Eoghan Fiction [Wyrdwar]
August 1645Edinburgh, Scotland
“I still cannot believe this is happening”, George Rae said, his voice muffled by his fearsome plague mask and diminished by raw emotion. To Eoghan, it sounded like his own narrow perspectives were slowly strangling him. “Where are we?”
As they stepped though the ragged, sheer curtain that hung over the roughly hewn hole in the wall, Eoghan felt an odd prickling over the backs of his gloved hands and the nape of his neck. Something told him that they were now no longer where they had just been. His pale white eyes flicked from the lambent, pale form of Annie’s ghost to the grimy, catacomb-like walls around them.
As best he could tell, Eoghan was certain that they were still within the narrow, confined lanes and byways of Mary’s King Close. The rickety, crumbling buildings were still there, many of them towering over them and threatening, in their dangerously dilapidated states, to topple down upon their heads. The filthy and trash-strewn streets were still there as well, but the eye-watering stench and the sheer extent of the muck and the mire which had been so oppressive just seconds ago seemed oddly lessened now. The miasma of foul fog and smoke from the numerous coal and dung fires still hung everywhere in the air, but now it was now strangely less choking and thinner. It was not until Eoghan’s white eyes fell upon the residents—their drawn and sickly bodies, covered blackened patches of infected skin and massive, orange-sized, pus-filled boils—that it dawned on him as to where Annie had led them.
“We be’n th’ Midst”, the scaith remarked flatly, slowly drawing his wide-bladed hon-deba.
“The what?” George asked, scanning the scene around them. If they had not been in so much danger, Eoghan might have thought the scene funny: the quick back-and-forth movements of the bird-like plague mask making the doctor seem truly like a giant raven than a man.
“Th’ Midst. Th’ land what lies b’twixt th’ Kingdom o’ Man an’ th’ Kingdom o’ Heaven.” The scaith paused for a long while and then added dryly, “But ‘ere, looks like we might be’a’bit’of’a pinch closer to th’ other place.” Eoghan raised the strange lantern in his hand a little higher and pointed with the short, thick point of his cleaver-like sword. “See ‘ere.”
George Rae trained the lenses of his oddly masked face toward the area illuminated by his companion’s unusual lantern. Within that flameless golden glow, there he could barely discern, trailing from each of the swollen and inflamed pustules on each of the sickly wan figures as they meandered about the dark, cavernous streets, fine chains of writhing shadow.
Dark, writhing chains which connected every single plague victim of Mary’s King Close to almost every other person in sight.
“Dear Lord in Heaven...” George Rae mumbled, crossing himself reflexively.
Eoghan’s normally impassive face broke slightly and he turned towards the plague doctor. His heavy, thick left brow was slightly cocked. “Why d’ya call ‘pon him if’n ya believe not? B’careful o’ yer words ‘here, Doct’r…b’ye i’near’ Enemy’s camp here.”
Nearby, Annie’s grime-covered; ghostly form flickered like a guttering candle as she tittered. “The Yew-born speaks true. This is no longer the Mortal plane. Welcome to the realm of Izurri, Plague-Lord and Father of the Black Death.”
Eoghan’s head jerked, his now-wide, white eyes locking onto the ghost-girl, “Ye’ve bro’t us inta’th’ demesne o’va demon?”
Annie nodded, her lip had begun to tremble and her big brown eyes had begun to water. “You asked to be shown the source, Eoghan. I...I...”
“Thrice-accursed ghost!” the scaith spat, turning from her and immediately placing his back to the nearest wall. “Ye’ll b’th’ death’o’us, a’suren.”
George Rae’s masked face bobbed into view and Eoghan could see the fear worming its way into the man’s pale green eyes. “What is happening here? I say, Eoghan. This is most unusual.”
The Yew-born nodded. “Aye. That t’is. B’time to hole’up fer a’bit and put’a’tho’t er two toget’er.”
“Yes, yes. That will do.” The plague doctor’s raven face bobbed for a moment and then turned towards Annie. “Little one, is there anywhere here that one might consider...safe?”
Annie’s smile return and her usually sunken cheeks filled out and almost shone rosy. “Oh yes, Doctor. Just follow me.” She continued down the cramped, trash-strewn, cavern-like stone passage that was once long ago an alleyway between two thriving businesses but paused mid-step. Turning back, she added, “Do avoid speaking to the locals. It is said that whatever they hear...Izurri hears.”
Then, she vanished into the darkness at the far end of the passage.
Eoghan spat a wad of white-looking liquid from his mouth and brought this lantern and blade up to bear before him. “Lovely...jist lovely.”
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Author's Note: Just a little sample of a piece of longer fiction that I'm working on for one of my Wyrdwar series. This piece, and it's main character, Eoghan (pronounced: Owan, or occasionally, Ian -- it's Gaelic, meaning "born of yew"), were 100% inspired by this image that I ran across in Solfar's gallery on Deviantart. It was so evocative to me that I contacted the artist and purchased the rights to use the image for my stories.
From that moment on, there was a story growing in my head around this character who is essentially, a very old Scottish golem made from a yew tree. Well, golem's not precisely the correct term, but all of that will be revealed in the stories as I reveal them. Eoghan is a supernatural protector and investigator, initially of only Scotland, but over the centuries, he eventually comes to serve that role in a broader sense. I'm looking forward to being able to expand on his adventures in the years to come.
Fun Fact: George Rae, who is Eoghan's sidekick in the above story, was the original Plague Doctor (which is a big hint to the story as well)...