Elian shot a look at Frederick. They did know about the Magistrate’s Curse. Worse, they told someone else. He didn’t bother denying it because this old-timer Bufford wouldn’t let it get past him.

  Frederick shook his head and raised his arms. “It’s not what you think, Elian, our friend.” He lowered his voice as he leaned forward, arms still raised. “Let me just say that I have nothing against you or anyone on the Cursed Penitent Path. I’m not even a follower of the Hundred-Armed Magistrate.”

  “Me neither,” Marlowe chimed in.

  “I dun’ believe in what can be seen,” said Bufford. “Gods should be beyond mortal thinkin’, is what I say.”

  “And we didn’t go spreading around your secret,” Frederick continued. “Believe me, friend. We asked Bufford here about your, uh…”

  “Tribulation with two strikes,” Elian said, feigning a tense voice.

  He wasn’t really angry with them. He counted it as a bright side that there was no need for him to make up stories about how he came to know about Cursed Tribulations. Made things easier to ask them questions. Plus, this immediately revealed where they stood—they weren’t prejudiced by those Cursed by the Magistrate. And he could invoke saving their lives to make them promise not to spread it.

  Frederick apologetically grinned. “We’ve heard things about, uh, you know… Cursed Tribulations. Never seen it before. Until yours. We suspected it was so, and Bufford confirmed it. Merely for our curiosity is all it was, friend.”

  “Nothing beyond curiosity, we swear,” Marlowe said. “I think… I know that you’re an upstanding guy despite whatever you did to—”

  “I didn’t do anything criminal or wrong or anything of the sort that you’re thinking,” Elian said. Deciding to take control of the situation, he turned to Bufford with a challenging yet respectful nod. “Care to guess the reason for my Curse?”

  “Hard to say, isn’t it?” Bufford scratched his huge scar. “I don’t know much ‘bout you. This claim of not doin’ wrong…” He examined Elian with his remaining eye. Elian sat straighter, warming up to the old man. He had a similar accent to Wendell. “I’m thinkin’ you didn’t hurt others or the like, but you did somethin’ others might take wrongly. Somethin’ offensive to the Magistrate or the priests.”

  “Did you deface part of the temple?” Marlowe guessed.

  “Goin’ to need some mighty defacin’ to bother the Magistrate to this extent. Counts as doin’ wrong in my lone eye.”

  It was Frederick’s turn to guess. “I bet you stole—wait. Stealing is doing something wrong too. Got to be a religious matter, right? We keep our noses out of those.”

  “We give up, Elian laddie,” Bufford said. “Tell us what it is you did that the ireful finger of the Magistrate touched you with a Curse.”

  “None. I just asked for a Curse,” Elian said, smiling. “And the Magistrate granted it.”

  After looking at each other, the hunters loudly laughed, blending with the noise from other tables. They obviously didn’t believe Elian and thought he was joking. He expected it. The important part was that it broke the tension.

  Elian then deployed a fake tale after the hunters’ laughter faded. “I assure you that I’m not a man with bad intentions. What I did… I can’t take it back. But I wouldn’t have been Cursed; the priests were divided in their decision. Nonetheless, I pleaded to do so for a weightier penance.”

  Silence followed. The hunters solemnly nodded. They weren’t religious, but they respected Elian’s fake conviction.

  “All I ask,” Elian said, “is you don’t spread that I have a Curse, not a Boon.”

  “I so swear on my life that you saved,” Marlowe said.

  “Likewise, I swear,” Frederick said. “On my grandmother’s soul. If she’s still around, she would’ve told you I don’t break promises like that.”

  “And me, I swear on my decency as a person,” said Bufford. “For what that’s worth, yes. I know your worries, Elian, laddie. More than a decade I’ve eked out a livin’ on these hills, and I’ve seen how groups wearin’ different colors treat each other. Sometimes descendin’ to hurtin’ and killin’. Nothin’ much changed over the long years. If they act like enemies to supposed friends, what’ll they do to Cursed Penitents? Nothin’ good. That’s what. My mouth is shut, laddie, lest it be on my conscience if anythin’ happens to you.”

  “Many thanks,” Elian said. “If you’re not too busy, Bufford, sir, can I ask some questions? Drinks are on me.” He waved for the bartender before the hunters could refuse, signaling for a round. With that, the deal was sealed.

  “I’m not claimin’ to be all-knowin’ ‘bout matters on these hills, despite what these two might’ve told you.” Bufford nudged his head at Marlowe and Frederick. “Just seen a lot of things over the years and I’m good at rememberin’ them, right? I reckon you want to ask me about the Magistrate’s Curse?”

  “Yes…” Elian pretended to have trouble finding his words. “The priests didn’t tell me anything. The books in the library are useless. Those with any information are restricted. And I don’t know any Cursed Penitent I could ask for guidance.”

  “They’re out there. Don’t want to reveal themselves, you get it?” Bufford shook his head as Elian opened his mouth. “Several people the rumors have branded as Cursed. I’m not tellin’ you ‘bout them ‘cause I don’t want to peddle possible lies. But there is one I personally can confirm: Ennan Sharpsnarl of Sarnival Port. That secretive rat of a gaunt man is Cursed. He cheated me out of—”

  “Where is he? Can I talk to him?”

  “I gave you a name, like I’ve said. His location? No idea. Still alive? Dead? No idea. The last he’s been seen on these hills was ‘bout six years ago, was it?”

  “I’ve heard of him,” Frederick said. “I didn’t know he was a Cursed Penitent.”

  “That, he is,” Bufford said. “I can say it ‘cause my lone eye saw the three strikes of his powerful Tribulation. I was huntin’ quite far out, mindin’ my own business, see? He felt someone saw him—got sharp senses, that man—but didn’t know ‘twas me. The next day, he was gone. Left the hills to only Storm God knows where. He shouldn’t have been too concerned. If only that twitchy man waited, he’d see nothin’ bad would’ve happened to him. I know how to keep my mouth shut.”

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  “You’re not keeping your mouth shut now,” Marlowe said.

  “Took me six years to open my mouth,” Bufford said with a dismissive wave. “That’s long enough, yeah?”

  “You say Ennan Sharpsnarl is of Sarnival Port,” said Elian.

  “Simply repeatin’ his claim.” Bufford paused talking as the bartender brought heavy mugs topped with froth. The one-eyed man took a deep swig before continuing, “If you want to find Ennan, that cheatin’ rat, I reckon the port of the Blademasters is a good start. Though Sharpsnarl might be a fake family name.”

  “Do you know anything else about the Lesser Curse of the Magistrate other than it can strike multiple times?”

  Bufford scrunched his nose. “Been six years… but I recall the hand crater isn’t as big as I thought it’d be. The earth shook mightily. I’ve witnessed several Tribulations so I could compare. It was too small and too strong.”

  Elian’s left cheek twitched. It was as he expected. The challenge would get more difficult in the next tier. “What about the Greater Curse? Have you seen any? I’ve heard that the Cursed who reached a Greater state can be considered Enlightened Penitents.”

  “Can’t help you with that ‘cause I’ve witnessed the Greater Tribulation of only one Enlightened Penitent—Priest Thalman. His was the last seen by the people of this hills.”

  “Can we…?” Elian looked around with narrowed eyes, remembering Thalman’s powers and the warning of Frederick.

  The other tables were far from them, and the noises protected them from being overheard. No new customer entered since Elian came in. He didn’t have any special way to check for disguises or stealth, but his battle senses honed over the years didn’t alert him to anything amiss.

  Turning back to Bufford, Elian asked, “Can we talk about Priest Thalman here? Is it safe?”

  Bufford shrugged. “I don’t know if anythin’s safe. I’m not all-knowin’, I’ve told you that. But I do know you shouldn’t be worried. Thalman’s a candidate for suspicion. You don’t see any of his bodies walking ‘round, right? None of that fadin’ in and out sight.”

  “Huh, I haven’t seen him today. His clones aren’t patrolling with the guards and golems.”

  “He’s been missin’ since yesterday,” Bufford said.

  “Since yesterday…?” Elian slowly said. Thalman visited their camp yesterday to look for Borlen. However, when Elian went to Gideon, he no longer saw Thalman. Maybe that was before the other priests barred him from making clones. Wasn’t a surprise they’d do that as a precautionary measure even if nothing connected him to the theft.

  “I won some coin bettin’ when the other priests were goin’ to pull his leash. Each time there’s big trouble they restrict his movements. Anyway, Frederick here told me you wanted to learn about Thalman’s attack on the Magistrate.”

  Elian nodded. “You’ve witnessed it?”

  “I was there that day, yes. Didn’t see what he did inside the temple—I was sellin’ food to pilgrims lined outside—but there was a fight, for certain. Explosions! Smoke and fire spewin’ out of doors and windows!”

  “Keep it down, old man,” hissed Marlowe.

  “Two or three towers crumbled,” continued Bufford, heeding Marlowe. “Walls fell. Statues toppled. The road cracked open in places, swallowin’ people. I almost dropped to my doom myself. Dozens, dead. Hundreds, dead. Others say they saw Thalman himself battlin’ the priests. I was runnin’ for my life and didn’t see that.”

  “And the priests defeated him and he’s a priest now,” Elian said. “Do you think he’s Cursed?”

  “Again, I’m not all-knowin’ and—”

  “Just an educated guess,” Elian cut in.

  “Most people accused him of that when he was presented by the priests as an Enlightened Penitent. He didn’t have a past, see. No one knew him from when he endured Lesser Tribulations. Should have supporters, right? None for him. Now, the world is vast and Thalman is strong. He might not have needed anybody’s help. The rumors died down soon enough. The people cheered him on as he succeeded in his Tribulations.”

  “The Greater Tribulations!” Elian excitedly whispered. “Thalman couldn’t have continued hiding from the people when he became an Enlightened Penitent. Surely there are differences between the Curse and the Boon. How did he manage that?”

  “Ah, it isn’t that simple, laddie. Greater Tribulations aren’t done in that clearing outside the hills. Most people don’t know that ‘cause it’s been so long since the last one. It’s also been forgotten that people aren’t allowed to watch. It’s too dangerous, see? Not only a physical strike. Different effects might kill pilgrims close by. And so, it was held in a small valley between artificial hills made by the catfolk. This is near the Dark Forest.”

  “I guess, that makes sense.” Elian furrowed his brows as he drank from his mug. He savored the hot liquid warming his chest as his head was bursting with questions. “But you mentioned that you witnessed his Tribulation?”

  “I did see, yes.” Bufford tapped his remaining eye. “From afar. Me and thousands of others. It was a sight to behold, and I remember the display of lights and bursts of explosions as if the world was goin’ to end. But… how could we have known if it was the Tribulation from a Greater Curse?”

  “There are records of the trials making up the Greater Tribulations,” Elian said.

  From what he learned from his research and conversations with Priest Thalman and Priest Yonnik, a Greater Tribulation wasn’t fixed. There was a pool of possible trials—physical and magical, with all sorts of effects, some stronger than others—and the Tribulation was like pulling a slot machine on what combination you’d get.

  “What use are the records if we haven’t seen them before?” Bufford countered. “Yes, some accuse Thalman of being Cursed in the past. But they can’t prove it. People are too far away to be sure if such and such trial occurred, or too many trials happened.”

  “Right…” This made Elian understand why those with Greater Curses could become Enlightened Penitents. It was easy to mask it. By then, people would be happy supporting whoever had the top score, the same as people from Earth supporting famous people despite their scandals. “Another question, Bufford, sir. Perhaps my last one. Do you think Thalman’s original body is… erm, held…”

  “Imprisoned in the Forbidden Temple?” The one-eyed old man laughed. “Surprised at how I know your next question? ‘Cause that’s also a rumor back then. If it’s true, I don’t know. Possible, possible. There’s a portal that connects Temple Hill to the Forbidden Temple, so it’s easy for the priests to check on whoever they may have imprisoned there.”

  “There’s a portal?” That made sense.

  Even Yonnik, with his bizarre way of moving, would take probably a couple of hours to reach the Forbidden Temple from Temple Hill. The other priests likely didn’t have a convenient method of going there to check on Thalman or whoever, or whatever, was held there.

  “I heard the catfolk made that portal,” Marlowe said. “Should be some other portals scattered among the ruins of their empire. There’s a reward if you discover their artifacts.”

  “Why are you interested in Thalman, laddie?” Bufford asked. “Tryin’ to figure out who the thief is?”

  “Yes. I’m friends with some supporters of Tharguras. I want to help them.”

  Bufford frowned. “Don’t go accusing a priest now, even if the other priests are wary of him. And this isn’t your trouble. Let it be. They’ll sort it out and life will continue peacefully on these hills.”

  “I hope so…” Elian said, knowing that wouldn’t be the case if he did nothing.

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