Shadow's Oath

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Chapter 40: Maraka’s Dagger (2)

"Did Chief Ikarum really say that?"

Damion asked as he stared down at Maraka’s dagger.

It was a blade about the length of a handspan, with an unpolished wooden handle.

The blade didn’t look attached to the handle but seemed as if it had naturally grown out of a branch, as if someone had merely snapped it off and turned it into a knife.

Thorns jutted out, making it uncomfortable to grip.

It was a shape that seemed designed to discourage anyone from holding it.

"Yes, he said we should find Hag Olga if we want to lift the curse on this dagger,"

Ram replied, holding the knife on the palm of his hand.

"This dagger has Maraka’s blood on it, along with some kind of powder used in sorcery. You may dismiss it as superstition, my prince, but I cannot leave such an ominous thing in this hall."

Damion scratched his cheek.

"You do have a point…"

Ram, avoiding everyone's gaze, continued with a troubled expression.

"I'm not trying to follow superstitions either. But it’s true that Hak attempted some kind of ritual in front of the bonfire during the banquet. We cannot leave such a knife in the banquet hall. Nor can we simply discard it or ask someone else to keep it."

Damion spoke without much thought.

"This Hag Olga person can dispose of the knife? Then it’s simple. Go and give it to her."

"I don’t know where Hag Olga is."

Damion pointed to Jedrick.

"How about someone accompanies you as a guide?"

Ram hesitated to mention that the guards couldn’t leave their posts.

The hall was surrounded by knights, inside and out.

With this many guards, they could fend off an entire Geron unit if necessary.

"I’ve thought it through. I don’t like leaving the dagger in the hall either. Let’s go together, Stuga. It’s not far, and it won’t take long."

"May I come along as well?"

Charlon asked.

"What?"

"Excuse me?"

The two men looked more shocked than if someone had declared war.

"Why are you so surprised?"

Charlon asked, her eyes wide.

"Didn’t you hear what Stuga is about to do?"

Jedrick questioned sharply.

"Oh, the winds from the north were so loud, I must have missed it. What are you doing?"

Charlon asked playfully.

Ram glanced toward the window.

Only the quiet sound of wind could be heard.

"We’re handling a curse,"

Damion explained.

"A curse?"

Charlon feigned ignorance and asked again.

"You heard it earlier during the banquet."

"I did. But did you understand what it meant?"

"Elder Sao explained it, didn’t he? Something about Mantum’s curse… it will fall upon us… it will kill us… blood winds will engulf us… something along those lines,"

Damion stammered, trailing off and looking to Jedrick for help.

"At the time, it felt chaotic, and I didn’t think much of it. But now that I say it out loud, it’s horrifying. No wonder the chiefs were panicked enough to try to execute Maraka."

Jedrick sighed deeply, looking conflicted.

"Come to think of it, my brother and the elders were so busy trying to contain the situation, they overlooked something very important."

"What’s that?"

"An apology."

Jedrick bowed his head deeply as he spoke.

"On behalf of our entire village, I apologize to both of you. This is not the will of the entire village."n/o/vel/b//in dot c//om

Damion smiled with satisfaction.

"I know. But you don’t need to apologize for this, Jedrick."

"Someone must take responsibility for what happened. We are weary of war, defeated, and have surrendered. We have no intention of seeking revenge. Who among us wouldn’t understand the consequences of touching the prince here? Though we are braver than you might think, we are also far more fearful in other ways."

Jedrick gestured toward the knights guarding the banquet hall in the darkness.

"If anyone had asked for my opinion on the hall's security, I would have said not to leave a single guard here."

"Are you suggesting I stay alone in enemy territory? With Charlon, no less?"

"Exactly. If you had done that, we would have placed our own warriors to guard this grand hall. If some fool like Maraka had tried to harm you, it would be a catastrophe for us. Then you’d be seen as a brave warrior sleeping alone in enemy land, and we’d fall for such courage easily."

Charlon laughed at that.

Jedrick turned to Charlon, his gaze warm.

"You asked about Hak’s curse? But I know no more than you do. Maraka spoke in a mix of ancient language and dialect. Elder Sao’s interpretation was the only reason we understood anything."

"Can such a curse actually come to pass?"

Charlon asked.

Damion added,

"Yes, I’m curious about that too. The powder he used made the bonfire burn brightly. It seemed to form some shapes."

"If something does happen…"

Jedrick closed his eyes, searching his memory.

"I’ve never witnessed it myself. Stories about spirits killing someone, ghouls rising from graves to steal souls—there are plenty of tales like that. But I’ve never seen it happen."

"I figured as much,"

Damion said with a nod, trying to appear composed.

Jedrick added,

"But maybe I simply didn’t see it because I didn’t know. Isn’t that the nature of curses?"

"You’ve gotten much better at our language,"

Damion said sarcastically.

Jedrick shrugged.

Charlon, looking intrigued, asked,

"But this Hak Maraka seems extremely loyal to Mantum. Attempting an assassination in front of so many people—it’s almost reckless bravery. He even nearly got executed."

"Calling that bravery leaves me speechless. Geronians have always loved such recklessness,"

Jedrick retorted.

Damion waved his hand irritably, perhaps just trying to change the subject, but to Ram, it looked like a gesture to disrupt the gaze between the two.

"Enough. My father always said that magic is just trickery and sorcery is nothing more than controlling people's thoughts through atmosphere. While I often disagree with my father, I think he’s right about that. If Hak was such a great sorcerer, why couldn’t he prevent Mantum’s death, huh?"

That question only made Ram shrink back.

Jedrick, however, answered calmly.

"True. Hak Maraka couldn’t do anything. He claimed to have cast protective magic over Mantum's tent. But my father still died."

Damion cleared his throat.

"My apologies. I got carried away and forgot for a moment that Mantum was your father."

"It’s fine. I only wish to state the facts."

Jedrick’s voice resonated through the spacious banquet hall like music, even drawing the attention of the knights standing guard.

Ram momentarily forgot his worries about the dagger and listened quietly.

"We confronted Hak about my father’s death. How the protective magic had failed. What happened? Hak was furious, saying it was impossible, but what’s done is done. He had no choice but to admit his failure. Then he mentioned another curse. He claimed to have cast two spells on my father. One was that anyone who entered to kill Mantum would die. The other was that, if by some chance someone did succeed in killing him, they would suffer the most horrifying death they could imagine."

"Did the curse work?"

Damion asked nervously.

"Why don't you ask General Terdin that question? Who killed Mantum? Did they meet a gruesome end? I asked, but he wouldn't answer. Could you ask him for me?"

"I actually did ask. But he refused to answer,"

Ram felt as if hundreds of spikes were stabbing into his back.

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Someone was pushing him with a cushion full of spikes, forcing him to confess.

‘Say it. Jedrick already knows anyway. So tell Damion, and Charlon too. Admit that you’re the assassin.’

Jedrick spoke to the crackling fire.

"Neither I nor the people of Elum could ever know for sure if Hak's curse worked. But one thing is clear: Hak's prophecy about Mantum's fate was wrong. It's also true that no spell could prevent Mantum's death. And because of that, now Hag Olga has become the center of everyone's attention. After all, only Hag predicted Mantum's death."

"What's a Hag?"

Damion asked.

"A female shaman."

"How is Hag different from Hak? Is it just gender?"

Charlon asked.

Jedrick pondered how to explain, then recited a poem in Geron's tongue.

It was a beautiful rhythm, delivered in a beautiful voice.

While Damion muttered, "Translate it for us," Charlon gazed at Jedrick, deeply moved.

Ram silently prayed that Damion hadn’t noticed her expression.

Finishing the poem, Jedrick said,

"Translated into Triton, it goes like this:

When Hak curses to kill, Hag lifts the curse.

When Hak summons spirits, Hag banishes them.

When Hak brings sickness, Hag heals it.

If you wish to kill, seek Hak.

If you wish to love, seek Hag."

Charlon quickly asked,

"How did this Hag predict Mantum's death?"

"She said an inevitable death was coming for Mantum, a death that no spell could stop. She advised them to stop the war immediately. She even claimed that Adian wasn't truly Mantum. She said this in front of all the chieftains who had proclaimed him Mantum!"

"To say such a thing before a war... She must have faced severe punishment,"

Damion commented.

"There was the harshest punishment one could impose on a shaman,"

Jedrick replied.

"What was it?"

"Indefinite confinement until the chieftain gives permission to release her."

"But why was her prophecy ignored? Did male shamans have more authority?"

Charlon asked.

"Hak Maraka wasn't the only one. At the time, all the Hags and Haks of every tribe predicted victory in the war. Every chieftain promised triumph, and our warriors’ morale was sky-high. In such a situation, she alone opposed it. My father was the kind of man who would have planted wheat in the middle of winter if Hag Olga suggested it, but this time, he had no choice."

"Because of the soldiers' morale?"

Damion guessed.

Jedrick nodded briefly.

"Exactly."

"Then why is she still imprisoned? Everyone else was wrong, and she was right. Shouldn't she be released now?"

Charlon asked, and Damion added,

"You said confinement lasts until the chieftain gives permission. The previous chieftain is dead, and the current one is Ikarum, right?"

Jedrick answered slowly.

"As I said earlier, we're brave in battle, but in other matters, we are cowards."

Damion looked at him as if to demand an explanation.

Suddenly, Charlon began talking about her own experience.

"There’s a witch in my village too. People avoid her, saying even meeting her brings bad luck. When they go to her for fortune-telling, they follow strict dress codes. I once went to see her, wearing the required outfit, and she turned out to be just a kind old woman. I asked her, 'What’s the meaning of this attire?'"

Charlon leaned closer to Jedrick and Damion as she spoke.

Her face was so close that Damion instinctively leaned back, while Jedrick leaned in to match her posture.

She continued,

"The witch said she never set any dress codes. But people always wore white when visiting her and burned the clothes afterward. Do you know why? Because her predictions of impending danger were too accurate."

"Wait, I don’t follow. What does accurate fortune-telling have to do with clothes?"

Damion asked.

"When someone is too accurate, it’s frightening. That fear makes people feel the need to do something. They wear white to avoid bringing bad luck on their way, and they burn the clothes to avoid bringing bad luck home afterward."

Charlon answered Damion, then turned to Jedrick.

"People are afraid of the Hag because her predictions were too accurate. That’s why they can’t let her go. Isn’t that right?"

Jedrick nodded.

"Ikarum is less superstitious compared to most Gerons, but even he cannot completely escape that fear. It won’t be easy for him to overcome it and release her."

"Haks and Hags, shamanism—these are vital parts of Geron culture, aren’t they? Right, Jeje?"

"It’s important," J

edrick admitted.

"When Prince Damion and I govern this village in the future, we’ll need to understand this culture. Don’t you agree, Jeje?"

"That’s… Wait a moment."

Jedrick hesitated, startled.

"How do you know that name?"

"I’ve heard it more than five times already. I may not know Geron’s language, but I could figure out your nickname."

Damion looked at Charlon, his expression asking, ‘Is that so?’

"What do you think, Prince? Should I go with Stuga and Jeje to find out…"

Charlon pointed to the ceremonial dagger Ram was still holding with both hands and continued,

"…how to handle this blade, what kind of curse Hak tried to put on us tonight, and everything else?"

Ram thought Damion would refuse.

He hoped so, for his own comfort.

He wanted to deliver the dagger quickly by himself and return.

He had no desire to drag along Jedrick and Charlon, especially Charlon.

"Very well."

But Damion agreed.

On second thought, he never refused Charlon’s requests.

If she asked him to pluck a white flower growing on the edge of a thousand-foot cliff, he’d climb it barehanded.

And he wasn’t the type to shy away from unexpected adventures.

"However, how could I let you go alone at this hour? I’ll go with you. A brief outing sounds better than sitting here all night."

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