine

There's a piece of green in the blue of her eyes

She named it after me

There's a stray dog she feeds that she found in the street

And he loves her to hold him, but he won't let her keep him

And he claws at the door to be let out at night

And she makes do without him, and she worries about him

She named him after me

So if you ever decide that you have to escape

And travel the world, and you can't find a place

Well, you could wind up believing

That paradise is nothing more than a feeling

That goes on in your mind

So if ever find out what that is

There's something you could do

 

'Cause if I ever hold that golden dream again

I want to tell you

I'm gonna name it after you"

 

 

 

Curse +734 Days 07:34 Christopher's story - Civil responsibility

 

I backed away from the mirror on horror, my face in the mirror still showing shock and disbelief. The long strands of blonde hair coming from my head were proof enough that I had caught the plague. It didn't matter who I caught it from, only that I had it.

I managed to stagger back to my bed and flopped down on it. So that was it, I was going to become a woman, or even a 'non human'. What in hell was I going to do now? I had to leave for work soon, I was supposed to be doing a major system install today. They need me dammit!

I knew what I was supposed to do. Call the plague hotline right away, but if this install didn't go ahead then the company would be screwed. We'd lose our largest contract and hundreds of us would get laid off. I'd even been given a curfew pass in case it all turned to shit. Chances are I caught it from someone at work anyway, and one more day wouldn't hurt.

I walked to a store cupboard and picked up a pair of small scissors, and walked back to the bathroom. I tried to put thoughts of the changes I was going to go thru out of my mind, but it was hard. Maybe I should call the hotline and be done with it. I can't be expected to do my job properly if I'm thinking about tits and pussy's all the time can I?

I looked at my face in the mirror again. How long would it be before it started to turn into my new one? I knew I was going to be blonde, but what else would come along with it? I feel so scared, my whole life as turned upside down and there's nothing I can do about it.

Fuck it! I'm going to work. I leaned forward and cut off the blonde locks from the roots and combed over the gap as best I could. I'd get the server install done today and call in tomorrow.

 

 

Curse +734 Days 17:55 Matthew's story - Butterflies in the Stomach

 

I'd done hundreds of reports before this one. From the war torn streets of Kuwait and Kosovo to the assassination of Queen Elizabeth the second, but none of them made me as nervous as this one did. Whether it was because of the trouble I'd had with getting the report 'approved' or because I was intended to drift away from the agreed script. I didn't want to blow my chance of reporting this, but the official line didn't show what I, we the people in these camps need it to show. I'd done this sort of thing before; it's what gave me my journalistic buzz. I smiled to myself as I remembered the time in a hotel in Baghdad when the secret police burst in, just as I was in the middle of a report. I managed to convince them I was trying to fix the sat phone but they sat on my case all the way thru the report. I still managed to get the message across in spite of their threats. This would be no exception.

They'd given me a pastel yellow suit to wear, but I hated it. It didn't feel me at all. I guess its my damn Geas getting in the way again. Instead I insisted on wearing dark eyeshadow and my ripped black jeans and deep purple blouse.

They tried to protest but I said I either broadcast like this or not at all. My

'producer' Alex put his shaven head around the corner of my door "You've

got 5 minutes Matt"

"Sure, thanks," I replied. I just hoped I could pull this off.

 

 

Curse +734 Days 17:40 Christopher's story - Civil responsibility

 

I had the most horrible day at work. The only silver lining was that the servers installed first time. I guess God was shining on me then. I felt awful. My earlier acceptance of my condition had evaporated almost soon as I walked out of the door this morning. I have the plague. There's no cure and no respite. My body of the last 26 years is going to be taken from me and replaced with God knows what. Why me? Why me God? I've always served you as best I can, so why punish me like this?

Thankfully I'd grown no more blonde hair during the day, but the changes would come at night. I'm told they always come at night. Should I stay up and watch it happen or will staying awake somehow delay the inevitable. I wish I had someone to talk to about the way I feel, but as soon as I make that call or visit a plague related website then its logged. Fucking government have got it all sewn up.

I flopped down on the sofa and switched on the TV. I need to think about this, not that I hadn't spent most of the day thinking about my plight. What would it feel like? Would I feel any different? What was I going to become? All these questions and no answers.

My feelings of being violated welled up inside me again and I felt tears form in my eyes. I needed a distraction, so I started to listen to the TV.

"Coming up on CNN after these messages a special and exclusive report from our correspondent in reservation Anderson."

That got my attention. If I called in, that's where I'd be sent. The news had been full of how these places were like a sanctuary for those with the plague, where people could go and get the counseling they needed. I certainly needed that at the moment. Of course there's been reports of poor conditions in these reservations, but I can't see how that could have been avoided. With the number and frequency of cases it was inevitable there would be some teething problems.

 

 

Curse +734 Days 18:15 Matthew's story - We're all human

 

So far the report was going well. My format was simple, walk around the camp and interview people. Then describe how it worked inside and why things were done the way they were. Of course not every person was going to be happy and this was one of the loopholes I was going to exploit, that and the odd scene filmed as though by accident. My stand in camera woman was doing a fine job, she'd been a cameraman for a movie studio for ten years before getting the plague.

I'd reached the point of my next comment to camera. Behind me was a large pre-fab building, its speckled concrete walls gleaming in the sun. "Behind me is the main medical wing of the reservation. It's here that people are treated for what ever diseases they catch. It also has a limited research lab, in which we help the global effort to halt this disease. It's not as advanced as a major hospital, but under the circumstances it does a fine job. In a few moment's I'm going to be joined by Doctor Alex Mee, chief surgeon of 'Anderson general hospital'."

I let the camera pan past my head so that a better picture of the building could be seen. "Like most permanent structures here the hospital was constructed before the reservation was set up. The other places you will see have been built almost entirely by the reservation population."

I heard footsteps behind me, a signal from my cameraman told me that Dr Mee had arrived. I turned to the petite, plain looking brunette and said, "This is Doctor Mee of the Anderson General Hospital. Doctor before we go into specifics tell us about yourself."

The Doctor looked nervously at the camera. He casually flicked his hair away from his face and started to speak, "My name is Doctor Richard Mee. I was a senior surgeon at the New York Memorial Hospital. I was in the first wave of plague victims and so have been here since the start of the confinement policy."

"Doctor, can you tell us about your typical day," A clich‚ question I knew.

But this interview was key to what I wanted to do.

"At the moment we think there's a fault in some of the water purification equipment. It's led to a number of cases of mild stomach upset and so we're running low on anti-biotics with which to treat them."

Good answer I thought. You don't treat mild stomach upsets with anti biotics, "All your staff are plague victims too, is that right?"

The doctor nodded, "yeah. We're fortunate here that we have enough trained medical staff to cope with the needs of forty thousand people. It's not easy, but we're just clinging on."

"Do you get involved with counseling of plague victims?"

"No, that falls to my counterpart, Doctor Reeder. I understand you'll be talking to him on the psychological effects of the plague later on."

I nodded, "Tell us what facilities you have available," another question designed to at least flag up some of the truth going on here.

"To be honest, they are very limited. We can treat most minor injuries here, but anything more major is untreatable. Normally we could fly out people to other facilities but the strict quarantine means that more severe illnesses and injuries cannot be treated. We can remove an appendix and perform limited blood transfusions and that's about it."

I nodded sympathetically, "So its more like a field hospital rather than a fully equipped medical centre?"

Dr Mee shrugged his slender shoulders, "I guess so."

"Ok Doctor, If you had to ask for one thing what would it be," I inwardly smiled.

"Apart from getting us all out of here and back to our families? I guess it would be for more money for better facilities."

"Thank you Doctor," I dismissed him and then walked on towards my interview with Doctor Reeder. The red blinking light of the camera told me I was still on air. I pointed to the mixture of accommodation afforded us here. "As you can see the standard of living space varies substantially. People who have been here from the start of the epidemic were given trailers and RV's to live in. As the numbers grew so the housing declined in quality. Now people are given the old metal shipping containers from cargo vessels to live in. These are covered in insulating foam, which then sets to form the organic melted look you can see around you."

I pointed to a long row of square blocks. They looked like kids building blocks covered in a melted wax substance. "The foam is the key. It stops the interior getting too hot during the day and too cold during the freezing desert nights we have here. Let's just go and chat with someone."

I chose the nearest container to where I was standing. I just wanted to interview someone, to get their view of conditions here. I walked up to the metal door and gave a loud bang on it, "Hello. This is CNN, mind if we have a chat?" I called out.

There was no reply. I instinctively pushed the door and much to my surprise it swung open. The heat hit me as the door opened. Usually we kept all the vents and doors open to at least let some air thru, but this place was like an oven. I had to stifle down a gag reflex as I saw a decaying body swinging from the ceiling. It was then that the smell hit me. It was the same stench of death that greeted me as I walked among the dead Iraqi soldiers on the road to Basra, from the killing fields of Kosovo and Sudan. It was the sweet, almost sickly smell of death. I heard my cameraman's voice say "Want me to stop?"

You kidding? "No leave it on," I walked into the single roomed shelter. I had wanted to show people the developing nightmare here, to show them worsening conditions, but not like this. I turned to face the camera, "Ladies and gentlemen. I'm going to cut this report short in a moment. Suicide is a fact of life here; some people cannot handle what the plague has done to them. The responsible thing to do is to notify the reservation authorities and pass on the news to this person's family. I'm sorry you had to see this and it was not my intention to show you this, just how life is here. I guess I did it a little too well. This is Matthew Robinson of CNN, from Reservation Anderson."

 

 

Curse +734 Days 18:25 Christopher's story - The Die is cast

 

I sat hooked to the TV, as this reporter gave us a live tour of the camp. The first part was quite interesting. This Hispanic woman was the reporter and called herself Matthew. Apparently he/she was a reporter from CNN who had been allowed to film inside the reservations for the first time. The camera kept panning away from certain things, as though they were trying not to show you the rubbish heaped up at the back of the, 'houses' or the obvious signs of decay. The presenter had been interviewing a few people there, asking them what they thought, any messages to home and that kinda stuff. It really bought it home to me what I was now facing. It was more than the physical changes; it was the psychological effects and the affect it would have on my family and friends.

The reporter had moved onto interviewing some doctor at the makeshift looking hospital. Although the doctor was saying all the right things you could see from his/her face that they weren't getting the supplies they needed. Anyway since when did you need anti-biotics for just an upset stomach? Grave doubts formed in my mind. I was going to turn myself in tomorrow, but what I saw from this report didn't make me feel any easier, and the fact that they were trying to cover it up only reinforced the point. I turned my attention back to the TV.

The reporter was now knocking on the door of one of those shipping containers. They pushed the door open after no reply and I recoiled at the sight of a corpse hanging from the ceiling. The body looked as though it had been dead for a number of days. The flesh had started to bulge at the ankles as the blood and fluid had seeped downwards. The body swung around and I saw that whoever it had been had used the flex from a small lamp with which to hang themselves. The person's face showed that they had died in pain. Oh my god what is this hell hole people are sent to!

The reporter quickly made his/her excuses and shut the broadcast down. Right away CNN went to a commercial break, I guess they didn't know how to handle what they had just seen.

Right, that did it. No way was I going to turn myself in. I'd end up in one of those camps, living in a metal box in the middle of nowhere with only minimal medical and psychological support. I'd take my chances out here. As long as the changes weren't too bad no one would know. I could just leave without a trace and move somewhere else.

Doubts formed in my mind. Who was I trying to kid? Me, a runner?

They'd catch me within a day and then what, I'd be thrown in jail and who knows what they would do to me in there! I'd never cope. Oh God why me! But on the other hand I couldn't face up to one of those camps, especially since I'd seen what they were like on TV. I felt the weight of oppression on me. Tomorrow I'd wake up changed once more, a step closer to almost certain womanhood. At the moment I was so confused as to how I felt about that. Part of me wanted to accept my fate and move on, but that part was swamped by the irrepressible voice in me that wanted to scream. Come on think, man! If I stayed indoors for the next few days no-one could tell if I had ever had the plague or not. I'd then pack what I could and leave first thing in the morning I'd fully changed. I'd go somewhere where's there's not many people, the mountains, anywhere. Once the plague thing had calmed down in a few months I could then come back.

Fuck, anyone talking more than two urgent days vacation or sick leave was immediately investigated. That plan wouldn't work. If I failed to report to work tomorrow, with no notice and not from my home phone my company would have to report me AWOL. Fuck, fuck, Fuck! That does it. I'd have to leave tonight. Shit, Curfew was in an hour. Wait a second. I still had my night pass from the install today. My boss had written it out for me in case I needed to come in to fix the new systems overnight. I could use that to beat the curfew.

The only trouble was, was that I couldn't be seen to be taking much luggage with me. If I was stopped and had my car weighed down with stuff then they'd check my story out. A wry thought struck me. In a few days time it's likely none of my stuff would fit anyway. I also couldn't make a mass cash withdrawal as that too would be suspicious. For a few days I couldn't take any cash out, or use my credit cards, ever. If I were on the run I'd have to start from scratch. Live off my resources and evade capture. Part of me got excited about the thought. I switched the TV off. I had some emergency packing and planning to do.

 

 

Curse +736 Days Maki's story - Letters from home

 

I had just walked into my room, after a hard days study when I realized I'd not picked up my mail for a few days. Not that anyone ever wrote to me, I just liked the idea of getting mail. My feelings of homesickness hadn't abated stupid dumb country. I slotted the key into the keyhole and opened up the mailbox.

To my amazement there was a letter inside, and it was written in my mothers handwriting. Shutting the mailbox and ensuring the catch went click I raced upstairs.

I need to get in shape! I flopped down on the bed and tore open the envelope.

"My dearest daughter

I am saddened to tell you that both your father and I have the plague."

I put the letter down, NO! It couldn't happen to them! They were so careful. I read on, trying to blink back the tears.

"We contracted it a week ago, from where we do not know. We're trying to make the best of things, but your father is not taking it well. I have enclosed new photographs so that you know what we now look like."

I tipped the envelope out and two drivers license sized photo's dropped out. Both of them showed two women, about 30 years old, brown eyes and long dark hair. Of course they still look oriental and looking closer they looked like sisters. My mom even started to resemble me! I flipped one photo over, of the plainer looking one and on the back was written my fathers name, Hiro. I put the photo's down in front of me and picked up the letter once more.

"If it wasn't bad enough, our personalities have changed. Although we are both ourselves inside we both do and say things that we never would have done. It's making living together very difficult. Hiro can't help wanting plastic surgery to increase his bosom size, even though he hates having breasts. As for me, I feel the urge to go out on the streets and act like a common hooker. I've resisted so far, but its horrible and only a matter of time before our urges overwhelm us."

I thought of the nightmare my parents were going thru, not just a change of gender, but the mental torture that is tearing them apart. They have been together for the best part of thirty years. I thought of my dad struggling with being changed against his will, the shame he would feel for succumbing and the sense of failing his family when it needed him the most. My mother too, trying to resist her new personality with every fibre of her being. I'd heard about these Gea's and thought them only a minor part of the plague; now I saw them for what they were, the most horrible part of all.

At least in Japan they could start to leave a normal life. The news is still full of the fallout from the CNN report a few days back. I guess that's the only bright spot in this.

I thought back to how my parents must be feeling at the moment. A marriage wrecked, all the time together and how did I feel? I wasn't sure, I was still in shock. That was the last straw. I put the letter down and cried into my pillow.

 

 

Curse +734 Days 18:32 The Directors story - Lucy

 

I flicked off the TV with a smile of triumph. That was just perfect -- way better than I'd hoped. I gambled on the CNN guy taking a flyer and pushing back against authority and won. Of course I'd had to pull a few strings to get the broadcast shown live, with no time delay or pre recording but my persistence had eventually won the president over.

I heard the clink of glasses on a tray and turned my head. My assistant, Lucy, had just walked in with a bottle of champagne and two glasses. "I thought you might like to toast our success," Lucy's smooth and silky voice asked.

I smiled at gave an appreciative glance at Lucy, she was stunningly beautiful. Tall at six foot, with a stunning figure and her long raven black hair was tied back into a professional looking ponytail. A Red nail polished hand passed me a glass of champagne. "Thanks," I said and took it.

Lucy sat down on the chair to my right and crossed her long legs. With a deft flick of the hand she had adjusted her long red skirt so that it covered over her legs, "As I said Director, well done."

I smiled as best as I could; Lucy always made me feel on edge. "It was a good plan. Now all we do is see what happens next."

Lucy raised an eyebrow, "It's ok I know what will happen next. The media will scream for the abolition of the camps and more people with the plague will run."

I nodded my agreement; we had talked about this before, "Yeah. What I don't see is how what achieves what we're trying to do."

Lucy gave me a stunning smile a satisfied look on her face, "In time director, all in good time. Now drink up, your champagne's getting cold."

"I'm concerned about the reporter, should we gag him. Revoke his camp privileges?" This had been bothering me since the plan was first put into motion.

Lucy took a sip of her champagne. "No, warn him personally of the consequences but take no more action. We'll need him for the later phases. Besides, it will look as though we are trying to punish him for speaking the truth."

I shrugged my shoulders. Why in hell was I in this mess, the feeling of being swamped by events came over me. It was a feeling that was getting worse as things progressed. It all seemed so easy when things first started out. How in hell did they get so complex?

Lucy saw my concern and put a comforting hand on my knee and looked at me with her dark almost black eyes, "Don't worry director. I know what I'm doing."

I felt better right away, "Thanks Lucy. Listen, I need to go. Margaret and the boys are expecting me for an early dinner tonight. I can't work late all the time."

Lucy stood up and straightened herself out, "Of course director. I'd hate to come between you and your family."

"Ok Lucy, I'll expect you'll be busy tonight."

Lucy gave me a cold stare, "Very," she said abruptly.

With that last comment she turned and left the room.

I breathed out, the shit was really going to hit the fan now, and like it or not I was now in the front line.

 

 

-- oo -- oo --

 

"It was the CNN report 734 days after the curse came that was the turning

point. The effects of that report were not immediately seen or felt at the time,

but we look back on that report and say 'This is where it all began, the fight

for the human race started here'"

Excerpt from "The Origins of the Curse' By Prof Richard nee Jane Andrews,

Chair Magic Studies, MIT. ISBN 353245543

-- oo -- oo --

 

 

Curse +735 Days Matthew's Story - Fall out

 

I had got up early today to ensure I was one of the first in line to use the camp's internet links. I'd saved up two weeks worth of net ration to research the fall out from my first report. Computer time was limited to each camp member, as both power and network space had a finite limit. Most people used the 10 minutes a week they were allocated to send and read mails from loved ones. We still got newspapers but they were always two or three days out of date.

I'd once likened where we were to some flea pit of a third world country where the basics for life were just about there and everything else was out of reach for 95% of the population. The only difference was that this third world country was inside of the richest nation on the planet!

I managed to logon and pull down a few personal emails. I'd have to wait till the end to see if I had any time left in which to read them. I quickly clicked on the USA today page, the CNN home page and the LA times. I gave a wry smile of pleasure. I was headline news.

The camp governor had issued a statement that what I had found was a rare and tragic event and that life in the reservations was as normal as could be.

The director of the reservation project was unavailable for comment but his

assistant (a very stunning brunette) did issue the following statement on his

behalf

'I'm sure we are not alone in expressing our deep regret the death that occurred today in camp Anderson. However this one tragedy should not deter us from our goal which is to bring the plague under control and so allow the return of our loved ones to us. The longer we delay the worse conditions will get and the less meaning this sacrifice will have. It cannot be stressed how important it still is to report any occurrence of the plague. You will be well looked after and the way the number of cases is in decline the quarantine period is bound to be short. In order to ensure this we still need to have every case reported and the executive order issued by the president still stands. Thank you for your time.'

As I suspected the report has increased pressure on the government to get us all out of here, which was exactly what I intended. Just as I was about to check out the international reaction I was aware of someone standing behind me.

"Are you Matthew, the CNN reporter?" A husky female voice asked.

I looked up and involuntarily stared at the centaur standing before me. She stood about eight feet tall and towered above me. I'd seen centaurs before, but at a distance. The non humans tended not to mix with us, preferring their own kind.

"Umm yeah, who wants to know?" I asked, still trying not to stare at the half horse, half woman creature in front of me.

"The prophet wants to see you," The centaur said in a matter of fact way.

As if I would know who it was talking about, "The who?"

"Come!" The centaur demanded.

"I've still got work to do, maybe later." I'd saved my online time for 2 weeks for this.

"Not anymore." The woman gave a wide, wry smile and nodded towards the screen.

"Fuck it," My last remaining seconds had been used up in conversation and the system had logged me out.

My journalists curiosity overrode my anger, why would a centaur venture from outside the non human section? They almost never did. "Ok, I'll come."

The centaur led me out of the concrete building and into bright sunlight. The sun had come up in the few minutes I'd been inside and already I could feel it was going to be a hot day.

I was led thru countless container houses, every one the same shape and form. The sight of a centaur walking alongside a human caused the few people that were up and about to stare at us. As I said, it was an almost unprecedented event.

Reservation Anderson was large, about five miles at its widest point and it seemed as though we walked the whole way. The centaur never spoke a single word to me, in spite of me asking several innocent and friendly questions.

We stopped outside of a rusty brown colored container house. The door was a single sack and I couldn't see into the gloomy interior. The Centaur beckoned for me to go inside.

I pushed the sack aside, and waited a moment until my eyes got used to the darkness. Why were there no windows?

"You must be Matthew," A woman' voice like that of running water called out.

"And you are?" I asked.

"I am the prophet", the voice said simply.

"Ah," I saw the vague outline of a woman, her head was covered in brown sackcloth and she was dressed in what seemed like rags. I guess she thought herself some kinda hermit.

"Please take a seat," she beckoned to a small wooden block on the floor.

"Ok," I said and sat down; ignoring the still foreign feelings from in between my legs as I instinctively crossed them.

"We need to talk," the prophet stated.

"Who are you, what do you want? How come a centaur came?" I asked. Poor questions I know, but something about her made me uneasy. Like talking to one's teacher after a bad grade or your boss when asking for a rise.

"The labels we are given at birth have little importance, they are just tags on flesh. What I want is to talk to you, and as for the centaur, I asked her to go get you."

"I see," Fuck I hate all this mystical mystery crap. Just give me a straight answer!

"No you don't see at all. I saw your broadcast last night. You have started something," the prophet lifted her head towards me, but I still couldn't see a face.

I smiled, "Yeah I know. Pressure on the government is growing to let us all out."

"Do you know how the plague began?" The prophet asked.

"No one does, one day everyone's normal. The next WHAM millions are changing."

"Do you believe we can beat the plague?" The prophet asked once more, her voice was calm and emotionless.

"We already are. The number of cases is declining across the world. Soon

we'll have a vaccine"

"You are foolish, you are no use to us!" The prophet declared.

"Hey wait a minute!" I protested.

"You have looked but not seen, heard and not listened, thought and not believed."

I was ready to walk out. This woman was clearly mad. I'd walked all this way for nothing. But she had commanded a centaur! Nobody did that, as far as I knew. "What haven't I seen, What haven't I not heard and what don't I believe in?"

"I will give you one last chance," she offered.

That's nice of you, I thought. Why was I still sitting here?

"You have looked at yourself, the new you, many times, but never seen the real you inside. You have heard what others have said, but never listened to the voices inside and you have thought about your life and never believed that it mattered."

She had a point; "You can say that about everyone."

The prophet nodded, "That is why the plague will never be cured."

I'd heard a similar train of thought before. That the plague was a judgment from God, Shiva whoever on a sinful mankind. "I've heard the argument before. That mankind is inherently evil and that because of its evil the plague is a judgment on all of us."

"And yet you dismissed it," the prophet commented.

"Sure, no rational person would believe such a thing. Even the churches dismiss the idea. I remember back in the 80's AIDS was said to be the same thing."

"We live in irrational times."

I had to agree with that comment. "So why did you really call me here? It wasn't to discuss theology."

"I don't have all the answers. I just know what is in my heart and in my spirit. A great darkness has risen and it threatens all of us. Even you being dead to the world must sense it. Already it has gathered its servants and has its own plans within plans within plans."

Again the old judgment argument, but some of what she just said did make me uneasy, "Yes I know something's going on, but it's not in the spirit world or wherever; it's in the government. That's why I did what I did. To expose them!"

"You only go so far, and not all the way."

"The full way being that the plague is the result of some divine judgment, a curse on mankind?" I said, trying to hide the sarcasm.

The prophet shook her head, "No. I do not yet know the true nature and origin but this plague is not a judgment. "

"Then what is it?" I asked. I was getting into this conversation. It'd make a good talking point for my next news report.

"I do not know, only that it is a darkness. It is timeless and before time itself.

What do you know of the black death?"

"The Bubonic plague? It decimated Europe twice, once in the Middle Ages and once in the 17^th century. It wiped out nearly three-quarters of the European population. It was spread by fleas on rats."

The prophet nodded her agreement, "That is only half the story. At the time the people thought it was their sin and wrong doing that had bought the plague upon them. Some even thought that the devil sent it upon them. They saw cats as the devil's servants and so killed cats in their millions, thus helping the plague spread by killing one of the few things able to control the rat population."

"Yes I heard that," where was she leading to?

"History says it was bought in from Asia and spread from the rats from the

ships. What if that's only half the story"

"Which is?" I asked.

"What if the superstitions were partly correct. What if something or someone created or spread the black death to show us, in reality how evil we really are and how our evil pollutes the world."

"That's just old fashioned superstition," whoever the prophet was she was clearly mad.

The prophet paused as though trying a different approach, "Ever hear of a place called Eyam?"

I shrugged my shoulders, "Nope."

"It's a small village in England. In a place called Derbyshire."

"And?"

"It's what's called a plague village. Back in the 1600's the second Black Death was devastating England. It was bought to the village of Eyam by some infected cloth from London. The local pastor, a Thomas Stanley persuaded the villagers to stay rather than flee to the surrounding villages. During the year or so of total isolation, food was left for the villagers at a well, on the village boundary high up on the hill above the village, and paid for by coins, which were dipped in vinegar to disinfect them. The grim task of burying the dead fell to the remaining families of the dead and the victims were often buried hurriedly in graves, which were scattered around the village. Usually there was no funeral service, for gatherings of people were discouraged for fear of spreading the infection."

"So what happened?" I asked. I was fascinated by the story

The prophet paused for a moment and then said solemnly, "Out of a total population of maybe 300 there were less than 50 left alive, when the plague died out in October 1666. BUT the surrounding villages were saved, because of the village of Eyam's sacrifice. Even now their sacrifice is remembered throughout Derbyshire."

"Interesting. I don't see how this relates to today."

"Ever thought that these camps are the modern day Eyam? Thru our pain and

sacrifice others will be saved. We, you must persuade people to stay and not

run to 'the surrounding villages'

"I can't do that. People are suffering and starting to die. We have families, friends, loved ones who all miss us. This place is inhuman!" I snapped.

"Yes it is! But not because of the conditions here," The prophet stated.

"Then why?"

"Because we have forgotten what it is to be really human. The Plague has got

the world focused on exterior flesh and not what's inside us,"

I felt annoyed at that comment, "That's easy to say. I hate being a woman now. I've lost family, friends and my sense of identity. My Geas force me to do things I hate and there's nothing I can do about it. With all due respect that's crap. Of course people are focused on what they've become and rightly so. There's nothing shallow about us. I know I don't look like a bimbo but calling me one is insulting!"

The Prophet's head went up to face me. Still I could see nothing thru the sack

cloth she was wearing, "You do not understand"

"You're not making it easy for me to understand," I started to say.

"Good." The prophet's voice sounded almost pleased.

I had other things to do, "I want to film you for my next report. Can I come back in a week or so?" The Eyam story if nothing else was worth another interview.

"No. Those that are walking in darkness will recognize what I say and will strike before we are ready. Tell your story; tell them about Eyam and how our sacrifices must not be forgotten. Do not try and push for our early release. We are not yet ready for it. Come back before your next report and I will teach you some more."

You've not taught me much, except an anecdotal history lesson. I thought.

But she was a fascinating and charismatic in a strange sort of way. I wonder

what the non humans saw in her? Maybe they were so desperate for someone

to make them feel human again they clung onto anything or anyone that

offered them help. "Ok just let me know when you want to see me,"

The prophet nodded her agreement and I rose to leave her house.

"One last thing," she said.

"Yeah?"

"Remember Eyam. Sometimes it's better for the few to suffer for the many."

"I will," I replied and walked out into bright sunlight.

The centaur was nowhere to be found so I found myself walking back alone. I wasn't really sure what this prophet was trying to tell me. It seemed to be a load of hints; hearsay interspersed with a little history. From what I could work out she thought that the plague was a curse on mankind and that, because of the way we are it will never be lifted. Further more she was convinced that some dark force was at work and that it had allies. She was also convinced that we should stay in the camps until the plague had died out. Her final warning was that if these dark forces became aware of what she knew, then they would strike at her before she could fight them off.

I must admit there were parts of it I thought were relevant, like the Eyam thing and the rest was just medieval hokum. As I made my way back thru squalid housing with limited running water and little sewerage disposal facilities. I wondered what everyone else in the camp would think to being told that they had to stay where they were. If I remembered the story rightly the people of Eyam chose to stay. They had a choice. We have no choice at all. We stay here because if we tried to escape we would be imprisoned again or even killed.

Lost in thought I soon arrived back at my 'house' On the table was a note that I was to go and make a video conference call to the reservation director as soon as I was able. I had stirred something up, or as the prophet called it 'I have started something'. I gave a smile, this was turning out to be quite a day.

(continued)

 

 

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