Bonus snippet -- Tarada and the Eye

On a moonless night, as was tradition, the Tarada gathered.

They were not an official Inquisition, sanctioned by any government. They were merely people who had looked upon the curses inside themselves, and made the decision to do what needed to be done. The world needed to be kept safe from their ilk, and that was a responsibility better borne by them than forced upon the innocent. The Inquisitor ensured that his robe was properly in place (the group maintained the polite fiction that they were still ignorant of each others’ true identities after so many years), and took his seat in the old storeroom. The Doorkeeper barred the door, and the meeting began.

“Tracker,” the Inquisitor intoned in a monotone designed to disguise his voice as much as possible. “Has the Doorbridge woman been dealt with?”

“Yes, Inquisitor. We determined that most of the stories were simply vicious rumour. She is cursed only to spoil milk, so far as we can tell.”

“So you didn’t kill her?”

“No.”

“A lot of complaints over such a mild curse,” said Knife, in the corner. “Are you sure?”

“Neighbourly resentment, we think. You know how these things can be.”

“Keep an eye on it,” the Inquisitor said. “If it turns out to be something more harmful, the Knife’s skills are at your disposal.”

“Yes, Inquisitor.”

“As for the rumours about the man at the well, I think we can – ”

There was a knock on the storeroom door.

As one, the Tarada froze. The knock came again.

They headed, as silently as possible, for a stack of crates at the back of the room. Some of them reached for weapons, just in case; the Knife had had her blade out before the first knocking even ceased.

The Inquisitor crouched behind a crate, and watched as a boy calmly stood up from the corner of the room and went to unbar the door. How – how long had he been there?! How had he gotten in?!

The boy stepped back so a woman could enter. “They’re behind those crates over there,” he told her. “All five are here, three are armed.”

“Thank you, George.” She stepped forward and raised both hands. “I’m unarmed,” she announced. “Apologies for the intrusion. I was hoping for a conversation. I’m looking for the Tarada.” She was foreign, but spoke the language well. She didn’t look at all apprehensive or afraid.

The Inquisitor drew his curse across his eyes and examined the pair. The boy was heavily tainted, but the woman was pure. No… not completely. She had the power settled over her, but it wasn’t her own. Somebody else had laid it on her. An enchantment? Was she here against her will? It could be benign – the Tarada often turned their curses to noble purposes, perhaps this boy’s enchantment of the woman was some sort of veil or protection or sight. Possible, but unlikely; people weren’t cursed for being virtuous, and redemption was rare.

He stood. “You’ve found us. To whom am I speaking?”

“My name isn’t important. I am an emissary of the Eye of Duniyasar.”

“The Desert Witch uses your eyes.”

“Yes.”

“And what does it want with us?”

“To give a warning, and make an offer.” She sat down on a crate as if settling into a throne. “George, keep an eye on the street. Do it ‘quietly’, please.”

The boy nodded. He mumbled something to himself, something that sounded like “forget me”.

The Inquisitor and his companions focused on the intruder in their midst; the foreign woman. The door of the storeroom opened and shut, but they paid it no mind.

“A war is coming,” the woman announced.

“What?” the Inquisitor asked.

“A war. Not a small one; a war on a world scale. Dozens of countries will fight each other, all of them enlisting the most powerful curses that they can find. A magical arms race that will devastate half of the planet in a swathe of destruction previously not dreamt of. We are going to prevent it.”

“How?”

“By removing the witches as a factor. People can fight as much as they like, and there will be pain and death and destruction, but if they are deprived the chance to lay curses against each other, they will recover. We have most of what we need. But we need an Inquisition, and all of the Eye’s forecasters have directed us to you five as an excellent candidate.”

“Why us?”

“Unsure. I don’t question these things. But we have a lot of curses to deal with in a small amount of time.”

The Knife shook her head. “There must be a thousand witches out there. You’re expecting five people to kill how many, exactly?”

“We’ll ensure that you can hire as much assistance as you need. But killing doesn’t solve our problems. We need to isolate the curses from use, not free them to infect others.”

“You’re talking about, what? Building a massive prison?”

“A refuge. A place where those tainted will want to isolate themselves. It won’t be necessary to find every witch and drag them there by force; they are coming of their own free will. Construction and population growth are going well. But we need a group capable of keeping us safe. Of dealing with unstable elements. A group who, if they find witches who are too dangerous to be left alone, but won’t come to their new home, can… deal with that, in whatever method is practical. So. Tarada.” The woman smiled. “Are you willing to collect those thousand spells for us? Should we talk about how we’re going to save the world?”