The Witch’s Kiss Trilogy

Ranulf laughed, the same unpleasant cackle Gwydion remembered.

‘What did I tell you, boy? Women are all the same: false and cunning. Their—’ a fit of coughing shook him, forcing him to break off. Gwydion refilled Ranulf’s ale mug and pushed it towards him. ‘Their love is like a shallow pond, liable to dry up if they are not constantly showered with compliments and gifts.’ He spat a gobbet of blood on to the floor. ‘All love is but love of self, a woman’s love doubly so. You should be thankful this Edith has found another fool to make miserable.’

Gwydion sat in silence. He didn’t feel thankful.

Ranulf watched him for a while.

‘And what would you now, boy?’

‘I wish to complete my training. If you are willing, Master.’

‘For what purpose? And do not tell me it is for love of me, or for the love of learning.’ He sat back in his chair, waiting.

Gwydion thought a long time before he answered.

‘I wish to complete my training not for love, but for hatred. I want to become powerful enough to take revenge upon the woman who spurned me. A revenge so complete that she will curse the day she was born. I want to make her suffer.’

‘Very well.’ Ranulf held out his hand, waiting for Gwydion to kiss the ornate gold and sapphire ring he wore on his middle finger. ‘I will continue your training, boy. I will teach you the only true way to take and keep a woman’s heart, or a man’s: through blood and fire and dark magic. But there will be a price to pay.’

‘Of course, Master.’

‘Another six years, maybe five if you pay attention and work hard, and then, when the opportunity arises, you will be ready.’

‘Ready for what?’

‘Ready to create a monster that will serve your purpose. Ready to create a King of Hearts …’

For five years Gwydion studied with Ranulf. Every day he gained in knowledge; every day, lost something of that which had made him human.

King Wulfric, sick and frail as he was, did not long survive Edith’s return, and she became queen.

Edith grieved for her father, and wondered often what had become of Gwydion. And yet, Aidan filled her heart with joy, and the kingdom prospered, and in the fullness of time the young king and queen were blessed with a child. A baby prince, who might one day become a king …

Edith slid away from the warmth of her still-sleeping husband, threw a fur-lined mantle around her shoulders and crept into the room next door. It was not yet dawn; the sky outside was black. But by the firelight she could see the nurse, rocking the baby’s cradle and singing softly. The woman jumped up as Edith entered.

‘Your Highness. Did I wake you?’

‘No. Is he asleep?’

‘Just settled again, my lady.’

Edith leant over the cradle and gazed down at her son. Jack already seemed to have changed so much from the tiny baby she had held in her arms only six weeks ago. Edith loved to watch him while he slept, his mouth open in a tiny ‘o’, as if he were surprised, his little fingers clenching and unclenching as he dreamt. She had been so afraid throughout her pregnancy, so terrified that Gwydion would appear at any moment and do something to harm the baby. But Jack had arrived in the world unscathed and perfect. Edith’s happiness would have been complete, if only her father were still alive.

Jack stirred, and the nurse went to pick him up.

‘No,’ Edith waved her away. ‘I’ll take him.’ She wrapped a fold of her mantle around the baby and carried him back into her chamber. There was no point in trying to go back to sleep. She settled herself and Jack on one of the wide windowsills, opened the shutter a little, and waited for the sun to rise.

A while later, after the darkness of the eastern sky had faded to grey, Edith felt Aidan’s hands on her shoulders. He wrapped another fur around her. ‘You’re going to catch cold.’

‘No, I won’t.’ Edith glanced up at her husband. She could see the concern in his dark-grey eyes: he always looked at her as though she was somehow ethereal, something fragile and precious that might be snatched away from him at any moment. Sometimes Edith found it suffocating. But it was also one of the reasons she loved him. She put her hand on top of his and looked back out of the window. The land outside was swathed in mist. Helmswick felt shut in, sitting on its hill above the woodland and farmland of the Weald like an island cut off from the wider world.

‘I don’t like this weather.’ She hugged Jack tighter.

‘Sea mist, that’s all. It will burn off soon enough.’ Aidan dropped a kiss on the top of her head. ‘I must speak with the steward before our guests arrive. Don’t forget to eat something.’ He paused. ‘And do not sit there worrying. Today will be a good day, I’m sure of it.’

Edith nodded. But she could not escape the sensation that something was waiting for her, out there in the mist. As she watched from her window she could see the torches being lit on her father’s burial mound, pale smudges of light flaring through the fog. And then she heard the summoning bell, muffled, calling all to the ceremony. Her servants came in to help her dress. It was time.

Hours later, the great hall was filled with noise and light, heat and colour. The rulers of the neighbouring kingdoms, as well as all the nobles of the land, had gathered to celebrate the naming of the Prince of the South Saxons. All were dressed in their finest costumes, vying to outdo one another in splendour. All except one woman, simply clothed yet sitting in a place of honour, three small children clustered around her. Mistress Anwen was a witch, and had been a devoted friend of Edith’s mother. Until five years ago Anwen had lived at Helmswick, watching over Edith, guiding her as she grew. Aidan – whose people had embraced the new faith of the Christians – had not wanted to invite her. Edith had listened to all his arguments against witchcraft, and then invited her anyway.

Now, Edith caught the older woman’s eye and smiled, but it was an effort; she felt herself flagging. The woollen overdress she wore was beautiful: elaborately embroidered with intricate designs in gold thread. But it was heavy, and her tightly-pinned hair was giving her a headache. She could not wait for the day to be over. Still, the christening ceremony had passed successfully. Jack had hardly cried at all, and now there was only the gift-giving to endure. As a new mother, she had decided she could leave presiding over the feast to Aidan. She glanced up at him and found he was watching her.

‘You’re pale, Edith,’ he murmured. ‘Do you feel unwell?’

‘No. Only a little tired.’

He squeezed her hand. The steward continued with the presentation of gifts; already a table to one side was almost engulfed in a pile of gold jewellery, silver cups and bowls, fine cloths and barrels of Frankish wine.

‘From the King of Northumbria: a gold torc in a casket of silver. From the Kingdom of Gwynedd: two drinking horns with silver rims.’ And on, and on. Until, just when Edith thought she could not stand for another moment, the list ended. Aidan stepped forwards.

‘We thank you all, friends and neighbours, for your generous gifts to our son. And now, as is customary, we hope you will honour our hall by joining us for—’

But the end of Aidan’s sentence was drowned in an enormous crash that reverberated through the room. For a second Edith thought a thunderstorm had started, but then she looked at the opposite end of the hall: the huge, carved doors had been thrown open so violently they had broken from their hinges. A number of those standing nearest the doors had been struck down; there were screams and cries as people tried to free themselves from the wreckage. And standing there, in the middle of the devastation, was Gwydion.

‘Edith, get behind me!’ Aidan had jumped up and drawn his sword. ‘Defend the queen! Now!’ The elite royal guards started to force a passage through the milling guests, forming a shield-wall in front of the dais where Aidan and Edith were standing. Edith snatched Jack from the nurse and clutched him to her tightly.

Silence fell as Gwydion walked through the hall.

For Edith, it was like looking at a ghost. He was in many ways the same young man she remembered; less gaunt, less wooden in his movements, but still with the same shock of thick, dark hair, the same slightly uneven gait. But he was not the same. For a start, he was dressed entirely in black. Edith remembered Gwydion as something of a peacock, taking a childlike delight in brightly-coloured dyes. The only ornament Edith could see now was a large gold ring, set with a sapphire, glinting on Gwydion’s left hand. His mouth and eyes were marked with such lines of suffering and cruelty as to make his features almost unrecognisable to her.

‘I pray forgiveness for my late arrival, your majesties. I had hoped to be here in time for the naming of the young prince.’ Gwydion halted in front of the guards and held out his hands, palm up. ‘Surely, you cannot think I mean to harm the child? See: I am unarmed.’

‘What do you want, wizard’s pupil?’ Aidan shouted. ‘Edith has told me what you are, what you threatened. You need no weapon to work evil upon us.’

‘You know me, do you? That is good. For I know you too, Aidan Whiteblade, Aidan of the flashing sword. Who has not heard of your exploits? A prince of Ireland. And now king over the South Saxons, since you took from me the woman who was promised me, the woman who owes me her very life.’

‘I do not choose to trade words with you. Leave my hall now, or die.’

Gwydion laughed. ‘Oh, I think not. I am a pupil no longer.’ He leapt back and with his hands made a complex movement in the air: sinuous arcs of ruby light. Everyone – apart from Edith, who had already seen his skill with fire runes – gasped in surprise; some screamed, and started to run from the hall. The royal guards collapsed, unconscious.

Edith saw Aidan raise his sword and begin to run at Gwydion, and she grabbed at his arm. ‘No, Aidan. Stay away from him. You must look after Jack, keep him safe.’ She kissed Jack, passed him to Aidan, and turned to face Gwydion.

‘Here I am, Gwydion. Punish me. Kill me, if you wish. But I beg you, for the sake of the love we once bore each other, do not hurt my family.’

‘Edith, do not be afraid.’ Gwydion smiled at her, but Edith thought the smile a mockery of how he had once looked. ‘I am not here to hurt your son. I am here to give him a gift.’

Edith stepped back, placing herself directly between Gwydion and Aidan.

‘I want nothing from you, Gwydion. My only desire is that you should be whole again, free of this madness that has seized you.’

‘But I have not told you what my gift is yet. And it is a great gift. When your son reaches his eighteenth year, I am going to take him for my apprentice.’

Edith’s heart was hammering in her chest, so hard she thought it must surely smash through her ribcage. ‘Gwydion, no. Please don’t—’

‘And that is not all.’ He wrote another fire rune in the air, but this one was sharp and spiky and glowed white. It did not fade as the other runes had done, but hung like frozen lightening in the darkness of the hall. Gwydion stretched out his arm towards the baby. ‘He will be an instrument of mercy. He will free your people from the pain and madness of love. He will be the King of Hearts, and all who love shall fear him.’ The fire rune shone with blinding light then exploded into a hundred glowing embers that fell on to Jack’s skin before melting away.

Edith screamed.

Gwydion disappeared.

Three hours later, the uproar had subsided a little. Many of the guests had fled as soon as their servants could be roused, anxious to escape a kingdom that had clearly fallen under a terrible curse. Some had stayed, either from friendship or because they thought it might be easier to negotiate some advantageous treaty while the South Saxons were under attack from within. Aidan had ordered the household knights to assemble their companies, but as yet no target had been found for them to attack. No one had seen Gwydion since he had laid the curse on Jack, and no one knew where he lived.

There was a knock at the door of Edith’s chamber.

‘May I come in, my lady?’

It was Mistress Anwen and her three daughters. Anwen put down the youngest, a pretty, green-eyed girl of about two, and pulled the queen into her arms.

‘My unhappy Edith. To think that Gwydion should have become such a fiend.’

‘Can you help me, Anwen?’

The older woman shook her head.

‘I cannot break a curse such as this. My magic is protective, and Gwydion … It is many years since I have seen such power.’

Edith dashed a tear away from her cheek, as her last hope faded.

‘Jack is lost then.’

Anwen guided Edith to the bed and made her sit down.

‘Do not give up all hope. Three things I can offer you. First, advice. Send the child away somewhere secret, somewhere he can grow up hidden from Gwydion, and without fear of what is to come. Second, a blessing. Where is the baby?’

The nurse passed Jack to Anwen.

‘Poor little one, to have such trouble thrust upon you.’ Jack blinked up at her and smiled. ‘I foresee suffering in your life, Jack. But there will also be love, and those who love you will never abandon you.’ She traced her fingers across the baby’s forehead and chest – as though marking him with invisible symbols – before putting him back into Edith’s arms. ‘The third thing I can offer, Edith, is a promise. If in time I see a way to help you, to break the curse or to defeat Gwydion, I swear that you will have my aid. I will bind my daughters to this promise also.’

Edith glanced at the three girls. They were sitting in the corner of the room; the eldest – a blonde child Edith judged to be no more than five – seemed to be telling a story to the other two.

‘But they are so young, Anwen. It doesn’t seem fair …’

‘They will grow. And they will be powerful, I believe. Maybe they will be able to help you, even if I cannot.’ Anwen stood and kissed Edith on the forehead. ‘I owed your mother a great debt, which I never was able to repay. Let me—’

‘Mother?’

The middle daughter was tugging at Anwen’s skirt, her dark eyes wide and full of puzzlement. Anwen sighed.

‘What ails you, Nia?’

‘I can see a girl. She has a sword in one hand, and parchment in the other, but she is wearing hose. Why is she dressed as a boy?’

Edith looked around the room, but there was no one there apart from Anwen and the servants.

‘Nia sees things the rest of us do not, my lady. Things far off, and things that have not yet come to pass.’ Anwen shrugged and put her arm around the child. ‘A gift, supposedly, though sometimes I wonder.’

Edith agreed. To know the misery that lay in store, and not be able to avoid it – that wasn’t a gift. It was a burden.

When Anwen left, Edith sent the last of the servants away and shut the door. She was too exhausted now to do anything other than lie on her bed, her baby asleep next to her.

‘But we don’t even know what Gwydion’s curse means,’ Aidan was saying. ‘Perhaps he was just trying to frighten us?’

‘No. He means to hurt me. He means, somehow, to take Jack away from us. When he turns eighteen, we will lose him.’

Aidan stood up again and picked up his sword, weighing it in his hand.

‘I will not allow that to happen. There must be some way of defeating this – this monster.’

Edith closed her eyes, remembering Gwydion’ face when she had told him she would not marry him. He looked as though his whole world had been ripped apart and stitched back together in a pattern he no longer recognised. ‘Poor Gwydion. What have I done to him? What has he done to himself?’

‘Do not pity him! He has free will, like all men. He chose to become what he is now. We must send scouts to all corners of the kingdom; somewhere Gwydion is lurking, and I will find him. He is probably somewhere remote, maybe on one of the islands off the coast, or in the shadow of the hills …’

Edith’s mind wandered. Somewhere remote, Aidan had said. Somewhere remote. She remembered Anwen’s advice.

‘That is what we must do with Jack,’ she said.

‘What?’

‘We cannot protect him here. We have to send him away.’

‘Well,’ Aidan began, ‘we could send him to Ireland, to my brother. Or to your cousin Audrey in Northumberland.’

‘No. It has to be somewhere no one would expect him to be. Somewhere his identity can be hidden. And even he,’ Edith paused, as the implications of Anwen’s suggestion became clear to her, ‘he cannot know who he is. It is the only way to stop Gwydion laying hands on him.’

‘But Edith,’ Aidan was frowning, ‘that means he cannot know who we are, either. We will never be able to visit him, to talk to him …’ He sat down heavily, covering his face with his hands. ‘He will grow up without us.’

Edith stared at the hanging above the bed. It showed the emblem of her family: a great wolf, silver and grey, its tawny eyes gazing back at her.

I will be like the wolf, and do what I must to protect my cub. Even though I can feel pieces of my heart freezing away.

‘It will be hard, Aidan. Almost impossible. But if Jack is safe, and alive …’

She picked up the baby, put him in Aidan’s arms and put her arms around both of them, trying to chisel this moment into her memory. All the tiny details: the translucent creaminess of Jack’s skin, his tiny fingernails, the way he fit so perfectly in the crook of his father’s elbow.

‘He looks like you, Aidan.’

‘But he has your eyes.’

The fire burned lower.

‘But, if we do this – if – where can we send him?’ Aidan asked.

‘To Hilda. She used to be my nurse, and she cannot yet be forty. She and her husband live down by the coast.’

‘And you trust her?’

‘I would trust her with my life.’ Edith looked down at her son, still sleeping peacefully in Aidan’s arms. ‘Jack will be happy there.’

‘And if we can find Gwydion quickly, we may not need to send him away for long.’

‘No. I will pray to your god, and to mine, that we will be able to bring him home again soon.’

And so Jack was sent away, to a village perched high on the white cliffs and a childless couple who quickly loved him as their own. King Aidan scoured the country for Gwydion, but the wizard had left no traces. Queen Edith had other children and Jack was not spoken of. Still, her people whispered about the sorrow that clung to the young queen like a shadow.

The years passed, harvest followed harvest, and Jack grew into a boy. Finally, his eighteenth birthday came and went, and Gwydion did not appear. The king and queen, believing the danger to have lifted, made preparations to bring their first-born home again …

‘Jack? Jack! Where are you, lad?’

Jack sighed. He had just got comfortable, lying on the sand in the shade of the cliffs, and now he was going to have to climb back up to the farm at the top. The whole plan had been to work fast so he could have a sleep before the rest of the day’s labour.

‘Jack! If I have to come down there …’

There was no help for it.

‘Coming, father.’ He picked up the sacks of seaweed and carefully made his way up the steep track cut into the side of the cliff.

‘Ah, good.’ Edwin took the sacks from Jack’s back. ‘Rufus can spread this on the field, and we will have a fine harvest in the fall. Have you eaten?’

‘Yes, father.’

‘Then you can go and wash. Father Brendan is waiting in the house. I hope you’ve been practising your letters, and learning your history.’

‘But Ned and I were going to go hunting this morning. If I catch a couple of rabbits, mother will be able make that pie you enjoy so much.’

For a moment Jack thought he was going to get away with it; he could see his father wavering.

‘Well …’ But Edwin shook his head. ‘No. Hunting later. Learning first.’

‘But why? None of my friends have to sit with Father Brendan and listen to him go on and on about—’ Jack stopped. His father had that look in his eye, the look that meant: If you don’t do what you are told, I will tell your mother, and then we will see. He sighed. ‘As you wish, father.’

‘You’re a good lad, Jack. I know there’s much you don’t understand as yet, but one day soon it will all become clear. Off with you now.’

Jack hurried away. Recently, his father had often seemed to come out with odd references to the future, to some revelation that would answer all Jack’s questions. Given that Jack’s questions were mostly along the lines of ‘When will I be able to leave the village?’ he suspected sometimes that the ‘revelation’ was just a delaying tactic – like their insistence that he still needed lessons. Jack could not see the point of reading, or learning about politics. What he really wanted was to go to Helmswick, fight for the king and win his own land. He’d listened to the heroic tales as a child: Beowulf defeating the monster and gaining renown and treasure from his lord. That was what he dreamt about. That, and winning the hand of a beautiful maiden.

Jack scowled and kicked at the rushes growing at the edge of the nearby stream. A cormorant squawked angrily and took off into the air. His dreams of glory were pointless; he was bound to end up a carpenter, just like his father. As for all the nonsense about a future revelation, maybe it was just a sign of old age. His parents were a good twenty years older than the parents of all his friends. An unlooked-for gift, his mother called him.

The house came into view. It was a low, comfortable building, with a separate area for the animals, and even two separate sleeping chambers. Jack sometimes wondered how his father had been able to afford to build such a house. Edwin was a good carpenter, but he made simple furniture for the other villagers, not expensive items for the king. Maybe this was another of the mysteries that would one day become clear.

Jack was just about to go into the house when he stopped, brought up short by the sight of a girl planting seeds in the garden of the house opposite.

‘Good day, Winifred.’

A lot of the girls in the village liked Jack. He used to hear them as he walked around the narrow lanes, whispering about how strong and handsome he was, then he would wink at them and they would dissolve into giggles. He had to admit, he’d kissed quite a few of them too – when the elders weren’t watching. But Winifred … Jack was never sure whether she liked him or not. She was the niece of the thane, besides being the prettiest girl in the village. She was so beautiful that Jack’s brain seemed to seize up when he looked at her, all his usual wit and charm evaporating like rain on a summer’s day. Jack had hardly ever tried to speak to Winifred, let alone kiss her.

‘Good day, Jack.’ She smiled at him as she stood up, and Jack could feel the hot blood turning his face red. ‘Been on the beach, have you?’

‘Yes.’ Jack ran a hand through his blond hair and tried desperately to think of something else to say. ‘We needed seaweed for the field, so I thought … the beach …’

Why? Why did I say that? Where else would I get seaweed? She’s going to think I’m an idiot.

But Winifred just laughed, and put her hands on her hips, and looked Jack up and down. ‘You’ve grown very tall, Jack.’

Jack stood up straighter.

‘Maybe a bit too tall.’

Jack slouched again. ‘Well, I am eighteen now. I mean, I probably won’t grow any more.’ He paused for a moment, chewing on his bottom lip, before taking a deep breath. ‘Winifred, I was hoping—’