Doppelganger
Tegid fell asleep as he normally did. He dreamed of fire. The water city was on fire; it was engulfing all the structures on the man made islands. The images began to change- the buildings were no longer those of his world and his era, but that of the otherworld, and of Milliways. He was standing outside his hut, and the strange building loomed up in front of him in the middle of the lake. Strange things were crawling up from the suddenly dead lake, back to the muck and black stink that was the rotting of Albion.
He was in the building now, a scorched and dusty place; the strange beds and chairs that littered the halls and rooms confused him. Everything was dusty and deserted. He had never seen anything like this. He found no one there, nor any monsters. Tegid found he could not open his eyes, but could still see... yet he felt as though he were blind again. He ran. He ran in any random direction, just to get out! He heard the noise getting closer. He recognized that noise; it was not something he would ever want to see or find again. It was a thin screeching wail, bloodless and cold. He could see it but his eyes were closed. He tried to open them, but it would not happen. He ran on, and though he didn’t run into anything, he still could not open his eyes. He could sense the area around him, could see the halls.
Tegid tripped and his eyes flew open, and there was the Cythrawl. Terror took hold of Tegid and he could barely breathe. The creature was getting closer, he could hear it. The Cythrawl lived but was not alive, it moved, but was not animate; it cried out, yet possessed no tongue. This Hell -spawned creature was hideous, a pulsating mass of bodies, forming and growing and changing,. Its form in a state of flux. The Cythrawl was a thing made of decay and death. It was a thing to fear, and the strongest at heart would piss their manly breeches at the sight of it. The Cythrawl was the epitome of all that was malicious, cruel and evil; it embodied all that was corrupt and decayed.
It reached out for him, and he shrank from the apparition. This could not be real! Why was this happening? Didn't this happen once, no twice before?
His mind almost paralyzed by fear, Tegid did the only thing he could think of . He called out to The Sure Swift hand for protection.
“Dagda Samildanac!” he cried, as the great Bard Ollathir had done before him, “Bodd cwi Samildanac!”
The monster shrank at the name, and receded. Tegid began to chant, a mantra of protection, and of praise. He would not stop till this fearsome apparition fled, and flee it did.
Tegid raised himself off the floor and found he could open his eyes. He continued the chant. He saw that he was still in the strange building,. What had happened here?
The next onslaught that was to come was even worse than the first.
He started to walk. He was shaking all over and was wet from sweat, blood, and urine. When he fell, he had landed on some broken glass; his hands were bleeding, from the deep lacerations. The grime from the years of neglect stuck to his skin, and trails could be seen where tears had streamed from his newly formed eyes.
The bard staggered down the halls trying to find his way out of this place; he could not. Every time he thought he saw a door to the outside, it was gone- he could not get away!
Tegid saw a new sight. It was something he never wanted to face again, army or no. The Coranyid, Host of the Pit were there in the halls, spilling over one another in a great grotesque mass. His heart seemed to stop. Had they not been banished from this world’s realm? Then he remembered this was not Albion. His eyes widened in terror , for to see them was to behold the face of all that is evil and wicked. His stomach lurched, for these were all things putrid clothed in loose-fitting skin. He saw death beyond death, again. This was what would happen to those souls caught in Hell. He tried to stand his ground against the putrid bodies clawing over each other- flowing towards him in the halls. At the lead was a man in a strange uniform, he did not fit with this dream.
He collapsed on the floor, repeating the mantra over and over. None of the creatures touched him, but seemed to dissipate when they drew close. The Hell spawn were silent in their assault; the only noise was the beating of Tegid’s heart and his chanting. He curled into a ball on the filthy floor.
After, what seemed like hours, he looked around, and he was alone again. As silently as they had come, they were gone. Tegid was not sure if he should move. He pulled himself up to a sitting position, his back against the cold dusty wall. He was terrified, and needed the comfort of the familiar. He slumped, waiting for the next attack on his spirit. He sat chanting, afraid.
Out of the darkness, another figure seemed to materialize from the very floor. This one surpassed the first two horrors in grotesquerie: it was Meldron, back from the grave. No wait, it was that man that had been leading the army of the pit.
“Man,” he said, “you guys doomed!”
Tegid’s heart sank. Hopelessness filled his soul, he was plunged into darkness. He continued to chant despite the despair that was filling his core.
“Your god cannot help you now, bard!” screeched the thing that looked like Shepperd.
The bard ignored the monster and closed his eyes. He chanted. The creature continued it’s blasphemous onslaught.
“Oh, now you're giving me the silent treatment,” said the strange man, “Take a look now.”
Tegid opened his eyes and found himself in the halls of the hospital still. He walked the halls, knowing that he would not be able to get out, and the nature of this dream, he knew he should be careful. The strange man was ever present. Tegid heard sounds, they were gurgling and plopping sounds. He was not all that curious, but it was the only noise he could detect here. He turned a corner and found that there was a stream running down the middle of the next hall. Not running, per se, but oozing. It was a fetid and dead stream, putrid in all of its elements. He recognized this as the stagnation and decay that Albion had just been redeemed from. He knew he should not touch this “water” at whatever cost.
“Why do you torture me with these sites again, demon?” asked Tegid of his companion.
The man shrugged, “I don't know. Seemed like the best one to work with.”
Tegid fell silent. He followed the seeping flow of the stream to its source, coming upon no one. He found that the fetid stream was seeping from a room at the end of the hall. He saw the table and the instruments lined about; some were covered in grime and dust, others gleamed in the dim light. The stream issued from a table. He knew what the table was for, although he had never seen one, nor had he seen one used before. How the stream issued forth was unknown to him, but issue it did. The stink of the thing made his eyes water and his stomach lurch. The bard covered his nose and mouth with a corner of his cloak and ventured closer. He could see a small shape on the table - it was a child. Tegid took a few more tentative steps and found that he was looking at Ffand, the child that the Dyn Dythri had killed with their gun. He could not catch his breath. Ffand, the child who had saved him and Llew from the hostage pit. She however, was not alive, her organs were no longer in their rightful places, and her body was opened for all to see. She had been desecrated. Tegid vomited. The thing that had once been a child sat up, its organs pulsating and falling around the body in a ghastly adornment. Tegid stepped back, this was all wrong.
It smiled a sickening smile.
“Penderwydd of Prydain, you could not save me,” it said. “Why?”
Tegid could not speak.
The strange man leaned in, “You could have saved her.”
“Why?!” it shrieked at him, the dangling organs throbbing about in their ghastly garland of gore. “WHY?!!! I saved you! Why did you let me die?!”
Tegid shook and said nothing
“ You failed a little girl, you are a monster,” continued Shepered in his ear, “I don't know what to say to you. I guess you could kill yourself.”
Suddenly, it lurched; the fluid way in which it had been moving gave way to a jerky, awkward movement, like a puppet on a string. The flesh started to fall from bone, and the organs to liquefy. As this ghastly apparition melted it made its way back to the table, where it was reduced to a putrid puddle.
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.
Sheperd let out a low whistle.
“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.”
“You should listen to him,” said stranger.
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.”
“Oh, you did and you know it,” laughed stranger and then said to the dead, “I'm on your side you know.”
“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!”
stranger stood next to Bryno, “Yeah, well, we all make mistakes, some worse than others. I guess you should face the music.”
The stranger grinned.
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.”
“At the cost of your friends, that is not a very high price,” mumbled the stranger.
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.
“Oh, look a new contender,” said the stranger eagerly.
And someone laughed.
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.
Tegid turned around again.
"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.
“You are just loosing your mind,” said stranger patting Tegid on the shoulder, “It was bound to happen eventually.”
The shadows seemed to move in jerking little motions.
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."
Tegid peered into the dark, letting his inner sight take over for the physical sight.
"You want toys," said Tegid pulling out a wooden top, "Have this."
The top was chucked at the shadows
They swirled and danced and the scene changed.
“Oh, now that was just mean,” said the stranger, “Let's dig a little deeper.”
Tegid was in a bathroom the stalls stinking and filthy. He had to relieve imself but he had an overwhelming sense of fear of the stalls. He kicked the first one open and found it a stinking and filled with human waste. The bard nearly vomited. The next one he kicked open was covered in vomit, and the next after that was full of blood. Tegid could not understand what was going on. He kicked the next stall open, the last stall, and the bard stumbled backwards.
When he got up he looked again, and it had not changed. It was occupied, the head of Meldyn the good king and father of Meldron. It sat on a stool and looked back at him.
"And take you my head," it said, “For it is your fault I was killed by my champion. It is your fault my tomb was defiled.”
“Now, you see, I can't see any way out of this,” said stranger.
Tegid shook his head. The Golden King’s grave had not been defiled, what was this? Why was this other man here? Who was he anyway?
He remembered what the creature had said, “ ‘You're seeing, not listening.’”
He did not move, he could not make himself move. He could not decided what to do.
“Maybe you should just admit that most of this was your fault,” said the stranger.
Should he take the talking head? Should he not and leave this room?
The bard felt his heart fall to his knees. His head reeled, and he was unsure which was up. When he opened his eyes and found that he and the head were alone in a large room. He could not see the walls even with his inner sight. It was dark except for one light that hung from an unseen ceiling above them. There was a second stool which Tegid took. He looked around and saw only the void.
“Sing me a song bard,” the head whispered, “Sing me a song of defeat.”
Tegid was not sure if he should. He sat and listened to the void. He heard nothing. He wondered if he should shut his eyes. He did. And still nothing.
“Ooh this should be good,” said the stranger sitting in a dusty easy chair with a tub of fluffy white food that crunched as the stranger ate it.
“Sing,” said the head.
“I know no song for you,” said Tegid.
“Oh, come on!” said the stranger exasperated, “At least you could tell us about how you were blinded. I mean that's a good story of defeat if there ever was one.”
“But you are the Penderwydd of Prydain,” exclaimed the Head.
Tegid remained quiet and rolled his eyes.
“You are the.. The… cause of my death!!!” cried the head.
Tegid closed his eyes and relaxed his body. He began to search the sounds of the space he was in.
“You let the Phantach die,” it accused, “You let me die!”
“Ohh what's the Phantarch?” asked the Stranger, “was he kind of important to the safety of your world?”
“You are an illusion,” remarked Tegid, “You do not exist. Meldryn Moar was laid to rest.”
The head shut it’s mouth and faded away.
“Oh, come on,” said the stranger throwing the snack at the bard, “Give me a little fun here.”
Tegid sighed, “What are you?” he asked of the stranger.
“Oh no one, just your everyday protaganist,” was the reply, “Look, I think we have more company.”
Soon, the room was full of Meldron’s forces, they flew at the bard from all sides, brandishing spears and swords, riding horses that snorted fire.
“I have already had this dream,” said the bard, “Why do you bring it back?”
Spears flew threw the air. He could feel the iron leaf shaped points grazing his skin. Luckily he was not hit. He suddenly felt his head jerked up by the hair. In front of him was Siawn Hy standing poised with a whip. The whip was different from any he had ever seen, it had 7 tails and each tail was embedded with pieces of metal and glass. Siawn had a sneer on his face.
“Goody, Hey Siawn why don't you use that thing, I think it might serve him right,” said the stranger with glee, “I mean you can't get better than an old fashioned lashing can you?”
Siwn smiled and laughed at the the suggestion. Tegid was weery of this dream, but he could not wake up. The fear he felt was almost overwhelming, he knew what happened at the end of the dream.
Siwn Hy the right hand man to Meldron Mawr the son of Meldryn Mawr. Meldron was the Hound of Havoc, he was dead, but Siwn may have not been. These men were evil. These men were the reason why the bards of Albion were dead. These were the reason why Tegid had lost his sight. These were the men responsible for the murder of Meldryn, the great king.
“This is your punishment, bard,” he said.
Tegid’s siarc was torn from his back. The bard was chained with shackles that hung from the ceiling. Meldron came into the dim light he was fingering a wicked looking knife. He came close to the bard and cocked his head. Tegid felt something bite into his skin, it was the prince’s knife. He started at Tegid’s shoulder and cut a deep furrow around the joint. He did the same to his other shoulder and connected them with a line across the breast bone. The bard was bleeding from his new wounds, but he made no sound.
Siawn had fallen behind Tegid. Without warning there was a sharp pain and pieces of skin and muscle were torn from his back. Tegid made no sound as the sharp metal and glass dug into his skin. Tegid fell unconscious, when he awoke he was stripped naked.
“Whooot!” cheered the stranger.
He was bloody and had lost much blood. There was a searing pain in his already raw back, someone was rubbing salt into his wounds. It was all he could do to remain quiet. Tegid closed his eyes, was this what death was?
Tegid opened them again and was greeted with a knife in his guts.
Darkness overtook him, and then he was in his hut the fire dying down, the stranger sitting across from him.
“You should have just let Meldron be king,” he said, “None of this would have happened.”
“I believe it would have,” said Tegid wiping sweat off his brow.
“No, because you chose Llew to be king, many people died,” said the stranger, “It's all your fault. And you know, that if he doesn't leave that he will corrupt your nice little world.”
Tegid closed his eyes.
“No,” he siad, “No, that is not true!”
Tegid sat up in bed shouting and covered in sweat
.