Chapter 1
I live in a strange world. Some might call it mad. Others might say it is wrong. Some might deem it impossible, unreal. But this world is all I have, the only thing I know.
Sometimes I imagine myself as if from the outside. As if I am high in the sky, looking down at fields, rivers, houses, and little funny people (I have a lot of free time, and I am a great dreamer, so all I can do is ponder and fantasize).
I ask the Creator: why? Why create such a gloomy and ugly world? What have we done to deserve this? When did it happen? And how long will it last? But He does not answer me, always silent, and I come up with the answers myself.
Yet there is something that supports me in my endless loneliness – fantasies. About another world, an imagined one. Full of goodness and light, where people live freely and peacefully, unafraid to communicate with others. They do not hide away in their homes, behind high walls and fences. They do not worry for their children or hide them from prying eyes.
In my world, curses come true. Alas. Not wishes for good, luck, happiness, or love, but malicious, hate-filled desires for death, illness, misfortune, and suffering. Spoken indifferently and casually… Cast aside in a quiet voice or carefully planned and shouted out loud. They always come true, and no one can escape them – neither the powerful nor the weak and oppressed.
The younger the age, the stronger the curse acts. The older a person is, the weaker it becomes. Therefore, in the cities (though there are few in our world, they do exist), mostly elderly people live, and there are no children at all.
There are very few people in our world. And this is not surprising. After all, what are the most common curses? May you die! May you have no offspring! May you become a monster and a fright! And so on. Throughout the history of our world, there have been several instances when humanity was on the brink of extinction. The survivors retreated into the forests, living in isolation, as separate families, and somehow civilization clawed its way back into the light.
In all this nightmare, there is only one positive aspect – magic. If it weren’t for magic, there would have long been nothing left of humanity but memories. My father told me that for centuries, magicians pondered how to rid the world of curses. They found a solution, though not very effective – magical protection. On a child’s coming of age, a bracelet was placed on them, shielding them from the strongest curses (for death, for illness, for misfortune). The stronger the bracelet was charged (and thus, the more expensive it was), the more effective it worked. But until the age of sixteen, children must hide from outsiders, as the bracelet does not work on the young.
In our world, there are rich and poor. Typically, these are the magicians and those who are unfortunate enough not to be born as one. The magicians have everything – impregnable castles where they lock themselves away from the world, immense wealth, vast territories surrounded by magical barriers. They do not need to worry about food – it appears on their tables by itself. They do not need to fret about whether they have enough money for their child’s bracelet – they make these bracelets themselves.
Children are the most precious thing in our world. They are hidden from others, cared for, and protected more than any treasure. The rich build high towers for their children, where no one can reach them, while the poor hide their children in their homes, in basements, or in boarded-up attics.
Families live in isolation. Farms and villages are far apart. Couples are chosen by parental agreement. It often happens that the bride and groom see each other for the first time only at their wedding.
We do not welcome guests, are wary of distant relatives, and there are hardly any travelers on the roads. There is no central secular authority either. What kind of authority can there be with so few people? The magicians run everything. The most powerful are almost omnipotent and invulnerable. They organize fairs to sell bracelets. They choose the most beautiful girls as their wives, and they decide who lives and who dies.
I was fortunate to be born into the right family. My father, though not very powerful, is a magician. He possesses a unique talent – he can extract ore from the earth. Gold, silver, iron. This is a very useful skill, as magical bracelets are made from a blend of gold and silver. Next to our castle, a small smelting factory was built, where the ore is melted into bars. My father then takes them to the fair or sells the finished bracelets to the magicians.
We live richly. We have a large four-story castle, surrounded by a high stone wall. Fertile lands, luxurious fruit orchards, herds of cows and horses. My father’s skill was enough to enclose our vast territory with a magical barrier, enchant the fields so they would cultivate themselves, and the harvest would gather on its own.
When I was little, I enjoyed watching from the high tower of our castle as ripe pumpkins and watermelons slowly rolled across the ground towards the barn. How tomatoes and apples flew through the air and arranged themselves in boxes by the kitchen.
In our family, I am the youngest. I have sisters – Anna and Rosa. There is also a brother, Nicolas (almost two years older than me). All four of us have lived in the eastern tower of the castle since birth. It is aptly named – the Children’s Tower. Each of us has two rooms and one nanny for all. A deaf-mute. Such servants are highly valued. They are specifically hired to look after small children. Poor people deliberately mutilate themselves, cutting their tongues and piercing their eardrums, to get a job in a wealthy household.
While our mother was alive, she came to our tower every day. Sometimes with our father, sometimes alone. We all eagerly awaited these brief visits. After all, our parents are our only connection to the world. Mother sang songs, taught us to read and write, told us about what was happening beyond the tower walls, and taught us various magical tricks – how to create clothes, prepare food from the supplies in the pantry below, light up the room, and create simple illusions. She was a weak magician and often laughed, saying that our father married her for her beauty (mother was exceptionally beautiful), not for her magical gift or dowry, which she did not have. I did not believe my mother. I firmly knew that my father married for great love. After all, he always looked at her as if she were the greatest treasure.
I resembled my mother the most. The same blonde hair, the same blue eyes, dimples on my cheeks, and plump lips. They even gave me a name almost the same – Belle (my mother was named Isabella). My sisters envied me, though I do not know why. Mother loved us all equally, but they bullied not each other, but me.
I was ten years old when mother gave birth to Peter. He was weak and sickly. He cried and wailed all the time down there. We all in the tower slept poorly and worried greatly for our mother. She struggled to recover after the difficult birth. I did not quite understand all these intricacies. The eldest, Anna, was soon to turn sixteen, and she was preparing to wear her bracelet, so she told us all that the birth was difficult, and even the strong magician hired by our father for a large sum could not stop the bleeding immediately. Anna’s words explained nothing to me, only filled me with more panic. We were more frightened than ever in our lives. We all froze, terrified little rabbits in our rooms, afraid to stick our noses out. The nanny could say nothing, and our father had not come for several months.
Then Anna said that mother had somehow recovered. She started to get up and would soon be allowed to see us. And she whispered that a curse had been placed on mother. Our aunt, our father’s younger sister. Whether she envied mother’s beauty or for some other reason, Anna did not know. I had never seen my aunt, only heard that she lived with us in the castle and had never been married. What kind of power must a curse have to break through even a magical bracelet? How could one hate so much? I was bewildered, for in my understanding, mother was the kindest and most beautiful woman in the world…
The aunt was expelled. Father ruthlessly and without hesitation threw her out of the castle, regardless of her tears, pleas, and assurances that her words had slipped out accidentally and she did not mean it. What happened to her afterward is unknown; I never heard of her again.
Mother never fully recovered. She came to us pale, thinner, no longer smiling, just hugging me tightly and sitting quietly and silently. Little Peter did not live to see his anniversary. I never got to see my little brother. After his funeral, mourning settled in the house. No one came to us for weeks; we were left to ourselves. We prepared food on our own (even for the nanny, who was not a magician). Our parents had taught us the basics of magic in childhood, and we needed nothing more. The main thing was that there were supplies in the pantry below. After all, magic does not create from thin air. Nothing appears just like that, and nothing disappears without a trace. To make porridge, all the necessary ingredients (grains, salt, sugar, milk) must be nearby. Otherwise, it would be like the time I tried to make ice cream, but fresh milk had not yet been delivered. I ended up with a strange solid mass of pureed fruit and sugar. Clothes could also be created if there were fabrics (or at least wool) in the pantry. Only illusions could be created from thin air. But illusions do not fill you up (though Rosa, Nicolas, and I often entertained ourselves by scaring the nanny: we would put on masks of wolves or bears).
