The Penwyth Curse

  “Aye, the cask at the bottom of the well—that was very well done of you, Mawdoor. And the key was gone. Do you have it?” He only frowned at her. She hoped he had the key. She knew that Mawdoor didn’t realize he hadn’t been what brought her out of the well. She’d sent out the thought and he’d snapped it up.

  He nodded, smiling. “The prince will remain at the bottom of that well until time itself ceases to go forward and the earth stalls and withers beneath the heavens. The bands of magic that hold him cannot be severed, no matter how strong the wizard. He will spend all of eternity stroking that damned cask. To be in a well with a demon’s chest—it’s a dreadful thing. It is a quite perfect punishment for the damned wizard. Forget the key.”

  Brecia said, “I thought you had made the decision to keep the demon cask with you. Does that not mean that you must bear the responsibility of it?”

  Mawdoor shrugged. “I suppose the ghosts told you of this. They seem to thrive on tales of lost caskets and magic keys that unlock the secrets to the universe. As to the cask and my responsibility to it, we will see. But the prince will stay there until the day of doom, if such a day ever comes.”

  Brecia tapped her foot up and down, and stroked her chin with her fingertips. “That makes no sense, Mawdoor. You have me now. Why would you want to kill the prince?”

  Mawdoor became a foot taller, towering over her. “The prince must die. I’ve always wanted him gone from this earth. He had you, didn’t he? He was your first lover, wasn’t he?”

  Slowly, she nodded. “Aye, he was my first.”

  Mawdoor brought himself back his normal height again. He looked down at his boots for a moment, then said, “I have heard it said that the prince makes his women do unnatural things.”

  For the moment, she forgot her fear and her plans and perked up. “Hmmm. What sorts of unnatural things?”

  “You know what I mean, Brecia.”

  “No, I truly don’t. I was innocent. I think everything he did seemed very normal mayhap even too normal—boring, mayhap, nearly sent me off to sleep, if you know what I mean.”

  The water in the well heaved and churned.

  Mawdoor looked at her, blinked. “You say what he did was so boring it sent you off to sleep? Ah, what, specifically, was boring?”

  “Why he rubbed his toes against mine and kept rubbing until I thought my skin would be raw from it. That was boring. Don’t you think?”

  “He rubbed your toes with his?”

  “Aye, for an interminable time. I thought perhaps it was some sort of wizard mating ritual. Do you think that is unnatural?”

  Mawdoor shook his head. “No, you’re right, that was boring. I wouldn’t rub your toes, Brecia. Or if I did, it would just be for a moment.”

  “What is unnatural, then?”

  She was still wet from her stay in the well. Mawdoor lightly touched his fingers to her sleeve. Instantly she was dry, her hair shining beneath the afternoon sun.

  He said, eyeing that glorious hair of hers, “Tell me what else he did and I will tell you whether it is natural or unnatural.”

  “He chewed on the flesh behind my knees.”

  “Hmmm.”

  “Is that unnatural?”

  “Yes, that is unnatural, if done in excess.”

  The water in the well bubbled as madly as a boiling cauldron, nearly overflowing.

  Brecia shook her head. “No, he did it only about twenty minutes.” She paused, frowned. “One candle did burn down, so maybe it was longer.”

  “He is obviously mad. You are blessed to be rid of him.”

  Brecia smiled. “There were all the other things he did, Mawdoor.” She shuddered delicately.

  “What, damn you?”

  “I cannot tell you, it embarrasses me.”

  “It is said that he has his women on their knees in front of him, and they must see to his needs until they swoon from fatigue.”

  Brecia nodded slowly. “Aye, I can see how that would be tiring. And your knees would grow sore. He did not have me do that. Would I be praying whilst on my knees in front of him?”

  “You stupid witch, you would have his sex in your mouth until your jaws locked and you gagged until you couldn’t breathe—if he is of a size, that is, to make you gag.”

  Her eyes lit up. She said, a wealth of disappointment in her voice, “He didn’t show me how to do that. Now that doesn’t sound boring. You say he would want me to do that for hours on end?”

  “So it is said about the prince, damn him. But now I’ve got him, and he will dissolve in the water over the endless years ahead.”

  “It still makes no sense, Mawdoor. Why keep the prince entrapped? Why not let him roam the land alone, without me, contemplating his defeat at your mighty hand? Surely that would be a punishment worse than floating at the bottom of a well, all relaxed, holding your father’s cask to his chest.”

  “I see the deceit in your eyes, Brecia.” Mawdoor clasped her throat in one big hand and tightened his fingers, but Brecia only kept looking at him, so calm she looked bored, cocking her head slightly to the side, which was difficult to do with his hand around her neck.

  He said right in her face, “Damn you, you have tried to bring me low, Brecia. All I wanted to do was mate with you, make you my wife, have you birth incredible wizards, but just look at what you and the prince tried to do. What you would still like to do.”

  His fingers tightened about her throat.

  “Kill her, Mawdoor! Kill that ugly bitch!”

  “No, I won’t kill her,” Mawdoor shouted over his shoulder, never looking away from Brecia’s face.

  “In that case, let her go, and I will kill her!”

  Mawdoor slowly turned, taking Brecia with him, to see Maida standing twelve feet away, two of his wolfhounds at her side.

  Mawdoor shouted, shaking Brecia’s neck, “This doesn’t concern you, Maida. Get back inside.”

  “Last night you told me that you wanted me to stay with you. If that is true, then why do you want this creature?”

  Mawdoor yelled at her, “Can’t you see I’m choking her?”

  “You’re doing it with lust in your eyes. Let the wretched woman go, let me kick her in the head.”

  Mawdoor gave Brecia a good shake, and again yelled at Maida, “She isn’t a woman. She’s a witch.”

  “A witch? Aye, she looks like one, doesn’t she, the hag? Just looking at her makes me shudder.”

  Brecia’s eyes narrowed. “And just what does that mean? Make me shudder? I’ll make her shudder.”

  Maida yelled, “Aye, it’s obvious to me now that she is a witch, and you’re choking her, but she doesn’t feel it at all. She’s hanging there and she’s laughing at you. Aye, she’s making fun of you. My lord, she isn’t worthy of you.”

  Maida went flying backward and landed on her back, the breath knocked out of her.

  Mawdoor dropped his hand from Brecia’s neck, and she landed lightly on her feet. He said, “You did that, didn’t you?”

  “Of course,” Brecia said, smiling to herself even as she rubbed her neck. “I’m a witch.”

  “I bedded her,” he said. “I enjoyed her. I will continue to enjoy her after we are wedded.”

  “I believe she broke her leg when I threw her against the wall, Mawdoor. Maybe I broke her neck as well. Is she gagging, lying there with her arms twisted at such odd angles?”

  He turned quickly and ran to where Maida was lying on the ground. Brecia heard the woman screeching, “The witch! Kill the witch!” and Mawdoor saying, “Be quiet, woman. That witch will be my wife. Are you all right? Are you broken?”

  Brecia smiled, watching the woman grab his arm and shake him. All his attention was on her. Brecia looked skyward and began chanting. When she stopped, after just two breaths had passed, everything else stopped as well, including Mawdoor—thank the gods.

  Time froze.

  Only the wind moved, fanning the warm air in her face. She looked toward Mawdoor, locked in the instant t
hat time had stopped. He’d left himself vulnerable by touching the woman, letting her humanness into himself. He was concentrating on her, feeling anger, hate, love—it didn’t matter. And thus the spell worked on him as well.

  The earth stood still and one very strong wizard as well. But not for long, not for long.

  She ran to the well and called down, “Prince, would you like to join me in some unnatural acts?”

  She heard his laughter even as she drained the power from the spell. The prince stood beside her, shook himself like a dog, then flicked his head back and he was as dry as she was.

  “I am a very clever witch.”

  The prince looked toward Mawdoor and the mortal woman and nodded. “You have become more clever since I am with you. But Mawdoor isn’t mortal, Brecia. We haven’t much time, you know that. We must hurry.” He lightly touched his fingers to her jaw. “Do you have it?”

  “Aye, I have it,” she said. Brecia smiled as she brought the golden cask from beneath her gown. She held it in her hands. It wasn’t so cold now since Mawdoor was as still and silent as the score of old people huddled together near the pigsty.

  “Look at him,” the prince said even as he readied himself. He slowly pulled out his wand, gently caressed it with his fingers. “Soon now. It can’t hold him much longer. Do you know, Brecia, I was right. He was unfaithful to you, and with a mortal woman who wanted to kick you in the head. Aye, he would have forced you to wed him and taken her as his concubine. That is disgraceful.”

  She wanted to laugh, but she was too afraid. “He has the key.”

  “I know. We must find it quickly.”

  She brought up her wand, held it outstretched, pointing toward Mawdoor.

  But there was no time. It happened quickly. The earth began to shake. Maida screamed. The old people tripped over themselves to escape.

  Then there was silence. There wasn’t a single breath of life for one very long moment.

  Mawdoor was standing now, his wand in his right hand, and in his left hand he held a golden sword. “I will kill you with this, prince. I searched far and wide for a sword that would pierce a wizard’s heart and freeze it in his chest.”

  32

  “WELL, NOW, MAWDOOR,” the prince said, legs apart, hands on his hips, “this is all very interesting. You fashioned a special golden sword, just for me?”

  “I have always hated your wit, prince. But soon you will speak no more. After I have mated with Brecia, I will burn that oak forest of hers, pile rocks until the trees flatten and the earth beneath them gives way, and let her grieve for all the ghosts who will be no more. Brecia, you brought up the cask, that was devious of you. Once the prince is dead, I will teach you a lesson even a witch won’t forget.”

  Brecia spoke softly, blowing the words at Mawdoor, as she spoke. “Your feet burn, Mawdoor, burn, burn, burn.”

  He jumped three feet into the air, and his golden sword fell from his hand.

  The prince was on him in a minute, moving so quickly he was nearly a blur. Mawdoor’s sword was in his hand the next instant, and he yelled as he aimed the brilliant golden point at the prince’s chest.

  The prince didn’t have a sword, but he had a knife. It was in his hand, come up to Mawdoor’s throat, when the skies turned utterly black. There were voices, loud voices, all around them, screaming, and the voices were converging on Mawdoor and the prince.

  “Kill him!”

  The screaming voices suddenly took shape. Hundreds, no, thousands of crows swooped down upon the prince, covering him, their great black wings flapping wildly all around him.

  Mawdoor stood back, the tip of his golden sword buried in the ground at his feet, and he was laughing.

  Suddenly a dozen of the black crows went flying through the air, landing hard on the ground, dead. More fell away, all dead. The prince was standing there, slapping his hands in a circle around him, a protective circle that shielded him and killed anything that touched it.

  Mawdoor roared and came at him again, the golden sword raised.

  Brecia saw that the prince was covered with blood from the birds stabbing him with their beaks before he’d gotten the shield into place. She yelled in fury and aimed her wand at Mawdoor. “Bend the golden sword around his neck!”

  But the sword kept coming toward the prince.

  And now winged creatures swooped down. They were demons—a score of black demons flying straight at him—and at their center was a great red demon, the most powerful, the most dangerous of all demons. They were Mawdoor’s kin. He’d alerted them, brought them here.

  Brecia shouted as she waved her wand, “Demon blood scorch the earth!”

  The red demon drew back and looked at her, and Brecia thought she would die of fear at the malevolence in those red eyes. Nothing happened. She felt as helpless as a mortal, an awful feeling.

  The prince knew he had little time. Demons were the worst, nearly invincible, and there were so many of them. Mawdoor had done things correctly this time.

  A demon broke away and came right at him. He felt long claws dig into his face. He couldn’t see, couldn’t see. He pictured Mawdoor in his mind’s eye and flung his knife.

  He heard a loud yell but couldn’t see where his knife had struck.

  Three more demons were on him now, and he couldn’t get them away. The pain was hideous, worse than the assassin’s sword in his heart. He saw the red demon hovering, waiting for the black demons to hold him. Then it would come in for the kill.

  He fought, breaking necks, arms, legs, but there were just too many. He used all his power, but the demons were from another realm, a realm not touched by a wizard’s magic, and Mawdoor had brought them here, doubtless a favor for his long-dead father. He felt Brecia’s magic slamming against the demons, but nothing helped.

  She knew the demons would kill him, rip him to pieces, and knew he was helpless against them. She had to hurry.

  She yelled, “Bring me the key!”

  In that instant, the key was her hand. She stuck the small key in the cask lock and turned it. The lid flew open. Brecia raised the cask toward Mawdoor and yelled, “Come inside, Mawdoor, for all eternity! Your demons with you!”

  There was a huge whooshing sound. The demons and Mawdoor all came together in a tall funnel. They were whipped together. She saw that Mawdoor’s golden sword seemed to be bending around him, holding him prisoner. The whole mess of them hovered over the cask, then whooshed into it. She slammed the lid closed and turned the key.

  The prince was on his hands and knees, his head down, panting. He was covered with blood.

  She touched him, kissed him, began her chants to heal him. But the demon wounds didn’t respond. She said, “Prince, listen to me. I can’t heal you. We must use other methods.”

  “There are no other methods,” he said, and knew that very soon he would be dead.

  “No, you stupid prince, there must be something!”

  He managed to raise his head to look at her. “Brecia, dearest, I am so very sorry that it must end like this. The bastard brought in demons. Who would have imagined that? Mawdoor surprised me. I wonder where my knife hit him.”

  She was utterly terrified, utterly distracted, and said, “Your knife took off his ear.”

  “Good. Ah, this was very interesting.” And he fell onto his side, his eyes closed, his blood flowing bright and thick onto the ground.

  “No!” Brecia raised her head and yelled, “Help me!”

  Ghosts filled the air, swirling about the prince, who lay still on the ground. They were nearly transparent, save for their long, shadowy, naked feet. Brecia watched them settle over him, enfolding him in their very being, and they began to chant. Soft, sibilant voices rose to fill the courtyard, to rise into the heavens themselves.

  Brecia fell to her knees beside the prince. She felt one of the ghosts gently shove her back. She sat back on her heels and watched. And she prayed. There was nothing else she could do.

  The soft chanting began to fade
just as the ghosts themselves began to thin into the air itself. Then they were gone, back to the oak forest.

  The prince lay motionless on the ground. No more blood was on him, but he was so still. She leaned over him, touching his beloved face, stroking her fingers over his chest, his arms, his legs. “Prince, enough of this. Come back to me, my lord.”

  Time passed, endless time. She was ready to scream her fear, her sorrow when suddenly his eyes fluttered open. He smiled up at her.

  She leaned down and kissed his mouth.

  “Your tears are wetting me, Brecia.”

  “You mad, mad prince.” She kissed him again and again. “You will be all right.” She continued to kiss his mouth, his nose, his ears.

  But he was so tired, his very being so battered, that he couldn’t even kiss her back, and surely that was something he hated.

  Slowly, strength flowed back into his body. He drew a deep breath and sat up. He shook his head. There was no more blood, no more of the huge wounds the demons had gouged into his body, some of them nearly tearing him in two. He said, “Your ghosts saved me.”

  “Our ghosts, prince,” she said. “Our ghosts.”

  “You called for the key. That was very smart of you, Brecia. You opened the cask?”

  She nodded at the cask, sitting on the ground, unmoving, the key in the lock. “Mawdoor and all the demons are inside, his golden sword wrapped around him.”

  “All that animal wailing,” the prince said, “it was a charming idea.” He nodded to the cask and in the next instant, it was in his hands. “What happened?”

  “The demons seemed to grab Mawdoor up, all twisting together. They looked like a whirling cyclone, coming straight toward the cask. It was like a huge funnel sinking deeper and deeper into the cask until I couldn’t see it anymore—”

  “—and you slammed the lid down and locked it.”

  She nodded.

  He held the cask close, frowned. “This is very curious. I know they’re in there, but I can’t feel them, any of them. I can sense nothing.”

  She kept her eyes on that cask, still so afraid that it would burst open and the demons would burst out and tear him to shreds and Mawdoor would force her to watch him die. She was tensed, alert, everything in her ready to whisk the both of them off to Spain, perhaps for some hunting, if something happened. She hated that cask, hated the creatures imprisoned inside it.