SONS of DON

by Brenda L. Harper

  Gwen set the book down, almost embarrassed by what she had read. This was her mother, after all.

  She couldn’t help think about the mystery man who was her father. Was he anything like Gronw? Had he made her mother’s heart skip a beat? Did he turn her head when she saw him in a crowd? Or was he simply convenient, a lonely man—not unlike Lleu—who had been easy to separate from the pack?

  It was nice to know Blodeuwedd was capable of love. But Gwen somehow doubted that her parents’ story was as passionate a love story as this.

  Gwen pulled herself up into a more comfortable position and continued to read.

  Gronw has come again. This is the third time in less than six months. Lleuis beginning to wonder why Gronw does not just send one of his servants with the minor messages that are his excuse for being here.

  I told Gronw last night that we could no longer see one another. It was the hardest thing I had ever said to another person—not that I have had much life experience—but I never expected the protest Gronw offered. He insisted that a love affair of the type ours is cannot be ended. He said we were destined to be together. When I told him that my marriage to Lleu was unbreakable, he offered a solution.

  We could kill Lleu.

  At first, the idea shocked and sickened me. Lleu is many things—a boring, wisp of a man who worships his uncle a little too much—but he is not loathsome. He has never done anything to injure me, other than leaving me to my own loneliness. I could not imagine Lleu doing anything that would cause him to deserve to die for it.

  But the idea of losing Gronw is almost unbearable.

  Well, it was nice to know that Blodeuwedd did not consent to killing her husband at the first suggestion. It looked like it took her months, almost a year, to agree to help Gronw with the murder. But when she agreed, she was all in.

  Gronw insists that because of the circumstances of his birth, Lleu will not be easy to kill. For this reason, I must learn when and how Lleu is the most vulnerable. Not an easy task, especially since Lleu has taken to keeping to himself more and more lately. I will have to be very careful in how I go about it.

  But she does ask, and Lleu—stupidly, or perhaps naively—tells her. He must have one foot on a goat and the other on a cauldron. It seems like an unlikely circumstance to Gwen…but so is the idea that she herself could be a demigod.

  Gronw says he will do it tomorrow. I simply have to convince Lleu to go on a picnic with me near the river. Gronw will have everything prepared and he, of course, will deliver the fatal blow. And then we will be together.

  I am frightened. I do not wish ill on Lleu, but if it is the only way I can be with Gronw…is it not human to seek out happiness? Is it not human to desire love and passion and companionship? If Lleu could offer those things to me…but he cannot.

  Perhaps this is the fate that Lleu was given, the fate that was destined for us both when Math used his magic to create me.

  It was one thing to read this story in the Mabinogion, the ancient Celtic mythology. It was another to see it in her mother’s own words.

  And then the murder—or attempted murder—and the aftermath.

  I have not seen Gronw in months. I know now that his confessions of love were just words. He never meant a word of it. He never loved me, never wanted to make a life with me. Gronw wanted revenge on Lleu for something that I was never a part of and will never understand. How could men take a fight over territory and turn it into such a deadly game? Was it really worth all of that? Was it really worth both men losing their lives? Because that was what was about to happen. Gwydion would not let the death of Lleu go without consequence. I knew that, but I believed that Gronw and I would face it together. But now…I deserve what I get, but a part of me, that tiny part that still hopes that Gronw really did love me at some point, grieves for him.

  Did she know that Lleu survived?

  The diary ended here, so Gwen had no idea.

  It seemed odd, though. In her vision, the vision she had the first time she touched this book, Gwen had seen Blodeuwedd write one last entry in the book. This did not appear to be that entry. But the book was not tampered with.

  So where was that entry?

  Gwen ran her fingers over the next few pages, looking for evidence that something had been torn out, but there was nothing there. But she did feel the faint impressions of writing. Was it from the previous entries, or was it something else? Was there something…?

  She closed her eyes and took a couple of deep breaths. Maybe she could get something if she—

  And then she was floating.

  He comes for me today.

  She heard the words almost as clearly as though she had thought them herself.

  I deserve whatever he deems a suitable punishment. I am tired of looking over my shoulders, tired of waiting for the moment of reckoning. I am glad he comes.

  The scene unfolded in front of Gwen. Blodeuwedd dressed in a simple gown, sitting at a low desk in a quiet, stone-walled room. She wrote with a quill, tears rolling down her checks to drip on the desktop.

  “I’m sorry,” she whispered. “I never…”

  It was the same vision Gwen had had before. As it played out—Blodeuwedd standing to answer a knock on her door, the sound of a man’s voice—she walked to the desk and looked down at the open diary.

  Love is the most powerful of human emotions, Blodeuwedd had written. It can inspire people to greatness, or it can take a soul and run it through the darkest mud of humanity. When someone uses love to manipulate, it can be the darkest of all human emotions. Be careful who you love. Be careful because the soul you believe is the one perfectly matched to your own may only be a wolf in sheep’s clothing.

  As Gwen looked at the words on the page, more words seemed to appear as though written in invisible ink that had just been washed with the acid that would make them visible again:

  You are right to believe not everyone is worthy of your trust. But there are those around you who are. Do not count anyone out, dear Gwenydd, for one day your life will depend on the one you trust the least.

  Gwen jerked back when she saw her own name written on the page. The movement brought her back to her own time, caused the book to slam shut as it fell to the floor.

  “Gwen?”

  Cei stuck his head in through her door, his hair wet, as though he had just gotten out of the shower. Gwen quickly leaned over and shoved the book under her bed before sitting up to acknowledge his presence.

  “When did you get home?”

  “About twenty minutes ago,” he said. “You okay?”

  She nodded. “Must have fallen asleep.”

  He came over to the bed, revealing himself fully to her. He was wearing a pair of sweat pants, but little else. The sight of that bare chest made Gwen’s pulse quicken a little. She struggled to sit up a little straighter and slide over at the same time so that he could sit beside her on the bed. But he was more interested in her injured ankle.

  He lifted her ankle between soft, gentle hands, and ran his fingers over the bruised flesh.

  “The swelling seems to have gone down.”

  “A little.”

  He glanced at her. “Does it feel better?”

  “Except for the itching.”

  “It’s dry.” He walked over to her dresser and grabbed a bottle of lotion. “If you keep it moisturized, it probably won’t itch as much.”

  He sat on the edge of the bed and began rubbing the lotion into her ankle and foot. It felt like heaven, the feel of his hands on her skin.

  “You’re too kind to me.”

  He glanced at her before focusing on the ankle again. “Someone should be.”

  “Oh, so you’re just filling a vacancy?”

  He chuckled under his breath as he leaned toward her. “I’m just doing my duty,” he said against her lips as he offered her the sweetest kiss she thought she had ever experienced.

  “Aren’t I lucky?”

  It was meant to be sarcastic. But, in
that moment, she did feel incredibly lucky.

  Chapter 15

  It bothered her, those last words in Blodeuwedd’s diary. Even as she sat at the table and whipped the potatoes for dinner, she couldn’t stop thinking about them. Why was her name there? It would be thousands of years before she would even be conceived, let alone become a real, tangible human being. How could Blodeuwedd have known that she would be able to see that entry? Had she gone back and put those words there? Was it some sort of magic? Was it even Blodeuwedd who had put the words there?

  And the advice that it offered. What did it mean? Who should she trust that she was not trusting?

  Well, she knew the answer to that. She didn’t really trust anyone.

  Not even Cei.

  She still hadn’t told him about seeing the creature in the fire at the homecoming bonfire. And she didn’t tell him what Morgan had said before Branwen’s attack the night of the dance.

  But she had told Rhein those things…sort of.

  Why Rhein and not Cei?

  She didn’t understand. She wasn’t even sure of her own thought process, her own emotions. She wanted to be with Cei…just looking at him now, teasing the twins about some video game the three of them had been playing for the last hour, made her stomach tighten, her fingers itch to reach out and push that lock of hair out of his eyes.

  And Rhein was…well, Rhein. There really was no way to describe him. He was so good looking, so kind. The way he looked at her, sometimes it made her feel like she had known him all her life. And then there were times when she would catch him watching her and it felt as though she knew absolutely nothing about him.

  She didn’t understand.

  “Lost in thought, Gwen?”

  She looked up and found Theresa watching her with a concerned grin.

  “Sorry, did you say something?”

  Theresa gestured toward the potatoes. “If you whip them much more, they’re going to turn into a paste.”

  Gwen looked down at the potatoes and discovered that they were indeed a little over-whipped. She switched off the mixer and lifted the blades out of the steaming concoction.

  “Sorry.”

  “Don’t worry about it.’

  Theresa lifted the bowl and carried it over to the counter. Melanie, who was standing beside Cei chopping vegetables for the salad, smirked at her. They hadn’t spoken more than a dozen words to each either since the night of the homecoming dance, but Melanie’s every glance in Gwen’s direction suggested that their fight was not even close to being over.

  Another thrilling moment to look forward to. At least this type of conflict was something Gwen understood.

  “Does your ankle hurt?” Thomas asked, coming to the table with a handful of utensils.

  “Not so much anymore.”

  “I bet it did when it first happened,” Richie piped up.

  “A little,” Gwen acknowledged.

  Richie shot a knowing look at his twin. Thomas dropped the utensils on the table and began organizing them for his chore of setting the table.

  “Richie broke his ankle once,” Thomas said quietly. “He says that it’s the worse pain ever.”

  “Then I’m glad I didn’t break it.”

  “Me too,” Thomas said with a soft smile.

  Tony burst into the room, and chaos reigned for a moment. The twins jumped into his arms, always happy for his attention. Even Melanie beamed when he asked how her day had been. Only Anna seemed somewhat disinterested in Tony’s arrival, but even she smiled when Tony lowered Theresa into a low bend and offered her a loud smack on the cheek.

  Dinner was a chaotic time in the Langley household. It was the only time of day that everyone was in one place at one time. Tony always made a point of speaking to each child before listening to Theresa’s report of the events of her day and list of reminders for each family member for the following day. It was the closest thing Gwen had ever experienced to having a real family. There had been foster homes where the parents never took it upon themselves to spend a moment of time with their temporary children, and other homes where the foster parents were too intrusive. This was a nice medium.

  But even the chaos of the meal couldn’t draw Gwen out of her thoughts.

  She was trying to decide if she should tell Cei what she had seen in her latest vision when Tony laid a heavy hand on her shoulder.

  “Can you join me in my study for a few minutes?”

  “Of course.”

  She immediately stood, limping as she followed Tony through the chaotic living room—there were video game paraphernalia, toys, books, magazines, and various other clutter strewn throughout the room—to his study. Tony waited for her to enter before he closed the door and turned to a large cork board that looked like it belonged in one of his classrooms but had somehow managed to be squeezed into a corner of his small study. He pulled it into the center of the room and turned it on its hinges so that she could see a crazy collection of papers that were pinned to the other side.

  “I think I’ve made some progress in our search.”

  “Search?”

  “For Annwn.”

  “We don’t know where it is?”

  Tony glanced at her. “Didn’t I tell you? The ritual has to take place at the mouth of Annwn, where Bran invoked the original curse.”

  “Yes.”

  “So we kind of need to know where that is.”

  “But I thought you knew. Cei said—”

  “We know where it was two thousand years ago, but modern geography has obscured it a little.”

  Gwen approached the cork board and studied the satellite pictures and maps that covered it. She touched one picture in particular.

  “You think someone built a building over it?”

  “It’s a possibility.”

  “Great.”

  Tony pointed to another satellite picture. “I think it might be here, in Northern Wales. There’s a golf course here. I’m hoping it might be there. But there’s a hospital,” he pointed to another picture, “that’s a good possibility too.”

  “A hospital?”

  “Keep in mind that we don’t have to dig anything up. We just have to perform a ritual—”

  “A very old, very odd ritual that most people might not understand.”

  “Yes. But it does not require damaging property. It just requires being in the right place.”

  Gwen nodded. “So, what, we perform this ritual on the ninth hole and hope that the golfers think we’re putting on a one-act play, or something?”

  “We’ll figure out the details when we get there.”

  “When do we go?”

  Tony turned and looked at her, really looked at her. “Soon. Do you think you’re ready?”

  Gwen didn’t know how to answer that. She moved away, began to pace the small space, her fingers nervously reaching out to touch things that weren’t hers to touch.

  “Can I ask you something?”

  “Anything,” Tony said.

  “Are you sure we’re doing the right thing in trying to break this curse?”

  “Why would you ask that?”

  She lifted a book from the corner of his desk and set it back down in a less precarious position. “I don’t know. I just…why did Bran curse the sons of Don in the first place?”

  “Because they are light magic practitioners and in cursing them, he made his own powers stronger.”

  “Did it have anything to do with Blodeuwedd?”

  It felt weird, saying her mother’s name aloud for the first time since learning the truth. But, in the same weird sort of way, it felt right.

  “Who told you that?” Tony asked quietly.

  She looked over at him, realized she had his full attention for the first time since she’d met him.

  “I’m beginning to wonder if anyone is telling me the truth about any of this.”

  Tony’s face reddened. He took a few steps backward until he fell more than sat on the tired old love seat that took up
one wall of the room.

  “I can understand how all of this might seem intimidating to you.”

  “It’s not intimidating. It’s downright confusing and insane.”

  He nodded slowly. “And you keep catching us keeping secrets, so you think you can’t trust anyone.”

  “Yes.”

  Tony gestured to the empty cushion beside him. “Have a seat and I’ll try to explain it all to you.”

  Gwen settled beside him, tucking her good foot under her as she tried to make her injured ankle a little more comfortable in its itchy prison. She dragged her fingers through her hair, reorganizing it over the side of her shoulder as she studied Tony, wondering if he was one of the people Blodeuwedd thought she could trust, or one of those she warned her to be wary of.

  She wished there had been a list in that diary entry.

  “You know that Bran and Gwydion faced off during the Battle of the Trees, yes?”

  “Yes.”

  “Their feud actually goes back much further than that. Gwydion and Bran are both the eldest children of their respective families. And the fact that each practices the opposite type of magic as the other naturally put them in competition with one another. So, over the years, there were multiple little feuds, but never anything significant because both were pretty busy with their own affairs. Gwydion had family problems, what with the rape of his uncle’s virgin footstool to the birth of his two nephews, he had his hands full. And Bran was struggling with a war between his kingdom and the kingdom belonging to Branwen’s husband, Matholwych.”