Indigo's Rose: Chapter 8

Freak

Derog. It's been six months since he joined the Baron in his tour of Wales. I have not seen him since, though he has sent me letters per my requirements for the journey. Not even during Christmas did he return, though he did mention in a letter that he would be willing. I left the decision to him. While I strive at missing his absence, in my heart of hearts I don't. I loathe myself for this realization, but I am a realist. I have felt more at ease since his presence left my side. I do not know when I had come to regard my own son with unease, but the fact remains that I had. I awoke last night from a dream in which he stood over me, his eyes wide and pupils dilated. He was studying me, and drawing upon his sketchbook without even looking down. I asked him what he was drawing. He said to me, 'I see through you, Tyta. My eyes have been opened."
He then turned the sketchbook around. On it was myself, but I was drenched, and water cascaded down my hair. I tried to grab the paper, to tear it, but had difficulty grasping. Looking down I saw my hands had grown webbing between the fingers.
Derog then opened his mouth. He retched, and water vomited forth. It rapidly filled the room and flailing desperately, I drowned.
It is beginning to remind me of the dreams I was plagued with in my own younger days before th-
No. That is not a path I will tread down again.

This concludes my journal. I have been giving in to entirely too much introspection. Too many memories. I shall strive to remain in the present and look only to the world before me.

Derog was awakened by a scent. One he had not smelled in nearly a year. Blossoms from the spring trees. A jerked upright, his heart suddenly feeling large and full in his chest. Nwmenaidd was near.

They had been on the road for several weeks on their way to Derog's town. They had visited many villages  and seen sights Derog had not known existed in the expanses of Cymru. In the most out of the way locations, where the landscape was inspiration for the taking, Derog has witnessed a number of odd happenings, seen inexplicable figures. When he sought to pursue or have a closer look he was evaded. All had seemed shocked and surprised by his attentions in the split moment before they had disappeared. He wondered what made so many of them shy. It was maddening
His lady and the smoking giant certainly had not been so standoffish. His mind attempted to drift to the night where the slender man had come after him, but he resolutely blocked it out.

"Dear Lord, what is that odor?" Watkins said suddenly, coming to. He held a handkerchief to his mouth and nose.
"Driver, pull off!" he called. It had barely halted when he threw open the carriage doors and took a step outside to heave his stomach empty.

Paul awoke in the meanwhile and groaned, looking greyish. He and Sir Watkin had drank til late the previous night and apparently the strength of the blossoms was overpowering that of the intestines. Derog had declined. While he did not mind an occasional nip, his stature and the youth left him with no head for liquor. He had been found dancing one night, and they said they could not rouse him or keep him from spinning. He had not felt drunk, and all had seemed so clear to him. He had felt the tug of the moon and listened to the singing of starlight. They had whirled above him, the constellations spinning across the sky, dancing and battling one another.

It had been both a frightening and exhilarating experience. One that seemed to leave no hangover. In fact, the next morning Derog had awakened feeling more energetic and rested than normal. Still, with he uncertain what he saw and what was imagined he had declined further strong drink.

Watkin eventually stepped back within.
"Welcome to Nwmenaidd." Derog said wryly.

Watkin kicked out at him, but fell far short and overbalanced across the bench. The young lord didn't bother to pick himself up. He lied where he fell, eyes tightly scrunched.

They had crossed over Grig's Hop and were now approaching the southern regions. They had sent a letter to Bleidd, informing him of their intention to visit and an inn where they would be stopping. He had sent a return letter to be held at the inn, welcoming them.

It would be another several hours before they arrived, plenty of time for the Lord and Artist to return to the sober land of the living.

"HELL!" Paul exclaimed as they approached the cromlech through which the road passed.

Sir Watkins peered out with disbelieving eyes at the massive gate of stone.

"I believe you've found a suitable subject for some work, Paul." he breathed.

They passed through Nwmenaidd, the architecture and rampant greenery providing energetic discussion between the two art lovers. Derog smiled. They'd thought his descriptions and sketches from memory to be exaggerated when he'd suggested making the trip.

-=-=-=-=-=-

It was a couple hours before dusk, the full moon already rising high in the sky. Derog found himself watching it in fascination. Soon they entered the deep wood where Castell Hiliog could be found.

Here the ground was fertile and damp, and possessed a musky, though not unpleasant scent of the forest primeval. While trees had been logged along the edges, deep in its heart it was untouched. Here many herbs and fruiting shrubs could be found of all manner, though only the desperate, or desperately in need, came to gather. It was said that the forest gave freely to those in need, but that it was said to also take its price, and now and again a careless wander was found missing.

And always there was the gurgle of water. While moist, some might even say saturated, the ground rarely ran with flowing water upon this great shaggy hill. Many had gone seeking that distant meandering melody, but never was any brook found. Oft times, not even the searcher.

The road gradually wove its way upwards, for little land in these woodlands measured flat, with mossy stone unexpectedly poking through the soil like the questing fingers of a half-buried corpse. With a start, Derog noticed how strangely the moss grew, in whirls and patterns that felt unnatural to his eye. It reminded him much of the standing stone upon the hill where his Awakening had begun.  

A wall of clipped ivy and moss seemed to spring up before them, with an iron gate set within the wide opening. In these fecund surroundings one almost felt the wall should be crumbling and the gate weak with rust, but both were kept in prime condition, and even the road about had been kept carefully free of vegetation.

They rode within, and found the ground leveled out. There, in the back, rose Castel Hiliog.  It was not a particularly large bastion, but it was stout and gave the appearance of strength. It backed directly into a cliffside of naked stone, giving the impression of being carved from the cliff itself.

The stone wall encircled the area, but within this courtyard much of the vegetation had been cleared, aside from feral grape vines that struggled up its towers. Their tamed cousins lay in orderly rows in the distance, thick with spring buds. Frogs burped from nearby ponds beneath tree so tall they had been allowed to arch over the walls, though still cleared their tops by scores.

Between the flagstones grew even more moss, softening the patter of the hooves and wheels. The silvery trails of slug and snail were reflected in the light. They intersected and spun about one another, leaving Derog with the impression that from high above they must form an immense paradigm. He found himself longing to find such a vantage.

In the midst of one pond  rose the statue of a slender, willowy woman chiseled from the same stone as the hill. She was beautiful and stately of proportion, with flowing tresses and webbed fingers. She had been carved unclothed, but aquatic plants had risen from the water to weave about her torso.

"What a most singular battlement." Sir Watkin said with an intrigued tone.

"Singular? It's surreal is what it is!" Paul exclaimed. "Why had I never heard of Nwmenaidd?"

"It's not a proper place of the gentry I've heard." replied Sir Watkin. "And Sir Bleidd wasn't originally its Lord. That's all I've been privy to. Just doesn't seem to be spoken of."

"Suppose I can see why. My skin has crawling about since we entered."

Derog cocked his head to the side and surveyed the surroundings, trying to see it through their eyes. He at times felt wonder and a sense of delicious mystery in what he'd witnessed this past year. Perhaps it was eerie to others who feared it, but he found it beautiful.

Bleidd met them at the end of the long bricked walk.

"Welcome to Nwmenaidd." Bleidd replied formally in Welsh. "Please come within and rest yourselves. Dinner is being prepared."

Watkin and Paul exchanged looks.

"My Welsh is unpolished, Baron Bleidd. Perhaps we shall keep to the King's own?" Watkin replied in English.

"Certainly you may, Baron Williams-Wynn, but in my home all that comes from these Welsh lips is, oddly enough, Welsh."

"Your lands, your law." Watkin replied in Welsh with poor grace, and poorer inflection.

Derog glanced at Paul with a smirk. The artist just ran a hand of his face and shook his head.

Servants took their mounts to the stables as the travelers were escorted within. They changed into more civilized attire, and washed the grime from their faces.

They were escorted into the main hall, which was long and of bare stone with little trappings. The last rays of the sun leant their fading strength through the western windows. Both sides of the hall were lined with panes of iron and glass. Lit lamps ran down the long table, adding a flicker to the dying day within the hall.

In several locations the pillars had been carved to resemble that of a great oak, and faces leered down from all about, most taking the resemblance to a man's face composed of leaf and stem.

"Quite a unique setting, your Nwmenaidd," Sir Watkin commented as they sat down to sup.

"So I am oft told," Bleidd replied, raising a wooden goblet of wine to wet his lips. "Though rarely do my guests mean it in a positive manner. You seem to appreciate it for itself."

"I have always had an eye to that which of Wales was untamed, that which still possessed a certain purity. You have built with it, not upon it, and it retains this quality. This impresses me. What was the name of your ancestor as built it? The history of Nwmenaidd that young Derog has told me is fascinating."

"Ah, so our young Feddyg did not tell you of the Castel Hiliog?"

"I do not know it, sir," Derog replied, speaking up. "My mother rarely spoke of it. She did say it was once a place of healing."

"Rightly so. In fact, it was built for one of the original Physicians of Myddfai. Do you know the tale?"

The gathering remained silent.

"Ah, so few of our histories are passed along. Perhaps you know of the Lady of the Lake, at least?"

Paul nodded. "Oh, yes. As a lad I recall it being told me. One of the Arthurian tales. Gave him a sword, yes?"

Bleidd sighed, "Well, yes, that is one of the more popular tales. That of the physicians are somewhat newer. Perhaps six or seven centuries back there was a young farm boy who took his sheep to graze and drink by  the lake. He found the waters beautiful, and would gaze out upon them, sometimes forgetting his wooly charges. His admiration gained the attention of the Lady that lived within it. She arose before the youth and they would talk. Love quickly blossomed between them, and she agreed to marry this boy. On one condition, that he would never strike her, even lightly. If he did so three times, their marriage would be annulled and she would return to her waters which had never struck, but only caressed."

Derog felt a tightening in his chest as he listened to a tale that reminded him so much of his own.

"She left her lake, and in time bore him three sons. Cadwgan, Gruffudd and Einion were their names. The Lady loved them, but eventually she returned to her lake. Once she was tapped to gain her attention. Another time her love struck her a blow in anger. The final time it was a rap across the cheek to silence her for laughing during a funeral. Apparently the ways of mortals over their sadness at the coming of death amused her. Much like that damned Sin-Eater we hung last month. "

"You hung Bar... the Sin-Eater?" Derog inquired.

"Indeed. We found him digging up the dead he had eaten the sins of and... well, I will not ruin our appetites with the details of his perversions. Let me just say he was a mad and dispicable creature who we put down like the dog he was."

Bleidd was silent for several moments as he dug into a lamb's heart and the others followed suit. Derog found he had little appetite. Idly he wondered if Barri had finally won free of the Unseelie.

Swallowing, Bleidd proceeded with his story.

"Well, as I was saying, the father was heartbroken and cursed his naiad wife, but the boys missed her as only young children can and journeyed to the lake. There she met them with open arms."

Derog listened intently, surprised by the sudden burning in his throat. So many elements of this simple story were those that affected him at the deepest level. If only he could visit his mam still. He pretended to rub his eyes in weariness to clear away the tears that threatened to spill.

"They made many visits, sometimes she coming out onto land, other times they into the waters. She taught them of life and of healing, and many secrets known only to the other world. Such was their knowledge that it is said none before them were wiser in the field of health. Put down all they had learned into journals. They became known as the Physicians of Myddfai."

He took another sip. "Now, you'll likely be asking why I bring this up. Well, these brothers saved a wealthy, powerful Lord and his entire family from a plague that threatened them. Once he recovered he gifted each of them with a title and lands.  Einion took leave of his kin and settled here, in what is now Nwmenaidd, and had these very halls built. It is said that deep below are caverns with natural spring-fed pools. He let it be known that he would seek to aid the sick and unfirm if they came and bathed in the waters. This is how it gained its name, the Castle of Life. Many who he healed remained, and built and farmed the fertile land about, pledging their loyalty to the one who had saved them. This is how Nwmenaidd is said to have begun."

"Ah ha!" laughed Sir Watkin. "So you, Lord  Iorwerth, had a fairy grandmother, is that it?"

"Oh, no," responded Bleidd, raising a hand. "I am not a descendant of that line. My family has only resided in these halls for a century or two. After the Feddyg's renounced their title, it was my ancestor who traveled here to take over the barony."

Derog has luckily just swallowed, else his last bite might have been his death by choking.

"Who were they you said, Sir?" Derog breathed, his heart hammering.

"Why the Feddyg's, " Bleidd said, giving Derog a suddenly sharp look. "They were the Physicians of Myddfai. Your ancestor built Nwmenaidd."

"My, you just become more interesting by the day, Master Derog!" Sir Watkin exclaimed.

Derog grabbed a goblet of wine he had heretofore ignored, and gulped it down a suddenly dry throat.

The other men found it an amusing tale, this Lady of the Lake, but the domovoi's words echoed in his ears.

Water Child.

-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-

The gathering grew more merry as drink was ingested copiously despite the Nazirite vows they'd pledged that morning. For once Derog joined them. So many thoughts battled in his mind that he felt he should be deafened by them. The wine didn't so much silence them as lifted him above it. He found his eyes sharpening and the moonlight that filtered in from the windows illuminated the hall like a noon sun. He could hear the heartbeat of his hosts and smell the blood in their veins. Water rushing. Beneath him he could sense the dampness that flowed in the hidden caverns and detect the dew settling upon the cooling leaves outside.

The others hardly noticed his leaving as he ventured through the front doors and into the courtyard. He almost felt he was floating, the moon pulling at him so he thought he might fly up to it. The smell of the water called to him however. He bent down onto his stomach to touch his tongue to the droplets upon the moss. It was as sweet as medd and more intoxicating than the wine.

A carriage pulled up as he lapped and a familiar voice cried out, "Derog?"

Aemelia hopped out of the carriage and kneeled beside him.

"What are you doing, licking the cobbles? Horses been dropping their apples about here," she said in a tone that mixed amusement and concern.

Derog looked up at her and grinned. "Wonderful!"

What she saw made Aemelia gasp.

"Aemelia, is the young man alright?" a woman's mature voice called from the carriage.

"I think so, Glenda. Father must be entertaining and bringing out the wine."

The cart rattled around them as Aemelia tugged on his arm.

"Onward and upward, drinky-drinky," she said.

Derog rolled away and threw himself to his feet, laughing at the lightness of body and spirit. Though the moon washed out many of them, quite a few stars could be seen in the clearing above. He began to try to count them, pointing at each one and hopping with each sighting. Soon he was dancing about, feeling more alive than he ever had before.

Aemelia tittered with laughter and gasped in amazement as Derog capered and leaped, twirled and contorted.  He was filled with a viciousness that was as much love as it was blood-thirsty, beautiful as it was feral.

He held out a hand to little Aemelia and she laughed all the louder. She joined him, and they ran about the stones hand in hand. He would twirl her about and toss her up, only to catch her, as she screamed and giggled. Her pupils slowly began to widen and her joyous issues silenced as an expression of wonder froze to her face. She moved as one mesmerized, taking no initiative and looking nowhere but to him. Aemelia continued to dance, but it mirrored only his own, as if she were his capering shadow. He would perform the most unlikely maneuvers only to have her repeat them flawlessly, his mind controlling two bodies.

Derog came to a stop and thought to her, ~Drop and roll~ and to his amusement she did, and he had not even said a word.

~Run to the fountain and climb the statue. ~ he thought, the wild glee within him not even allowing him to consider the unlikeliness of what was occurring.

Aemelia, now dripping wet, clambered up the vines.

~Now jump!~ he thought with wicked amusement, and ran forward to catch her before she was dashed upon the cobbles.

He was whirling her about like a drenched doll when a wolf howled outside the walls. It was a visceral, hateful sound unlike any he had heard before from the throats of the furry beasts. In normal circumstances he might have froze in fear, but this night, in this place, he could only grin with delight.

He set Aemelia down and threw back his head to howl back, his wildness matching that of the one outside. What he didn't expect was the creature that leaped to the top of the wall above.

It held itself almost man-like, with long, shaggy arms ending in claws. Its short coat of fur shown blue-grey in the moonlight, which also brought a glint off its bared fangs. Despite the muzzle and hair, its face and stature was immediately familiar to Derog's discriminating eye.

"Barri?" Derog asked, delightedly intrigued. In his current state he'd have giggled at the Apocalypse.

Barri crouched and leaped for Aemelia's form, which continued to stand quietly, watching Derog with a sort of rapture.

Derog scooped her into his arms and somersaulted in the air, just moments before Barri landed where she had just stood.

~Run and hide!~ he thought to Aemelia as he set her back down. She immediately turned and ran for the keep's doors.

Barri leaped to follow, but Derog met him in midair, knocking them both to the ground. Derog landed lightly on his feet as Barri rolled.

"I thought they hung you? I suppose you were never taught to play dead?" he said with a chuckle.

Barri snarled and came to his feet in a stooped stance.

"I told you I don't die easily," He spit in a voice that sounded like the whine of a dog. "And I will not be banished! I will eat them both but leave them their sins!"

"Fasting is good for the soul," Derog said, circling in front of him.

"My soul is cursed, so what do I care. I will tear you down to get to them!"

Derog then did the one thing he knew Barri wouldn't expect. He attacked the wolfman.

Derog flew forward and spun, grabbing a double-handful of pelt. Barri felt like he weighed no more than Aemelia had as Derog hurled him towards the pond.

Barri collided forcefully with the statue and splashed into the waters. He didn't remain dazed for long, and hurled himself out, spitting like a cat. Using his elongegated arms like a second pair of legs, he sprinted forward.

Derog wove to the side bonelessly, allowing the wolfman to streak past him.

What followed was a deadly dance. Barri leaping, snapping, clawing while Derog spun, weaved and bent like a blade of grass in the wind. The sin-eater never laid a single blow upon him, though now and again Derog seemed to allow himself to be grasped before slipping out like a handful of water.

Soon Barri's pupils dilated, and his attack halted. The dance still bore a resemblance to a battle, but it was one where neither opponent harmed the other. Derog got farther and farther from the keep, Barri following, until they had passed out of the gates and into the moon dappled moulde of the wood.

Derog then halted and slapped Barri's muzzle several times. Finally the eyes narrowed and the ferocious gleam returned.

"Unseelie..." Barri hissed, backing away.

"I've told you once already that I'm not of their ilk, and I won't say it again!" Derog replied. "I'm something different."

Barri eyed him with distrust  and hunkered down unto his haunches.

Derog eyed the furred form in fascination. "So this is how they cursed you?"

"They felt it would make the chase more sporting." Barri growled. "I can become... this at any time, but on the full moon I cannot take any other."

He licked his lips. "And the hunger fills me."

"I would not have you eat the Lord of Nwmenaidd," Derog replied. "Go home. Quell your appetite upon sheep."

"Who are you to command me?" Barri hissed.  

"Only a Water Child."