Young Writers Society

The Cursed

Part 1

~x~

Her head in her hands, Celia watched as the hot air balloon danced by her house again. It hopped between the clouds in a steady pattern. There was nothing peculiar about it save for the fact that there was no pilot.

She wondered how it was able to fly by itself with no one to direct it, to steer it from oncoming planes or birds. It moved with a mind of its own, with a body of its own. Every day it followed the same path, to and from. She didn't know its destination or its source — no one seemed to know. And anytime someone did try to track it, their findings would come up blank, mostly because it was discovered that no matter what direction it came — to and from — it would disappear on sight, almost as if the balloon itself knew it was being tracked and didn't want anyone to know anything about it.

As per usual, Celia's mind soared with theories of impossibility, of — unsurprisingly — magic. For what other reason would a hot air balloon in midair appear and disappear into thin air?

Down below, she heard the wonder-filled cries of passing folk. Their fingers were in the air, pointing as the balloon bobbed around. Children jumped up and down, their hands grasping and releasing as if they were trying to catch the balloon for themselves. The adults by their sides would forcefully draw their children's hands down, unamused by their excitement. To them, the hot air balloon was not an alluring mystery, but a frightening one.

Celia wondered what they thought was the reason for its ability to fly itself. She did know that their theories undoubtedly did not include even a spark of magic.

Sensible, was what her mother Irma defined them, before continuing with, You ought to be like them.

Surely, Celia knew there was nothing wrong with being sensible despite the fact that she herself was the least sensible person around. Being sensible meant disbelieving in intangible things like magic and destiny. And Celia very much liked believing in magic and destiny no matter the disapproving looks Irma would slide her way.

Celia did know well to keep her beliefs of magic, her beliefs about the new witches to herself. Outward declarations of this belief would only garner unwanted attention from her fellow folk.

To the people of Terran, what the witches were practicing was nothing like the magic often portrayed in storybooks. Glittering magic that did good, much like the magic Nicholas Cloud did in his storybooks: magic that helped the unfortunate and promoted happiness for all.

No, what those eleven witches practiced was nothing short of evil, the people would always say, only lowering their voice when supposed evil-dabblers drew near.

Celia's thoughts always differed on the matter. If what the witches dabbled in was evil and only evil, then why hadn't they destroyed everyone and claimed the settlement for themselves?

So far no one had an answer to that.

No one also had an answer to just why the coven drew up to their region of greater Azarlin. The land of Azarlin was no stranger to magic — with witches and faeries and shapeshifters deep within its roots. Other settlements were quite familiar with things magical, but Terran was one of the few that was free from it. That was until a group of eleven witches emerged at the front gates, seemingly out of nowhere. And no one, not since Cal Drigs, had the boldness to ask them of their purpose.

Off into the clouds, the hot-air balloon disappeared with no trace of it ever passing. Celia moved away from the window. She swiped the charcoal stick from the windowsill and moved to the window's side. With a steady hand, she drew a tally mark, the forty-seventh tally mark.

Forty-seven times had that balloon passed by. Celia had kept track since the first day she'd seen it: the day the witches appeared. A month and a few days later, and almost half the wall featuring the window was nearly covered with black lines. Some hurried, some neat. They were all the same though: consistent.

Irma had seen her tallies one day, during one of the very few times she left her door open. Celia's bow had paused over the violin's strings just as Irma paused in the door way, and not a word came from either of them until Irma let out a huff, continuing down the hall. Celia's mother Irma thought her obsession with the hot air balloon was nothing but dangerous. She would always tell Celia her obsession and constant wondering would get her heart carved out and bottled one day — most likely by the settlement's new residents.

"Stop your gazing. Your nosiness will only leave you without a heart," she'd said later that day in a sterner voice than usual. It was the same kind of sternness Irma would use when Celia would ask questions about her father.

But to be nosy about a magical hot air balloon? Celia had wondered to herself. I'd get my heart taken because of something as silly and unimportant like that?

Aloud, she had simply said, "Yes, mother" with a hand placed, fingers curled, lightly over her heart.

~x~

"There it goes again," breathed Celia's friend Noelle. Her hand met Celia's arm, halting them both in their steps. Celia knew that it was the hot air balloon, fluttering in the sky on record time: its forty-eighth appearance. The rest of the academy students paused in their steps, all watching.

But Celia kept her eyes away. Your nosiness will only leave you without a heart. Noelle was harmless, but there were eyes everywhere. Celia wondered if Noelle's own mother ever warned her about raising suspicions from the town's resident coven. Judging from the sparkly glint in Noelle's wide eyes, Celia guessed she didn't.

Celia's face gave nothing away. On the outside, she was calm; on the inside, though, she was anything but. Her heart hammered away but her eyes were careful not to show just how anxious she was. Her fingers, pressed against the sides of her skirt, twitched.

She wished she could walk faster — no, fly. Fly as unrealistically as the pilot-less hot air balloon. Fly to her room, to mark another tally on the wall. And, to also, be home before Irma's meeting.

"You are not to be late," Irma said to her before she'd left the house this morning. "I am meeting with one of their members today. Your tardiness would only disrupt the course of the meeting." Celia wondered just which one of their members would be in her house. This wonder settled in her mind, fueling every hurried movement of the day.

Celia's feet started moving again. Noelle's palm fell away, then her fingers, and Celia was able to move freely. Her steps brisk, her arms swung by her sides. She would not be late, she vowed.

"Do you ever wonder where it's headed?" Noelle asked, having followed Celia. She nudged Celia with her shoulder, and Celia could hear the grin in her voice.

All the time. "Sometimes," Celia said, slipping some of her dark hair behind both pierced ears. She let out a breath clouded by the cold air. "But I should stop. My mother tells me I'm destined to live without a heart if the anyone gets suspicious."

"You mean if the coven gets suspicious," said Noelle.

It was amusing that there was no other name besides the coven for the eleven witches that suddenly appeared. No one knew their business, but all were sure not to cross their path. Everyone had heard what had happened to Cal Drigs for raising questions at them. From man to dog he'd turned, in the blink of an eye.

After that, everyone kept their wondering to themselves.

Noelle hummed. "A heartless Celia; I don't think such a thing could possibly exist."

Celia didn't know why Noelle couldn't imagine so. Anything was possible in Azarlin. And it proved to be so even as the witches rolled into town. Celia, still full of heart, said, "Such a thing could exist. Such a thing would only be dead."

Noelle said, "Living without a heart wouldn't kill you, you know that." Not physically, Celia wanted to agree, and then disagree with, But emotionally, yes. Because that much was true.

Celia shrugged wordlessly, pulling on the scarf wrapped around her neck.

Noelle unwrapped the sweet in her hand and popped it in her mouth. "Some say Nicholas Cloud controls it."

A scoff nearly escaped Celia's mouth when she spoke: "Nicholas Cloud doesn't exist."

Noelle's mouth puckered in doubt as she said, "Magic exists. Being in our own bubble, it's easy to forget that it exists all around Terran. But it does, and now here. So why wouldn't wizards like Nicholas Cloud exist?"

Magic exists. It was such a huge thing to think about, but to hear it? Hearing it filled Celia with something she was not sure she could only explain without magic. She of all people should not have been affected considering who her mother was. But even before the arrival of the witches, their garbs long and their heads held high, she'd known magic could exist here. She'd known deep inside and held onto it.

Deep inside. That was also where she heard her mother's sneering voice: Your nosiness will only leave you without a heart. Celia wished hearing these words – word spoken all too many times – would one day invoke a sense of fear in her. She wished she was afraid, because being afraid meant being safe and being safe wouldn't get your heart carved out.

"Noelle," Celia said, gearing to reply in a way her mother would approve her to, "Nicholas Cloud isn't real." She wasn't going to acknowledge the Magic exists comment. No, she knew doing so would make her secret fascination of magic not so secret.

"Says who?" Noelle said.

"Says everyone."

"You mean your mother."

Ignoring Noelle's drone voice, Celia said, "Her too." Her eyes lifted up when she felt a hand cover hers in a comforting grip. She looked at her hand, encircled by Noelle's, and it took her back to their times as children. Though Noelle denied this, she had this ability to sense Celia's emotions, no matter how much Celia tried to hide them. And Celia often tried hard to.

Lifting their gloved hands in between them, Noelle said, "You have a mind of your own, Celia. You are seventeen, old enough to have your own ideas. Your mother may be head councilwoman but she is not always right about everything."

Celia managed to avoid flinching. She knew her mother was not right on all accounts — especially magic — but hearing someone else say it, hearing Noelle say it, almost made her flinch. Removing her hand from Noelle's grip, she kept her tone neutral when she spoke: "Nicholas Cloud doesn't exist, Noelle. He's a storybook character. He isn't real."

"Oh, ho, but I am!"

Upon hearing the voice, Celia tried hard to keep from sighing. It proved itself to be a daft task, even more so when the owner of the voice stumbled in front of them.

With enthusiasm, Noelle said, "Mathias!"

"What are you wearing?" Celia asked, with even less enthusiasm.

Mathias drew the cape up to his face, covering the lower half of his face. His eyes suggested nothing but its customary sneakiness. Celia wondered if the snow-white of his hair was a wig or if he really had colored it.

"It's not what I'm wearing, it's who." Mathias lowered the cape, stretching his arms wide by his sides. With a swift bow and a grand theatrical voice, he said, "Nicholas Cloud here, at your service."

Both girls stared; Noelle with bright eyes, Celia with pursed lips. Noelle then slid Celia a deliberate look. "Well, what do you know? We were just talking about you, Nicholas. Celia here was just marveling at your very existence."

"I was not," Celia said firmly.

Mathias' lips stretched into a smile. "I do tend to have that effect on women," he continued in the voice. In his regular voice, he continued, "Both as Nicholas and myself."

Curious as ever, Celia asked, "Why are you dressed this way?"

"Why am I dressed this way?" Mathias echoed, sounding a bit miffed by Celia's question. "Don't tell me you've forgotten that today is the first day of frost. It's not like you to forget."

The first day of frost. The ball. Mathias was right; it was not like her to forgot something so routine. Balls were a common form of entertainment in Terran. And the Primefrost ball was one of the biggest events of the year, and it would no doubt be the biggest event with the witches here. Celia remembered that bit from Josephine Gordon's conversation a few tables down.

"Is that why you were absent today?" Celia asked. "To get ready for a ball that has not started yet?"

Nodding, Mathias said, "Yes. I like to be prepared in advance." He waved a hand at Celia. "Wouldn't you say I look dashing, my darling Willow?"

In storybooks, Willow Halfmoon was Nicholas Cloud's sweetheart. She was always drawn as a tall, lithe woman, the complete opposite of Celia, who was short in stature and shapely in figure. Willow Halfmoon was also something else Celia was not: a witch. She, along with Nicholas Cloud, were commonly masqueraded as at Primefrost balls though masquerading oneself wasn't obligatory in any way. Willow Halfmoon, because her primary element was frost and she was the lover of Nicholas Cloud. Nicholas Cloud, because he was Nicholas Cloud.

It was honestly no surprise that Mathias himself was dressed as Nicholas Cloud the fourth year in a row given that Mathias thought of him as some sort of hero. He hadn't changed from their early days as first-years in the academy.

Celia said, "Besides me, there are more than enough Willows in Terran to accompany you."

"'While that may be true, there is no other who holds my heart as you,'" Mathias recited in a low voice. His finger suddenly grazed itself against the underside of Celia's chin. Just before Celia could wretch her chin away, something hit her. Both his words and actions hit Celia with a sort of deja vu: the scene had transpired between Nicholas Cloud said to Willow in one of their many tales.

With a swift twist of her chin, Celia took a step back.

"You are embarrassing her, Mathias," Noelle said, with a giggle. She poked at Celia's cheek. "See? Her cheeks are red!"

Frowning, Celia moved to cover her cheeks with her hands. "They may be red, but I assure you that it is from the cold, not from him!" To a smug-looking Mathias, she said, "Don't you dare do that again." She dropped her hands. "Anyway, I'm sorry to disappoint you, but I am not going to the ball."

Noelle's expression morphed into a confused one. "Why not?"

Mathias looked hesitant as he said, "I was only making fun, Celia. Don't miss the ball on my account —"

"It is not because of you or anyone," Celia said, lifting a hand. She wanted to be clear that Mathias was definitely not the reason for her lack of interest in the ball this year. "I'm just not in the mood for festivities this time around. That, and we have a guest arriving at our house and I'm not sure how long they will stay. Mother will likely want me to be home throughout the visit, Primefrost ball or not."

"Just who is this guest?" Noelle asked.

Celia lifted her shoulders. "I don't know." She left the Mother didn't want to tell me unspoken. "Mother just wants me to be home on time before —" That's when she remembered. Celia almost swore aloud. "I'm going to be late!" She started walking, and when she heard the grumbling of her friends, she tossed a wave over her shoulder.

AN: This is a short story (or novella depending on how long it ends up being) I paused and then restarted over again. Somewhat different han what I had planned for it, but I can say that I'm more excited about it than I was before so yay. This is part 1 of several. Nowhere near done, but hoping posting this will motivate me to finish. That, and my excitement for this story. For those curious: My novel The Escapists is currently on the back burner for now as I'm working to finish this particular story, but I promise to jump back into that once this is done. Feel free to leave any sort of criticism. Sorry for the ridiculously long note. Thanks for reading! -comrie