Curse-Maker- the Tale of Gwiddon Crow

by Alydia Rackham

  Besides—the Seal still held me here. Like a wall of invisible granite, it still guarded my way out, preventing me from leaving the castle grounds. Determined to drain the life out of me until nothing was left but bones.

  At that thought, something coiled inside me. Coiled, and then writhed. Like a snake scalded by a fire iron. And that something deep within—in spite of the paralyzing chill in my limbs—bared its fangs, and hissed.

  I lowered my hand, and clenched my fingers until I stood double-fisted, my head lowered, my eyes fixed on the raging fire down in Astrum’s wood.

  Was I a witch or not?

  Was I the Crow of Winterly, the terror of Albain, the Banshee of the Black Paths, the Winged Reaper—or was I not?

  And if I died by splintered glass or mangled bones, or by head-to-head collision with one of the mighty Seals—then I would die in battle, by my own will. Not cowering and begging at Mordred’s feet.

  I bared my teeth.

  And I backed up.

  I stepped over the wall of the pool and walked into the water. It flowed, ice-cold, around my knees. I planted myself in the center of the pool, and took three deep breaths. I closed my eyes.

  Whatever power you may have, I whispered to the water. Use it to help me save your prince.

  I turned—I threw open my stance like a broadsword fighter. My cape lashed through the water, sending it spraying. I flung out my arms, threw back my head—

  And screamed.

  The water turned hot.

  Power from within me—my heart magick—exploded like a dying star, raging out my mouth, my fists. Blazing against my waking eyes. The floor began to shake. The surface of the water rippled and foamed.

  The next second, in a shattering blast, the stone walls of the pool broke. Boiling water gushed out all across the floor.

  I took another breath, coiled my arms around my head, then took a step and pulverized one of the stones beneath my foot. I threw my hands out, letting out another unearthly, savage, deafening howl.

  I roared with all the force in my being at the foremost pane of unbreakable glass, the boiling water steaming in clouds around my shoulders. The very air shivered, the floor trembled, the iron supports rattled.

  I knew that glass fastenings held the panes together—I could feel them, just as I could now feel every bone in my body, every nerve, every pulse—and every stone in this castle beneath my feet. Raw and lightning-bright and quaking like the end of the world.

  I stepped forward. The fallen stones that met my feet incinerated and turned to dust. My feet, beneath the scalding layer of water, burned black prints into the marble. The roar of my voice filled the chamber with thunder, the power from my body radiating against the walls.

  I fixed on that single tall pane, my teeth bared like fangs, my nose snarled like a wolf’s.

  I pressed my hand to the pane.

  The magic within the glass instantly twisted away from my touch.

  I clapped my jaw, reached deep inside that pane—though I could not physically breach it—and grabbed the spell by the throat.

  “Let go,” I hissed, my whole frame shuddering with power as I clenched down. The magic heated like a blacksmith’s iron, biting back at me, releasing an ear-piercing screech that tore through my nerves.

  “Let. Go,” I commanded, wrenching my hand into a fist, pushing my knuckles against the glass.

  The spell screamed louder—in defiant and haughty protest.

  But in that instant, I sensed a flicker of fear.

  I slammed my fist into the pane.

  The glass keened. I bared my teeth again and twisted my fist against it, leaning my whole weight into that single spot…

  “LET. GO.” My voice deep as a lion’s, shaking the foundations of Astrum.

  And I reared back and hit it one more time.

  My fist went through.

  The glass shattered.

  It fell like rain all across my head, my shoulders, my arms. It sang in broken despair as it sprayed across the floor.

  The icy winter wind—wild and dangerous as a fiend at this height—blasted through the opening, throwing the glass back toward my face.

  I waved it away. The glass gusted around me like feather down, cascading into the water. The water which frothed around my ankles and poured eagerly over the edge of the tower and into the abyss.

  I drew in a swift breath, and licked my lips.

  I tasted ash—the fiery richness of pine and cedar aflame.

  And I tasted him. That acrid, ancient, decadent smell of myrrh.

  It wasn’t just a spell. Mordred was here.

  I reached behind me, opening my hand. The edge of my cape flew eagerly into my grasp.

  With a fluid and wrenching twist, I flung it around my body.

  In a horrid symphony of cracks and snaps, my bones broke, twisted, shrank—

  For one suspended moment, I hung, half formed, in the air.

  And the next instant, I leaped from the battlement, straight into the sky—

  And flung out my great black wings.

  I screeched in triumph, letting the call resound over the silence. I beat my wings, feeling my sound crow’s body respond instantly—fresh and strong and new. I dove, almost skimming my belly against the walls of Astrum, then soaring out over the gardens and the black wood beneath.

  Now, with my crow’s hearing, the wind carried to me the dry snarl of the inferno below and before me. It had eaten its way all the way up to the gates of the gardens, and was now roiling past where I had first encountered the gypsies. I flew high over the clouds of smoke, peering down into the acres of brightly-burning branches, the flames licking all the needles from the proud trees, turning their trunks to charcoal. If I did not know better, I would suspect a dragon.

  I tilted my head and searched swiftly, fighting to recognize the bends in the switchback path from the air. The edge of the castle grounds was approaching. I could feel the powerful, ancient spirit of the Seal waiting before me—like an invisible city with a living heart. A physical, deep-rooted and unshakable presence, which could undoubtedly sense me, too.

  There. There it was: the place I had stalled the gypsies, and turned them back the way they had come.

  The place where I had seen Merlin.

  The border was here. It had to be. Right in front of me.

  I lifted my head, turning away from the conflagration beneath me, and toward the darkness and silence of the yet-untouched wood ahead of me.

  Krystian was in there, somewhere. Amidst the tangle of an unfamiliar forest. A forest that was being consumed more rapidly than anything had ever burned before.

  I beat my wings harder. I doubled my speed. The smoke filled my lungs, the heat buoyed me up. I lifted high into the air, then tucked my wings and dove. I swooped down over the trees at my topmost speed—the branches almost raking through my feathers.

  If I was going to hit that barrier, I was going to hit it hard.

  I would rather die instantly by Seal than lie there on the ground, broken and helpless, to be burned in Mordred’s flames.

  Electricity crackled against my feathers.

  My heart jerked.

  An invisible, thick wall of power suddenly rose up in front of me.

  Too late to flinch. I shut my eyes—

  A stinging, golden heat passed through my body.

  And I shot out on the other side.

  I gasped, then flailed my wings in shock, trying to keep from falling out of the air.

  I’d gone through the barrier.

  The Seal had let me through.

  That idea—that realization—staggered my mind. But before I could think on it for even another second…

  The flames tore through the wood, leaping over the river in an aimed line, like an arrow from a bow straight toward a large clearing—a clearing with a well, and a small stone cottage.

  My attention pinned on that clearing, watching for any sign of movement—

  A person. A man. He
was sitting by the half-collapsed cottage on a stump, but now he leaped to his feet…

  Just as the flames began writhing their noose-like way around the clearing, lighting it up like daylight, engulfing the trees from roots to boughs.

  It was Krystian. Wearing leather travel clothes, a sword and a bow and arrows, his pack by his feet. He clutched a bottle of water in his right hand, his attention flashing all around him as his sharp mind doubtlessly raced through all his options.

  But I knew far better than he did: he didn’t have any options.

  Not alone.

  I plunged down out of the sky. I swung in a deep curve, straight toward the ground—

  Shook myself, and threw off my cape.

  I hit the ground like a thunderbolt, facing the rising inferno, my cape billowing out behind me. The blaze roared through the night, crackling and snapping like a pack of ravenous dogs. The heat boiled out toward me, stinging my cheeks and my eyes.

  “Wha—” came the cry from behind me. “Crow?”

  I turned my head and looked at him.

  The firelight set his features aglow, his dark eyes wide and stunned, his lips parted. I nodded to him.

  “Krystian,” I answered—and the name tasted sweet on my mouth.

  “What…How?” he gasped, stepping toward me. “How did you get here?”

  “He is coming,” I said, not bothering to answer.

  “Who?” Krystian demanded.

  “Mordred,” I murmured, slowly turning to face the wall of flame. “He is trying to kill you.”

  I heard a swift shink as Krystian drew his sword from its scabbard. I glanced over at him. His blade gleamed like liquid as the hellish reflections swam across its surface.

  “Is that magic?” I asked him. He frowned at me.

  “No. It’s my father’s.”

  I shook my head.

  “It won’t do any good.”

  “I’ve killed bears with nothing but this and my two hands,” he answered, his brow dark.

  “I don’t doubt you, lyubov moya,” I assured him gently, an ache running through my heart. “But I don’t think forged weapons will be of any use, here.”

  He hesitated. The wind of the wildfire tossed his curls, and the light of it lit his eyes like a hundred suns.

  “What are we going to do?”

  “I’m going to fight him,” I answered, unable to look anywhere but at him.

  His eyebrows drew together.

  “Can you?”

  I halfway smiled.

  “I can try.”

  Just then, a giant cedar at the edge of the clearing fell.

  It crashed to the ground, wreathed in flame, and burst apart, spraying sparks onto the grass. They instantly caught fire, and began slithering toward us.

  “No,” I roared, slamming my foot down against the ground. “No, no further!”

  The fire blinked—hesitated.

  “Get back!” I snapped, slapping the air with the back of my hand.

  The flames dipped, dancing from side to side, as if confused—

  “I said, get back,” I thundered, advancing on it, striking the air with both hands. Power rippled out from me, thudding against the grass like hammer blows.

  The flames recoiled. The low fires in the clearing extinguished. The flames within the forest wall leaped up in surprise.

  “No further!” I commanded, louder than the inferno. “No further than this, do you understand me?” And I clawed my hand across the open heat—and a line tore through the earth at the edge of the clearing. Black dirt burst from the line my magic drew. The fire jumped back away from it, as if afraid of getting scalded itself. With a flick of my wrist and a deft spin, I drew a circle around the entire glen, forming a shield around me, the well, the cottage, and Krystian.

  “Will that hold him?” Krystian asked, swiping sweat from his forehead.

  “No,” I said.

  I heard Krystian suck in a startled breath—and then whisper an oath.

  For in that moment, a tall, thin black shadow appeared amongst the hottest billow of flame. It swirled like a funnel cloud, and then sprouted serpentine tentacles that wrapped around the trees, wrenching them free of the ground and snapping them in two. The darkness spilled out of the shadow and poured into the clearing, swimming over the grass like rivers of boiling oil, each tentacle slithering and searching with a life of its own.

  The darkness, now a living, twisting, elegant, sickening tree of liquid obsidian, surged forward, past the border of trees, and past my barrier. And with a sudden, powerful heave, the figure of a man lunged up and out through the heart of it.

  The blackness melted off him like wax, running in rivulets down his splendid form. It streamed from the locks of his ebony hair, dripped like tears from his blazing, multi-colored eyes and ran down his beautifully-scarred white cheeks. It caressed his arms and tumbled in seeping sleeves from his elbows. It spilled like melted tar from the feathers of the massive arches of his terrible black wings. It pooled around his graceful feet. And it leaked in sparkling rivulets from behind his bared teeth, running down his lips and chin.

  He flicked his tongue like a snake, spitting magic. His snarl transformed into a delighted grin, his teeth stained dark. The light from the fire turned his eyes incandescent as a cat’s, and they locked on Krystian.

  Krystian hissed another oath, and grabbed his sword in both hands.

  “Mordred,” I said.

  Mordred glanced at me. His eyes glittered.

  “Hello, Crow,” he answered lightly. “You are in my way.”

  And with a mighty thunderclap of his great wings, and a single flash of his eyes, a hailstorm of black needle-knives flew straight at us.

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  I let out a guttural howl and swept my arm across. The swarm of knives flying at us swerved and cracked into the wall of the cottage.

  Mordred beat his wings again.

  A devilish, reeling wail pulsed out from him and slammed across my head and shoulders.

  I fell to one knee, flinging up my arms to bar him back. I ground my teeth, digging my boots into the earth. I sensed Krystian fall in behind me, his sword still aloft.

  “MOVE.” Mordred’s command—deep as the earth—threatened to break my bones. And as I squinted against the blast of another terrible flap of his wings, he opened his mouth—

  And fire spewed from his throat.

  It flew like a comet and burst against my shield, swallowing me in inferno, scalding the edges of my clothes and hair. I felt Krystian crawl closer and huddle down right beside my hip, his forehead low to the ground.

  The fire ceased.

  I gasped, sweat running into my eyes. Mordred wiped his mouth on his sleeve, and stepped closer.

  Then, with a sudden, swift movement, he swung, clapped his hands together—

  And a long, black whip covered in wicked thorns lashed down upon us.

  CRACK!

  Venomous pain—as if the whip had actually hit me—sprang across my back. I jerked, clamping down on my magic shield.

  I could feel it start to splinter.

  The whip cracked again.

  I shuddered underneath it. I hissed through my teeth, screwing my eyes shut.

  The whip burned tracks in the grass as it retreated like a seething snake, and Mordred coiled it for another strike.

  “He’s going to kill you,” Krystian gasped by my side. I glanced back at him…

  And I tasted blood as it ran from my face into my mouth.

  My eyes flashed.

  The whip. Somehow, that whip could sting through my shield. Without my shield, I knew it would be instantly fatal—but just one more strike…

  “Move,” Krystian barked.

  “What?” I cried, my hands shivering against my shield.

  “Move,” Krystian repeated, his eyes burning. “Let him hit me.”

  My mind reeled—

  Mordred hauled back, swinging the evil whip high into the air—
/>   I let go my shield. I flung myself out of the way, rolling through the grass—

  The whip lashed down onto Krystian’s back.

  And the whip burst into flame.

  Mordred yelped.

  He flung down the shattered handle of the whip as green light burst through the clearing. He recoiled, grabbing his right hand with his left, his eyes flaring with startled rage.

  Slowly, Krystian climbed to his feet. Blood bloomed across his back, running through his hair and down his face—but his eyes burned even more furiously than Mordred’s. Krystian smirked—brief and deadly.

  The black-winged draid regarded him icily.

  “You think you are invincible, Guardian?” Mordred asked, with a thoughtful flutter. “You are not. This is ordinary fire.” He gestured delicately to the raging blaze all around us. “And once she is dead, her protection will break and it will consume you.” Mordred pointed at me…

  And as he did, a sleek black blade birthed itself in his hand and extended out toward me. He leveled a long look at me.

  “Do you wish to die here, Crow? Pulled apart limb from limb, and burned?” he asked gently, canting his head. “I will make it quick and dignified. Just move.”

  I drew myself up onto my knees, then to my feet. Mordred watched me.

  I lifted my head, and looked at Krystian. He looked back at me.

  He almost smiled.

  I held out my hand to him.

  He flicked his arm—

  And his father’s sword, the sword of the king of Astrum, spun through the air and landed in my hand with a firm slap.

  I lifted the well-balanced blade, pointing it right back at the draid, as it hummed eagerly in my hand.

  “This is not your realm, you poisonous worm,” I said. “You have broken through its borders and assailed its wood. You are the invader.” I bared my teeth. “You move.”

  Mordred grinned.

  Black magic spilled from his mouth.

  His beastly grin turned to a growl—his wings hammered the air.

  I threw myself into a wide stance, flinging my left hand out and catching hold of a new circular shield of magic. I ducked my head behind it as that crushing ripple of power crashed into it.

  Then, I ran toward him.

  Mordred shot into the air. And like a blast of lightning, he fell down upon me.