The Curses of Arianrhod (A Bard Without a Star Book 4) Page 4

  “Lodging for the night, in exchange for harp music in the hall.”

  “A harper, huh?” the guard said. “It’s not for me to say yea or nay, so wait where you are.” The face disappeared, and Gwydion played softly while they waited. The shadows in the trees deepened, but no crickets sang.

  “Da,” Llews whispered. “Are they going to let us in?”

  “I don’t know,” Gwydion said.

  “It’s just that it’s a little scary out here.”

  “I know, little one, I know.” Gwydion very cautiously fed power into his song, looking for any danger, but he found nothing obvious. Llews gripped his leg tightly, and he stopped playing long enough to stroke the boy’s hair.

  The face appeared again. “I’m afraid our lord has denied your request. You look normal enough to me, but he trusts nothing that appears at dusk.”

  “I see,” Gwydion said. “What do you recommend we do?”

  “Pray,” the guard said, and disappeared again.

  Gwydion considered their options, but nothing felt safe. He ended up making their camp halfway between the caer and the forest, not sure which to distrust more. He used both bardic and Cymry magic to set up shields before he set up their tent, and instead of gathering wood, he set up a ball of baelfire to give them light and heat.

  Llews sat on his lap, making it hard to play his harp, but Gwydion did not make him move. Instead, he placed the boy’s fingers on the strings, and together they played until the moon had risen over the trees, orange and swollen. Llews fell asleep, but restlessly, waking periodically to pat his Da’s leg or give him a hug.

  Gwydion sat staring into the night, trying to penetrate the dark with all his power. He knew something was wrong, and it settled like frost in his bones, but he could not find it. It occurred to him that he was looking for something that wanted to remain hidden, but the thought brought no comfort.

  As the moon set, a fog began creeping out of the trees and over the land. It soon enveloped the tiny camp, and obscured everything but the baelfire. Gwydion caught himself yawning, but could not stop. As his eyes began to close, he saw a figure just outside his protection, barely a shadow, but he could feel the presence probing his magic. The strange person’s frustration was palpable, and Gwydion smiled even as he was pulled into a deep sleep.

  He dreamed of a song, a song that called not to him but to Llews. It was the shadow in the fog singing, and Llews heard, and followed, leaving behind the protection of their camp. Gwydion screamed his name, tried to snatch him back, but could not move, and could not get out more than a croak. The dream repeated over and over, and nothing he tried made a difference.

  He woke to a blue sky, with the sun shining and the birds singing. Llews was gone. He looked at the forest, but the trees seemed innocent and peaceful. He looked back to the caer, where the gate was still barred and a row of soldiers watched him from the wall. “Where’s my son?” he roared, and they all ducked out of sight.

  He shifted to raven form, flew into the caer, and became a man again. “Where is my son?” he yelled again.

  The soldiers from the wall stood in a row, some holding swords, some holding pikes. Gwydion took a step towards them, and they backed up. Other people began appearing, men and women who watched him warily, and he knew that they were more frightened of whatever had taken Llews than they were of him.

  The hall doors opened, and the laird appeared, flanked by a half dozen guards. “Whoever you are, I demand that you leave Caer Leth at once!”

  “I’ll not leave until you tell me who has my son,” Gwydion said. “And woe be unto you if anyone from your caer is involved.”

  The laird paled, but stood his ground. “No one here has touched your son,” he said. “Now once again, I demand that you leave!”

  “Not without my son!” He turned to the crowd watching. “I will tear this caer apart stone by stone until someone tells me what that creature was, the one that appeared in the fog. It sang a song, and my son left me, and I could do nothing.” He held up his hands full of bael fire. “I am not so helpless now.”

  A middle-aged woman, stout and matronly stepped forward. “I will tell you what you want to know.”

  “Mailla! No!” the laird said.

  She shot him a look of contempt. “You’ll not stop me, Laird Thaddeus. This man has lost his child, just like every family in this caer. We’re beyond fear.” She turned back to Gwydion. “Your son was taken by Black Annis the witch. She lives on the flesh of children, and there is not a family here who has not lost one or more children to her hunger.”

  The anger drained out of Gwydion. “I am sorry for you, truly I am, but I must find my son.”

  “There’s nothing you can do,” Laird Thaddeus said. “Many men have tried, and many have died.”

  “That’s right,” Mailla said. “So now we lock ourselves in this miserable caer and fear the fog that rolls in like the tide. And still our children hear her song and leap over the wall into her iron claws.” She turned back to Gwydion. “I don't know you, but you are obviously a man with power. It's just information I'm giving you.”

  “And I am grateful,” Gwydion said. “Do you know where I can find Black Annis?”

  “Go north to the hills,” she said. “You'll be looking for a cave with an oak tree in front. You'll know it when you see it.”

  “Many thanks, my lady,” he said with a bow. He turned to Laird Thaddeus. “And for you—I could curse you, but I think it would be redundant at this point.”

  He became a raven and flew north, looking for the witch's cave. The foliage turned from green to brown to black, a diseased and stricken area. He went higher until he could see the whole blighted region, and then aimed for the center.

  He found the cave in a small hill surrounded by the bones of children glowing white. The oak tree towered over everything, leafless and bare as the bones, and festooned with what looked at first like tattered cloth. As he got closer he realized with a start that they were human skins hung up to dry. He fell to the ground and out of raven shape, retching until his stomach felt like it was coming out his throat. When he could breathe again, the smell of death made him gag even more.

  He wiped his mouth on his sleeve and pulled his harp around. He strummed a chord, feeling the subharmonies surge with power. He sent tendrils of perception into the cave, almost sobbing when he found Llews alive in an iron cage.

  Another power lashed out at him, knocking him backwards. The witch appeared in the mouth of the cave grinning hideously. She had dark blue skin, and hands that looked more like eagle talons than fingers. “He said you’d come after him,” she said in a voice that sounded like rocks grinding together. “I told him that a wizard’s blood is almost as powerful as a child’s.”

  “But wizards fight back,” Gwydion said. He changed his tune, trying to bind her, but she slipped free of the magic like an eel.

  “Ah, a fighter!” Black Annis laughed. “I haven’t had a serious challenge in years, and I forgot how invigorating it is!”

  “Yes, it is, isn’t it?” Gwydion said. He quickly changed his focus to shielding himself from the magical barbs she shot at him, and lobbed a few balls of baelfire at her. One caught her in the arm, causing her to screech.

  “Your blood will be sweet,” she said, renewing her attack. “But perhaps I’ll feed it to the boy to fatten him up a bit. He is a lean one, isn’t he?”

  Gwydion ignored the bait, and pushed his shield out a bit. Black Annis’ attacks continued to bounce away, and he inched slowly forward.

  Annis stopped taunting him, and fell back into the mouth of the cave. The fog began rolling out towards him, but he had learned, and it broke around him harmlessly. She growled and grimaced at him with pointed teeth, but even as he stared at her, he concentrated on the song he played, slowing it, making it more soothing. The subharmonies fell together into the Chord of Sleep, and the witch, unprepared, fought the yawns for a few moments and then sank to the ground in a deep slumber.


  Gwydion carefully stepped over her and entered her lair. The air was thick and stuffy, and the light so dim that it took his eyes a minute to adjust. The smell of old blood made him feel like he was licking a coin, and he swallowed constantly against the desire to gag again. He found the iron cage on the far wall, held on a chain three feet off the ground, and large enough for several men. Llews slept soundly at the bottom, and after a quick check to make sure that he was unharmed, Gwydion turned his attention back to the witch.

  He changed his song, and the witch changed from a blue faced hag to a sickly blue green glowing spirit. She began to stir as he probed for a weak spot. He found it, but hesitated; it went against all his training to kill with music, even if he wasn't sure Annis was human. She woke up but looked around confusedly, and he made a quick decision. He stopped playing, and as she looked at him with hate, he used his Cymric power to sever her spirit from her body.

  Gwydion watched the glow evaporate, and the witch’s body melted into a pool of hissing ichor. Only her hands remained, the twisted fingers ending in iron claws, and he plucked them from the goo and wrapped them in an old blanket he found.

  He opened the cage and woke Llews with a gentle shake. “Da!” the boy cried. “I knew you would come!”

  “And here I am,” Gwydion said wrapping him in a great hug.

  “Where is she? Did you kill her?”

  Gwydion pointed to the puddle. “That’s all that’s left of her,” he said. “Except for those iron claws of hers. We’re taking those back to prove she’s dead.”

  They inched around Black Annis’ remains and into the open air. The sun was beginning to dip towards the horizon, but when Gwydion said they needed to get some distance behind them, Llews nodded eagerly. The moon rose and helped light the way as they walked along a dim path in the direction of Caer Leth. When Llews began to stumble with weariness, Gwydion picked him up and carried him until the moon dipped too low for him to see. He sat against a large oak tree, cradling Llews in his lap, and managed to put up magical shields before he passed out.

  Birdsong woke them in the morning, tentative at first as though the birds weren't sure that they were safe. But soon it rang out all around them, and Llews laughed to hear it. They found a lake nearby, where Gwydion turned into an eagle and caught two fat fish for their breakfast. They roasted them over a cheerful fire, and told each other jokes as they ate, laughing with relief and happiness. They made it back to the caer with its scarred gates early in the afternoon.

  The sight of Gwydion and Llews caused the guards to raise a cry, and Laird Thaddeus himself appeared at the top of the wall. “The two of you?” he said. “Alive? And here?”

  “That seems to displease you,” Gwydion said.

  “But how is it possible?”

  “I defeated Black Annis,” Gwydion said.

  “It has to be a trick,” Thaddeus said. “Do you have proof?”

  “I have the witch’s claws,” Gwydion said.

  The laird disappeared behind the wall, and Gwydion heard shouting. A few moments later, the gates creaked open, and half the caer flooded out. Mailla reached him first, saying, “Is it true? Did you really kill her?”

  Gwydion did not answer, but pulled out the old blanket and unwrapped the iron claws. Mailla reached out, and stopped just short of touching them. Tears welled up in her eyes, and she breathed a great sigh. “We will forever be in your debt.”

  Gwydion wrapped up the claws again and placed them in her hands. “And I will forever be grateful for your help.” He turned to Laird Thaddeus, who had watched the whole exchange. “I suggest you destroy these somehow. Fire would be best, I think.”

  Thaddeus bowed low. “I apologize for my rudeness before, master.”

  Gwydion snorted. “I’m not your master. And your fears had a very real basis. The witch was powerful and evil, and had defeated many champions. I get that.”

  “But it was not my place to try and keep you from fighting her,” Thaddeus said. “I should have helped you, or at least not kept my people from helping you. Hope is a powerful thing, and we have been without it for so long that I was scared to let it back in.”

  Gwydion put his hand on the Laird’s shoulder. “But you should. Especially now, when there is great reason for it.”

  “I’m sure I’m overstepping my place,” Mailla said, “but would you like to join us for feast? We have much to celebrate, including you.”

  Laird Thaddeus said, “Mailla is right, and we would like to redeem ourselves in your sight.”

  Gwydion, knowing how much they had lost, said, “It would honor me deeply.”

  They ended up staying for the winter. Gwydion gave them many songs of hope and joy, and everyone doted on Llews. When the spring came, Laird Thaddeus, Mallia, and many others begged him to stay. As much as they had given him and Llews, he did not want them to rely on him too much, so he promised to return instead. They reluctantly let him go, but he felt confident that he and Llews would come back to a vastly different place.

  Chapter 5: Soldiers

  Gwydion and Llews continued their wandering, exploring the central areas of Bangreen. They played at both large caers and small duns, and even spent the night several times with crofters isolated from the world. Gwydion always sang at least one song of the Firbolg, and never any of himself, though he heard a few harpers do so. Throughout it all, Llews seemed his normal happy-go-lucky self, but he still clung tightly to Gwydion at night.

  As summer gave way to fall, Gwydion began looking for a place to stay for the winter. He stopped at three duns and a caer, but each felt off to him somehow, and he pushed on. They finally found a place just after Samhain, a small dun run by an old chieftain named John, with twinkling eyes and a hearty laugh. When Gwydion asked if they could stay for the season, he said, “And why on earth would you want to do such a fool thing?”

  “Because I trust you,” Gwydion answered.

  “Ah, trust,” the chieftain murmured. “The most valuable coin of all. But you realize, don’t you, that I have no way to reward you?”

  “I ask for nothing more than a place to ride out the winter winds, and offer my services as a harpist in return,” Gwydion said.

  “You are an odd one,” John said. “But if you’ll accept us, we’ll accept you.”

  Gwydion bowed. “Many thanks, chieftain.”

  John harrumphed and waved him away.

  Gwydion and Llews settled in an old, little used storeroom. They piled up the detritus of farm life around the walls to keep the worst of the drafts out, and scrounged enough thin woolen blankets to keep them cozy at night.

  As the winter deepened, Gwydion saw the effects of the curse beginning to manifest, as the children of the dun played together in the courtyard or barn. Although Llews was only six years old, he was big and exuberant, and at first the older boys allowed him into their mock battles. But every time Llews tried to hold a stick like a sword, he froze, unable to attack or to defend himself. The other boys quickly figured out his weakness, and would shove a “sword” into his hand so that they could beat him with impunity. Llews never complained to Gwydion, and before any adults had to step in, the other boys tired of the easy prey, and simply excluded him.

  Gwydion watched it all, and constantly tried to think of a way to trick Arianrhod into breaking the curse.

  As soon as the roads became passable in the spring, Gwydion and Llews left the comfort of the dun for the quiet road where people did not question or assume too much. They headed generally east, stopping at small duns and caers occasionally, but spending plenty of time by themselves. Gwydion taught Llews about harping, magic, and the Firbolg. And when Llews asked him how they would overcome his mother’s curse, Gwydion would say, “I’m working on it.”

  The summer passed away, and the chill nights of fall had just begun when they left a moor and entered a forest. After the first bend away from the open, they encountered a squad of soldiers dressed in silver and blue that jumped up at t
heir approach. Three of them leveled spears at his chest, while their leader, a young man barely older than Gwydion looked them up and down. “I am Lieutenant Porthy, son of Hawthorn, Lord Rosscort,” he said. “Where are you going, harpist?”

  Gwydion spread his hands. “I just follow the wind.”

  The Lieutenant’s eyes narrowed. “Are you from Glencairck?”

  “I am.”

  Porthy shook his head. “You seem like no harm to me, but we have orders not to allow anyone to just wander randomly through the kingdom, and you being a foreigner—I’m going to have to send you to Lord Caxton. He can decide what to do with you. Oy! Garth!”

  “Aye sir?” asked a gruff old veteran who had not even stood up.

  “I want you to take these two to see the Lord,” Porthy said. “Tell him that they are Glencarish, and turn them over to him. Don’t let them out of your sight, and I expect you back here in a week. If you’re not, I’ll have you flogged.”

  Garth ignored the sniggers from the other soldiers and asked, “Are they prisoners, Lieutenant?”

  “Of course they are! Are you daft?” he replied. “Now get going, and mind what I said about getting back here. If I have to hunt you down, I’ll have you strung up for desertion.”

  Garth stood slowly and bowed, then said to Gwydion, “Follow me.”

  They began walking down the road, and none of them said anything for a long time, but Gwydion noticed Llews getting more and more restless. Finally the boy couldn’t hold it in anymore and said, “If we’re prisoners, when are you going to lock us up?”

  Garth looked at the boy. “I don’t know,” he said. “The Lieutenant didn’t exactly give me what I needed to contain you or your father.”

  “We are harmless, I assure you,” Gwydion said.

  Garth stopped and looked him up and down. “The Lieutenant only saw your harp, and assumed your sword was for self-defense. I saw your swords first, both of them, and saw how you moved when confronted. You are not harmless, and had he threatened your boy, I doubt any of us would have survived.”