Tegid could not stay awake forever, and he finally fell asleep, his head resting on a table in the bar. He had been afraid to sleep, now it would be worse
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Tegid could not control his legs, and he found himself running down the hall. When he did stop he found he was at the other end of the hall, and a pair of double doors greeted him. The bard pushed through them and found another room, another table, more instruments. On this table was a man, he had been split open from the bottom of his chin to the top of his pubic bone. All of his internals were laid bare, although his organs seemed to be in place. He was attached to a multitude of machines, each one humming and clicking. There was something else there too, something that should not have been there, it was buried in the guts of the man, it was a pulsating blob of tissue that moved and twitched. Tegid moved closer and saw that the man was awake, he was looking right at the bard.
“Wha… What is this?” asked Tegid of the man.
The man just closed his eyes, the restraints on his arms and legs kept him from moving.
“It’s the clone,” the man whispered, “…A clone.”
Tegid had no idea what the man was talking about, but it must have been the mass that was squirming in his guts.
Tegid stepped forward and looked closer, it was a child, but more than that, the child was misshapen and diseased. It looked human, but was not human.
It turned and it’s red eyes caught his. It was boring into his soul. It was evil.
Tegid staggered back.
“Clanna na cù!“ he said, “It is not human.”
The man looked at the bard and laughed, a dry horse laugh.
“But isn’t it grand?” he asked, “Soon, it will live without my help.”
“How?” he asked.
The mans lips parted in a sick grin, “It will grow, and expand. It will take over and it will live.”
Tegid backed away, in horror. This was not natural, not what was supposed to be. The bard bumped into something, something soft, something sticky.
He spun around to find Bryno Hir, the Chief Bard of Caledon. His tall frame was rotted and sticky looking, his dark mustache and beard were matted and chunks were missing of it. Tegid gulped.
“It is your fault,” he said, “You called the Gorsedd.”
Tegid nodded.
“I did,” he said, “But it is not my fault that you or the other bards are dead,” he replied.
“Not so,” said another voice from behind him.
Tegid turned to find a host of bards standing where the strange man had been.
They were corpses- they were all very pale, their eyes sunken and empty, and in different states of decay. They were a Gorsedd of Bards. The last Gorsedd of Bards. Tegid shivered.
“You called the Gorsedd, and Meldron killed us,” he said, “It is your fault.”
“No, brothers,” said Tegid, “I did not know he would do such a thing.”
“It was folly,” said Bryno, “He was looking for you. He killed us all.”
“But you said it was good that I called the Gorsedd,” retorted Tegid suddenly annoyed with the accusations, “YOU commended me for that! You carry as much blame as I do!”
The living bard was now pointing at the dead.
“Yes, but you lived,” said a younger of the brethren.
“I paid a price, brother,” said Tegid, “I was blinded and nearly killed! I was only spared by the grace and will of the Dagda.”
Tegid shook, he was angry, so very angry.
“YOU ARE NOTHING!!!” he shouted, “YOU ARE NOTHING BUT MY DEMONS!”
He was not as afraid now, as he had been before. He had figured it out, whatever it was; it was feeding on his fears, his regret, his nightmares.
“That would be where you are wrong,” said a new voice.
It wasn't a laugh of goodwill either but something dark and taunting.
Something that seemed to thrive upon the scene of dismay infront of them.
Them...there was more than one.
"Short-timer lost a dime. Short-timer lost a nickle. Lost his marbles in the hole," a boy said from somewhere with the words echoing amongst the halls.
“Wha… What is this?” asked Tegid of the man.
The man just closed his eyes, the restraints on his arms and legs kept him from moving.
“It’s the clone,” the man whispered, “…A clone.”
Tegid had no idea what the man was talking about, but it must have been the mass that was squirming in his guts.
Tegid stepped forward and looked closer, it was a child, but more than that, the child was misshapen and diseased. It looked human, but was not human.
It turned and it’s red eyes caught his. It was boring into his soul. It was evil.
Tegid staggered back.
“Clanna na cù!“ he said, “It is not human.”
The man looked at the bard and laughed, a dry horse laugh.
“But isn’t it grand?” he asked, “Soon, it will live without my help.”
“How?” he asked.
The mans lips parted in a sick grin, “It will grow, and expand. It will take over and it will live.”
Tegid backed away, in horror. This was not natural, not what was supposed to be. The bard bumped into something, something soft, something sticky.
He spun around to find Bryno Hir, the Chief Bard of Caledon. His tall frame was rotted and sticky looking, his dark mustache and beard were matted and chunks were missing of it. Tegid gulped.
“It is your fault,” he said, “You called the Gorsedd.”
Tegid nodded.
“I did,” he said, “But it is not my fault that you or the other bards are dead,” he replied.
“Not so,” said another voice from behind him.
Tegid turned to find a host of bards standing where the strange man had been.
They were corpses- they were all very pale, their eyes sunken and empty, and in different states of decay. They were a Gorsedd of Bards. The last Gorsedd of Bards. Tegid shivered.
“You called the Gorsedd, and Meldron killed us,” he said, “It is your fault.”
“No, brothers,” said Tegid, “I did not know he would do such a thing.”
“It was folly,” said Bryno, “He was looking for you. He killed us all.”
“But you said it was good that I called the Gorsedd,” retorted Tegid suddenly annoyed with the accusations, “YOU commended me for that! You carry as much blame as I do!”
The living bard was now pointing at the dead.
“Yes, but you lived,” said a younger of the brethren.
“I paid a price, brother,” said Tegid, “I was blinded and nearly killed! I was only spared by the grace and will of the Dagda.”
Tegid shook, he was angry, so very angry.
“YOU ARE NOTHING!!!” he shouted, “YOU ARE NOTHING BUT MY DEMONS!”
He was not as afraid now, as he had been before. He had figured it out, whatever it was; it was feeding on his fears, his regret, his nightmares.
“That would be where you are wrong,” said a new voice.
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It wasn't a laugh of goodwill either but something dark and taunting.
Something that seemed to thrive upon the scene of dismay infront of them.
Them...there was more than one.
"Short-timer lost a dime. Short-timer lost a nickle. Lost his marbles in the hole," a boy said from somewhere with the words echoing amongst the halls.
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"Who is there?!" he shouted, "What is this?!"
He turned back to the room. Tegid was alone, as far as he could tell.
"What is going on?!" he shouted into the dark, dingy room.
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Footsteps falls out in the hall hard and commanding. "Looney tooney like a rabbit. Short-timers aren't welcome here. Patients for the doctor..."
There was a pause in the words though the footfalls never stop. "Or toys for me."
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"You want toys," said Tegid pulling out a wooden top, "Have this."
The top was chucked at the shadows.
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