Incindi

Thick, engulfing plumes of dark smoke rose from the barn on the Provo’s farm. Arie stood some ways away, leaning over the fence, watching the fire-born clouds drifting upward.

“Papa Cato, why did it need to burn?”

“I told you this once already, my boy.”

“I know, but I still don’t understand.”

“There’s a curse on this land, Arie; a curse so rich and deep and terrifying that we must never let it escape.”

“But the Provos seem like good people, Papa Cato. They would never hurt us!”

“Oh, it’s not them, son—it’s the land itself! The very ground is tainted with dark magic. If this farm is allowed to prosper, it will unleash the curse on everyone.”

“And you are the Keeper of the Curse, right Papa? You make sure it never escapes!”

“Right, my boy. Quite right.” Papa Cato looked at the fire as it overtook the barn, turning one spectacled eye down to peer at it. Deep satisfaction filled him; fire was still better than any woman he'd ever touched. He could hear the Provos yelling and knew it was time to go.

Three families, three fires—The Keeper of the Curse, indeed, he thought, grinning to himself.