Curse-Maker- the Tale of Gwiddon Crow

by Alydia Rackham

  “Virgil! Callis!” Krystian exulted, throwing himself past his brother and flinging his arms around both of the newcomers, kissing their faces and shaking them heartily.

  “What the blazes is happening?” the blond in red—Virgil—roared, not the least bit amused. “What have you done to yourself?”

  “He was blind!” August inserted. “And we were turned to stone!”

  “Stone!” Callis, the one in blue, cried in alarm. “How? When?”

  “Why?” Virgil added over top.

  “By a witch and a draid—Baba Yaga and Mordred,” Krystian said—and glanced over and winked at me so fast I could hardly recover from my mental staggering before he went on. “But Crow broke the curse, and together we sent Mordred out of Astrum—he was after the Seal.”

  “Mordred,” August rasped. “The Mordred—the draid who has enslaved all of Albain for centuries—”

  “The very same,” Krystian nodded. “Look—Crow hit him under his wing with Father’s sword.” Krystian swiftly pulled the weapon from his scabbard and tossed it on the table…

  It hit the surface with a clatter.

  I gasped.

  The sword had been incinerated halfway down the blade, and the rest of it had turned a sickly green.

  The men leaped back from it, staring.

  “When did this happen?” August demanded gravely, stretching his hand out to touch the hilt very carefully. “When did we all…turn to stone?”

  “Oh, days and days ago,” Krystian said, raking his fingers through his hair, dusting the ashes out of it. “Crow and I have been trapped here for a fortnight trying to decipher a way out of it!”

  “But…But how?” Callis cried. “How did you get out of it?”

  “I died.” I spoke for the first time.

  Every gaze flew to me.

  “What?” Virgil stared.

  Chills washed all through my body, and my cheeks grew hot again. But then, Krystian reached out and took my hand.

  “She died to save me,” he said, interlacing our fingers. He looked at me, and I at him—and the others faded back as I lost myself in his shining eyes.

  “I’ve heard stories about this kind of magic all my life. We all have,” Krystian said, squeezing my hand and giving me a gentle smile. “But I don’t think I truly believed any of them until today.”

  “Wh…” August choked—and I felt all of the men blanch, then blush, as their mouths hung open.

  “Where’s Mother?” Krystian suddenly asked, swinging back around to face them.

  None of the others could speak or move—and Virgil could only manage to point dumbly toward the door.

  Krystian tugged on me, and the other men leaped out of our way, as if frightened to touch me. We rushed out of the kitchen and into the hearth room, Krystian already shouting for his mother at the top of his voice.

  “Your Highness, Your Highness!” came a servant girl, dashing down the stairs with her skirt hiked up in one hand as she tried to straighten her falling white head covering. “The queen is coming!”

  “Mum!” Krystian yelled up the stairs—

  “Krys!” came the frantic scream echoing down the stairwell. “Krys, Krys!”

  Krystian let go of me again and leaped up the short set of stairs toward the base of the spiral staircase, just in time for a middle-aged woman to come flying down and fall into his arms. He caught her easily, and fiercely embraced her.

  I recognized her instantly—though I had only ever seen her as a piece of carven stone. She had long, dark hair in beautiful curls, like Krystian’s. She wore a beautiful purple brocaded gown with a splendid train behind it, and her wide, brilliant eyes saw nothing but her son.

  “Krystian, what happened to you?” she gasped, tears spilling down her face as she grasped his collar and peered up at him. “Are you all right? You’re bleeding, dear, where are you hurt?”

  “I’m fine, Mumma, I’m fine,” he laughed, grasping her hands and smiling at her. “I am so happy to see you!”

  “Oh, Krystian, your father!” she sobbed, shaking her head. “When I awakened, he was hardly breathing, and he’s gone so pale! Oh, he’s going to die, he’s going to die!”

  The smile fell from Krystian’s face, and he went white.

  “Is the surgeon with him?” Krystian demanded.

  “Yes, but he doesn’t know what else to do!” the queen wept. “He’s taken a turn for the worse so suddenly, and it’s too late to send to Maith, and the healers from Inmholta have surely been delayed by the snow—”

  “I can help him.”

  Krystian and the queen’s head came around at the sound of my voice.

  “What?” She blinked her tears away so she could see me. “Who are

  you?”

  “This is Crow Invictus,” Krystian said, suddenly breathless. “She’s a Curse Breaker.”

  “A Curse-Breaker? How did she know to come here?” the queen asked.

  “Astrum has been under a spell, Mother,” Krystian said quickly. “For a fortnight. She’s broken it for us.” Krystian turned back and urgently searched my face, his eyebrows drawing together. And I saw a tremor pass through his body. “You…You think you can…” His whisper trailed off.

  “I can,” I said. “Take me to him.”

  Krystian didn’t hesitate. He grabbed his mother’s arm and hustled her toward the staircase, and I followed right behind. Together, we charged up the spiral case, our footsteps hammering against the stones, until we reached the landing and hurried down the wide, carpeted corridor beneath the banners, toward those great double doors I had only seen once before.

  But this time, the guards were alive.

  They stood erect on either side of the doors. Their silvery armor flashed, their bright red plumes moved when they moved.

  They looked at us.

  They gasped.

  They snapped to attention at the sight of the oncoming royalty, and quickly heaved the great doors open. A dark chamber waited beyond.

  I took three bracing breaths, feeling as if I was about to plunge under cold water. My heart hammered so fast I couldn’t count the beats.

  Krystian swept his mother over the threshold, straight toward the large, curtained bed in the far center of the room.

  I slowed down. Taking breath after breath. The silence, chill and deathliness of the chamber surrounded me.

  “Mordred the Draid, and the gwiddons and the Curse-Makers—they deal in death. They can create it, they can swallow cities in it. They can cover an entire land in its shadow…”

  I stopped at the foot of the bed. And I gazed down at the king.

  Of all the living men I had seen in Astrum, this one still looked the most like stone. He wore a loose, white tunic, his arms upon the bedclothes, the skin of his hands, neck and face as white as purest marble. He had long, greying hair and a grey beard, his head wrapped in a clean bandage. His noble features were utterly still. And if it weren’t for the slight, shallow lift and fall of his chest, I would think he was dead.

  “Who is this? What are you doing in the chambers of the king?” A voice darted out of the corner near the opposite head of the bed, and I lifted my eyes to see a middle-aged man with short hair and a mustache and a heavy, critical brow; wearing dark, trim clothes.

  “Surgeon, this is Crow Invictus, a Curse-Breaker,” Krystian panted, gesturing to me. “She’s here to help Father.”

  The surgeon stepped closer to me, as if to come between me and the bed.

  “I have met every Curse-Breaker in Edel,” the surgeon said coldly, giving me a piercing stare. “I have never heard of any Crow Invictus.”

  I didn’t say anything—just stared straight back at him.

  “That’s because she’s been living in Albain,” Krystian shot back.

  “Mordred’s realm?” The surgeon’s eyebrows went up as he glanced back at Krystian. “If she comes from that place—How could she possibly be here to help His Majesty?”

  “She is here to help
him,” Krystian insisted.

  “Your Highness, you’re letting your fear for your father overrule your judgment,” the surgeon argued, pointing at me. “Allowing a stranger in here, a stranger from one of the most vile places in Edel, when I am already here—”

  “And what are you doing, Marcus?” Krystian thundered, leaning toward him—desperation flaring across his face. “What can you do that you haven’t already done?”

  “Krys…” The queen put a hand over her mouth.

  “I…I…” the surgeon stammered. “I am making him comfortable—”

  “You get back,” Krystian ordered, steel in his low voice. “Let her pass.”

  “Your Highness, I must protest, on behalf of my monarch—”

  “In the incapacity of the king, I am your monarch,” Krystian cut him off. “And I said…let her pass.”

  The surgeon stood as he was for several moments, his jaw tight. Finally, he bowed his head, and retreated. He stopped in the shadows, folding his arms across his chest.

  “Crow,” Krystian murmured, beckoning to me. “Come here.”

  I drew in a deep breath, and stepped quietly around the foot of the bed, and stopped next to Krystian. Again, I gazed down at the deathly king, watching his chest slowly rise and fall.

  “What do you need?” Krystian asked in my ear.

  “I need quiet,” I whispered back.

  “Mum, come here,” Krystian advised, and I heard him take hold of her and draw her back away from the bed.

  That moment, as I stood there with only the guttering lamps for light, my breathing caught…

  And a terrible, cold fear sank down through me.

  Could I do it? Was it even possible?

  He had been right: gwiddons only dealt in death, and darkness.

  We could never give life.

  “That, a sheòid, is my trade.”

  That golden shimmer suddenly sparkled against the edges of my vision, and a calming warmth soaked into my hands.

  I shut my eyes.

  And for just an instant, I could feel His hands enfolding one of mine, pressing it to the leaves of his armor, the light from His head pouring softly down over me…

  I sat down on the edge of the king’s bed. And without saying a word—not a single incantation, not a plea or a command, I stretched out my right hand, and laid it on the king’s cold brow. I set my thumb against his right temple, and my middle finger against his left temple.

  My mind went black.

  I found myself standing in a great darkness, on a moonless night, amidst hundreds of ancient, dead trees.

  But just as I realized this, I saw that my entire body was shining.

  Glowing with a brilliant and silvery light, as if I had swallowed a thousand stars. And it pierced the darkness, falling upon the ground all around me, illuminating the rough trunks of the trees.

  And somewhere, far ahead of me, I saw someone.

  “Aurelius!” I called, my voice echoing as if through a cave. “Aurelius, can you hear me?”

  A restless, angry wind rattled the branches. The figure far ahead of me stopped and stood still, as if trying to listen for me.

  “King Aurelius!” I shouted again, starting toward him. “I am here to bring you home!”

  “Home?” The ragged voice of a tired man came back to me, tattered by the frustrated wind.

  “Home,” I repeated, even louder. “To Astrum!”

  “Astrum…” he said, as if he didn’t quite remember the meaning of the word.

  I continued toward him. My feet clattered over dead limbs, and rustled through piles of rotting leaves. The shimmering light I carried with me blazed out over my path, clearly showing me the way.

  And then, all at once, he stood in front of me.

  Tall. Broad-shouldered. Wearing hunting clothes that had long worn out, and no weapons. His handsome face was stark, white, with dark circles around his wide eyes, his beard long and haggard, his hair wild and filled with thorns.

  When he saw me, he started back, gasping and throwing up a hand.

  “Who are you?” he cried. “Are you…an elf?”

  I smiled at him.

  “No,” I said. “I’m a Curse-Breaker.”

  “A Curse-Breaker!” he repeated, dropping his hand in stunned and broken relief. “What is your name?”

  “I am Crow Invictus,” I answered, as that golden light warmed my hands all the way into my heart. “Your son and your wife have sent me to find you.”

  “Krystian?” the king said, and his eyes filled with tears that spilled down into his beard. “Marina?”

  “Yes, Your Majesty,” I replied, watching him. “Will you come?”

  “Oh, I would!” He let out an anguished sigh, pressing his hand to his heart. “But I have tried and tried to find my way out of this terrible forest—it’s impossible! There is no way out!”

  “You were hurt,” I explained. “You accidentally fell from your horse and struck your head.”

  “No,” he adamantly shook his head. “No, that is not what happened.”

  I frowned at him, stepping closer.

  “What do you mean?”

  “I was struck,” he said gravely. “But not by any accident.”

  I waited, my breath slowing to nothing.

  “I was riding in a narrow pass, not far from the rest of my company, when something black and horrifying fell from the sky,” he whispered, his attention distancing as if seeing something I could not. “It tore me from my horse, and though I screamed for help from my men, they couldn’t see my attacker—and soon I realized that though I tried to move my arms to fend it off, I couldn’t!” The king grasped the front of his tunic and twisted it, as his brow furrowed hard. “My vision closed in darkness, and this awful force pulled me down, down, beneath the earth, into a maze of the foulest kind…like the abandoned mines beneath the Drachenrucken Mountains.” His voice faded to a fearful whisper. “Where a black dragon sleeps upon a bed of diamonds and sapphires, wreathed in the bones of the dead…as he waits for the day he awakens to reign again over the world of men…”

  A deep, eerie chill passed through me, and the light within me wavered.

  “That day is not far,” the king breathed. “And all the while, the dragon is stirring, listening for his servants, calling for them to bind the pieces and open the prison that has held him for time out of mind…”

  I reached out, and grasped the king’s hand. He twitched, and his gaze flashed to mine.

  “Wouldn’t you rather face him in your own kingdom, with your sword in your hand?” I asked keenly, leaning toward him.

  “How can I?” he demanded. “We’re prisoners here!”

  I shook my head firmly.

  “I’m not a prisoner anywhere,” I answered. “Come with me.”

  He stared at me for a long time, his lip trembling, his gaze haunted.

  But at last, he twisted his hand and grasped mine in turn, with all the fierceness of fingers that knew the reins, the bow, and the sword.

  “I will come with you,” he said through his teeth. “Get me out of here.”

  “Yes, Your Majesty,” I smiled grimly. I gripped him tight, lowered my head…

  Stretched out…

  An elvish hand, white as starlight and gleaming with golden rings, reached down to me.

  I touched His fingers.

  A ripping, roaring, tearing sound deafened me. The fabric of the darkness tore. The forest dissolved like water poured onto black ink.

  “Gah!” The living sound, in the living air, startled me. My eyes flew open—and I realized I had made that sound. My head came up—

  I sat on the bed next to the king.

  My right hand wound fiercely through his fingers—and he squeezed mine just as hard.

  And he looked at me.

  His eyes were wide open, and he stared at me—bright as daylight.

  Low gasps issued from behind me.

  “Father?” Krystian tried.

  The kin
g loosened his hold on me, and confusion crossed his brow—as if he didn’t recognize me. He blinked, and turned his head.

  “Krys?”

  “Papa!” Krystian threw himself down on his knees beside the bed and collapsed, onto the king’s chest—sobbing. The king, beaming, wrapped his son up in his arms.

  “Krys, Krys, my boy!” he said kindly, patting him. “I’m all right!”

  “Oh, Aurel!” the queen wept, coming around and climbing up on the bed, and quickly burying her face in her husband’s neck and binding her arms around him.

  “Papa!” came an exultant cry from the doorway—

  And I turned to see August dart boyishly in, having abandoned his cape and crown.

  I hurriedly stood up and got out of the way, and August thudded down right where I had been, reaching out toward his father and grabbing his tunic.

  “Papa, are you all right?” August demanded.

  “Yes, I’m all right,” the king replied, frowning a little. “But I…What happened? How did I get here?”

  Krystian lifted his head and looked searchingly at me. I could only gaze at the king, wondering.

  The king must have felt my attention, because he lifted his head and found me. His frown deepened.

  “Who are you, child?” he asked. “You look as if you’ve been to battle! Where did you come from?”

  “Father,” Krystian said, smiling with gentle delight as he took his father’s hand and kissed it. “I have such a story to tell you.”

  I stood on the broad balcony on the east side of the castle—a place I had never ventured before. The servants had swept all the snow off the stones and lit fires in the pits and the standing lamps, which filled the open space with light and warmth.

  I leaned my elbows against the frosty stone railing, gazing down into the gardens, and the swooping, dark valley beyond. And far above, in the crystal clear heavens, thousands upon thousands of stars twinkled at a fathomless height. Yet they still seemed close enough to touch. And they remined me of someone…

  A door opened behind me. The sound of laughter and music spilled out for a moment, until the door latched again.

  “Aren’t you cold?”

  Krystian’s voice made me smile. I didn’t turn.