the Things the Marsh Remembers ((Closed to Archanex))

[DarkDelights]

((most of my posts will be about half this size. I'm just getting back in the swing of things and the first one came out long))

“Now now my love, we'll be there by nightfall, don't you worry,” the scaled wagoneer spoke soothingly to his wife who sat uncomfortably on a straw pillow, leaning on her husband for moral support. The wagon jostled violently and the woman blanched. “Coddswallop!” the dracari wagoneer cursed. “I'm sorry Pet, its just... Its like someone pulled up every second brick! By the Four, I don't toil like a slave so those winged toads can just neglect the damn roads!” The human woman groaned again, loudly this time, but was cut short by the howling of a wolf in the distance. She looked about, startled, but not frightened, for they were stout farmers both and the countryside was their domain. They had not, however, been in the country side for some hours now. Surrounded by willow trees on both sides, their pale green branches hanging nearly to the ground like a lady's frock and glistening from the last rain, neither traveller could see from where the howls came. It seemed far enough off and there was no cause for panic.

The dragon-man was no different in form than any human male, save that his skin was covered in scales, a deep, rich brass in color, and his eyes were like molten gold, with black vertical slits in place of pupils. His fingers ended in cracked, blunt claws that he skritched affectionately on the woman's bulging tummy to sooth her as the wolves bantered behind the veil of willows, this time further off. The dracari smiled, his brown lips parted exposing slightly pointed teeth. The pair of Suthainnian draft horses which pulled the laden wagon along - whether it wanted to follow or not – had been a good investment. The towering beasts were more than enough to scare away a small pack of wolves. He touched his wife's belly again, still smiling.

One of the black draft horses whinnied, reared, and the heavy wagon halted. The golden-eyed serf peered down the road, thankful the mists of earlier had dissapated. The road forked up ahead, left and right, and a weatherbeaten signpost as big as a totem pole stood in the center of the intersection. Driving his agitated horses slowly, he approached the small clearning where the cobblestone road split three ways, and examined the waypoint pillar, frowning. It seemed to have been defaced. No useful information was legible, replaced with lewd graffiti and carven scoundrel poetry. He caught his wife sniffing the air with great interest from the corner of his eye, and then he too caught wind of the aroma. Grilled leeks. Stewed tomatoe. And something else. Mint?

“Hail, friends!”

Both figures on the forefront of the wagon sat upright, a sudden chill creeping up their backs that not even the ominous howling of wolves had achieved, and the horses huffed again in alarm.

“Won't you join me for a meal?”

-

Harchibald fluffed the straw pillow for his wife who gratefully repositioned herself on the fallen tree, working the straw with her behind 'til it suited her.

“You two are too much. If that isn't true love, I don't know what is,” honeyed words flowed out of a dark, shapely mouth. “how far along did you say you were Melinda?”

The pregnant human absently rubbed her large belly and smiled. “I'm due at the end of the month,” she looked up dreamily. “It's twins.”

“You are surely charmed by the fey, good woman,” the third traveller spoke through the smile she wore as a mask. There was a brief uncomfortable silence as Harchibald and Melinda sat on the fallen tree. The human woman fussed with some mud on the hem of her white linen dress, and adjusted her puffy bonet needlessly while her dragonkin husband's eyes wandered. The newcomer bent over low, the hem of her form fitting black dress rising, and stirred a small kettle on the campfire she had been maintaining all day, her back to the wed couple. Black smoke from the damp firewood drifted lazily into the willow branches that surrounded the small clearing to the side of the fork. Harchibald checked himself as he realized he was staring, and cleared his throat with a rumble, attempting to rekindle the dying conversation.

“You know, you frightened us,” he said with a throaty chuckle. “We didn't see you there. What did you say your name was again, miss...”

“I didn't.”

“I beg your pardon?” the seated reptilian asked.

“I didn't tell you my name,” the camper said, standing up from the cooking fire with a wooden ladel in her hand. It still dripped with hot brown stew. She turned once more to face the couple, flashing a broad, toothy smile. “Almost ready!”

“Great, because I'm starving,” Melinda spoke up cheerily. “I didn't even realize how hungry I was until you invited us to share your lunch.” In truth, it was her husband who had accepted the invitation, and Melinda didn't like the woman much, dispite her apparent generosity. She didn't like how she had tried on more than one occasion to touch her belly. She didn't like the way she “bounced” when she giggled at her husband's silly jokes. Plus her breath was foul. Still, Melinda hadnt eaten since supper the night prior, skipping breakfast in favor of making good time to Suthainn. She scolded herself, thinking so poorly of someone who was about to feed a pair of hungry travellers.

“Yes, I think its done,” the woodland gormand said, bringing her palms together excitedly. She turned around again, obscuring the view of the kettle for just long enough to loosen the phlegm from the back of her throat and drop the yellow loogie into the roiling stew with a barely audible 'plop'. With one more generous stir, she doled out a generous portion into a pair of wooden bowls with tin spoons already within. Harchibald rubbed his scaled hands together enthusiastically as she handed out the food.

“Thank you very much!” the dracari said graciously, his wife seconding the notion. “So, as I was saying earlier... Oh! Haaaashhhh-haaaa... Hot. Mmm, that's quite good. Hot. So as I was saying, we decided that as the big day draws near, it would be more practical to move to Suthainn and be nearer to the midwife. So after settling our affairs, we packed our worldly belongings onto the wagon, and here we are! Say, is that coney I taste?”

“Caught it in the marsh this morning,” the cook said, pleased her food was being well received. She made her way to her seat on a willow stump where her still-steaming earthernware mug sat nearby. She picked it up and pressed it to her lips, slurping noisily and exhaling profoundly.

“Say, are you not eating?” they asked her.

“Oh, I've already had my fill, please, indulge yourselves. There's more than enough.” It wasn't completely a lie. She had eaten earlier that morning, just before dawn. She happened across a cluster of peculiar mushrooms with violet caps and white speckles. She greedily consumed the largest of them, and decided she would keep the rest for tea. Her pupils were still dialated from its effects, but her dining companions had never met her brilliant green eyes long enough to notice. She crossed her legs femininely and took another long pull from her mug. “So you're going to the city. That's too bad. The bridge is in such disrepair. I don't know if it would hold your wagon. In fact, I'm certain it will not.”

The pair looked up from their already empty bowls and eyed eachother. The bridge being out could mean another three days of travel including the back tracking they would have to do to get back out of the marsh's fringes. Noticing their concern, their host lowered her mug and smiled warmly. “Don't despair yet, you can simply take the other road. It may add another day to your travel, its true. But after it passes under the bridge, it eventually rejoins the main road further along! The lady will be nesting in your new home before supper time tomorrow!”

“Truly?” they asked in unison, their spirits lifting. Melinda raised an eyebrow as the cook got up again to collect their bowls for a refill. She noted the light, and very unnecessary brush of a finger along the contour of her husband's muscled shoulder as she passed. “I've lived here a long time and I can't recall anyone ever using the left road. Where does it even go?”

The woman shrugged after bringing their seconds, and then helped herself to a seat next to Harchibald, mug in hand. He could catch wiffs of the pungent tea mixed with her personal scent of marsh lily and... something else. Something both earthy and unsettling at the same time. “People lived on the cusp of the marsh, once. It was a long time ago though. You may even see some of the ruins of old houses reclaimed by the swamp.” She did not miss the questioning looks between the guests at her campsite. “But the road was built on a causeway above the water and I'm certain your wagon will have no trouble navigating it,” she shrugged. "If you're afraid, simply go whence you came. Take some stew to keep you warm on the extra days of travel.” She loosened the black slipper off her heel and dangled it with her toes, ever so lightly brushing her heel against Harchibald's leg. “Or, stay here tonight, decide in the morning, and share my camp.” Melinda did not miss the gesture that came with the invitation.

“Well, thank you so much for lunch. Really, it was so nice of you. But the day wears on and I can't bear the thought of sleeping in the wagon for more than one more night. I'm sure the side-road will suit our wagon fine. The horses are strong and Harchibald is a master of wagon steering, and we'll get by.” She rose with effort, grabbing Harchibald's blue tunic and almost flinging him off the fallen tree and away from the strange woman.

“Master,” the hostess parroted the word silently, only moving her luscious lips while maintaining intense eye-contact with the handsome dragonkin. She shrugged again, feeling her stomach turn as the tea began to hit her. She pouted dramatically. “Well then, I shan't keep you a moment longer!”

The trio slowly walked the very short distance through the willows back to the fork where the wagon and draft horses patiently awaited their return. Melinda practically pushed Harchibald to the wagon as he stuttered his way through a final thank you and farewell.

“Keep the marsh to your left shoulder, and don't let your horses drink of its water. About two or three hours down, you should find a pool on your right. Its waters are cold and clean, and you can fill your canteens there. Safe travels my friends,” she practically spat the words through the veneer of her smile. The couple, resituated in their wagon, raised their hands in good-bye, then made their way left at the fork, speaking rapidly in hushed, heated voices, leaving the woman alone on the street. She stood motionless, still smiling as the cart clattered out of view. She felt a wonderful numbness creep into her fingers, and whimsy took her. The delicate tips of her fingers found the edges of a loose brick in the road, and she began to pry while singing melodiously.

Here today, and gone today,
Fed and watered, led astray.
Now it's the Kotaj's tax you'll pay,

In blood and tears and screams you'll pay,
the Kotaj's tax, without delay.
Fed, and feeding, profusely bleeding,
While I sing the day away.

While I sing and wait for more,
Travellers who's feet are sore.
So many visitors at my home's door,
So many travellers whos feet are sore,
Unaware they'll soon be gore,

She grunted with satisfaction as the brick came free from the road, worsening its condition. She threw the cobblestone over her shoulder and into the brush with a flourish and a pirouette on her "slippered" toes.

The Kotaj will feed upon that whore!

She cackled feverishly, then, calm and sober as a chaplain, went to work on the next loose brick.