Free A Hero's Curse by P. S. Broaddus Page A

race of Felis, and answer to no king nor kingdom.”
    “Thank you, Tigrabum, Essie Brightsday’s Companion, Guide, and Protector.”
    The word protector annoys me. I interrupt the salamander in front of me. “You can just call him Tig.”
    “Excuse me,” Tig interjects, “I—”
    “Of course Lady Essie Brightsday, daughter of Killian husband of Keira—”
    “And I’m just Essie.” An awkward silence lasts a few seconds. “How again did you learn Lingua Comma?”
    “Magic placed upon me by your own King Mactogonii from the Kingdom of Mar, Land Under the Sun.”
    After the salamanders—or Urodela as they call themselves—have gone I remain sitting on my pallet, too stunned to move. I’ve been invited to some sort of banquet, which will be attended by “Queen Crypthania of the Kingdom of Crypta.” It sounds a little conceited to me. To name your kingdom after yourself—but maybe it’s the other way around. I dig my fingers into the hairy moss. King Mactogonii. Urodela speaking Lingua Comma. Magic. I never heard of magic being used this way. Of course I think of Tig. My hand strays to the back of his ears. I know he’s probably thinking the same thing. Thinking of using magic to let animals speak gets me thinking about my eyes. Could magic restore my sight?
    I feel dizzy again. Tig has been unusually quiet. I cock my head toward him, inviting him to say something. Not that he ever waits for my invitation.
    “Well, that was both interesting and confusing.”
    I nod, but don’t try to respond yet. There is too much to process. My legs dangle off the pallet I am sitting on, so I let my toes explore a little further. This isn’t a rock cavern, at least not a bare rock cavern. The floor is covered with a thick spongy moss. I feel the bed I was lying on and decide it is probably made of the same moss after it has been dried. I absently comb my fingers through my hair. My fingers get stuck. It is such a tangle I can hardly tell what’s moss and what’s natural.
    A soft pattering announces something is returning—the awkward gait of a salamander. I focus on the soft steps and am able to separate the pattering—two, no three salamanders. The three Urodela chirp into the room.
    I focus like I have been taught, taking in sounds, smells, echoes, and feelings. They are about two feet tall when they walk on their hind legs. The tiny footsteps are muffled in the moss in the room, so it is difficult to gauge just how much they might weigh, like Tig taught me, but I judge they are just a bit larger than Tig—maybe thirty pounds. They smell damp and musky, but clean, and are not hunters or scavengers—they eat plants. I can tell that they are looking at me. Unsure what to say, I dip my head in greeting.
    “They did a good job on your arm,” says Tig.
    “Thanks for taking care of my arm,” I say. The only response is a chirruping “Hello!” and several whistles.
    “It doesn’t look like the one who speaks Lingua Comma is back,” says Tig dryly. For the next few minutes they continue to chorus the single word, “Hello.” I try to interrupt a couple of times with a “Where are we?” but none of them appear to be listening.
    I turn back to Tig. “Pretty fixated on that greeting.”
    “I hear that,” says Tig.
    I turn back to the two hello’ers and give them a “hello” in return. They increase their volume and try to repeat hello at an even faster rate.
    “You just sent them hopping up and down,” says Tig. “They’re giving me a headache.”
    I feel like I could be a little annoyed too, but at the idea of these little creatures’ antics and the constant repeating of “hello” in their chirruping songlike voices I can’t help but chuckle. The chuckle turns into a laugh, and in just a moment I lie back on the bed, and I’m laughing so hard the tears roll down my cheeks, and I can’t stop. Finally the hiccups get me, and I am able to control my laughing again.
    I hear tiny feet patter up to me,