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

by Michael A. Hooten

  They stopped at a small seaside caer just inside Bangreen, where Gwydion was able to purchase some supplies. Then they headed to Caer Sidi, disguised as an old man and his grandson, if anyone noticed the boy at all besides Arianrhod He used magic to make the illusion impenetrable, although it took him awhile to figure out how to maintain the magic when he forgot his son.

  When they pulled alongside the pier, Huwynt came out and gave them the same spiel as he had before. Gwydion said, “I am an old man, Harbormaster. May I pull my boat up on the strand? It will save wear and tear on my joints if I do not have to lug my supplies from the pier here.”

  Huwynt looked at him a little more closely. “What exactly do you have to sell, old man?”

  “Shoes, my lord,” Gwydion said. “Specifically women’s shoes. Perhaps the lady of the caer would like me to make her a pair?”

  “That’s not the way it works, I told you that.”

  “Ah, yes, so you did.” Gwydion squinted up at the grey wall. “Are there other women who live in there?”

  “Yes, there are plenty,” Huwynt said. “I imagine they will come down and let you know exactly what they think of you and your shoes. I hope for your sake they like them.”

  “I have tough old skin,” Gwydion replied. “We’ll see how it handles their barbs.”

  “Better you than me, especially if my wife is one of your customers,” Huwynt said with a shrug. “Beaching your boat is certainly allowed. Just remember not to approach to caer’s gates.”

  “Thank you, Harbormaster,” Gwydion said. “I’ll remember.”

  Huwynt just grunted and returned to his shanty. Gwydion rowed over to the gravelly strand, finding a spot at the end of the makeshift market. He set up his tent and got his supplies organized.

  Beaky landed on his shoulder. “It seems to be going well,” the sparrow said.

  “I suppose,” Gwydion said. “I know what we agreed to do, but it bothers me that I cannot remember why.”

  “With luck, that will all become clear soon,” Beaky said. “Just sell your shoes, and try and get Arianrhod to come out here for hers.”

  “And if she invites me inside?”

  “Tell her you can’t climb stairs well,” Beaky said. “I’ve scouted inside the wall, and there are stairs everywhere.”

  “Alright,” Gwydion said. “Are there any other birds here? I don’t want you standing out too much.”

  “There’s a bunch of sparrows that nest in the eaves throughout the courtyard,” Beaky replied. “They said that we can expect customers tomorrow morning.”

  “Good enough,” Gwydion said. “What about the other merchants? I haven’t seen anyone about.”

  “They stick to their tents for the most part. They socialize some amongst themselves, but nobody spends time out in the open.”

  Gwydion nodded. “I can understand why. This island feels cursed.”

  The next morning, a group of chattering servants came out and began working their way down the row of tents. A sour faced woman was the first to reach Gwydion. “You’re new here,” she said in an accusatory tone. “What do you have for sale, old man?”

  “Shoes, my lady,” he said, ducking his head.

  She just stared at him. “Well, let me see a pair, you doddering old fool.”

  Gwydion pulled out a pair of green shoes and handed them to her without comment. Her eyes lit up as she looked them over, running her hands over the leather and admiring the stitching. “Look at this, Aghna,” she said to another woman who came up beside her. “Aren't they simply wonderful?”

  “They must be to make you smile like that, Gwir,” Aghna said. She took the shoes and said, “What a beautiful color!”

  “And feel how soft and supple the leather is,” Gwir. “I’ll bet they feel like your foot is wrapped in silk.”

  Aghna said, “How much, shoemaker?”

  “My lady, I am a humble man...” Gwydion began.

  “Yes, yes,” Aghna said. “But I have no wish to haggle the morning away. Tell me what you want for these shoes.”

  “Oh no you don’t!” Gwir said before Gwydion could respond. “That pair is mine! Get your own!”

  “Fine,” Aghna said, shoving them back into Gwir’s hands. “What others do you have back there, shoemaker?”

  Gwydion pulled out another pair in a pastel violet, and handed them over wordlessly. “Yes,” Aghna breathed. “These are just my color.”

  Other women began arriving, and Gwydion just ducked his head at their demands. He adjusted fit, took orders, and collected money. Only five women visited him the first day, but for the next week, he had a dozen customers every day, including new orders for both Aghna and Gwir.

  On his tenth day on the island, Gogan appeared at his tent and looked over the shoes he had out with a haughty sniff. “I am the chief steward of Caer Sidi,” he said, “And I have come to purchase shoes for the Lady of the Caer, Arianrhod ap Don.”

  “Very good,” Gwydion said with a respectful bow. “What is my lady looking for, do you know?”

  Gogan shook his head. “All I know if that your shoes have caused a stir among the ladies of the caer, and now Arianrhod wishes to have her own pair.”

  “I see,” Gwydion said. “Do you know if she has a certain color she prefers?”

  “Blue is her favorite.”

  Gwydion pulled out a pair of shoes the color of the evening sky. “Like this?”

  “I suppose,” Gogan said. He took them and handed Gwydion a small pouch of coins.

  “Wait!” Gwydion said as the steward turned away. “Tell Lady Arianrhod that if they don’t fit well, I will happily adjust them for her.”

  “You’d better,” Gogan said, and strode back to the caer.

  Beaky landed on Gwydion’s shoulder. “Will he be back?” the sparrow asked.

  “Guaranteed,” Gwydion said. “They may not look it, but those shoes are enchanted to always be too small, no matter who puts them on.”

  “Clever,” the sparrow whistled.

  Gwydion shrugged. “We’ll see if it’s enough.”

  The next morning, Gogan appeared at his tent, fuming and holding out the shoes. “They are too small,” he said. “My Lady said it felt like she was trying to put her foot into a thimble. Fix them.”

  Gwydion ducked his head. “Many pardons, my lord. It is, however, impossible to make small shoes larger, and I have no other of that color.”

  “Do you have anything blue?” Gogan asked. “Arianrhod is not a patient woman.”

  “Let me see,” Gwydion said. He ducked into his tent and rummaged around a bit. “Ah, here we are. Try these, with my compliments.” He handed Gogan a pair of shoes the color of the deep ocean.

  “I hope, for your sake, that she likes them, and that they fit,” Gogan said with a scowl.

  As he stomped away, Beaky landed on the tent above Gwydion. “Are these enchanted also?” he asked.

  “Of course,” Gwydion said. “These will always be too big.”

  Beaky whistled a chuckle. “You’re going to drive her crazy, you know.”

  Gwydion shook his head. “Not her. But I hope she is not too furious, or else we could be in some danger.”

  “Over shoes?” the little bird said.

  Gwydion sighed. “You never know.”

  In the morning, he had several customers that demanded his attention, and he did not notice Arianrhod until she said, “Are you the shoemaker then?”

  Her voice made his heart race, and he avoided looking into her eyes for fear of being snared by her beauty. Instead, he said, “I am indeed. How may I assist you?”

  She tossed the wave colored shoes on the ground in front of her. “By making me shoes that fit,” she said. “These felt like boats on my feet.”

  “Many apologies, Lady Arianrhod,” Gwydion said. “I was afraid that might happen, but it is always better to make the shoe fit the foot than the other way around.”

  “I have brought my feet with me,” Arianrhod said. �
��I want the fit to be perfect.”

  “And it shall be, it shall be,” Gwydion assured her. He lifted the flap to his tent. “Perhaps my lady would like to choose the color for herself?”

  “That might be nice, yes,” Arianrhod said. She came in, and he showed her several rolls of leather in every color but blue. “Don’t you have anything like the shoes you sent me before?”

  “Nothing exactly so,” Gwydion said. “But I do have a few samples in my boat... Does my Lady mind?” He gestured towards the back of the tent, which was open to the beach.

  “I suppose,” Arianrhod said, and followed him out to the currach.

  Gwydion leaned over the side and searched through his supplies. He came up with a square of leather the color of her eyes. “There looks to be enough here for one pair of shoes,” he said, handing it to her. “If my Lady approves?”

  She rubbed the ice blue leather between her fingers. “It is exceptional,” she said. “Are you sure there is enough?”

  “Let me take a few measurements,” Gwydion said.

  He fetched a padded stool from the tent and bade her sit down. When she was comfortable, he took her shoe off, and ran his hands over her bare foot, trying very hard not to enjoy the touch of her skin. “You have a beautiful foot, my lady,” he said.

  “Are you flirting with me, shoemaker?”

  Gwydion remembered his role, and ignored the lilt in her voice. “Many pardons, my Lady. I am old man, who has crafted many shoes for many feet, and I would not offend you by seeking more than my place. But I do have the experience to note that your foot is exceptionally lovely in comparison to most I have seen in my humble life.”

  Arianrhod chuckled softly. “You dodge well for an old man,” she said. “But rest assured, I did not seek to ensnare you. It’s just that you handle my foot in such an intimate way.”

  “I must, in order to craft the finest shoe for you,” he said. “Please bear with me a few more minutes.”

  “Your touch is warm and comforting,” she said. “Take the time you need now, so that I do not have to come back.”

  “As my lady wishes,” he said, but she had already looked away, effectively ignoring him.

  Gwydion thought she was staring out at the water, but he wasn’t sure. He saw Beaky pecking at piece of hardtack on the ground, and every now and then a pebble would fly in his direction. Gwydion could not see where they came from, but he tried not to worry about it. He finished his measurements, and said, “I have enough of the leather to fit your feet. With my lady’s pardon, I will now start putting together her shoes. Would you like to wait, or send your steward to collect them later?”

  “How long will it take?”

  “Perhaps a half hour, if I concentrate,” Gwydion said.

  “Get on with it, then,” Arianrhod said. “I’ll wait, and make sure they fit this time.”

  He watched her out of the corner of his eye while he worked, but she was focused on Beaky. The little bird continued working on the hardtack, and it seemed like the pebble throwing had stopped, but she continued to watch him. All of the sudden, another rock shot towards the bird, hitting him on the leg hard enough he fell over.

  Arianrhod nodded approvingly. “He is a fair one, with a sure hand.”

  Memory flooded Gwydion so fast that he gasped. He remembered every detail of his son, every word they shared, all his fears and hopes, and when he looked over, he could both see him and knew him to be a part of him. He knew that he had thrown the stone that had hit Beaky, could remember looking at him and not seeing him while he played the game with the sparrow in front of his mother.

  He stood up and dropped the illusions he had so carefully woven. “It’s a fine name you given our son, Arianrhod,” he said.

  She spun around and stared at him in shock. “What are you doing here?” she demanded. “And what do you mean, I gave him a name?”

  “He shall be known throughout his life as Llews Llaw Gyffes, the fair one with a sure hand,” Gwydion said. Seeing Arianrhod’s surprise turning into cold anger, he stepped between her and Llews. “And you will not harm him.”

  “Oh won’t I?” Arianrhod said. He eyes narrowed dangerously.

  “Whatever you are thinking,” Gwydion said, “Don’t do it.”

  “I curse him that he shall never bear weapons unless I myself put them on him.”

  Gwydion tried to shield Llews, but he could not find a magic strong enough to counter a mother’s curse. It swept over him and slammed into the boy like a fog. “Da?” the boy said, looking at his parents for the first time. “What just happened?”

  “I’ll tell you in a minute,” Gwydion said.

  “No, tell him now,” Arianrhod said. “I want to see his face when he realizes that you will have to come and beg of me again, just like you did for his name.”

  “Are you so consumed with hate for us?” Gwydion said.

  “Even more than before,” Arianrhod said. “You tricked me this time, but I’d like to see you do it again.”

  He held himself very still for a moment, controlling his anger. Then he relaxed, grinned, and gave her a jaunty bow. “You may expect it, though once again, you’ll never know until it’s too late.”

  Arianrhod stood up, glaring at them both, but she spun on her heel without a word and went back into the caer.

  “Get in the boat,” Gwydion said.

  “Are we in danger?” Llews asked as he scrambled in.

  “With the humiliation I just gave your mother?” Gwydion said. “Absolutely.”

  He pushed the boat into the water and was about to jump in when Llews said, “Behind you, Da!”

  Gwydion spun about to see six soldiers charging towards him. He threw up a wall of blue flame, and spun to give the currach a mighty push over the surf. “Arrows!” cried Beaky, and Gwydion threw more fire into the air.

  The heat made it hard to breathe, and his strength was beginning to ebb from all the magic he had been using. Beaky and Llews had ducked low in the boat, and he pushed it out far enough the waves lapped at his chest. Llews tried to get the oars out, but wasn’t big enough to do more than swipe at the water. Gwydion only hesitated a moment, then shape shifted into a sea turtle, and began pushing the boat past the breakers and out into open water.

  Caer Sidi dropped away behind them, and Gwydion shifted into raven form, flying up and checking the seas and sky for signs of pursuit before landing back in the boat and shifting back to his human form. Llews locked onto his neck with a great hug, which he returned. “My son, my Melyn, my Llews,” he said. “We are finally truly together.”

  Chapter 4: The Witch

  They returned to Bangreen, landing a little further north than Penwyth on Beaky’s advice. “Will you stay with us?” Llews asked the little bird.

  “I think I need to be with my own kind for a while,” Beaky said. “It’s not that I dislike you or anything...”

  “I know,” Llews said. “You are not a human, and we are not sparrows.”

  “And that sums it up, doesn’t it?” Beaky hopped onto the boy’s shoulder and nuzzled his cheek. “If you need me, tell a bird, any bird. They’ll get me the message.”

  “I’ll miss you.”

  “And I’ll miss you,” Beaky said. “But you have your Da now, for true and real. You’ll be fine.”

  “I sure will,” Llews said. “But your help made it possible.”

  “I second that notion,” Gwydion said, running a finger down the bird's back. “We owe you much. So if you ever need our help...”

  “Many thanks,” Beaky said. He spread his wings, but Gwydion stopped him.

  “One last thing before you go,” he said.

  “What’s that?”

  “Do you have any recommendations for where we should go next?”

  “Head north to the plains,” Beaky said. “It’s an easier place to winter than the mountains. And stick to the coast for the next few days. If you start moving inland here, you might wander into giant country, and that
would be bad for you, I think.”

  “I agree,” Gwydion said. “Thanks again.”

  “Fair winds, Raven and son,” Beaky said, launching himself into the air.

  “And to you!” Llews called. He watched until Beaky was a speck in the sky and then turned to his father. “Have you ever had to say goodbye to someone you loved?”

  Gwydion gathered him in a hug. “Many times. And I always hate it.”

  “Me too,” Llews said. “But you can see me now! And remember me!”

  “I sure can,” Gwydion said. “Let’s see if we can find a place for the night, shall we?”

  They went from caer to caer, making their way north, welcomed everywhere they stopped thanks to Gwydion’s harp. He kept an eye on Llew, but the boy was resourceful and well liked wherever they went, with a cheerful attitude and an engaging smile. He also watched the people they met, finding them both like and unlike the Glencarish.

  They spent the winter in the small seaside dun of Wyckwold. The chieftain praised them, and asked them to stay, but Gwydion felt restless, and they left shortly after Beltane. He worried a bit that Llews had no permanent home, but Llews showed no reluctance to follow him no matter where they went. They began heading into the interior of the country, where lakes punctuated rolling grasslands, and random hills looked like forested warts on the land.

  As the first chill wind of autumn blew down their necks, they entered a cantref blanketed with dark, twisted trees. After only a day, Llews said, “I don’t like this place. Are we going to be here much longer?”

  “I wish I knew,” Gwydion answered. “The road twists and turns so much, I have no idea where we might end up.”

  Just before nightfall on their second day in the dark forest, they came to a break in the trees, where a caer stood with thick stone walls topped by sharpened wooden stakes. Thin tendrils of smoke indicated that it was inhabited, but there was no other sign of activity. Gwydion led them to the closed gates, which had deep gouges all over its surface. He frowned, but dismounted and played as merry a tune on his harp as he could manage.

  A head almost completely encased in a thick metal helm appeared at the top of the wall. “What seek you, strangers?” he said suspiciously.