The Penwyth Curse (31 page)

“I think I must see if his breath is sweet as well,” Maida said, and walked to young Dorom.

The prince said, stroking his jaw, “You know, Brecia, I am feeling labyrinthine. Yes, the workings of my brain
even exceed my normal complexity. I wish to protect Penwyth and all Maida's descendants—”

“Given what she is like, I imagine her heirs will hold Penwyth close for a very long time. Now what is this, prince? You wish to cast some sort of spell on Penwyth?”

“No, I want a curse.” He stroked his jaw three more times, looked quite pleased with himself, and raised the cask high in his hands for all to see. “Listen, all. If a man ever takes this land by force, let him die.”

He smiled at Brecia. “There. It is done.”

“For a labyrinthine mind,” Maida said, tossing her lovely red hair, “you didn't have much to say.” The prince nearly threw the cask at her. He was ready to take back his splendid curse when Brecia said, her voice carrying just as far as the prince's had, “If the Penwyth maid has red hair, if she has green eyes, then she will be saved.”

The prince guffawed. “That miserable offering is so much better than my straightforward, clearly proclaimed curse? You merely protect anyone who looks like you and Maida.”

Brecia shook her fist at him. “You're just angry because you didn't think to do it.” She paused a moment, watching Maida give all the young people orders. She said, “You know, Maida would have made a great witch. Penwyth is now protected, Maida now has people to help her, and now”—she sucked in her breath “—now we must deal with the cask.” She looked at it, shuddered just a bit. “What shall we do with it?”

“It must go to my cave. But first, Brecia, you must realize that a day will come when the curse must end. Do you know, I believe I have another labyrinthine thought.”

He grabbed her. Brecia was so startled that she dropped the cask. But the prince snapped it up even as he kissed her ear. “Yes,” he said, laughing and kissing her, “one day, long in the future, the curse will no longer help. It will hurt. It will have to be lifted, and thus I have decided to tie Mawdoor to the curse.”

“Mawdoor? Are you mad?”

“No, listen. I will tie the curse to the cask, and since Mawdoor is inside, he must be a part of it. Trust me. You know, Mawdoor doesn't really deserve to remain forever with demons. No one is that rotten. It is too much.” The prince opened his voice so that it could be heard in the very depths of a demon's mind and said, his mouth close to the cask, “Mawdoor, you now have only one ear, since I sent my knife through the other one, so you must listen carefully. You can free yourself in the future by breaking my curse and swearing to leave your demons in their realm. You will swear to become a wizard all can trust.”

The cask shook in his hands. The prince leaned close, nodded, then straightened and smiled. “He is very, very angry, but how long can that last? Yes, I see it all clearly now. The time will come when the curse must be broken. A man will come, a man with a brain, perhaps a man with just a touch of magic. I will direct him, and all will be well.” He closed his eyes, murmured words she couldn't hear, then said, smiling, “It is done.”

She said, “This man will lose his magic and become completely mortal again?”

He looked down at her. “I don't know if I would go that far.” He snapped his fingers. “Don't forget, just a touch of magic. This man will find the cask.”

“Mortals always find things, no matter how well you hide them. With magic, this man will walk right to the cask and kick it. I certainly would. Will this man look like you, prince?”

“Since I am such a splendid specimen, what more could a man ask?”

She touched her wand to his nose, and he felt it kiss him. She was laughing as she said, “There must needs be a woman, to guide him, to make him laugh, to love him, to save his life countless times.”

Brecia could have sworn that his chest puffed out larger than it should. He said, “And will she look like you?”

“Why not? Then they will be well matched. You know,
I will give our man a little nudge as well. Let us hope he will deal well with Mawdoor.”

“He will be my man. He will deal well with everyone. Perhaps he will have a bit of trouble with the woman, if she is too much like you. But he will win her over. He will tame her and she will worship him.”

“Your arrogance,” she said, kissing his chin, “charms me.”

She saw that all the people were talking about them but were too afraid to come close. “Let us leave them with a tale to tell over their winter fires.” She took his hand and cried, “Home!”

And they vanished.

The staring people heard a woman's voice, as if from the very air above them, “Come, show me unnatural things, prince. Will you really ask me to be on my knees for hours at a time?”

A great laugh rumbled through the sky.

33

Present

W
HEN THE VOICE SCREAMED
“NO!” Merryn thought her heart would stop and she would collapse and die in this wretched hole twenty feet under a cave floor.

Bishop was still, not moving even a finger, staring into the cask.

The earsplitting noise of wild animals charging toward them slowly fell away, until it became nothing more than a sound that, oddly, soothed the mind and the ear, like the smooth breaking of waves against a shore.

“There is something in there,” he said.

She grabbed his hand. “No, don't reach into that thing. We don't know what will happen.”

“That's true, we don't. But we must know.” She was so afraid, she'd locked her teeth together. She didn't want to watch, but she did. Her eyes followed his hand as it sank slowly into the cask.

The cask wasn't deep, no more than six inches at the
most, but his hand kept going down, down, down even further, until he was up to his elbow.

He was on his knees, leaning over the cask now, his entire arm in the cask, his fingers outstretched.

He looked at her. “I don't feel anything, nothing hot, nothing cold.”

A voice said clearly, “I am Mawdoor, keeper of the curse, prisoner in this damned cask for longer than a wizard should exist. Release me, mortal.”

Bishop said without hesitation, his voice deep, “Will you swear that you will be the most trustworthy wizard in this world?”

There was a deep rumbling sound, then, “Yes, I swear it.”

“You will return the demons to their realm?”

“Yes, it will be done.”

“When?”

“Immediately. Release me!”

Bishop sat back on his haunches, staring into the cask. He nodded slowly. “It is done.” He picked up the wand and pointed it into the cask. “The curse is done.”

There was utter silence. Then there was singing—many voices raised in a beautiful harmony, singing, chanting—and then silence again.

The cask began to shake. Bishop and Merryn backed away from it.

It exploded into brilliant colors—reds, blues, oranges, greens—and those colors flew upward and outward, cracking and popping, like myriad small explosions of noise and color, and the noise became louder and louder until they both clapped their hands over their ears.

Then the incredible noise, all the colors, the cracking and popping, the cask, all were gone. Simply gone.

They were alone in the hole.

“Do you know something, Merryn?”

She cocked her head to one side.

“It just occurred to me that I should very much like to see you on your knees in front of me.”

Her head remained cocked. “Whyever for, Bishop? You wish me to worship you?”

His eyes nearly crossed. He could see her, dammit, see her on her knees, see her touching him, see her taking him in her mouth. He shuddered. They were in the bottom of a hole, by all the saints' wayward children, with no way out, and he suddenly wanted her to take him in her mouth?

He was mad.

And what had happened was madness. They were trying to ignore it, to focus only on the present, on what was real, on what they could see and touch. A good thing, he thought, the present. He knew neither of them wanted to think about the strange cask and the wizard Mawdoor and the demons, all gone now, thank God. It was all just too much.

Suddenly Bishop heard laughter. It was the same laugh he'd heard when he'd first leaned over the mouth of the hole. The same laugh as when a hand had slapped his face. The laughter was becoming louder and louder.

He looked at Merryn. She was waiting for him to speak, but he couldn't, just couldn't.

He realized that she didn't hear the laughter.

Suddenly he smiled. “No, being on your knees in front of me, it's not at all about worship. I'll tell you all about it later. Let's get out of this hole now, Merryn. Give me your hand.”

She didn't question him, just gave him her hand.

He clasped her fingers, pulled her close and wrapped his arms tightly around her. The laughter was soft now, right in his ears, filling him, and he knew there wouldn't be a hand to slap him this time. And he wondered,
Is that you, prince? You want me out of this wretched hole, don't you? You want me out of your cave.

Bishop smiled as he closed his eyes. When he opened them, he saw a rope ladder going up the side of the hole.

“Where did that come from?” Merryn said, and there
was no fear in her voice, just wonder. “It wasn't there before, was it, Bishop?”

“No, it wasn't.”

He said no more. After all, what could he say? That the prince had put the rope ladder there? He supposed they were both beyond fear now, beyond what they couldn't begin to explain, to understand. Bishop said, “Mayhap the ladder was there all the time, and we just didn't see it.” Aye, it had been invisible. Was that true? He had no idea. But he'd known, known all the way to the soles of his dirty feet, that it would be there when he opened his eyes.

He knew when he stepped out of the hole onto the cave floor that he wouldn't hear the laughter anymore. Whatever it was, or whoever it had been, the prince or perhaps even Brecia, had again disappeared—only the thing was, they hadn't ever appeared. He looked back down into the hole, not at all surprised to see that the rope ladder was gone.

Whatever had happened, whatever he'd imagined or dreamed, or whipped up in his maddened brain, Bishop knew it was over. The curse was gone. The cask and Mawdoor—where had they gone? Into past time? Future time? He had no idea. Perhaps the cask was floating about in the ether, just overhead. Who could possibly know? Or was it waiting for another to come who could be used to replay an ancient story?

He said to Merryn, who was straightening her filthy gown, “The curse is lifted.” He said it with firmness, with absolute conviction. He knew both of them had to believe it.

“Aye,” she said, smiling up at him, “I think you're right. It was tied to that golden cask. I do wonder where that cask came from. How ever did it keep getting deeper and deeper? That was scary, Bishop. And who put it at the bottom of that hole in this particular cave?” She paused. She saw something on his face, something that made every question die in her throat. It was just as well,
she thought.
Leave all of it alone, leave all the questions here in this cave
. It was over and they were alive and the curse was no more. It was enough. She said, “Shall we go home to Penwyth?”

“Home?”

“Aye, it is home to both of us now. I shan't have to worry that you will topple over dead in your roasted pheasant at our wedding feast.”

“No, it wasn't one of my favorite thoughts, either. Merryn, we should wed as quickly as possible. You're carrying my babe.”

He saw her hands cover her stomach, an instinctive gesture. “Mayhap you're right,” she said. “Finally, I will bear my fifth husband a child.”

He threw back his head and laughed.

When they stepped out of the cave, Fearless raised his head and whinnied at them. Merryn breathed in the sea air, content.

And Bishop thought,
Not only is the curse gone, all of them are gone—the prince, Brecia, Mawdoor.
Ah, what happened to Maida? Merryn, with her red hair and green eyes—was she descended from Maida? Or Brecia? There was no understanding of it, and it really didn't matter what he understood or didn't understand, now, did it?

He smiled, reached out his hand. “Let's go home, Merryn.”

St. Erth
Two days later

Dienwald said as he tossed Bishop an apple from the St. Erth orchard, “We know only that a young man named Fioral of Grandere Glen has taken Penwyth. This was some four or five days ago. It is said he has about twenty men with him. It's said he plans to wait for Merryn to return. Then he will wed her.”

Philippa said, “We were hopeful, but evidently the curse hasn't killed him.”

“That's because I wasn't there to marry,” Merryn said, and bit into her apple.

“Also, the curse is no more,” Bishop said.

“We thought you would lift it.” Dienwald took a bite of his own apple. “My damned father-in-law—aye, the wretched king must continually rub my nose in it—sent us a message, telling me to help you as much as I could, but he said, regardless, you would lift the damned curse. He wrote there was just something about you that made things happen.” Dienwald tossed his apple core to one of the wolfhounds. “I suppose when Philippa and I next visit Windsor, he will go on and on about your shrewdness, your damnable cunning, your ability to see to the depths of things.” Dienwald sighed, laced his fingers over his flat belly. “Then he will lament loudly to everyone at Windsor that he wishes you were my sweet Philippa's husband, not I, the poor fool who will have so many babes that my farmers will surely wither away because they will have to work so hard to feed all of us.”

Philippa gave her husband a kiss and patted his shoulder. She smiled at Merryn and Bishop. “He frets.”

“Oh, no, Philippa, he is jesting,” Merryn said. “No one at St. Erth is in danger of starving.”

Philippa said, even as she stroked her long fingers through her husband's hair, “No, it's not that. He frets because there's a small band of thieves not far from St. Erth and he wanted to go after them, but our sons held his legs, pleaded with him, begged him not to go, told him the king—their grandfather—wouldn't be pleased if he did.”

Bishop laughed. “Edward and Nicholas are only eight months old. Even they couldn't be strong enough to beg with their father and hold him here.”

Philippa said, “Actually, Crooky spoke for them, didn't you?”

The fool straightened to his full height, which didn't
quite bring him to Merryn's armpit, and sang, head thrown back, to the high hall ceiling,

Crooky fell over onto his back, pounded his head with his fists, and howled. “I ruined it. I wanted to sing about how the master makes the mistress yell her head off when he pleasures her, but I ruined it because I didn't follow my vision. Ah, but now that you know what I should have sung, it wasn't so very bad, now, was it?”

“No, Crooky,” Philippa said, “it wasn't so very bad. I do not yell my head off, you fool.”

“Ha,” said Dienwald, “you yell so loudly poor Prinn the porter believes St. Erth is being attacked. What you sang, Crooky, it was a worthless truth, all those ridiculous notions tied together. You must scratch your lousy head and come up with something better. We have guests, after all, worthy guests.” And Dienwald rose, kicked the fool and sent him rolling into the rushes.