The Art of the Curse

Gauwyn sat in his merchant’s stall, watching customers meander around the market square, but none  seemed to want to meander toward him. He sold fabrics and various sundries, such as bandages, sewing kits, perfumes, and household gadgets. Fabrics were his main business, shipped in from across the kingdom. Some were mundane, cottons and flax, for example, but others were exotic, like silk and spider-weave. By this time of the week, he should have recouped his costs and begun making a profit; but that hadn't happened last week, and it wasn't happening this week. He was falling behind.

“Curse Quinhill,” Gauwyn muttered under his breath.

Quinhill had come into town a month ago on a merchant ship and had taken over the stall vacated by Bacot the Metalsmith. Bacot had met an untimely end trying to mine gold in the Dragonback Mountains, and the Merchants Guild had rented the stall to Quinhill upon his arrival. Normally, Gauwyn would not have minded, but Quinhill also sold fabrics as his primary trade. The competition was eating into his profits.

He had gone to the Merchants Guild representative, Richye, in Beabluff. “Quinhill is selling the same types of merchandise as I am,” he told Richye. “The market isn’t large enough for both of us! I have been there for years and have always paid my dues to the Guild. Surely I am entitled to be an exclusive dealer in fabrics and sundries. It isn’t fair that Quinhill sells the same wares.”

“My dear Gauwyn,” Richye said in his most diplomatic voice. “My hands are tied. There is no prohibition against two merchants selling the same merchandise at the same market. In fact, the Guild sees competition as good for the community. There is simply nothing I can do.”

Gauwyn sat in his stall and grumbled. What could he do? “Curse Quinhill!” he whispered. Suddenly, he stood up. Curse Quinhill. Of course, that was the answer. Gauwyn closed shop, headed into his small living quarters behind the stall, and pulled out a lead sheet and a stylus. He would curse Quinhill and his business.

In order for the curse to work, he had to follow the forms. It had to be written on a tablet of earthly metal. He had a lead tablet, so that would do. He would need to etch the words with a stone stylus. He had one of those, too. Now, for the curse itself.

The wording didn’t need to be fancy; he just needed to state his desired outcome clearly. “I, Gauwyn, merchant of fabrics and sundries, curse Quinhill, merchant of fabrics and sundries: may his business fail, his coin fail, and his stall close. I curse the land he stands upon, the land of his stall, and the land of his home. May this curse stand until I, Gauwyn, revoke its precepts.”

He looked at the tablet. “Perfect.”

To make the curse valid, he needed to recite it before the Oracle at the temple. He slipped the tablet into his shirt, took his coin purse for the offering, and headed up the mountain just outside the port town. The temple sat on a ridge that formed the beginning of the Dragonback Mountain range, which spanned the entirety of Alexia.

The cobblestone road out of Port Umbermere turned into a hard-packed path that zigzagged up the mountainside. Kolatti trees overhung the trail, and a small rivulet of water from a hidden spring gurgled nearby as it made its way toward the sea. The temple wasn’t far, and by mid-afternoon, Gauwyn reached his destination.

The temple was a small square box of white marble framed in yellow Kolatti wood. It had no doors, only a wood-framed opening. Gauwyn walked inside. In the middle of the room sat a young woman with eyes the color of white stone, blind, yet all-seeing. She sat on a stool atop a rug the color of earth and trees. Gauwyn noticed a simple cot, a small stove, and a chest in the back of the room. He bowed to the Oracle.

“What errand brings you to the temple, Gauwyn?” she asked.

“I come to pronounce a curse on my rival,” Gauwyn said. “I bring the cost of recitation: one silver coin.” He placed the coin in a small bowl beside her.

“Proceed,” she said.

He pulled out the tablet and recited the words. When he finished, he handed the lead tablet to the Oracle. She rolled it into a scroll, stood, and placed it inside the small chest. Then she returned to her stool.

“The curse is in effect until the fee of release is paid or until the conditions are no longer valid,” she stated. Gauwyn bowed and left. His trip down the mountain seemed to take no time at all.

The next week, Gauwyn’s business returned to its usual brisk pace. By midweek, he was turning a profit again. For two weeks, business was good. The curse had worked.

However, in the middle of the third week, Gauwyn saw Quinhill heading out of town toward the temple.

“Quinhill!” Gauwyn called out. “Heading up to the temple?”

“Yes, I am,” Quinhill replied. “I thought I would pray and seek some guidance.”

Gauwyn couldn’t help but smile. “Have a nice walk.”

The following week, Gauwyn’s business took a sudden turn for the worse. He didn’t make back his costs, and the week after was a similar disaster. He had not released the curse, so what was going on? He grabbed his coin pouch and headed back up the mountain.

At the temple, he bowed and placed a silver coin in the offering bowl. “You have a question, Gauwyn,” the Oracle said. It was a statement not a question.

“Is the curse I pronounced still in effect?”

“Yes,” she answered.

“But it isn’t working,” he argued. “My business is failing again.”

“I assure you, it is working exactly as pronounced,” she said. “The curse remains in effect until the fee of release is paid or the conditions are no longer valid.”

“I don’t understand.”

“That is a true statement, Gauwyn. You lack understanding,” she said simply. “You think you understand Mundanus Magic, but you do not. Let me give you an example: a curse is placed upon a person. If the forms are followed and the words are spoken before an Oracle, the curse becomes active. This much you know. But what occurs if the one being cursed pronounces a blessing on the one who cursed him?”

“I... I have no idea,” Gauwyn stammered.

“The curse remains active, but it is returned to the one who initiated it for as long as the blessing is active,” she explained. “In the realm of Mundanus Magic, blessings always override curses. Thus, the balance is maintained.”

Gauwyn stood stunned. Quinhill, you clever bastard, he thought. Quinhill must have deduced that Gauwyn was the source of his misfortune. He didn't need the Oracle to tell him; he only had to ask the right questions to realize who his only rival was.

“I wish to pay the fee to remove the curse from Quinhill,” Gauwyn said.

“It is a silver coin,” she said. “Once paid, the curse will be banished.”

He dropped the coin into the bowl. She retrieved the lead scroll from the chest and handed it back to him. He slipped the metal into his shirt and headed home. It wasn’t a weapon anymore, just a useless, heavy trinket.

Over the next few days, Gauwyn’s business returned to normal. Quinhill’s stall was also thriving. Gauwyn eventually walked over to his rival. “I come to apologize for the curse,” he said. “And I must admit, placing a blessing on me was very clever.”

Quinhill smiled. “I suppose I should be mad, but I’m not. My actions had the desired effect.”

“Well, feel free to remove the blessing,” Gauwyn said. “I have learned my lesson.”

“I think I’ll leave it,” Quinhill said. “You see, a blessing doesn’t just benefit the person being blessed; it benefits the one who pronounced it, too. Blessings are always more powerful than curses.”

Gauwyn stared at Quinhill, then started laughing. As he headed back to his stall, he thought: Gauwyn, you do indeed lack understanding.