Curse-Maker- the Tale of Gwiddon Crow

by Alydia Rackham

“No,” I answered, sighing deeply as I lifted my eyes to the far edges of the darkened mountains. “Not anymore.”

  “Here,” he said, drawing closer to me. “Wear this anyway.” And he draped something around me—a long, warm, fur-lined cape.

  I glanced over to see him lean one elbow on the railing, facing me, giving me his characteristically-knowing smile. He wore a stunning white doublet and trousers, the collar and cuffs trimmed in black fur.

  “Thank you,” I said, drawing the cape close around me.

  “How do you feel?” he asked.

  “Clean,” I answered, chuckling. “I don’t think I’ve ever been scrubbed so furiously in all my life. I’m surprised all my hair didn’t fall out.”

  “Your hair looks beautiful,” he said.

  My head came around and I looked at him. He gazed back at me without a hint of a smile, the flamelight captured in his eyes.

  Finally, I smiled weakly.

  “You don’t mean that,” I said. “My hair looks like an old woman’s.”

  He reached out and gently drew my long braid around so it hung over my right shoulder, and he fingered the end.

  “Then you won’t mind if I cut some,” he said. And as I watched, he pulled a small set of golden scissors from his pocket, leaned in, and cut two inches from the end of my white hair. I watched him, fascinated, as he put away the scissors, and pulled out a shining gold locket from his breast pocket. He opened it, fitted my strand of hair inside, snapped the locket shut, and carefully tucked it back into his pocket.

  “Why did you do that?” I whispered, hardly able to speak.

  He moved and leaned into me, closing his eyes and nuzzling against the fur of my collar, and then tucking his warm face against my neck. From behind, he wrapped his arms around me, folding me back into his chest.

  “Because I never want you to leave me again,” he whispered, his lips moving against my cheek. He rubbed his hand up and down the side of my arm. “Please don’t leave me again.”

  “I will never leave you again,” I whispered, tears tumbling down my cheeks. “I’m just sorry I’ll never look like a princess for you, for your people.”

  “You aren’t a princess,” he shook his head. “You’re a Curse-Breaker. Everyone expects Curse-Breakers to have spectacular scars.” He chuckled. “If you didn’t have scars, they’d be suspicious.”

  I didn’t say anything. He pulled me in tighter, setting his chin on my shoulder.

  “There is no one in Astrum who doesn’t admire you, Crow. They’re even talking about naming a holiday for you. What do you think?”

  I turned in his arms, so I could see him. He tilted his head, looking back at me earnestly, with a quiet smile.

  “I saw him,” I breathed. “In a place called Cadail, by the gates of a land named Nèamhan. I saw him.”

  Krystian’s attention sharpened like a blade, and he came around to my side to stare at me.

  “Him?” he breathed. “You mean…the Elvenking? Nieryn An Fhoinse?”

  “Is that his name?” I asked, searching Krystian’s face. “He didn’t tell me his name—but I knew who he was. He was so bright, and quiet, and gentle…I looked into his eyes, and…And I…” I ducked my head, tears choking me, more tears falling. Krystian wrapped his arm around my shoulder, leaning close to me, listening.

  “I realized how much I’ve…How much I’ve been lied to all my life,” I managed fiercely, wiping my tears away. “It makes me furious!” I fiercely braced my hands on the cold stone railing, my jaw clenching as I stared out into the darkness. “He isn’t what they said. They were wrong—or more likely lying to me—when he’s been protecting me all this time. Even when I was trying to destroy everyone and everything he loves. He was protecting me.”

  Krystian said nothing. I glanced over at him and snorted, my mouth twisting in a grim smile.

  “I know. You think I was having a fever dream.”

  He shook his head.

  “No, I don’t think so,” he said. “It sounds familiar to me.”

  I shot him a frown.

  “Familiar?”

  He nodded.

  “Did you meet him in an empty forest, by a river that flowed so slowly it almost didn’t move?” he asked. “Was he on a white horse?”

  I stared at him, stricken.

  “How did you…?”

  Krystian shifted, drawing me closer.

  “Galahad Stormcrane died ten years ago, in the dispute between the Gold and Silbern dwarvish princes,” he explained. “There was a curse on both their houses that demanded the life of an innocent firstborn son, or the sun would never come up on either kingdom again, and the rivers would dry up. I’m sure it was designed to start a war between the two of them. The Goldenreich dwarves kidnapped the prince of Silbernreich and were going to execute him. He was only a little boy. Stormcrane stepped in the way of the arrow, and took it through the heart. Since he was innocent, and a firstborn son, the curse was broken—and the dwarvish kings were mortified. But when they laid Stormcrane out on a funeral bier…” Krystian’s eyes sparkled at me. “He came back to life. In front of a thousand witnesses who had seen him killed. It’s all recorded, in there.” Krystian pointed to the castle. “Including what he saw, and who he spoke to, when he was dead.”

  “It is?” I gasped, a thrill shooting through me. “Can I read it?”

  Krystian laughed.

  “Of course you can! They’re all yours, every single one of them. And his isn’t the only story, either,” he said. “We even have some paintings done by more artistic Curse-Breakers of what Cadail and the Elvenking look like—though they all say they couldn’t do either of them justice.”

  “You’re…sure your father doesn’t mind if I read them?” I ventured. “Sacred books are usually locked, or tied up with spells, and you can’t read them unless—”

  Krystian was already shaking his head.

  “That isn’t how we treat books, here,” he said. “They belong to everyone in Edel, without any kind of rules—except you can’t destroy them, obviously. Anyone can make copies, anyone can read them, whatever they want.” He gestured back to the castle again. “We don’t hide memories. They aren’t ours to begin with.” He paused, and considered me carefully. “You do like my father, don’t you? And my mother?”

  I nodded before he could finish.

  “Yes, I do,” I admitted. “Especially your father.”

  “Really? Why?” Krystian asked, smiling with interest.

  I considered before answering.

  “Because…he’s a bit like me,” I said, my thoughts wandering back. “I found him in a dark forest. And he didn’t believe there was any way out.”

  “A dark forest?” Krystian pressed. “What are you talking about?”

  I gazed back at him.

  “When he was lying on the bed, and I came to him. As soon as I touched him, that’s where I was. He doesn’t remember that he told me this,” I said. “But he did—when I found him.” I lifted my eyebrows. “It wasn’t any ordinary fall off a horse.”

  Krystian frowned hard, and listened.

  “He was taken captive by something…Something dark and strong,” I said, looking out over the dark, frosty landscape. “And it meant to kill him. I have a feeling…” I drew in a breath. “I have a feeling it was Mordred.”

  “But why?” Krystian wondered gravely. “What was he trying to do?”

  I shook my head once, peering toward the horizon.

  “I don’t know. But your father saw something, when he was there,” I murmured, a chill passing through me. “A black dragon, sleeping on 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…” I trailed away. My distant frown deepened. “I don’t think your father was meant to see that. And if he was…I don’t think he was meant to live to tell anyone about it.”

  “What do you think it means?” Krystian asked, with quiet intent.

&
nbsp; “I’m not sure,” I said, my thoughts darkening. “But Mordred and Baba Yaga are still alive. We’ve kept him out of Astrum…but Astrum isn’t the world.” My voice softened as my vision unfocused. “For everything they taught me, and everything I learned…I still know nothing.”

  Krystian didn’t say anything—just settled against my side, wrapping me up in his warmth. I lifted my head, and gazed up at the limitless night.

  “I’m afraid, Krystian,” I whispered. “For the first time in my life, I have no people. No family. No…idea what I should do.”

  I felt him consider me.

  “You have a husband,” he said softly.

  I looked at him.

  “My people are your people, now. Forever.” He stroked a strand of hair away from my temple, his gaze wandering over my features. “Your name’s been written in the Book of Memory today.” His hand settled on my cheek, and he looked deeply at me. He shook his head. “You aren’t alone anymore.”

  I smiled at him, and it trembled. More tears fell.

  And he leaned in and kissed me.

  I went up on my toes, freed my arms and wrapped them around his neck, and kissed him back for the first time since our wedding that evening. I tasted his warm lips, breathed in his heart magick, memorized the very feel of him, so that I would never, ever forget this moment.

  “I love you,” I whispered as our mouths parted. He considered me, and laughed.

  “You know, I knew you would,” he teased, winking. “Eventually.”

  “Oh, you did?” I raised my eyebrows. “You were sure of it.”

  “Of course I was,” he said, kicking his head back. “Why wouldn’t you?”

  I snorted and rolled my eyes—but I honestly couldn’t come up with an answer.

  “And, if you’re still worried about not having a family…” he leaned toward me, flashing his eyebrows. “We could get started on solving that problem this very night.”

  “Ha,” I barked, returning his grin. “Perhaps we could. But,” I lifted my head. “I want something from you first.”

  Obviously intrigued, he canted his head.

  “And what’s that?”

  My smile softened as I gazed up at his unique and handsome features—and the thin scar across his right cheekbone—bathed in the flamelight and the starlight, a silvery halo resting upon his dark curls, a mischievous and kind light reflected in his deep eyes.

  “I want you to dance with me.”

  His gaze instantly sparkled. His grin widened so youthful lines kissed his eyes, and his beautifully-formed mouth reminded me again, just faintly, of a laughing wolf.

  “Come with me, Your Highness,” he invited, stepping back and drawing me with him with a touch of his strong hand. “I know just the place.”

  Epilogue

  There is great freedom in light.

  Every morning, I wrap it around me like clothing. I move without pain in my joints, or an ache in my heart. And even if a memory arises, and a flash of anguish invades my mind…

  It fades from my thoughts when I gaze through one of the magnificent windows, to see the bright, snow-laden mountains and the vivid, open sky beyond.

  I walk through Astrum amongst songs of the fountains, and the pattering and rustling of all the royal court. Moving among people, seen by people. Smiled at by them. I delight in all the noisy sounds, the sounds of life filling the castle. My skin tingles with each scent of bread or hearth or perfume, my heart beats in time with the deep, ancient mutterings of the mountain.

  In the light, I perch amidst the arms of the balconies in the busy libraries, watching like one of the celestial folk in the murals on the ceiling, but quite visible to everyone below me—and they shout greetings to me when they see me, and I wave down at them.

  I follow the paths in the garden along the banks of the chuckling river, watching the threads of sunshine ripple against its languid surface, spying the drifting fishes amongst the pebbles, mesmerized by the play of the sunlight across my hands and my dress. I listen to the hum of the magic all around me, hearing its shimmering songs, closing my eyes and watching the golden light ripple across my eyelids. I press my palm to the cold surface of the water, relishing its icy, shocking purity.

  I sit in the music room with all the courtiers, and listen to the minstrels sing songs of elves and mermaids and dwarves and Curse-Breakers, and true love—stories I have never heard before. But they all make me smile. And weep.

  I eat every meal with a father-in-law, a mother-in-law, and a brother-in-law, and all their kinsmen. I am embraced wildly by an enthusiastic sister-in-law upon her Christmas visit to Astrum. I lie down in a soft bed, beside a husband.

  A husband who was once blind, and now never fails to see me. I live in the light of his eyes, the taste of his kisses, the warmth of his body. His laughter that rings through the corridors, and reaches every corner of my heart.

  I am not bound by borders or the commands of any king; I am not enslaved any longer to chains and hammers and toil; I bear my own name. I wield weapons far greater than any I have ever known before.

  I can breathe with all the depth in my lungs, and I feel no burden in my chest. I devour the books of Astrum, and they fill my mind with more wonderous pictures than I could have conjured on my own—because they are true. And they are spoken by those men and women who have seen all of it with their own eyes.

  I swim in the steaming pools, I bathe in the welcoming waters, I drink the Source every morning.

  I scale the mighty towers of the castle, stepping out onto the open ramparts, letting the icy wind gust through my clothes. I ride through the valleys with my husband and an entourage of knights, our banners flying, the snow spraying, as my husband shows me the full majesty of the realm which I now am charged to protect.

  A shadow still looms in my mind. That vision of the sleeping dragon—and the knowledge that Mordred still lives, as does Baba Yaga. And they mean to draw a shadow down upon this glorious and beautiful land.

  But each time that thought arises, it is met with the memory of a quiet forest, filled with the presence of an Elvenking who presses my hand to his heart, as the rays from his head cascade down over me…

  And that same brightness radiates from my own vestments as I enter those black woods to save the king of Astrum.

  I need no longer be afraid. The darkness cannot swallow me, nor hide the truth from me. It has no power to stifle or mislead me, nor conceal the light from me. Not now, not ever again.

  Because I am the light.

  Other Books by Alydia Rackham

  The Beowulf Seeker

  The Riddle Walker

  The Last Constantin

  The Campbell River

  The Paradox Initiative

  Lady Rackham

  Christmas Parcel: Sequel to Charles Dickens’ A Christmas Carol

  The Mute of Pendywick Place and the Torn Page

  The Mute of Pendywick Place and the Scarlet Gown

  The Mute of Pendywick Place and the River Thames

  The Mute of Pendywick Place and the Irish Gamble

  The Mute of Pendywick Place and the Ghost of Robin Hood’s Bay

  Christmas at Pendywick Place

  Dear David: The Private Diary of Basil Atticus Collingwood

  Scales: A Fresh Telling of Beauty and the Beast

  Glass: Retelling the Snow Queen

  TIDE: Retelling the Little Mermaid

  Bauldr’s Tears: A Retelling of Loki’s Fate

  Alydia Rackham’s Fairytales

  Amatus

  Galatea: A Novella of Eliza Doolittle and Henry Higgins

  Linnet and the Prince

  The Web of Tenebrae

  The Rooks of Misselthwaite Book I

  The Oxford Street Detectives

  The Last Scene

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  Coming Next to Patreon

  Camelot stifles under the tyrannical thumb of Mordred, and the entire land has been swallowed in shadow. Now, a ragtag band of knights and peasants must attempt to seize the castle and retake the sword of the true king, led only by an obscure young man who pulled a sword out of a stone, and a wizard who has been sleeping in the depths of the earth for three hundred years.