Tales in Scarlett

Previous Chapters can be found here:

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

From Chapter Four: Scarlett sat at the long central table; tracing the burnished symbols on the cover of the book with her delicate fingers, ‘The Syched Coch’. She slowly turned the first page.

1. Þa Cræftas of Þam Syched Coch

A Long afore þe dawn oþ þe common era, in þe shadow-hid recesse oþ antiquity, þere thrive’d an order æncient, cnown but to feaw, as þe Syched Coch. Þeir tale is woven þrough þe needle's eye oþ þe transcendent and mortal realms.

In þe lands mist-covered, grene oþ þe Welsh homeland primordial, born oþ þe wexing blood oþ moon, þere dwelt a maiden oþ beauty exquisite þat her renown spread wide o'er þe rolling hills and craggy mountaintops; falling upon þe valleys in whiten’d snaw. Her hair be as dark as þe raven's wing, and her eyes, nighl deep, as þe forest’s soul.

Alas, a heart oþ woman be not her own. Manawydan’s fæder, blind’d by grædiness and ambition oþ man, betroþed her to wealh and power, a man whose heart be as cold as þe winter ice. He be cruel and unkind, and ælke day be a þorn in þe delicate heart oþ Manawydan.

Entrapped oþ sorrow, þe light in her eyes be black, and her laugh, once þe tinkling oþ silver bells, be heard no more. Her spirit bear’d not þe weight oþ her misery, flotorian out oþ her body like a caged bird be free. Þe people oþ þe land mourned, for þe world seem’st dim without her.

Þey buried her in a silcen líc-tún, beneath þe æncient boughs oþ þe Nant Gwynant Oak, where þe wind fleswian þrough þe leaves. But þe Manawydan’s spirit know peace not. Wronged in life, she be bound to þe earth by her unquench’d þirst for vengeance.

When þe moon be a silvery crescent in þe velvet sky, she rised oþ þe líc-tún. A ghostly figure in white, her beauty undimmed by deaþ, she wandered þe night. Men, captivat’d by her eðereal charm, follow’d her into þe darkness, to return not never.As she read, Scarlett’s eyes began to decipher the ancient script-as if she were aligning with her heritage, her mind tapping into some ancient wisdom she had been suppressing.

The Syched Coch, they said, had returned from the grave, her kiss as deadly as the coldest winter. To prevent her vengeful spirit from rising, the villagers had piled stones upon her grave, a heavy, silent testament to their fear of the unexplainable.

And so, the Syched Coch from her imprisonment filtered her anguish and sorrow into the dark earth; mixing with the veined roots of the once dead- she awakened the avengers who would unite in futures untold to rid the realms of wolves. And she too would rise. The Syched Coch. Born of the waxing blood moon. The most thirsty of them all.

2. The Powers Bestowed

Her potencies were many and fearsome. A potency that could bend the wills of man and the walls of iron, speed that could rival the hurricane wind, and senses, that when heightened, could track a predator across shifting landscapes and dominions. Yet, her most formidable power was her ability to shape-shift at will; seamlessly metamorphosing into any form that so pleased her. A taloned or clawed guardian against the darkness that preyed upon the innocent. Though she would not unveil this immediately.

3. Of Ancient Battles Passed

As centuries turned, The Syched Coch flourished. They intertwined with villagers their existence unknown but their hands guiding the hand of battles and wars. Their motives not driven by loyalty to King and throne but by righteousness and the pursuit of justice. They sat on councils and forums –navigating the outcomes of ancient feuds. Their hands though invisible, penetrated through the lands They grew rich from high ranking positions. Careful never to be seen with blood on their lips.

4. The Fall

The Syched Coch had grown powerful. But the new era brought new challenges. Rising superstitions and fear of the inexplicable rose once again. Men hunted what they feared with spears and fire. Women throwing fuel into it. Accusations dropping through the air like rain. Innocent men and women burned for the word of another –their souls releasing and spreading further into the Syched Coch. No one was safe. Once the first stone is thrown it is inevitable that those that follow will hit at least one true target. The Syched Coch were forced into the shadows, their existence guarded and silent along the outskirts of their respective villages. It was during this time that they learned the art of concealment-shapeshifting through the streets in their chosen for was born of the necessity of survival living amongst those they protected, unseen and unknown.

5. The Resurrection

Bendigeidfran, the ruler of Nant Gwynant had been but a young soldier, a royal who had insisted on his duty to defend the land. It was then that he had encountered the Syched Coch. The Caratacusisan, his sword thrown above his head as Bendigeidfran cowered beneath. Out of the dust of battle he saw her face; lips painted scarlet and her hematitian eyes glinting like armoured metal. She grabbed the enemy with a single elegant hand, flinging him backwards like a pebble. He landed with a crash. Grabbing the sword, she had thrust it into him. He had watched silently as she, unable to control her yearing, gorged on the blood of the usurper. Being a little of the Tylwyth Teg, he was not horrified but more grateful.

As time and tide passed Bendigeidfran would grow into his power; his gratitude grew year on year, as he reaped the rewards of a flourishing land. For decades, he and his men had searched the land for the woman that had saved him to no avail.

The answer had come to him in a dream of sorts. He had woken up with it clouded on the cusp of the winter snow. He announced his plan to his expectant people. “Tomorrow”, he said with all the muster he could give it, there would be a purge of the prisoners. Tomorrow, they would be hanged at dawn. He knew it was risky and in all likelihood would result in his own bloodlessness but he had to see her. To thank her at least.

That night as he readied himself for bed, he heard the gentle rustle of his curtains before he saw her.

“So” she said, from her perched position at the end of his bed, her skin luminescent and her dark eyes flaring with controlled disdain, “I had thought you were different”

He opened his moved to speak. She was in front of him, a taloned red nail stroking the side of his face –drawing blood. She leant in further, her teeth nibbling his ear, “The power went to your head I see” she whispered slowly so that he heard every syllable, “I didn’t save you for that to happen now did I?” She slapped him hard in the face.

The sting woke him from his trance, “No wait!” He exclaimed. The earnestness in his tone disconcerted her. He had an opening.

“Please” He gestured towards the bed, “Please sit and I will explain.

Caught off guard, she sat.

He told of the battle field, of his gratitude

As she listened Manawydan began to soften.

She placed her elegant hand on his knee, “This had better not be a trap”

“Oh-It is” he said softly, quickly adding, “But not the kind you think”

He explained his plan. They, the Syched Coch, would be the protectors of his realm and he would ensure their safety and place within it. He would give them a shared purpose again, away from the fragmented existence they had lived since the cleansing.

“And the prisoners?” She asked tentatively, hoping that his words were true but reluctant to believe it.

“I am sorry” He bowed his head, “I have spent many years searching. It was the only way I could think of to make you return. An unjust act that I hoped you could not ignore. The prisoners will remain as such until a fair trial is concluded”

And so it was that Bendigeidfran endowed the Syched Coch with protective powers. They were now the official adversaries of wolves. The silent protectors who were tasked with dispelling the land of predators.

The Syched Coch fought alongside Bendigeidfran, for hundreds of years until his death. Manawydan, was carrying his baby. His last dying wish. Consumed with grief and a longing to give her new born another life, she had moved to the forest, hoping that the only wolves she would encounter were of the animal kind. On her departure –The original, and life blood of the clan, the group disbanded. No longer united in a shared mission but separated by a desire for more.

“I don’t understand time” she whispered, “It just doesn’t make any sense”

The page flipped beneath her finger- an invisible quill responding in resplendent gold lettering…it began.

Time is not how you construe it. For the Tylwyth Teg and The Syched Coch time is of no meaning. It lasts until destiny is fulfilled and begins again in endless cycle of rebirth and death.

As she read, Scarlett heard her Great-grandmother’s voice whispering around the chamber.

And who are you Great-grandmother she asked aloud. Her words rebounding through the reading room and reforming in front of her.

“I am Manawydan”

The page flipped forward

It was blank.

She touched it tentatively. Her mind awash with all that she had learned and disappointment that there was no more. As her fingers brushed the surface it undulated beneath their weight- casting ripples of ink across the page – it glimmered and swilled into a whirlpool before settling and spreading across the page in elegant calligraphic lettering.

6. The Dawning Epoch and Scarlett's Inheritance

Siarlotta Ferch Rhydding, revered daughter of the blood moon. the text read, born of the Syched Coch and the Tylwyth Teg, The protectors, guardians of justice and seekers of wolves. Your powers are many and great. Under the moon’s watchful gaze, the shadows of night are yours to counter, listen wisely and you will come to understand the steady beat of pulsating life.

Like the predator that knows its prey, you will discern lies from truths; walking unseen through the many pathways you will choose to navigate. You have the strength of a thousand Teulu. The speed of the Peregrine falcon and the instincts of a mountain lioness. You are the culmination of your lineage. But you must hone your prowess. Learn of you own strengths so far unknown.

The words faded, leaving Scarlett alone in the silence of the grand reading room, her heart pulsed with apprehension. Her journey was not just her own - it was the continuation of a legacy that she was destined to follow. And with it came the heavy weight of responsibility towards the innocent and the weak. She was a manifested darkness, born to protect the light.

She closed the last page gently.

Chapter 6