Samhain

He knew it. He was cursed.

Samhain trudged away from the fortune teller’s stall, head hung low, as said fortune teller counted his gold behind him.

She was the fifth one he’d been to that month, and they all had said the same thing. Someone had placed a curse (some called it a hex) on him (for some unknown reason no one seemed to be able to explain), and there was only one thing he could do to get rid of it. Well, technically, there were five things, because each psychic had given him a different solution. Most of the solutions involved some kind of sacrifice or ritual that would supposedly expel the curse, allowing his life to return to some form of normalcy. He had tried the first four, to no avail of course, and alas, here he was again, handing over the last of his treasure for a small shred of hope.

The latest prescription for his curse was… you guessed it, a sacrifice. Twenty-five frogs to be exact, which seemed a bit excessive. What messed up deity out there wanted twenty-five frogs in exchange for lifting a curse?

But, what other choice did he have? He would try anything at this point.

The Banescale was making his way towards a frog merchant (apparently those exist), when suddenly, he felt the curse creep into his mind. Not again, he groaned inwardly, bracing himself as best he could.

His mind emptied of all sensory input until all he saw was black. The sound of a storm. Howling wind, waves crashing nearby. Then his vision returned, but he was no longer in the marketplace. He stood on a rocky coast. Feet in front of him lay a nest, a female Guardian curled protectively around her young. The three hatchlings, a day or two old at most, shivered in the freezing wind, soaked to the bone. The ocean raged mere feet away, sending plumes of saltwater cascading over the hatchlings, threatening to swallow the nest whole with each monstrous wave. Out of the sea, three maren huntresses lifted their heads above the surface, spears sharpened, held aloft.

The female Guardian roared her fury, and thunder crashed louder in response. The first maren took aim, her mouth curling into a wicked grin as she hurled the spear towards her target…

When the vision finally passed, Samhain was thrown back into the present, the bustling marketplace carrying on as if nothing had happened. The Banescale was panting heavily, the horror of the vision still fresh in his mind. A few dragons eyed him warily as he regained his composure, looking around for the subject of his episode. There, a few feet away stood the female Guardian. She looked a few decades older than the version of her he had seen, but there was no mistaking the scars on her neck and flank: scars left by the spears of maren huntresses.

There were unseen scars too, those that stayed on the mind, invisible to most, but never to Samhain. For that was his curse: to relive the worst day of someone else’s life.

Some of them weren’t all that bad-- he always breathed a sigh of relief when a hatchling triggered his curse-- usually they hadn’t experienced anything too horrific in their short lives. Samhain still wasn’t sure what it was that triggered the curse, and none of the explanations offered by psychics seemed to fit.

Trying to shake the image of a wounded Guardian fighting for her life to defend her offspring from his mind, the Banescale gave his body a good shake and readjusted his wings, heading for the frog-lover’s stall.

“Hello there, fellow frog follower,” the Wildclaw said in greeting. “Have you come seeking an amphibious friend?”

Samhain resisted the urge to roll his eyes. What was with this dude anyway? Who actually kept frogs as pets?

“Erm, not exactly,” he said instead, peering behind the Wildclaw at a few terrariums filled with frolicking frogs. “How much would twenty-five of your cheapest frogs cost me?”

Uncertainty came over the merchant’s face. “Twenty-five you say? That’s a very… specific… number. Might I ask what you plan to do with my precious creatures?”

“That’s not really any of your business, is it?” Samhain muttered gruffly. Of course he would find the only frog merchant who actually cared about frogs. As if having a terrible curse weren’t enough, now he had to explain himself to some frog-loving weirdo?

“Well, then, I’m afraid I can’t sell to you,” the Wildclaw replied, his eyes darting protectively over his collection of happily croaking amphibians.

Samhain sighed in defeat, and began to turn away, but the Wildclaw continued.

“You know, if it’s a curse you’re trying to break, I might know someone who can help.”

The Banescale whirled back around to face the Wildclaw. “H-how did you--” he began to question, but the brilliant green frog merchant was already grinning broadly.

“You’d be surprised how many curses require a frog sacrifice around here,” he explained quickly. “That psychic has had a grudge against me ever since I opened my stall across from hers. Apparently, she thinks the sound of their croaking is ‘annoying’, can you believe that?!”

“Yeah… wow, that’s so… crazy…” Samhain agreed unenthusiastically. He’d only been standing here for a few minutes and already felt a headache coming on from the amphibians’ incessant vocalizations. He couldn’t really blame the psychic for wanting them gone…

“Every day she ups the recommended number,” the Wildclaw continued, unphased by Samhain’s lackluster reaction. “I think her goal is to wipe out my entire stock, but little does she know, I have hundreds more at home!” The merchant laughed, as if confiding that he kept hundreds of frogs was not strange at all and would foster some sort of camaraderie between them.

Samhain restrained himself from rolling his eyes again. “Uh-huh,” he said dryly. “So, about that curse-breaking friend you mentioned…?”

“Right, right, I’ll introduce you!” the merchant chirped merrily. “Speaking of introductions, the name’s Actias by the way,” the Wildclaw called over his shoulder as he turned and disappeared behind a curtain in the back of the stall.

“Samhain,” the Banescale replied, unsure if the Wildclaw was even still listening. Actias was speaking in a low voice that was just too quiet for Samhain to make out what he was saying. A few moments later, he reappeared behind the curtain, a very sleepy female Fae in tow. The female had clearly just woken up, her face contorted in a grimace as she rubbed sleep from her eyes and let out an enormous yawn.

“She’s nocturnal,” Actias whispered to Samhain, as the Fae flew up and perched on his shoulder.

“Hey, I’m Luna,” the Fae spoke in a tired but polite tone. Samhain dipped his head in greeting.

“Luna’s just going to watch the stall while I’m away,” Actias explained. “Thanks bug,” he whispered to Luna, nuzzling her face affectionately before she hopped down to the counter and scooped up a frog attempting to escape its confines.

“Yeah, yeah,” his mate replied. “You owe me breakfast when you get back.”

Actias grinned as he skirted around the stall and motioned to Samhain to follow.

The Banescale trailed after Actias, wondering to himself how in the world this weirdo found a mate and yet he was still single… and then he remembered the curse. Spacing out and reliving someone else’s horrific memories several times a day tended to put a damper on his love life. Reason #9000 for getting rid of this stupid curse.

After a short journey, they finally arrived at the entrance of a very creepy looking cave. A Skydancer emerged, mysterious glass vials clinking softly at her waist, cobwebs dangling from her wings.

“How can I help you, Samhain?” she immediately asked, catching the Banescale off guard. Before he could ask how she knew his name, however, the female turned to Actias, “You can go, I’ll take it from here,” she said dismissively. “And you better apologize to Luna for waking her up.” Actias just shrugged and ran off, leaving Samhain alone with the slightly terrifying female.

“So, you’ve come seeking help with a curse?” she continued, addressing the still very confused Banescale.

“Y-yes…” Samhain answered hesitantly. “B-but I don’t have much gold to offer in exchange, I’m afraid.”

The Skydancer gave him a withering stare, then her face softened and she shrugged. “We’ll worry about that later,” she said. “Unfortunately, I’m not sure I’ll be able to help with your problem.” Samhain opened his mouth to ask how she knew about his curse, but the mysterious female was already one step ahead of him. “Don’t worry, I can’t read your mind,” she explained with a sly grin, “I merely have a sense for things that are not of this world. Follow me.”

Samhain scrambled to catch up as the female disappeared into the surrounding forest, speaking over her shoulder as she moved at a brisk pace.

“My talents lie in ailments and disease, things brought about by the Plaguebringer. Your ‘curse,’ or whatever you call it, is not of her making.”

Samhain took a moment to ponder this new information. “Where do you think it came from then?” he questioned.

“If my suspicions are correct, your curse is the work of spirits, not of deities.” The Skydancer came to a halt, giving the air a tentative sniff. “Luckily, spirits are Yokai’s area of expertise.” The female grinned as a male Wildclaw emerged from the shadows, a strange black mist emanating from his form.

“How can I be of service, Nganga?” the shadow-hued Wildclaw spoke, bowing politely.

“A spirit’s curse, apparently,” Nganga replied, inclining her head in greeting. “I’ll leave this one in your capable talons.” Abruptly, the Skydancer took to the skies and disappeared from view, Samhain’s stuttered thanks trailing after her.

“If you don’t mind, I’d be most interested to hear of your predicament,” Yokai spoke, snapping Samhain’s attention back to the present.

“Of course, I would welcome any insights you might have,” Samhain said in a rush, bowing low in gratitude. For the sixth time that month, he found himself explaining his curse to yet another “expert.” And yet, this Wildclaw seemed different. Black mist continued to swirl around his talons, and his eyes stared off at some point beyond where Samhain stood in front of him, as if looking at something that only he could see….

When Samhain had relayed his tale, the Wildclaw closed his eyes, nodding his head. “I see,” he murmured, seemingly lost in thought. “And no identifiable trigger for these... episodes?”

“None.” Samhain sighed in response. “They just… happen.”

“I’ll be honest with you,” Yokai began, opening his eyes again and finally looking at the Banescale directly. “This is quite unusual, even for a spirit. But it is definitely the work of a spirit, that much I can sense with certainty.”

“So I’m not cursed?” Samhain asked incredulously.

“Not in my opinion,” Yokai replied, a serious expression on his face. “Curses are rare, and even when they do occur, almost always have a very specific trigger, chosen by the being that places the curse. What you have described to me sounds more like a message, a bizarre way of communicating, if you will. Something, most likely a spirit, is trying to be heard, and every once in a while, they get through to you.”

Samhain took a moment to process Yokai’s words. Although he had just met the Wildclaw, Samhain sensed that he could trust Yokai’s answer. It made far more sense than any of the others he had received thus far, anyway.

Yokai closed his eyes again, his brow furrowed in intense concentration. He was silent for several more minutes, and when he finally spoke again, he did so with eyes still shut.

“I think I can help you,” he finally said.

Yokai went on to explain that Samhain was welcome to stay in his clan’s territory for the time being while Yokai searched for a solution to his problem, but honestly, Samhain couldn’t remember much else of what he said, the Banescale was too caught up in those words: I can help you. For the first time, he felt the truth to those words.

He nodded vigorously and profusely thanked Yokai for his help. When the Wildclaw faded away into mist, he hardly noticed. Maybe he didn’t have all the answers yet, but for the first time since experiencing his first episode, Samhain didn’t feel helpless anymore. He was one step closer to escaping this nightmare forever, and that was huge.

That same night, Samhain met the clan’s other resident Banescales, and made it through the evening with only two more episodes. Since he would be staying with the clan for quite a while, it seemed, he told the other Banescales of his predicament, ensuring that they understood he couldn’t control the visions or whose past horrors he would be forced to witness. Luckily, most were fairly understanding and some even offered to tell him about their darkest day, so that the firsthand experience of it wouldn’t come as quite a shock.

Although Samhain slept by himself (as he usually did to avoid any unwanted visions waking him during the night) he had never felt less alone in his entire life. And that was better than anything those fortune tellers and psychics had offered him. As he drifted off to sleep, he thought back over the day’s events and the strange twist of fate that had led him here. Thank the deities he didn’t kill twenty-five frogs for nothing!