Chapter 9: The Curse Of Estagal Pt I
THE BINDING OF FATES
CHAPTER 9
THE CURSE AT ESTAGAL PT I
Summary: The Crows heads over to a distant town called Estagal to eradicate a nogtail infestation. However ...
Tonks was uncharacteristically pensive on the flight back to Salles. The trio had chance to freshen up, eat, and have their robes cleaned before leaving Beauxbatons.
When they landed outside the local bed and breakfast cafe on the main street to meet Mr. Ollivander, Harry tapped her on her shoulder.
Tonks looked at him. "Hmm? What?"
"You ok?" Harry asked. Tonks nodded, her expression hard to figure out.
"Yeah, this is just a big eye opener, that's all," she said as she hid all of the brooms and the dirty sack under notice me not charms.
"Eye opener?"
"Yup. This job is serious business. And even though the rewards for this risk may seem worth it, money can't help you when somebody draws a wand on your back or kills you while sipping your tea."
Harry never thought about these things before, and it didn't seem to bother him now. He found it hard to contemplate not being in danger, or facing it head on when necessary. Harry looked at her, nodding in agreement.
"Can't be more dangerous than Auror work."
"I don't know. It could be. Or maybe at the same level. With the Auror job, you actively investigate wizards who are wanted for a crime... it gives you a focused purpose. This job the threat could come from anywhere, anytime. It's much more ...random shall we say. Which makes it vastly more dangerous, in my opinion."
"You having second thoughts?" he asked as they stepped into the charming eatery on the ground floor of the two storey building.
"I don't know," Tonks admitted truthfully. "There he is."
Jon came in last, watching the two other occupants in the place having a mid morning snack and tea. Mr. Ollivander rose up from his table and approached.
"Morning, lads. Miss Tonks," he greeted with a nod. The three of them returned the greeting. "Paul here has told me that the clan from London saved the boy. Very, very commendable of you three," he said in a low voice. "I am happy for him and his family. It is not easy, losing a young one," Mr. Ollivander said sadly. "You kept the body, correct?" he ventured.
"Yes," Jon confirmed. Ollivander indicated that they should all sit in the booth. He took out a map of France. On it were circled areas connected by a straight line.
"Good. I have news of a farm infestation of the wild bog boar probably only half an hour flight from this town." He indicated one of the circled areas. "It's called Estagal, closer to the eastern side of south France. I sent a few owls since I made that list for you lads," Mr. Ollivander pulled his beard. "The Hunter Clan The Reaper's Scythe has abandoned that job because the village where the farm is didn't have the required down payment. Now the infestation has gotten bigger and they are desperate. The Reaper's clan are pretty well known for routine Magical Creature jobs which is why they can call their high price. That was a couple of months ago."
"So that's where we come in, right?"
"Yes. Also the Elfen bat can also be found in that region. We can use some of the wild bog boar carcasses to lure a few out their cave at night. They are mainly scavengers."
"Sounds good," Jon said, clasping his hands under his chin. "Before you continue, I am curious. How did you know about the Diablo?"
"I've got my ears to the ground, son. I've heard tidbits of news, whispers from clients and acquaintances, of dark practices on the rise in southern France. The regular disappearances of these children, it reminded me of when I was young and Grindelwald was recruiting. I hate to say it, but these times are frighteningly similar to those days during the great second war."
Jon looked across to Harry. Harry remained silent, listening to the old man's tale.
"There were rumours of two other children being lost previously in this southern region," Jon said.
"Richard was the third, according to the guildsman, Greyback," Harry said.
"Greyback yes. Be wary of him. He has connections on the good, and not so good side of things. I hear he works hard for the guild and the clans generally like him, but don't cross him personally."
Mr. Ollivander frowned.
"If a Diablo isn't dealt with, the haunted nightmares of the village manifest into Erlkings... dwarf type creatures that fester in phantom form, growing in hate. They then become lesser demons, who haunt children's closets and slip into their nightmares. They lure children to sleepwalk out of the safety of their homes, then become corporeal and snatch them away. Usually, the children manage to wake up and escape on their own, especially if they are strong magically. Magical parents are also sensitive to the kidnapping of their children from the family home, and intervene before they are able to wander off into remote areas or forests where the Erlkings magic is strongest. Over generations, they gain strength and manifest into their 'adult form' . These are what are referred to as Diablos."
"Diablos are more powerful and may physically take the child away from their homes, regardless of protections left by the parents. They are more common in Spain, which is why the creature is called Diablo and not le Diable."
"And to kill or capture it- what would you have advised us to do?" Jon asked. Mr. Ollivander nodded.
"Tracking hounds are very good at smelling out the dark magic tainting the child. If you give them clothing which has the child's scent, these dogs could hunt down the child, which would lead hunters to the vile creature. Silencio must be cast on the dogs, so that the barking does not alert it. The Diablo is quite impish and have powerful magical spells if confronted. A muggle rifle is the best way to defeat it, it is extremely vulnerable to their non magical weapons. "
"It would have been too late to save the boy if we had gone by the original plan," Tonks said angrily, looking at Ollivander then glancing towards Harry.
"Greyback told us that they feed on the children. He knows his stuff, this one had a massive cauldron cooking soup. Probably going to have Richard as his main course. We had to be fast," Harry's eyes did not leave Ollivander's for the whole conversation.
Jon clasped Harry's shoulder in commendation. "He convinced us to rescue this boy immediately, which is why we did not meet you at the station. Our apologies, Master Ollivander," Jon said, his whole body relaxing.
"Oh no, no apologies are needed. Quite the opposite, in fact. He is quite remarkable in that way," Mr. Ollivander smiled. "Very persuasive, yes. You are a very resourceful team, you made it here and rescued the lad in record time. Indeed; he held true to the Wandsmith Guild's watchwords. You have lived the creed and Walked In the Light," he congratulated Harry, his expression proud as any father could be.
"Yeah I wondered about that," Harry said. "What does that mean?"
"All modern Masters earn their title through an impeccable reputation of living their life without taint of the Dark." He straightened his posture, steeping his fingers under his chin, just like Jon did earlier on the other side of the booth. "There were times of old, violent times, when weapons masters had no issues with dabbling in dark magic, infusing their craft with malice and subterfuge. It was probably the worst era of wizard kind. Evil magic practitioners were rampant and empowered with powerful weapons, designed to bring ruin and hatred. After the Goblin revolution, the International Council of Guilds and Trade was formed between the Japanese, Americans, Haitians, Brazilians, The Coalition of European nations, and the East African Shamans. These factions created rules to govern the creation of magical artifacts, weapons, and magical livestock breeding. Wandmakers, especially, were mandated to refrain from dark practices by Decree of the 1406 Fellowship Meeting of Master-Smiths. My ancestor actually chaired that meeting, I believe his name was Giroud Ollivander the 4th."
Ollivander paused, rubbing his beard and sipping his tea. "The Ollivander Family has never produced a dark wizard, never," he declared, looking at Jon. He glanced at Harry. "You shall Walk in the Light," he said, half proclamation, half direct order.
"Yes, Master Ollivander," the two boys chorused.
"Very good." Ollivander nodded. "Right. On to the next. We would need ... I believe one oak barrel of scotch. A white dog. Seven water skins made of pigskin. And a cage constructed out of iron. The cage ...we should be able to source on the farm itself. So," Ollivander dug inside his travel pouch and took out parchment and a never-out quill. "We find a pet shop along the way. We get the dog. We corral the wild bog boars out of the farms and capture them in the cage. This we suspend from a tree." He diagrammed the cage hanging from the tree with stick figure pigs in it. "We then funnel the scotch into the pigskin pouches and feed them in the cage. We place a wooden trough below the cage and capture the urine overnight. Euthanize the parasitic beasts, and use the bodies to lay a trap outside the bats' cave. Simple stunners or other non lethal spells to capture them, then remove at least four wings when they are still alive. That is the minimum required amount for our testing and final build. More than that is just gravy. We ship the urine in the Oak barrel and declare all our goods at the ICOP in France who would give us a scroll with sealed signatures to clear it in Dover. One day, and probably two nights, if all goes well. "
"Sounds good," Jon said, cracking his knuckles.
"What's the catch? You make it sound easy," Tonks said.
"Cursed farm-folk can be dangerous. They may be fine one moment, then act erratically, or even attack the next. Usually a large clan is hired. They assemble the town folk in a large hall while they do the extermination of the nogtail or boar infestation. They keep watch over them and keep the peace until the curse is lifted."
"The Reaper's Scythe," Harry asked. "How much did they want and what are their numbers like?"
"I am not sure what their actual fees were, but the general going rate for Nogtail extermination in England is about sixty to a hundred galleons per creature. Depending on clan rank, the call out fee is usually two thousand to five thousand. The Reapers are probably rank B, with about fifteen members give or take. I believe one founding member, a couple administrative and legal, and probably different magical specialists in their field team. Fairly well known group."
"And the wings and urine are both restricted import. Why?" Jon asked.
"Nogtail urine is used in a ritual to animate the dead when stored in iron casks over five years in a place untouched by light. Dark, horrible creatures, Inferi. Corpses, risen from the dead, highly resistant to magic. Ghastly," Ollivander said softly. "It is the only known use of it other than magical tannery. And once the urine is stored in something else other than the Iron Casks, the dark potency is neutralized. Which is why it is still available on the market legally. The Bat Wings are integral when using Dragon hide and other magically impervious material to help shape and mold it into armors , gloves and so forth. France regularized the export of this valuable item to help keep the monopoly firmly in their control. The export taxation on Bat Wings are high, but worth it if you continue trading over time."
"Guys, you ok with the plan ?" Harry asked. Jon and Tonks nodded. "Well, let's get to work on the stuff."
An hour later the four of them flew to a standstill over one of the cursed farms at Estagal. Suspended from Tonks' broom was a massive dog-carrying case with their newest team member, Cloud. Cloud's box had a window where he could stick out his head and enjoy the flight, his long tongue flapping in the breeze. Jon still carried the dead Diablo in the sack under his Quicksilver. Harry carried the barrel full of scotch tied to his broom. The extra weight slowed the trio enough such that Ollivander's older broom kept pace easily.
"Cripes!" Harry exclaimed. There were corpses of cattle littered on the fields on the outskirts, crows and flies rampant on the decomposing bodies. There were ox carts pulling piles of dead cattle with farm hands urging them on towards what Harry presumed was a mass grave at the top of the hill.
"The curse has spread to the livestock already," Ollivander shouted over the wind.
"What exactly does the curse do?" Tonks shouted as they surveyed the work below.
"It drives the other farm animals mad over a period of time. It also kills the harvest if the boars stay too long. This looks to be a bad case!" Ollivander shouted.
"And the people?" Harry asked.
"They fall under despair," Ollivander replied. "Most can't understand what is happening; what is causing the failure of the farm. The boar hides itself to the locals. When they call for help outsiders can diagnose the problem and hire hunters to eradicate them.
"Madness you say?" Jon shouted. "Are they also prone to the curse?"
He pointed to a particular fellow who suddenly began rolling on the ground, screaming. Another ranch hand came riding across, his lasso swinging. Within a few seconds he had him roped up, hogtied his hands and legs, and hefted over the saddle. A small gathering of about four people came and talked to this man, while the tied fellow kept screaming and putting up a futile effort to free himself.
"Let's go talk to them," Harry said, determined to help. The party swooped down on broomstick so that they could talk to the Horseman from a safe distance.
"Ho there, Cowboy," Harry said. "We've come to help!"
The Cowboy looked up at them, blocking the sun with his hand. The group of people with him did the same.
"You sure this time?" the man countered. "Some others came a while back. And then left." He spat on the ground.
"We're not the Reapers," Harry said. "Is he ok?"
"He got the sickness," Cowboy shook his head. "If you aren't the Lying Scythes, who are you?"
"We're the Crows' Vambrace," Harry said simply. "We're going to help you," he reassured.
"Good news at long last," Cowboy grimaced. "Michael is the name. Michael MacMillan. Follow me. I'm taking him to the field hospital. "
They followed him towards a large barn that had numerous people moving in and out and stalls set up outside. There were repair tents fixing carts, harnesses, saddles and the like. Some tents had men who were sharpening farm tools . Others were distribution sheds, with queues of people waiting patiently with hand held barrows and cart, collecting goods.
The crew landed a distance away and Mr. Ollivander and Tonks diligently got to work in concealing their stuff. Jon let out Cloud and put him on leash then handed him over to Tonks. Harry just stood there, watching the scene.
Why do I get the feeling that this whole scenario has been plotted?
Most of the people, even the children, were morose, and quick to quarrel. He also noticed that most of the people in authority here had wands.
"Jon," Harry said. "This is quite suspicious. Stay sharp."
"Always," Jon said. All four of them drew close. "I will stay hidden. Expect me to be behind the people you are talking to if there is a meeting. Secrets are usually whispered behind the main speaker by their advisors. That is where crucial information can be gleaned. Otherwise, I will be about ten feet to your left."
"Roger," he agreed as Jon went invisible. He turned to Mr. Ollivander. "My alias is Roderick Hallow. Red Dora. Mr. Black. What name do you want to be?"
"Hm... Mr. Grey would be fine for now," Ollivander said. "Let us get cracking. We should have the boars captured by before dark."
The meeting with MacMillan and the resident healer, a witch named Penelope Payet was short, and not as forthcoming as Harry had hoped. The inside of the barn had been converted to a field hospital, some patients were suffering wounds, others were restrained and in fitful sleeps. Penelope was a stern middle aged woman who said she had no time for long talk. She informed them that some of these were victims of random attacks from colleagues who simply snapped and swung at them with whatever was closest, and on a farm, that could mean life or death. The attackers usually went into a rage before collapsing, screaming until they went hoarse. She pointed to a few sleeping people who were strapped into their beds. A couple days of sleep after treating them with potion would usually set them back straight, but recently the remedy has stopped being sufficient and the madness would strike again. MacMillan was one of the few wizards who was helping restrain and transport sick people to the hospital.
Nobody trusted the local produce anymore so they sent certain people to other towns to bring water, foodstuff, supplies and necessities to this centralized location. Fencing material and lumber were hot sellers, seeing as people wanted to either protect their property from rampaging cattle or repair their carts for transporting animal corpses to the three main mass graves across the numerous farmsteads.
"At this rate, most of the townsfolk here would eventually leave, with or without their loved ones." She shook her head as she surveyed the twenty something patients she had in the barn. "This place is cursed," Penelope said. "I cannot talk much longer. I must go to my patients. Please do what you can and let us know how we can help. We don't have much, but our home is important to us, not everyone likes the idea of starting over, Mr. Grey."
"Understood," Ollivander said. "If you don't mind, we would like a metal cage, the larger the better, and please point us to the nearest swine enclosure. We will begin our work and remove the Wild Bog Boars."
"Follow me," Michael said. He got back on his horse and led them across a couple fields. These fields were peppered with crows, and workers loading corpses unto ox carts using pitch forks. Makeshift pulley contraptions were attached to the front of the carts, useful in lifting the heavy dead animals and piling them into the cart.
He pointed to an animal stable and enclosure at the end of this particular property. "This is the biggest swine house on the eight or so farms. If you want to crack this one first, we'd be much obliged. I'm going to get you your cage."
When he left, Jon revealed himself. "These people are taking it very hard. I have not detected any sort of duplicity amongst them, only fear and frustration."
"Aye," Ollivander said. "The infestation has set in too long. Everyone, please do not let the boar touch bare skin. Tonks, you and Cloud corral the ugly, long legged pigs with dark eyes into the outer enclosures. Kill the sow immediately after you chase the Boar off of it. The poor pig now lives only to feed the nasty creature. It may turn rabid before it dies. Better you end it quickly and save yourself from being attacked. Jon, put them to sleep as soon as Cloud chases them out of the pig pens. Harry you and I should go back and get our stuff and fly them back here. I do not like being left on foot here," he offered Harry his arm. "We'll be back," Ollivander said and they vanished.
The day was spent with Tonks and the gang rounding up the long legged pig creatures with the great Swiss Shepherd dog working diligently. Cloud was chasing them into the massive bull cage that Michael had brought for them.
Working amongst pigs and their nasty ways had erased any sort of hunger within the group. By the time four o clock reached, Michael had brought even more cages due to the high number of parasites Cloud the Boar Hunter was finding. They had sourced more water skins and barrels of scotch to facilitate the extra number of the nasty creatures. Five more cages were setup, each filled with eerily quiet Boars taking turns suckling on the scotch filled water skins. Various wooden troughs and containers were used to catch the urine underneath the full cages hanging from the trees.
Jon and Harry were digging a deep pit during the cooler portion of the afternoon away from the cage area where Tonks and Ollivander were working. Both young men were sweaty and bareback, using a combination of shovels and Winguardium lleviosa to create a massive grave for the dead animals.
"This is what 'immortal heroes do for fun', huh?" Harry said to Jon. Jon grunted with laughter.
"Not everything is glorious and gold plated," Jon answered, digging the shovel in. "Even the unpleasant tasks must be done."
"Tell me about it," Harry said, his shovel scooping up another mound of dirt.
"Look at the bright side. No one is trying to kill us. And you are getting desperately needed exercise," Jon laughed, looking at Harry's scrawny arms. Harry shook his head, even though he agreed with him. His physique was pitiful. He paused, straightening his back in the pit that was almost their height.
"How is it I am not feeling hungry, even after all this work?" Harry said.
"Ask Master Ollivander. It seems even they have not mentioned food either."
"Nah, forget it. Let's just get this done. They have good reason to not want to eat. Those things are disgusting!" Harry sunk in his shovel and continued the rhythm.
Tonks and Ollivander were in foul temper, spending the day herding the Wild Bog Boar and using a bludgeoning curse to quickly and painlessly kill the sickly looking sows which these creatures had fed upon for weeks now.
As soon as Ollivander said that they had enough urine from each cage and transferred to barrels brought to them, Tonks and himself cast cutting hexes on their necks, the animals finally making a mournful squeal as their death cries. When it was dusk, Harry and the others had caught almost thirty of the weird, disproportional creatures across the network of farms.
By nine o'clock that night, the infestation was eradicated and twelve barrels of the urine were harvested. The pit was filled with the dead regular pigs and majority of the Wild Bog boars. Tonks doused the open grave with pitch oil and lit the dead on fire.
"My firstborn for a bath!" she lamented as the fire caught. Jon was at that moment setting up a clean water barrel at a height. Harry levitated it unto the second level of a barn loft.
"Milady," he called her from inside. "I hope that you name him Jon," he laughed in good humour. "I have set up a shower of primitive sort. Simple, but it would get you clean." She came inside and saw the barrel leaning on its side on the loft, the stop cork aimed over a relatively clean stall. There was a cord attached to the stop cork to release the water. "Pull the cork to let the water flow, and cork it again when you are finished. Here is soap I requested from Michael." He gave her a bar of soap.
"I could kiss you right now," Tonks gushed at Jon, then Harry. "The both of you," She laughed. "Now shoo!" She chased them out and closed the main door to the barn behind her.
Harry and Jon went to Mr. Ollivander, who had a grim expression on his face. They all sat down wearily on a fallen tree, enjoying a few moments of comfortable silence. Ollivander lit a pipe and puffed.
"The profit from harvesting all of this urine should have compensated for the lack of initial value proposed by this village. This is probably the worst infestation I have heard about. Usually three to six is normal. Ten is a lot. But thirty?"
Harry froze.
"This is not normal, you say?" He said slowly. "Ten would be a high number?" Jon tensed at Harry's tone.
"Very very unusual," Ollivander nodded. "This is not right, no, no, no... this ..." Ollivander looked off into the distance, thinking, puffing again on his pipe.
"This was planned," Harry declared. He knew it in his gut the moment they saw the market outside the hospital. Something was definitely wrong in this village. "Someone plotted this, and allowed this to get out of control."
"Yes, they probably convinced the Reaper's Clan to take the job, then bought them off, making sure they refused to actually complete it. No other clan would follow up on them, they have a reputation of getting the job done," Ollivander ventured.
"Why would anyone plot to infest these hard working farmers with these creatures?" Jon said.
"Dark magic, Jon. They wanted to farm the urine ...for smuggling purposes. To arise the dead." Harry snarled. "We got here first. Michael wasn't expecting real help. Not from us. He was expecting others to come..."
Ollivander froze, tilting his head as if listening to something.
"Where is Tonks?" Ollivander asked abruptly.
"Bathing," Jon replied. Jon also stopped, listening. "The water has stopped." He grabbed his camouflage robes from the tree and put it over his dirty, sweaty skin. Within moments he grabbed his knife and wand, disappearing from sight. "Harry, you and Ollivander go through the front to check on her. I will circle the back. Count to fifteen then enter," he said softly.
Harry and Ollivander went on the alert. They went to the main front doors, and peeped through the gap by the hinges. Someone had Tonks at wand point, their wand directly underneath her chin. Tonks had her hands out at her side in surrender, naked and soaking wet. There were two of them, both clothed in dark robes with hoods pulled low over their face. They were also alert to the fact that it had gone quiet outside, just as Jon had gone alert to the quiet on the inside.
Harry finished the count, then slowly opened the front door, calling her name tentatively, not to startle the intruders into doing something rash.
"Tonks?" he said, moving slowly as he came into view.
Both hooded wizards turned to face them. The one closest to Tonks took cover behind her while keeping the wand to her neck. Tonks remained calm, looking steadily at Harry's face while her captor ducked down, only his eyes and hood visible over her shoulder. The other wizard aimed a steady wand at the two of them.
"Drop it," the captor said from behind Tonks. "Easy, slowly."
Harry moved slowly and flipped his wand, holding it with thumb and forefinger alone. He put it down on the ground. Ollivander did the same. He did not break eye contact with Tonks.
"Who are you?" the other asked in a foreign accent. "This was not the agreement. Why did you use oaken barrels?"
"We're here to help these people," Ollivander said. "Please, let her go and everything will be alright."
"Months we spent setting this up. And some idiots come early and kill all of them. All of this work for nothing!"
"You should have started a bit earlier in the year," Harry said. At that moment a cold breeze blew through the night. "You feel that? It's almost Autumn, innit."
"What?" the captor said, glancing at his comrade. The comrade shrugged. "What the fuck that supposed to mean?"
"It means Winter is coming," Harry deadpanned.
Tonks heard a sickening rip then felt a warm splash of liquid against her back just as her captor's hold went rigid. She immediately grabbed at his wand and blasted the other wizard with it, knocking him into a stall. She aimed again as he fell, using a stunner on him as he crumpled to the ground. She stared at him, casting the manacle charm just in case he stirred. She touched the back of her neck, her face pale from adrenaline. She screamed when she saw the blood on her hand.
Harry and Ollivander rushed to her side, Ollivander offering his cloak as he hastily cast a charm to clean her back from the blood. She dropped the wand and fell to her knees, holding her mouth in shock as she watched her bloody hand.
"These two may have allies," came Jon's voice, grim. "We must check on the townsfolk and see if they are all right. Get dressed Mistress Tonks. This day is not over yet."