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It was rare that Narcyz was truthful; the incubus’ moments of honesty were highly selective and meticulously timed - always for his own advantage, of course. Narcyz was ever weaving his intricate webs and delicately tight rope walking across them, squirrelling away valuable knowledge until it would best serve him to reveal it. There was one person who he lied to more than anyone else, however; himself. Lies, white or whatever other colour they may be, had become a necessity to facilitate Narcyz’s lifestyle. Especially those he told himself. The careful disregard and deconstruction of his moral code, or lack thereof, had not happened overnight; though a silver tongue backed by indomitable resolve had gone a long way towards speeding the process up.
It was a lie he told himself now as he stepped down from a carriage, placing a gloved hand into the outstretched palm of the driver guiding him down the steps, as though he would need it. He was here to play a game with an old acquaintance, he told himself with his usual airs, turning back into the carriage to scoop up Newes and Grizzel the ferrets, bundling them under his cloak to keep them out of the cold.
It was business as usual, he reiterated to himself as he strode across the graveled path towards the column-flanked doorway, travelling cloak streaming faintly with his momentum. He had no fondness for Reaver beyond that which came naturally with the few creatures he could tolerate. He was here as a social nicety. He was here to play with a plaything that had proven itself occasionally amusing. That was all.
Narcyz was admitted easily enough as he was recognised on sight and strode into Reaver’s home as if he owned the place; his pale cheeks plucked rosy by the bracing cool air outside which he brought a breath of indoors with him. He cast a dark eyed gaze around, his eyes momentarily falling on the doorway to the prized portrait room with a flicker of notable disdain.
“Where is the master of the house? I’m famished.” He asked shortly of the greying man heaving Narcyz’s travelling trunks through the hallway; Narcyz was physically stronger and far more capable. But it wasn’t his job.
“He is occupied at present, Sir. He wasn’t expectin’ visitors, i’m sure he’ll be along presently.”
“See to it that he is. After you’ve taken the trunks to my room.” He sniffed with a dignified tilt to his chin, regarding the human down the length of his nose before stooping. Newes and Grizzel were wriggling like snakes in his hands, eager to be unleashed; Narcyz did so readily, managing a faint and fond smile as he straightened up to watch the two of them bound away excitedly, clawed feet skittering across the polished floorboards. It was short lived; he was soon half-sneering again, clucking his tongue as he took off his cloak and tossed it to the nearest pair of waiting hands.
“What could possibly be occupying him at this hour? Did he get distracted by his own reflection like a budgerigar?”
Basically Nar is old enough that he remembers the days when humans and concubi lived comfortably together. It also means that he witnessed the turning of the tide and saw the relationship between the two races crumble. He saw the cruelty his people endured and their numbers dwindling as witchers and witch hunters turned on them.
He isn't passive about it like many concubi are. He doesn't believe that blunting his teeth and claws in a bid to appear un-threatening is how they will survive. If it's a war humans want it's a war they'll get. Despite being Anathema to his own people, Narcyz will defend other concubi and avenge them with whatever means are at his disposal. Curses, plagues, wholesale slaughter - they'll get whats coming to them
Autumn was a busy time of year for the Concubi as it was for their human brethren; the harvests had to be brought in and preparations made for the long winter ahead, calves to be weaned and brought away from the fields indoors, the hedgerows dividing up the fields to be trimmed and managed back into shape. The Concubi assisted in exchange for a portion of the crop yields; the priests would soon prepare the ritual fires that the livestock would pass between, blessing them with the last of Pan’s graces to protect them from Herne’s wrath. But the humans themselves were to be afforded their own protections too.
Narcyz had eagerly volunteered to take out the solstice bells that year and reluctantly allowed his mother to fuss over him gleefully, pinching his cheeks and gathering up her friends so that they might coo over him and remark on how fine he was growing, how sweet he looked before he walked amongst the humans.
The young incubus moved towards the nearby village with quick and high steps that jingled with each footfall - ribbons adorned with tin bells encircled his hocks and two of his horns bore the same festive adornments, his skin marked with spiralling ceremonial woad that marked him as the bell ringer for the season, painting a great tree spreading across his chest that was heavy with leaves on one side and barren on the other. A crown of ivy wreathed his head, woven about the bases of his horns, and in the crook of his arm hung a basket heavy with the winter bell charms the concubi had carefully crafted the day before.
His smile was bright and eager as the Ealdorman greeted him with an entourage of the village children who were all thrilled to see one of the merry dancers; and one close to their own age too. He lowered his head obligingly as the smallest gaped in awe at his fine horns, delighted them by coiling his long tail into spirals and swatting the plume into giggling faces. He had work to do and the children were eager to assist, tugging and half hanging from his arms as they tried to make him come to their home first, excited to watch him work and proudly show him off to their parents.
The work was simple but the help warmed his heart so he allowed it; dropping handfuls of tiny grey bells and red ribbons onto outstretched palms and watching as they all raced away. The bells were hung above doorways, fastened to livestock fencing and lovingly affixed to the collars of dogs and cats. At each doorway Narcyz paused, brandishing a bundle of birch branches and sweeping them across the threshold and around the doorframe itself; brushing away the ill will that gathered there waiting to latch onto those that passed through. Each and every house received the same treatment whether rich or poor, all given the same prayer and a bright and cheery wish of Pan’s blessings from the merry dancer.
It seemed a strange contradiction Narcyz thought to himself as he chased after a reluctant and hissing cat to uproarious amusement from the watching family; eventually managing to scoop up the feline and hastily affixing a bell to her collar before he scratched his arm by way of thanks and parting gift.
All of this was a funeral preparation. Soon Pan would face a battle with himself; the inevitable loss against Herne and the indomitable arrival of winter. The trees wept their leaves for his passing, the flowers lost their joy and retreated back into the earth; for what joy could there be for them without the summer king’s laughter? Yet; there was still joy to be found. Concubus and human alike found joys within each other, a camaraderie as they linked arms and braced themselves for the fight to come. As the earth around them fell into slumber they would endure and eagerly await his coming once more; a funeral perhaps, but a celebration of life in all its forms all the same.
“Pass the word and pass the plate to all who hunger!”
He bid the villagers as he paused by the signpost at the outskirts, waving his bundle of birch branches in the air.
“Pass the wit of ancient wisdom, pass the cup of wonder! Join in black winter's sadness and take heart; watch for the sun’s coming, listen for the tap of the thyrsus against the ground. The green still runs deep in our hearts and we will carry it through. Farewell! Keep hale! Keep safe!”
He turned with a breathless smile, empty basket in hand and bundle of branches under the crook of his arm, ready to head back to the forests of home.
The sun was sinking sleepily by the time he was heading down the dark and muddy road, his breaths beginning to mist is the encroaching cold. He hurried himself, eager to be back by the fires; though hesitated as a shape caught his eye. He had reached a crossroads, un-signposted for the locals here presumed everyone knew where they were going. He was supposed to take the fork right and it would lead him home; but the fork left was currently occupied by a visitor that fixed him with amber eyes.
It was a billy goat; but not one of the scraggly, muddy things that caused havoc in the village. His black coat was long and sleek, his spiralling horns arching backwards in elegant grey branches, eyes bright and alert in the hue of honey. He stood patiently and wiggled his tail as he saw Narcyz, raising himself onto his hindlegs and pinning his forelegs to his chest. Narcyz grinned and came forwards to meet him, holding out his hand and shoving against his forehead playfully. The goat came back to the earth and gently butted his head against his side; the incubus reached out to scratch the base of his horns obligingly and he half closed his eyes.
Then, he was tearing his head away abruptly and trotting back to the left forking road. He halted, a foreleg pausing mid-air, staring straight ahead. Narcyz followed his gaze and saw about a mile down the road; another house. He frowned; he’d missed a farm? That wouldn’t do - and this fine creature had elected to inform him before the day was done and the place would have to last the winter without protection. Blessed creatures they were, goats; Pan’s favoured and gifted with his insight, his envoys. Narcyz let his gaze fall back to the road home; he’d be scolded if he was late back, but he’d be remiss to ignore such a sign, wouldn’t he?
“Thank you.” He bid the creature with a respectful bow as it gazed back at him; by way of reply it began to trot down the road towards the house, and Narcyz followed in his wake.
The farm was oddly quiet when he arrived. The windows stared out at him like glum, black eyes with no light within despite the encroaching dark, the paint on the frames peeling. The roof was darkened with moss, the thatching damp and dreary looking. Peering around though he could see signs of life; a pair of muddy boots by the door, a half empty bucket of chicken feed. There were people and animals here and they needed protection same as anyone else.
“How clever of you to know they were here-” He addressed the goat, turning back to it; only to find he had disappeared without even leaving his cloven hoofprints behind in the mud. The hairs on Narcyz’ arms stood on end and he rubbed at them in a bid to keep away the cold that was intensified under the shade of unkempt trees, smudging his ceremonial paints with his trembling fingers.
Basket empty of bells he elected to unwind the ribbons from his own horns, carefully untying the strings and clutching them tightly in his hands as he moved to set about his work. He started at the doorway first, doing an extra thorough job of cleansing the dreary house and hanging a whole chain of bells from the horseshoe nailed to the transom before he swept away, clucking his tongue and sweeping his gaze about the place to try and find the livestock. The hen house was easy enough to find; he bid the ladies within a good evening where they nested broodily in their lopsided and dirty pens, clucking his tongue to them affectionately as he wound more bells around the door handle. He wound some around the gate of a field where he could see dairy cattle laid to rest in the lavender dark; taking a moment to admire the view shrouded in misty autumn breath before he hesitated.
Farmers often nailed pests to their fences; it wasn’t uncommon to see the lifeless bodies of rabbits in particular, hung in solemn and gruesome warning. And at first, Narcyz was struck by how odd it was for a dairy farmer to hang oxen tails from the fence of his own field. He approached with grim curiosity, wrinkling his nose with disgust as he peered closer. But before he could examine them closer he heard a great, booming bark and turned sharply; 2 large dogs were racing towards him and for a moment he smiled, ready to greet them and apologise to their owner for the lateness of his arrival.
But the dogs didn’t stop and the closer they got he could see the whites of their eyes and the redness of their jaws, lips drawn back over their snarling white teeth. They weren’t coming to greet him he realised then, panic seizing him as he heard a bellowing voice behind them. The farmer approached, a grizzled man with a beard down to his chest and a pitchfork in his hand; the other was waving in the air furiously, the string of bells in his grip jingling dully.
“GET OUT OF HERE WITH THIS HEATHEN FILTH!” He roared furiously as he marched forwards with a heavy limp, spitting with the force of his words. “Bring dark magic here will ye? OUT, DEVIL! OUT!”
Narcyz dropped his bundle of birch branches and his empty basket, breaking into a run. But he didn’t know the layout of this place and found himself cornered against the doors of a barn, fencing on either side that he couldn’t leap over. His chest burned with his panting breaths as he wheeled sharply; the dogs did too as he made a break for it, racing to head him off. The first snapped at his heels so close its teeth caught the tufts of fur on his fetlocks and he cried out in surprise, stumbling and slipping in the mud.
“I’ll have your tail on my fence an all, filthy sylvan! Aye, get it! Get it!”
Jaws closed around his thigh and pain shot through him so fiercely his leg gave out from under him, heavy paws colliding with his back as he was forced into the mud. Narcyz shrieked in agony and kicked out fiercely, feeling his hoof connect sharply with something solid with a loud crack. He half curled in on himself to make himself smaller before tossing himself onto his back, his breaths ragged and whimpering as he struck out blindly again at the dog now lunging for his face; the other lay dead, bleeding from a wound to its head and this one nearly met the same fate. The incubus’ hoof connected with it’s chest and tossed it away from him through the air with a shrill yelp of pain. Narcyz scrambled to his feet as best he could, feeling the wound in his thigh scream beyond the dulling of adrenaline as he forced himself to run as fast as he could. The farmer was still bellowing furiously at something but Narcyz didn’t turn to see what, didn’t hear, didn’t stop; racing as quickly as he could back towards the road that had led him there.
Finally back at the crossroads, chest burning and heaving he stopped; falling against a fence and whimpering as he ghosted a hand to his injured thigh. Blood stained his fingers dark and he hissed through his teeth, tears rolling down his cheeks and cutting paths through the paints on his skin. He took a moment then to turn, resting his arm against the fence as he made sure the farmer wasn’t following.
The wind fell into hush as he saw it again; the black goat stood in the field watching him with those slumberous amber eyes before turning its head back to the farm.
‘They weren’t oxen tails.’
The voice within him silenced the pain he felt and he stared, dumbfounded, blue eyes wide and every vein in his body turning to ice as his heart clenched.
‘They weren’t oxen tails.’
“They were concubus tails.” His words came as mist. The goat blinked back at him slowly.
‘He has not earned protection from Herne. And nor does he have protection from you, Narcyz. Tell me, little lamb; what does such a man deserve? Think carefully now.’
Narcyz’ anger burned in him as he stared hatefully at the distant silhouette of the farm house. His fists clenched until they shook, his nails digging into his palms. He felt as though his very gaze might force the place to erupt into flame, but nothing so dramatic came to pass.
‘Concentrate. Think hard. It is within your grasp to avenge them without dirtying your hands. He has earned this. He needs to reap what he has sown in that forsaken place. Think hard. Sink your fingers deep into the earth. Salt it.’
Narcyz continued to stare, exhaling harshly through flared nostrils. Spite broiled in him like venom he might spit like a snake as he envisioned winter’s wrath laying the place to waste. He wished the farmer and his estate every ill will; he wished for Herne to ride in on his stag and smother him in snow. He wished for his cattle to grow lame and wither from illness, for his fields to grow barren and the earth to turn acid. He wished that next winter, should he pass by here again he would only see ruin, the crumbling stone work reclaimed by trees and weeds.
He had not realised that he had stood there until nightfall until he felt a warmth against his leg. He blinked heavily and lowered his head to see the billy goat resting his face against his injured thigh; which was no longer hurting. The blood had dried, the pain no longer shot through him, no longer fuelled his spite and insurrection.
‘Home now, little lamb. You have done well.’
“Overlooking, Narcyz! OVERLOOKING! Wherever did you learn such an evil thing?”
Narcyz refused to bow his head, looking between the priest and his mother with anger and confusion. A week had passed since he had borne the solstice bells to the villagers, and word had now reached the clan of great calamity. A local farmer; the regions most reliable source of milk, meat and eggs, had been sent spiralling into ruin. Milking the cows had yielded sour and bloodied milk. The hens were egg bound, the yield they managed to produce already rotten as soon as they laid it; their meat was spoiled already when they were slaughtered in a desperate attempt to recoup something from them. His potato crop had been struck with blight. There was nothing to glean from his land, not a damn thing.
Narcyz raised his head further, nostrils flaring as he glared between them.
“He got what he deserved!” He sputtered furiously, clenching his fists. “He was a murderer! He set his dogs on me and he had a whole row of tails nailed to his fence; concubus tails! Such a man deserved no clemency-”
“That is not for you to decide, Narcyz! And you were seen! Caught overlooking! Wicked, wicked child.”
“If it was not mine to decide,” He countered slowly with shadowed gaze. “Then why did my will make it happen? Why did Pan see fit to teach me, to-”
“Pan did no such thing! Pan would not-”
“I did as I was bade!” Narcyz hissed angrily. “No more concubi will die at his hands.”
“And the villagers, hm? Are they all to starve for one man’s wickedness?”
“There is no give without take, no taking without giving. He took lives. And the gods will take his as payment for those lost. The will goes beyond mine, does it not? I was only a vessel for it. And I would do it again.”
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“The dark half of the year is upon us; do you know what that means for us? The fire of the sun is extinguished and Pan is dead. Those you refuse to see care not now - they still see you. Light your fires, lock your doors, cover your eyes all you like. Herne rides and now is the time for all that is misbegotten, unnatural and uncanny. There is only one way to escape the wrath of the winter court; join it.”
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