“…Tch…!”
It was hard enough to operate familiars fueled by his own curse energy; the more alien energy they acquired, the more likely they were to escape his control. Mindful of the puppets’ individual capacity, Guy was pulling appropriate levels of energy from them, wrangling that within even as the fight raged on. If he lost control of a puppet, it would all be over, but if he siphoned too much energy away, the puppets would lose the battle. This was an exercise designed to press home what a two-edged sword fighting with curses was, but…
“I ain’t getting stuck here!”
Riling himself up, Guy used a cursed wood puppet as a decoy, and while the hostiles were focused on that, another of his familiars bound both arms into a single club, swinging horizontally. That crushed two foes at once while the third hostile sliced up the decoy and spun around—but the excess of curse energy slowed it down. Guy had been counting on that and pressed the advantage. His wooden puppet tackled the foe, knocked it over, and trussed it up—and the roots dug into the hostile doll’s body.
“Ah-ha-ha-ha-ha-ha! Ah-ha-ha! Ah-ha! Ah-ha-ha! Ha!”
The invasive roots destroyed it from within—and with nothing left to power it, the screeching laugh was silenced. The doll crumbled away. His familiar was hit with a blast of curse energy, but Guy collected that before it could escape his control. It was virulently unpleasant, but he let it in without fighting it, soothing the energy, settling it down—and when that was over, he allowed himself a relieved sigh.
“What, already done?” Zelma blinked. She’d been reading on the sidelines. “It’s only just past noon. This was a full-day assignment!”
“Haah…haah… I ain’t got time for that! Gimme the next one, Instructor Zelma!”
The thrill of success driving him, Guy swung around for another go.
“At least you’re motivated,” she said, shaking her head. “But I’m afraid I can’t.”
“Huh? Why not? I’m ready for more!”
“I can see that. It’s assignments I’m short on. I neglected to mention this was your final exam.”
Guy locked up a second, not quite processing this. She flashed a grin at him.
“Knowledge, technique, and attitude—you’ve got everything a wrangler needs. The Warburgs are a house of wranglers, and I’d stake my name on it. I knew you were moving fast, but to get here in less than a month? I can see why Baldia was after you.”
She clearly felt the same—and that helped it finally sink in. Guy was already at the goal line he’d been racing to get to.
“…So I’m done? Then…”
“You can assume you’ve reached the minimum threshold for living a normal life with curse energy in you. You know how to stop it from transmitting, and what to do if it does—you’ve mastered that body and mind. All you need to do is make that routine. Naturally, that doesn’t mean you live like you did before you were a wrangler—but you should be able to recover your friendships to an extent. Here’s where you’re grateful to me.”
That last was a joke, but Guy’s eyes were filling with tears.
He could be with his friends again. He couldn’t touch them, and he definitely couldn’t hug them, but he could at least be around them and talk. That did evoke gratitude—and so he voiced it.
“Thank you so much…!”
“Hmm, sincerity is always welcome. That said, you made such smooth progress that I didn’t really manage to wind you around my finger. Shame! And here I’d planned to lure you away from Baldia… Still, your preternatural self-control gave you this outcome. I’ll have to satisfy myself with knowing I helped bring a promising future wrangler to the world. Not calling this a prize for that, but in honor of your completed training, I do have a gift.”
Zelma waved a wand, and the doors opened. Three mages stepped in. Guy knew every face—all three were Kimberly graduates who’d joined the faculty.
“…Gwyn, Shannon…and Rivermoore?”
“Mm, today’s assignment was a bit of a challenge, so I had them on standby in case you lost control of the curse energy. You’re a lucky man, Guy. No other school in the Union had multiple consolers this good, on staff but not full instructors. All credit to your own choice to attend Kimberly. That said, they are busy. Let’s get this done, people. Your consolations should be able to quiet even this powerful a curse for a full week.”
“On it.” Gwyn nodded and put his viola under his chin.
Rivermoore took a seat at the piano, while Shannon sat Guy down on a chair, her hand on his shoulder.
“Let me…touch you, Guy,” she told him. “Don’t worry. Just…relax.”
“Er, um…”
Guy was baffled, but they were already playing. The music stole his attention away, and he stopped squirming.
“Listen close—no need to answer me,” Zelma said. “Instructor David came to me the other day. Said with your talents, a binary choice was cruel and unusual. Wondered if there was any way to give you more time. I found that hard to spurn. I owed him for his help cleaning up the mess Baldia’s apprentice caused; even as her proxy, that’s not a small favor. And I also didn’t want to see you repeat Lombardi’s mistakes.”
As the gentle melody washed over him, Shannon overlapped her zone with Guy’s, consoling the curse. It felt far too comfortable. The tension drained from him.
“To be more specific,” Zelma began, “twice a month, you’ll be getting consolation from this crew. That’ll render the curse inside you temporarily dormant, and during that period, you’ll be able to act almost as you did before becoming a wrangler. Essentially an unorthodox way to keep both fires burning. Half the time, you’ll be able to relax around your friends and look after magiflora. Perhaps the outcome will be stunting your growth in both fields—but I’m betting you’ll deem that a small price to pay.”
Guy nodded, stunned. Sensing this was hard for him to believe, Zelma backed it up.
“I should add this is preferential treatment even by Kimberly standards. It’s a testament to the hopes we’re placing on your talent—and a reward for bringing everyone stranded in the lava tree mold back alive. Deaths down there would have been a thorn in our side. A solid standing for those who wish to tear the headmistress down. Heh-heh—like I told you before, just being alive makes curse wranglers worthy. You were no exception to that rule.”
A flash of her patented wit. And at last, it started to feel real. The concert played on.
“Ironic—Lombardi forced that curse upon you, but your choice to be his Final Visitor is what earned you this treatment. Perhaps some other event would have led to you becoming a wrangler, but no other impetus would ever have allowed you to split your time. Your enemy, and your brother in curses—and without ever knowing him, he gave you much.” Then Zelma added, “…I often think there’s little difference between a blessing and a curse. Both entwine themselves in the fabric of the world, altering fate. Once you’ve swallowed it all—where will it lead you?”
A tear escaped Guy’s eye. Zelma turned away.
“Enough of my noise. Give yourself over to the racket inside and out, Evil Tree. And accept that moniker. It may feel like a curse—but it’s just as much a blessing.”
With that last admonishment, Zelma left the room. Everything but the beautiful music faded from his mind, and Guy gave himself over to it.