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 Musicology Anthology Entry |
| Notes ▼ “Get up, sleepy head!” a deep voice rumbles, the vibrations ricocheting around her skull. The ground is hard and uncomfortable, not the usual softness of her bed. The cold leaching from the flagstone slabs burrows deep into her bones, making her muscles heavy and slow, as she stirs with small, tentative movements. "That's it Leigh..." "Urgh..." she croaks, "Water?" The muted light filtering through her closed lids makes her eyeballs ache. This is not another hangover. She has not touched the lavender wine since her grandmother reprimanded her in front of the whole coven, but the headache slowly creeping across her head is reminiscent of one. "Here." A small lump lands on her torso with a thud. “What in the name of all that’s holy…?” she murmurs. She reaches for the tanned leather waterskin and drags it to her cracked lips to quench her thirst. The water is refreshing, but stale. She sits up and rubs her temples, as she gazes around the abandon graveyard. “Where am I?” She looks down. Her jeans are soaked through, and her red blouse is clinging to her body like a second skin. Standing gingerly, she turns to take in her surroundings and raises her hand to block out the bite of the sun. Her socks are waterlogged and chafe against the ruined leather of her boots. Imposing mausoleums and family vaults tower over the small square in which she stands, packed tightly together. The once white granite is aged by time and neglect; the caress of creeping lichen and moss soften its harsh corners, while the occasional fern brakes through the cracked stonework like limbs of the dead, trying to escape their confines. Leigh shivers. Goosebumps trail her exposed forearms, and she rubs her hands against her skin, but it does little to warm her body. “Finally!” a gruff voice says, “I thought you’d never wake up.” She startles and spins on her heels to face a boy. His face still has glimpses of youthful plumpness, but the harsh angles and weathered skin of adulthood have started to peek through the smattering of blonde stubble along his soft jaw line. But it is his eyes that hold her attention; an icy storm of grey, wrapped in a predatory gaze that tracks her every movement. “Who are you?” she asks, as she throws the water pouch towards him. “And where am I?" “Me?” He stands and yawns, raising his arms high above his head, stretching his tall frame like a large cat. “My name is Arawn... Though you may know me as Gwyn ap Nudd.” “The White Winter....” Leigh exhales, shaking her head, "You can't be..." A smile tugs at the corner of his lips and he descends the stone steps, each footstep slow and controlled, as he eats up the distance until he is standing before her. He lifts a strand of her damp hair and twirls it lazily around his fingers, “And you, Cariad, are in the City of the Dead.” With wide eyes and mouth slightly ajar, she staggers back and shakes her head. “What...? I can’t be. You’re mistaken!" She stills and takes in the faded headstones that adorn the nearby tombs. "Why... How am I here?” she asks. “I thought it would be obvious. You're here because you died! Or... you're dying. It’s currently a work in progress.” He pauses and points around the graveyard, “This is the Between.” “The what…?” “The Between. The place between the Living and the Otherworld. It's meant to be a pitstop on the way to Annwn...” he tilts his head and studies her face, tracing each freckle that delicately peppers her nose and cheeks. “How did I get here?” she questions. “You drowned at Cauldron Falls. You lost your footing on the edges of the cascades and fell into the rolling waters of the plunge pool. By the looks of things, you knocked your head.” She touches the side of her temple. It's tender and wet, like a bruised peach. A sharp pain spreads along her hairline as she traces the edges of a deep cut and her fingers come away sticky, covered in congealing blood. ”Lucky for you,” Arawn continues, “Your friend is a tenacious little thing! She jumped right in after you and pulled you out… Remarkable, considering her size.” “What friend?” Leigh blinks in confusion. “The annoying little whisp that is currently pushing on your ribs and forcing air into your earthly body.” “Is that what this pain is?” she asks, rubbing her sternum with her knuckles. “What now? What do you want with me?” He huffs a laugh in response, “With you…? Nothing. I’m just here to guide you to the Otherworld. Or I was…” he pauses, then prowls closer. “Are you sure you don’t know her? She seems very… invested." “No. I’ve no idea who she is.” "Hmmm..." Leigh arches an eyebrow, “So, what are you? A psychopomp?”. “Well done! Colour me impressed. You know your other-worldly creatures I’ll give you that. Yes, I’m a psychopomp. A conductor of souls and a very good one. Or I was… until your little human interfered.” “My soul? I'm not giving you my soul!” she replies and shakes her head. “I have to get out of here...” Arawn releases a gleeful sigh, "I never tire of hearing that. The fear and desperation... It's so strong I can almost taste it. Every soul tries to cling to the mortal realm. But no one can escape from here, Leigh. No one can escape from me…” “You're lying-" "No… I'm not. It's impossible. You can run, but I will catch you. You can hide, but time will run out and I will find you.” “Everything seems impossible, until it's not. This isn’t any different!” she says defiantly, stepping away. “Oh, I do like you, Cariad. I like your spirit,” Arawn smiles and steps forward, closing the gap until they are standing flush against each other. “Are you going to make this interesting? It's been eons since I had a real challenge,” he asks eagerly. Leigh slips her hands between their bodies and pushes against his firm chest. “Stay away from me! There has to be a way. There is always a loophole– wait,” Leigh looks around the cemetery and points at the sky. "The light, it hasn’t changed since I woke up. And this pain in my chest– You can’t take me until I die... Out there… Until the human gives up...” “Hmmm… Bright and beautiful. That is a dangerous and enticing combination,” he chuckles. Ignoring the butterflies fluttering in the pit of her stomach, Leigh replies, “I'm right, aren’t I. Which means there has to be a way back. A way out of here. Where is it?” “Do you honestly think I’m going to tell you?” “Yes. I do.” “And why is that Cariad?” he purrs. “Because you’re bored. Because you’re like a fat farm cat that doesn’t have to chase rats anymore. You miss it.” “A fat cat…?” he laughs, “That’s what I remind you of? I must be losing my touch…” “You’re not denying it though, are you… ?” “No. It appears not... Fine, I will indulge you. You can return to your boring mortal life, IF you can escape this maze. I'll even give you a head start.” He turns and gestures to the necropolis of rolling tombs. “At the very centre of the maze lies the Pool of Reflection. It is the only portal back to the land of the living. If you can make it to its waters, I will let you go.” “That’s it? I find the pool and I get to go home?” He chuckles darkly, “No Leigh, nothing is ever that simple. The maze changes… the tombs move... And there are things in my labyrinth far worse than me. They will not let you go easily. Especially now we have your scent." He leans in, his thumb ghosting across her hairline with a light and warm touch that is the opposite of death. He brings the bloody digit to his lips and closes his eyes to savour the taste. "If you want to live. You will have to fight for every breath that your human pushes into your body. And when she gives up on you. When she finally stops… Your chance of escape will evaporate like the air she pumps into your lungs, and I will drag you straight into the Otherworld.” “So, my life is in the hands of a stranger, someone I’ve never met?” “As much as it's in your own, yes." His eyes dart back and forth across her face once more. "Time to get going Cariad. If you want to win your life back, you need to keep moving. Your life is clinging to the light of day, and it's running out!” Leigh turns and sprints down an avenue of chipped granite and cracked marble in the direction of the waning light. The pathway is narrow, an uneven trail of broken flagstones and upturned tree roots that snag her boots, knocking her off kilter and bounding her into the white-washed walls and wrought iron fences that block her way. Arawn footsteps are heavy, but slow. A steady pace that is in no hurry to catch up or chase her. It's the opposite of her racing heart that is threatening to stage its own escape attempt. It's a cocky show of confidence that matches his persona. She turns another corner and is confronted with a tall stone wall - a dead-end. She screams in frustration. “Tick, tock, Cariad,” he calls out, “That sun is getting awfully low. I wonder how much longer your little human will hold out before she gives up.” “Arrogant, fucking arsehole…” she breathes, scouring for a way forward. "Is it arrogance or confidence?" his reply echoes. She retreats to the mouth of the narrow alleyway. It's still empty, but retracing her steps would be suicide. The mausoleum that blocks her way is flanked on both sides by two equally tall monstrosities, penning her in like a stone coffin. She stops her pacing and crouches low to the ground, slowly bouncing on the balls of her feet to warm her cooling muscles. She studies the crumbling brickwork and nods her head. "Please work....' she prays. She runs towards the wall and jumps, pushing off the side wall and stepping up the adjacent one until her hands grip the slate tiles. She hauls her body up and stands on the roof looking over the sprawling graveyard. A series of howls pierce the air, one after another. From different directions, multiple creatures, all hunting her, closing in and tightening the noose. She turns her head towards the sounds and her blood chills. In the pathways surrounding her, five large, white wolves, with ears tipped blood red, are converging on her, their pitch-black eyes trained on her. Leigh gulps and turns and runs. Leaping across the rooftops, broken tiles tumbling to the ground and shattering in her wake. Despite the burn in her lungs, she continues on, balancing on the crumbling ruins of boundary walls and the rusting metal of decaying fences. From her vantage point she can see the pool. A large, circular platform of glistening white that rises from the earth and encases a thick, dark liquid, that’s so still it looks like obsidian. She leaps from the roof and tucks into a roll, coming to a stop in a crouch before a tall familiar figure. "They’re yours then?” She points at the creature at Arawn’s feet. He pats the beast’s head and nods. "And you didn’t think to mention that the damn mutts chasing me belonged to you?” Arawn whistles and the howls and snarls of the other approaching beasts quiet, “I thought that would be obvious, and it’s not wise to insult the Cwn Annwn, Cariad.” The hound's red ears twitch at its title. "They have stood down, but they are still the dogs of death... Besides, you still made it to the centre of my labyrinth.” “For all the good it did me… You’re still between me and my exit.” “That’s true, Cariad," he sighs, and a satisfied smirk ghosts his face. “Why do you keep calling me that? Cariad…? What does it mean?” Arawn smiles, “It’s a term of endearment amongst my people. It means dear one." Leigh’s cheeks flush. “Dear one? I don’t think we are acquainted enough for pet names.” Arawn clutches his chest, “Don’t say that. You wound me! "If only it was that simple..." "You gave it a good try. It was even mildly entertaining. But, regardless of how fascinating I find you; I can’t let you leave.” “I’m not giving you a choice Arawn.” “Oh no?” he laughs. “No!” Her tone is firm and resolute, “I’m going back.” Leigh feigns to the right, and then dashes to her left and with three quick strides, and jumps towards the pool. She lands on the stone rim and steps back into the thick, dark liquid. Even at the water’s edge, the pool is deep and starts to devour her. Arawn throws out his arm and grabs hold of her wrist in a vice like grip, spinning her round to face him. She gasps as a searing pain burns along her arm where their skin meets. "Let… Me... Go! I made it to the water. I’ve met your demand." She plants her remaining foot against the wall and leans backwards, staring into the grey eyes of her tormentor. “No!” “You promised. A psychopomp can’t go back on his word.” She pushes off the pools edge, letting gravity pull her down into the swirling abyss, as it steadily rises around her ribs - Arawn strong grip the only thing keeping her above the surface. He leans out over the pool, bracing a hand against the stone lip. “Never going to happen…” he strains through gritted teeth. “You have to let me go. If you don’t, I’ll pull you through with me!” she taunts, “Tell me, what happens to the dead if they go through the veil?” His hand and forearm breach the water and pain laces his face. “That’s where you are mistaken, Cariad… I’m not dead, And this…” he replies, “You and me… It’s not over!” “It is for now!” Leigh reaches out and grips his wrists. Dragging her face towards his arm, she sinks her teeth into the fleshy muscle above his thumb, and bites down, breaking the skin. The metallic taste of blood coats her tongue. Arawn staggers back and clutches his wounded hand to his chest. “NO!” he shouts, “We are not done! I will have your soul!” “But not today!” she replies and sinks beneath the surface. The pain in her chest becomes sharper. “Come on girlie… Don’t you bloody give up on me yet,” a soft, feminine voice demands, “That’s it, open those eyes.” Leigh coughs and purges water from her lungs, “Welcome back… I’m Wren!” Lyrics ▼ |
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