Arthurian Cultivation

The next morning our group was gathered in the dome. I'd been introduced to a far more awake Archimedes, the Whispering Kestrel was very thankful to us all. That or was keen to be pet, I'm not sure which. Still, I was happy to give out pets and attention, especially as my fussing and refusal to sit only intensified the stares of my companions.

“So Lance you're sure that you shouldn't be providing your update first?” I received a friendly kick from the Squire in response. Lance had told us she had news from Fosburg for us, she looked happy so I could only guess it was good news.

“Don't try and weasel your way out of this one. This is perhaps the only time I've known you to not want to share a story. I could offer you a round of enthusiastic sparring.” Bors chuckled as I winced. He was busy getting ready the ingredients for our breakfast.

“Sure I don't have time for breakfast first. Ow, who threw that.” Gring whinnied at me, the normally distant Pegasus was sticking close to us, still occasionally watching Gawain. His expression was unreadable, that might just be the long face though.

“Fine, fine. I shall begin.” I sat and tuned my lute. I noticed the instrument only ever needed tuning at those moments when I needed a moment. Offering me time to gather my mind, or to set the scene. Otherwise, it was always perfectly in tune.

As I got my head situated I glanced over my audience. Gaz had fetched everyone a drink of water. Bors and Lance were staring at me with wonder. It was as if I was a puzzle about to finally solve itself. Gawain, looking noble as ever wasn't looking at me but my lute. He hadn't asked to touch my gift from the Lady yet but it was only a matter of time. I could feel his reverence.

I gently warmed up my voice and Bors pointed accusingly at me with the frying pan. “Did you write a song about yourself?”

“I wrote a song about you too.”

“That's different—” Bors began before Lance elbowed him in the ribs.

“Don't distract him, he's baiting you. Get on with it, Taliesin.”

“Ah, another plan foiled. Well then my noble audience, you offer me such attention it seems I must rise to the occasion. I have a song, a tale for you all.” Last night I'd got little sleep, besides the now complete challenge of eating all the beast cores, corrupting a good amount of my pathways. It was worth it, I could once again survive a single death. Rising from the ashes of my old life anew.

Yet the power to return from the dead did nothing to help this worry. What did I tell them? I'd offered up my past casually, some I'd already told Bors and Lance knew more than most. Even Gaz had been given some insight. Still telling the whole story was all but unthinkable, yet leaving out too much would leave my past even more suspicious than it already was. My soul churned at the prospect of sharing any part of me, I would happily put it off, even as my memory pecked at me reminding me of the relief I’d felt in sharing my history before.

So, I'd settled on the idea of a song. It would cover the whole story but would allow them the space to ask questions. I could answer the questions, and I could also leave much of the rest unsaid. I didn't want to delve into much of my life in detail. They could seek to explore fragments if they wished, but I would not be drawn into another recollection like I had for the Lady.

“I present to you the tale of Taliesin. If you interrupt, I shall cease my singing.” I warned. I felt unsettled enough in sharing my secrets. The ‘Harkley’ scarred part of me told me that any form of trust was foolish, and I did not wish to battle it repeatedly. The lute was finished tuning, even if I perhaps felt I needed a moment longer. I took a deep breath and then began, letting the music flow between my fingers.

The tune was one I'd cobbled together from a few others, a mellow tune that still held a beat and pace. Not maudlin, rather it aped songs they all would know from childhood, a melody of memory. Notes of nostalgia rolling out from beneath my fingers.

“Born to a Lady of Artoss fair,

And to a cunning father with flaming red hair,

Behind her husband's back, he snuck,

A man of wit and charming pluck.”

I began with the core of my existence, my unusual parentage. I knew little about my father, apart from the colour of his hair, and his clear fae heritage. My mother had always been evasive on the subject and was gone, long before I was old enough to push the subject.

My father did not return. My mother, sold by her family to a collection of monsters, relished the brief love and kindness he'd brought. And was eternally grateful for the child she'd gained from the union. She refused to share or curse his name, calling me his ‘secret blessing’.

She never spoke of those early years. I didn’t even remember the man who thought himself my father, Regus Harkley Senior. I had only one memory from those early years. The fire, our home being consumed by those jealous of his success. He was arrogant and blind enough to give his own name to another’s son, and those same flaws led to him being betrayed.

“The man who claimed to be his dad,

Was fooled by tales both strange and sad,

But fate would twist and siblings' spite,

They slew the father in the night.”

The Harkleys claimed to value family, when in fact it was more one man's obsession trickling down. The Patriarch sought to raise powerful members of the family, seeking the right gifts and traits as one might raise dogs. My ‘father’ Regus Harkley senior, was in many ways the model hound. That made him a target.

The very traits that made him a model hound made him vulnerable. By all accounts, he was powerful, charismatic, and trusting. It was that trust that allowed me to slip into the family unchallenged. It was also the method by which his brothers led him out on an ill-fated hunt. Slain by a ‘Noxian panther’ in the night. A strange axe-wielding panther.

I looked about, my audience was captured in my tale of woe and treachery. I could see Gawain looking at my face, no doubt cataloguing my Artoss features, which came through more clearly since my rebirth. Bors had grinned as I'd mentioned my red hair, he alone knew my heritage's power, and I hoped that my subtle reference to it in the first verse would be enough of a hint that I wished to keep it hidden.

It was the time for the big reveal. My allies were rightly worried about my extensive knowledge of our enemy. I trusted I had done enough. I had explained my past, and who I was really related to. Now, it was time to reveal the secret I loathed to tell. I'd even worked into the chorus, I could not be tempted to hide my secrets.

“Oh, the tale of Taliesin,

With a noble start and hidden kin,

Triumphing over the vile Harkleys' hate,

He forged his path, defied his fate.”

At the mention of the Harkleys, I saw both Bors and Gawain jerk. Gawain's eyes were on my face again and I saw him shift. Was he grabbing his blade? I didn't know, I didn't care. I would trust my audience to make their judgement. Lance and Gaz had little reaction, the Harkleys were just another family, and one that mostly resided on Albion. With little presence on the continent, they likely wouldn’t understand the evil I was invoking. A blessing, with luck they would not tar me with their vile deeds.

“Mother and son fled to the city of Portesmud,

Through streets of stone and paths of mud,

Lived for a while but curse took his mother,

Left alone, he faced another.”

My mother was not half as trusting as her husband and sensing the shifting winds had spirited us away. Our former home, consumed in a tornado of fire, had long escape routes carved out. I was only three at the time. My time in the port city had been some of the best. For those few years, I knew nothing but our small home in Portesemud. Where my mother plied small alchemy cures, hiding from both Harkley and Artoss alike.

My earliest memories were of helping her with alchemical works. I would watch and stare. Helping her with all she'd let me. Which was not much and with good reason. It was alchemy that claimed her life. Making do with poor substitutes, contaminated supplies, and risky brews. Such was her dedication to her quest to keep me hidden she never sought out her family, nor revealed her power in case attention descended upon us. I was pleased she never lived to see me trapped, to see her sacrifice wasted.

My mind turned to the worst day of my life. The time when the agents of the Harkleys, guided by Oracles and dreams came upon my hovel. I was fourteen when they found me and had recently awoken my Smoke gift. I'd been without my mother for three years. I'd survived by working as an assistant to the few Stone rank alchemists, their brews were little better than snake oil. For a brief moment, it had seemed like a dream to escape the loneliness and poverty. Yet, I'd remembered my mother's words, ‘Never trust a Harkley.’

“One day found by those who lied,

Claiming kinship, they spied and pried,

He followed them with wary eyes,

Knowing well their hidden lies.”

I looked up to see my audience sitting solemn and silent. I could see Bors was in deep thought as was Lance. Gawain was still fidgety. Gaz was perhaps the strangest, he was staring with angry eyes into the fire. He may feel my loathing for my abductors, but I didn't try and hide it. I would not try and hide it again if I had a choice.

"Awakened then, his power strong,

Held captive where he didn't belong,

He knew they'd find his heritage false,

So he danced a careful, cunning waltz."

That verse glossed over the nightmare that was my time as Regus Harkley. Forced to gain power, to cultivate and grow as fast as possible. I was just another hound, a salve for the Patriarch's overindulgence in family battles. Allowing the kind of conflict that had claimed my father had left him with too few pawns for the coming games. I was called a ‘long lost son,’ but treated like a calf raised for slaughter.

My terror at having my powers discovered, of being bonded to the family forever more, or slain outright for treachery I was the product of but had no part in. How I'd pushed myself to find a path to survive, a way to escape. I didn’t want to dwell on it.

I let the chorus ring out. I thought of the laughing relatives, the beatings disguised as ‘pointers’. One of my happiest moments was the day I worked out how I could survive. By polluting my channels and not advancing I could hide my heritage. The price? I would never be a cultivator proper, I remembered how I laughed, knowing that was only a bonus. What did I want with this cesspit of humanity?

“He poisoned himself, but not to die,

To feign the truth, to fool the eye,

Worked hard to plot his grand escape,

At last he found it, a marriage of fate.”

I was not going to discuss the blood curse, or how an assassination attempt by a jealous rival during a hunt had shown my method of poisoning myself with impurities was my salvation. I did not linger on how I pushed the fault for my clogged pathways onto the competing family members who wished to claim me as a tool. There was no need to explain, how I artfully created a persona of just the right amount of value. Balancing it, so my captors would not slay me for wastefulness, but not rising up so much as to gain meaningful attention.

Was I proud of my wit and skill? How I'd manipulated people ranks above me? Indeed I was. But celebrating those details meant thinking about them, and that was not something I could manage without revisiting the grim memories that came with them. Better to focus on the good, the song gained a bounce, a dance to it, as I neared the moment of my freedom.

“He escaped the many knives of his wife-to-be,

Through shadowed paths, he fled to be free,

Stumbled upon the lady of the lake,

In moonlit glen, he danced in her wake.

I didn't want any of them, Gawain in particular, to forget that I had met the Lady of the Lake. I was revealing much, and only the backing of those sapphire eyes would serve to protect me, to prove I was not a Harkley. None wanted to find those eyes settling upon them for interfering with her plans. I paired this with another round of the chorus.

The chorus this time felt like a celebration of my escape. Still, a couple of verses remained. There were things I wished to make clear to my audience who sat on the edges of their stone seats.

“Given a new name, he was sent to sleep,

Woke with a sword that could sing and weep,

Stumbled upon Bors, purpose unclear,

Even as destiny that drew ever near.”

I thought it best to touch on the fact my name was given to me by the Lady. I didn't want it to pop up later and be accused of being a changeling again. Clearing up that Bors was a chance encounter, one engineered by the Lady, but not some task I was pressed was also important to me. We were all getting dragged into destiny, I for one wanted no accusations that I was pulling people in under orders.

That verse done I saw the group relaxing, sensing the end of the story. Time to wrap it up.

“Oh, the tale of Taliesin,

With a noble start and hidden kin,

He dances on the strings of fate,

What path will he take? On that, we must wait.”

I let the last notes play out and silence descended on the group.

Bors spoke first. “I think the Ballad of Bors is better.”

“Agreed. Who does he think he is writing a song about himself? Just because he met the Lady.” Lance chimed in, a false smile hiding the many questions she must have. I appreciated the effort.

“No, if he’s an Artoss this makes sense. This is pretty standard for them, didn't their patriarch commission a giant nude statue of himself?” Gaz chimed in, trying to banter even if he looked pale. It made sense he'd bring that up. My mother’s family was far better known on the continent than on Albion. The Artoss were notorious for their oddities.

“I mean, I am technically an Artoss. I consider myself a son of Artoss at least.” That was what my mother called me in secret. Reggie, her little son of Artoss. It was a shame, in putting my old identity behind me I'd had to part with ‘Reggie’. It was a nickname I'd only tolerated from a few during my captivity. In recent times I’d only ever enjoyed being called it by Sephy.

“I know your real name,” Gawain said, immediately killing the mood. I knew he'd be the problem but I wasn't expecting this. I could feel my hackles rise, I needed to make one thing clear.

“You do, it is Taliesin. A name given to me by Lady herself. She agreed with me that whatever name you are thinking is not a true reflection of the soul beneath. What you may mean is that you think you know the alias I hid under. I am Taliesin, I do not mind you sharing such details, but it was never a name, it was a mask.” Raw emotion poured out of me. If I had begun to cultivate death with those emotions coursing through me it would be enough to drive us all to madness.

Gawain flinched back from me. I still didn't quite understand what he thought of me but so far no one was getting violent.

“I have many questions,” Bors said, but unfortunately Gawain had recovered and continued to ruin the mood.

“Taliesin, I think it’s important to clarify. Am I right in thinking you were known as Regus Harkley? A man I know was bound by the Harkley’s blood curse?”

“Does everyone know about the blood curse? The Harkleys seemed to think it was a secret but you're the second person who knew about it off-hand.” That tickled me, they often boasted in private about how it was their ‘hidden weapon’.

“Blood curse?” Gaz asked, the angry stare from earlier returning at full force.

“It's something the family is famous for, they like fire and blood cultivators. They have some curse given to them by the Divine Cultivators which means that if anyone steps out of line they die as all their blood is forced from them." I offered, I now understood the issue, he still imagined me bound by it.

"It’s how the Ray of Bonds keeps everyone in line. I had heard it’s all but inescapable and always fatal, compelling all to follow their Patriarch’s orders.” Gawain was looking worried.

“How did I escape the blood curse? Well if you must know…”I paused as if mulling over how to explain it, before settling on. “I got better.”

“Pardon?”

“It’s not something I’ll be going into. The same goes for why I look completely different. If you wish to know, I suggest you ask the Lady.” I met Bors’ eyes. And he nodded, understanding the secret about my bloodline remained a secret for him alone. The bigger man was nodding to himself before he paused and pointed a finger at me accusingly.

“Wait, that means you're the one who married Maeve Chox.” Mentioning the granddaughter of the high lord of this part of the realm drew out a cough from both the local Squires.

“What the unseelie fuck?” Lance looked at me in horror. Oh yes, they’d already been worried about the Artoss. Now she might be worrying about my position as a relative or enemy of her Liege Lord. I waved my hands to calm her.

“We never got married. I had run away well before that could happen. Good thing that I did, that whole thing was a total trap and let me tell you, she did not make escaping it easy. The song did not convey the truly astounding amount of cutlery she threw at me.” That did not seem to calm Lance down. Maybe I should explain my hidden notes, or how I'd saved her from the ice? As I pondered that Bors slapped his thigh and grinned.

“I knew you and Percy would get along and I was right. You're her Reggie, right?” Lance was shunted to the back of my mind as every ounce of my attention latched onto the big man. There were only two women who'd ever have called me ‘their Reggie’, and one was my mom. I felt my brain begin to melt as I struggled to picture how this related to Sephy before I groaned, an awful sense of deja vu settled upon me.

“Bors, tell me exactly. What is Percy's full name?”

“Persephone, often referred to as ‘Hopes End’. I'm right aren't I!” He was grinning to himself, even as my brain slowly collapsed into a puddle. I'd been foiled by the same trick twice, a simple shortening of the names had left me blind to the truth before me.

That shame was washed away though by the rising elation. A giddy dance crawled over every inch of my body. Sephy was close, I could actually find her. Not only did I know where she was, but I didn’t have to worry about infecting her with this destiny nonsense, she was already a part of it. It was a selfish thought but a happy one.

Better than all that if Bors was to be believed she referred to me as ‘hers’. My motivation for the next leg of the journey was redoubled. I'd play bagpipes naked atop a raging bear if that was what was required. To be reunited with her was a fitting reward for the trials I had been put through.

“Okay so maybe in hindsight I should've gone first.” Lance interrupted my daydreaming. She was looking uncharacteristically worried. It reminded me of when she'd met the Lady.

“Lance?”

“So we should probably leave, like now.” The Squire was starting to throw things into her storage ring.

“Lance, what do you mean?” I asked, the others looking equally worried.

“So my mother had good news. And while it's good for Fosburg, I'm not so sure how good it is for you. Get packing, come on.” She nudged Gaz, who looked at the breakfast that never was but agreed and also started to pack, using his newly acquired spatial ring, trusting his friend.

“You had me worried for a moment there, I thought you were going to say there were Harkleys about.” That would’ve explained her worry, but I couldn’t imagine them being ‘good news’ in any context.

“No, it’s the other unfathomably powerful families you are somehow involved with. Maeve Chox is in Fosburg, and while she's helping out with the divine cultivators, she was also asking some questions about you. That and a Knight of Artoss was also there, though he didn’t ask any questions about you it seems like too much of a coincidence.” She

The group looked at me. I sucked at my teeth. “Sounds like a problem for future Taliesin. Let’s go save Sephy and Arthur, or Arty and Percy. There’s a giant bear to distract and Divine Cultivators to beat silly. Let’s get going!”

Quietly, as the others hurried to break camp I muttered to myself, “Future Taliesin better not get stabbed for this'’.