“I am but a snake in the garden, willing to keep those overran rodents from your harvest. Bear in mind this land may be yours, but it was once mine… and my services come at a price.”
Emrys
"Do not leave this place."
How utterly humorous, I couldn't help but think to myself quietly as I felt the cold, freshly wet stone of gravel against the soft yet thick meshed skin of my underbelly with every sway my body mangled itself to make.
He had grown, I thought to myself. He was no longer the child that...
These grounds were different as I lay so close to them now. They reeked with something long forgotten by the people of Britain. Long forgotten was the decaying and rotting flesh buried below, keeping away something so heinous a memory only the old could still remember. Only the cold could. And the dirt was tough from it, from the wetness from the sky that yearned for something that could bring upon the land richness.
Soil to reap from.
Yet, for now, there was no space beneath the rigid dirt to hold such things. Warmth must come first, and those frigid, shorter days had grown themselves longer and longer with each passing year. The people had forgotten what brought upon that richness. Or perhaps they were far too petrified of the ramifications with remembering.
I had never smelt this once rich soil all those years ago the way I could smell its decay now.
Now I was forced to, given what I had become.
My only pleasant memories had come from when the soles of my feet would run barefoot above the rich dirt the years since lost to me...
And now my tongue was cast against its ruin, smelling the dirt as my body moved me across the grounds of the outskirts of Camelot, carrying me towards a place I had not returned to since I had left. Since I had retreated to the edge of the barrier, deep into the forest.
The place I was sensing now was one I knew too well. One that once flowed with magick like milk and honey, but since reeked like rotting fish with a strong sense of familiarity. I had kept my distance from the castle by force... yet I had kept my distance from this place by choice. There was a time for many things, and the son of the man I had nothing but a bottomless pit of hatred for had swung the pendulum.
He had placed into motion something I had waited many, many years for.
Something that had been promised to me.
Through the cloak of the night, I kept myself to the battered paths least traveled. There were very few this night willing to move without the King's orders. Willing to breathe without them if one were honest. And so they took to their homes. Their old, rundown, stone-cast homes, with nothing that grew around them. Their doors made from wood that has been mangled by the weather, broken pieces at the framework that would let in a draft. And could let in possibly something else, I made note of.
But tonight, I wasn't here to breach passage into these poorly built cottages. There was a time in place for what was to come, and tonight was not that time. Nor that place. Those trapped away, keeping warm a home with wood-burning chimneys, boiling a serving of stew for one with hopes to feed many, they would sleep with that cold chill passing under their doorway, feeling the sombrous air of this Kingdom knowing what awaits their wake from their slumber would be no less inviting.
But what they will be, is alive.
For now.
The home I was in search of was not built like these. This home was built with sturdy stone. With planks laid down above stone floor one by one, nailed into one another by something more than just iron nails. This home would have a study arch of a door at its entrance, with a thinner door at its rear leading out to a field. The wood used was cut from that of a Firah tree, trees long since forgotten to this barren land. This home would be just at the entrance to the forest, with enough space to keep it separated from what ruin filled the outskirts of the castle, and what hopelessness lived inside said ruin, tending to those fireplaces.
Its occupants were what made my tongue lift from this ground, unwilling to sense the disgust that lay inside. They made the magick that once flowed like rich milk from well-fed cattle inside the cement used to cast each rock that built its walls, curdle. They had spoilt something once so sturdy—beautiful... yet if history withstood the test of time—the abuse so many here willingly inflicted upon her, she would tell thee that these cobblestones new occupants were accustomed to such things—to tarnishing something once beautiful.
I felt my body glide above what little grass still managed to grow; the blades faded with what little magick still ran below the grounds of this home. And as I neared its rear entrance to the larger home than those I passed through this journey this night, I felt myself slow.
My tricks were allowed in this home, but I couldn't mask my magick like I was now. That was as he intended. It was what was placed, a spell cast below this sturdy ground he had built stone by stone. It forced any man that entered to come as they are, not as they were.
And so I found this serpent head of mine raising itself off the ground, pulling me to the height of a man before my body took form. I felt my shoulders forming, pushing back the barriers of that thick, scaled skin, forming the broadness of them before my legs did the same. I had sensed very little stirring through this home, yet there was one still awake. The sharp scraping of the unique metal could be heard past this door to the rear entrance as I drew nearer. Curtains had been drawn on the windows, yet that wasn't nearly enough to hide from what I could see. What I could sense.
Yet then again, they did not know it was I who lurked past their doors. Those whom they served had made them strong, yet whom they served had created wandering eyes. Perhaps eyes that held the same detest as my own. But only time would tell.
My pale right hand stretched itself out past the cloak that masked me towards the handle of the door, placing my pale, long fingers onto the cold metal. It would surely be locked given who inhabited this home now... but this home would open willingly for what it recognized.
"Seroli Dierius," I whispered, the color from my eyes casting a low glow upon my hand, melting into the warm glow of my magick that flowed from the tips of my long fingers. And not a moment later, I heard the latch to the door click, unlocking itself.
Then the door slowly opened for me of its own accord.
I felt that deep hum welcoming me through the air as I walked through the cornered frames of this back door, smiling slightly under my hood at the home's kind gesture. "I remember," I whispered gently, taking those small steps into the home itself.
The room this door opened to was once a treasury room of the sorts, one where shelves were lined across the walls with relics, and heirlooms, boasting the power of those who lived inside if once knew what they were looking at. I see, as I looked around the dark room, taking into account the broom leaning at the wall near the door, and the many crates stack above one another, thick coats of dust lining each one, that it had become storage.
I felt a tingle of curiosity prod at my mind, yet it was my heart that put it in place. We would have time to feed that curiosity. Time in place, I reminded myself as I traveled further in. Time in place. For now, it was hatred that was to be fed, something sharp teeth bit lightly at my cloaked arms to remind me as I walked. Retribution was what willed me.
My feet traveled slow and light, undetected as I moved past the storage of this room to the arched opening. I could hear that metal still—the slight scraping of it. A familiar sound. The one who sat awake, tending to it, was the one I was first looking for, and as I traveled nearer, I could see through the low glow of the lanterns nestled upon the wooden table in the dining of the home, that that man was still wide awake, sharpening his long, weighted sword.
The man was stocky in nature. He was short, his frame only partially covered by the end of the table he sat at. Interesting, I thought to myself. I remembered him to be taller. In his hand was that sword he was sharpening and polishing, though the movement of his fat fingers was slow, most likely to not wake those that rested past that corridor to my left, just past the kichene of this home. I could sense their lulled heartbeats. The flame from the lantern sitting on the table near him had a low glow; the candle inside melted almost to nothing. And yet, through it, I saw his distinct features.
They had grown harder, I thought. He had aged. He bore a beard like snow with ashen coal scattered upon it. His hair upon his head had since left him, but what hadn't was that deep, jagged scar carved from his temple down to his chin, and the look of it made me smile slightly beneath this hooded cloak. It no longer bled, but it surely hadn't healed. Those once bright blue eyes of his had ashened some, faded with color much like his beard, yet not faded entirely like his hair.
They were still eyes I would always remember.
And that scar was something I would never forget.
I felt the coolness on my arms, still covered by my cloak. The eagerness of it—them.
"Not yet," I whispered, tucking my arms further inside this cloak. "Patience." I reminded them.
And that was what got the attention of the man once sharpening his blade. His eyes cast to me, turning from where he stared on towards the corridor, to look my way. And when his eyes laid upon me—this cloaked figure standing at the arched doorway to the rest of his—the home he now inhabited, he shot to his feet immediately. The action had been so sudden, the chair he once stood in almost toppled over, and yet the man was still quite leveled with his stance as he pointed his well-balanced sword my way.
"Who—" he started rather loudly... but then his eyes quickly darted back to that corridor—back to those still sound asleep—and he stopped himself from raising that deep, coarse voice of his. "Who are you?" He spoke much more quietly now, yet his voice was still firm with the intimidation he thought it bore. "Who dares to enter this home?"
"That is a fine sword," I replied quietly, as I took another step into this home. My feet bore no sound with my movement, and this man's gaze shifted to them, his darkly colored eyebrows furrowing slightly.
He was still as sharp as that blade of his. Yet he must be to appease who it was he served.
Who it was who granted him such a leveled sword.
"This home is protected," he spoke lowly. "You know not which home you have entered."
"I am all too aware. Of both this home, and of you... Kairon." I whispered in return, causing those heavy eyelids to lift themselves, revealing more of his ashened eyes as they widened.
"That is not my name," he whispered, yet the tone in that raspy voice of his had changed some. The features on his rounded face reflected what he knew to be true.
"You are correct," I returned. "You have taken a new name... but I will not regard you as such. I will refer to you as the title of the common man. Of the farmer you were once before the King granted you a seat within his council."
And I watched as those heavy lids lowered themselves again, settling themselves back into his hardened features as he looked at me with nothing but pure disgust.
To me, I saw a pungent sense of a man, one aged far beyond any years that should have been granted him. One who was in a home he shouldn't be, with a family he shouldn't have. Yet to him, I was nothing more than a man cloaked in darkness, standing but a few steps away, yet enough a distance to keep out of the light from the lowly lit candle.
"This... this intrusion… this is punishable by—by death." He told me, casting his sword further in my direction. He was holding it with two hands, his stocky body maintaining the stance of a man who had seen many years of combat in his lifetime... but it would not be enough. "You are but a man," he continued, "none else can cross the framing of these doors. And you have entered the house of a fierce knight—"
"—Councilman—"
"Protector of the King."
"And that is precisely what has brought me to your door. What has brought me past it. Past the framing," I replied, taking yet another small step closer. I felt the light of the flame on my face, just enough to reveal the lower half of my features to the man. His eyelids lowered themselves further as he struggled to get a better look at me. "And you are correct, dear councilman, this house is indeed protected," I whispered more lowly as I felt the coldness occupying my arms slip up inside the sleeves of my shirt just enough for me to raise them past my cloak, pushing back the hood of it, and allowing the thick, wool fabric to fall back onto my shoulders. "But not by you."
I watched his face closely as this older man took in my appearance. The hair perched just above his eyes shifted further as his eyebrows creased, yet still, I waited patiently.
"I... I do not—" he started, lifting his sword higher, pointing that daft metal towards me with more motion to strike. "I do not know of you," I watched as his right foot shifted forward as he was ready to charge at me, "nor does it concern me who—”
"It does, councilman," I interrupted this man once more, feeling the edges of my lips tug up into a slight smile. "Do you not remember these eyes?" I whispered to him, feeling my magick flow more freely as I revealed to him just what made my golden eyes so peculiar. "For I could never forget a face like that... not with the scar that will never heal. A face touched by the Blade of Vilohs." And I felt my eyes burn brighter as I remembered the years far before me. "My mother's blade."
This older man's eyes widened slightly at that. One hand released the hold on the handle of that blade so he could reach up to touch his face. To run his fingers along the deep imprint my mother left, carved into him.
"Y-You..." he whispered to himself, causing this slight smile of mine to stretch itself a bit further. "The—... the boy… and your mother..." and when his eyes finally shifted from mine to the stone walls that surrounded us—the wooden planks beneath our feet, those heavy lids only willed themselves to lift farther. "T-This house," he whispered more to himself.
And that slight smile of mine would have stretched itself even further if it were not for his next choice of words.
"You... you instill no fear in me," he continued as his voice returned to that callus tone, and he brought both hands forward to his handle with a grin pulling upon his own lips. "You ran from this home, taking that whore of a mother with you. If I can cast you out once, I shall do it again. As I told you, I am protected."
My smile faltered at his words, yet I felt the real outrage from those still wrapped around my arms. I felt them glide across my cloaked body, traveling up the bareness of my skin under the cloth of my shirt.
"I understand," I whispered to them quietly. "I did not take kindly to his choice of words either."
"Who the fuck are you speaking to?" The man's words were all but spat at me, but I found them too careless to address. Instead, I chose to address his prior words.
"That trinket tucked under your shirt may have protected you from the boy I was," I whispered to him, watching him hesitate, before his gaze inevitably shifted lower, down to his chest. "But much like you are no longer Kairon... I am no longer that boy. I, too, have since taken a new name for myself."
I could see the man still kept his leveled stance... yet there was a still tremor in his left hand in which he tried to sturdy his blade with his right.
"And... and what name is that?" He asked me.
"Emrys." I replied. My magick was flowing far more freely now, working to keep those below this cloak at bay just a little while longer.
Yet I watched as this man blinked a few times slowly, before he unexpectedly let out a dry chuckle, fixing that tremor in his arm. "You are no Emrys. You are just that scared little boy here to try and collect—"
But then he stopped himself. He eyes remained on me a moment as those ashen eyes squinted, attempting desperately to understand the movement of my cloak. There was no keeping them at bay any longer. They had taken enough offense. I felt as the creatures that had traveled up my chest and neck, finally pushed past the neck collar of my cloak, wrapping themselves around me like a necklace. A necklace of black scales, thick reptilian skin, and beady black eyes.
That was when the older man finally understood.
I could only watch in some honest delight as that metal in his hand slipped from him, falling that short distance and clamoring against the wooden floorboards.
Those weighted eyelids were alive now. They almost reached the thick hairs of his brows above them.
"Y-You—... Y-Y-You... he stammered, his hands still held out in front of him, but they only wielded the strength of blades of grass. "Y-You can't—Y-Y-You can't be here—”
"I can," I told him. "I am. My time away from Camelot is something I cannot control at the moment... but my time away from this home has always been a choice. As I stated, you, councilman Kairon, are as interwoven in my return due to your nature with the King... and what once was your past with me. As it happens, I do not mind venturing off this path for I have just discovered that it will lead me to my destination sooner. Unfortunately for you, you do not have nearly as strong a protection as the King."
Kairon's face paled considerably, yet once we heard the slightest stirring from the corridor, his head snapped in its direction, to which mine followed. And when his now completely paled eyes returned to me, I saw all ferociousness left, leave him.
"P-Please—"
"I am here to pay retribution."
"P-Please, please—" the man insisted, begging as those hands clasped themselves together. "Please—" he was trying to keep his voice quiet, yet it would not be of use. Those past the corridor hadn't completely stirred themselves awake; this I knew to be true... but only I did. He did not.
"You and your wife, councilman, have been responsible for killing hundreds. Perhaps thousands since The Great War."
"P-Please!" He whispered more harshly in his plea. "Please—please, spare us… they are just children—"
I could already feel one of mine start to slither down the material of my trousers, keeping to the shadows of the home as it moved down the corridor to do my bidding. Kairon must have seen some movement pass through that hall's floor because he tried to move, but my hand reached out, allowing my other companion to spring from its resting position tucked under my cloak, the black venomous creature clearing what little distance between this older man and I, before attaching itself to and biting into his neck.
Those fat fingers had started to reach for my companion, but the bite was quick, with the creature letting go and falling back down to the floorboards before it slithered its way into the shadows of this home.
And the venom to stiffen the councilman's body was even quicker.
I saw his mouth gape open as he tried to yell, perhaps for his family, but no sound could come out, and when he turned to me, his terrified eyes were met with my outstretched hand, and the gold mist of my magick wrapped around his neck.
"I have not come to kill your children," I whispered quietly to him as my other creature, the one that sank its fangs deep into the man, slithered back to me dutifully, abiding by my final decision. "I'm here to take the ones who wronged my people. For this is retribution, Kairon... councilman... not a massacre." I watched as the veins beneath his skin started to blacken, spreading under his paling skin, his body growing brittle as he dropped to his knees in front of me. "For my people do not resemble the defiled hearts of yours."
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