Nemeton: The Trial of Calas (Hallowed Veil Book 1)

by Christopher Lee

  She grinned. “Six thousand years and yet your feeble minds still grasp so little.” said the sheFae as she approached the throne. She walked by Ubara disregarding him and looked to Balor.

  Balor bowed. “Lady Morrighan. We are humbled by your presence.”

  Ubara now regretted being so cavalier with this woman. The Morrighan was enigmatic and terrifying to men and the Fae alike. He knew little of her. He’d heard reports that she appeared in whichever form she chose to beguile her adversaries. Of all the agents, the Curse Grove could have sent, she was one Ubara was least prepared to handle.

  “It was a fine and rousing speech,” she jabbed at Ubara. “Mankind had an empire once. A gift from the most gracious Mother. A beautiful and fertile oasis safe from the harsh realities of the primordials. An oasis your father desecrated with his pride. A crime that should have ended in the utter destruction of your ill-conceived species, but again she showed you and your kin mercy. Yet still, you believe you are being treated unfairly?”

  “You call the discrimination of men, the curse of silence upon our magical bond to our father, merciful?”

  “It is your clinging to hope. A futile effort to regain your glory of the link to your father’s sin that chains you where you stand, banal one.” she said before turning her back to him. “The bane of the fallen would be lifted, if men once again held pure hearts. It persists only because you are not worthy.”

  Ubara fumed at the insinuation and gripped his hands in balled fists. The energy of hatred emanated from his hand. Prince Bres and King Balor both stood and cried out for him to curtail his anger, but he had been pushed to the breaking point. Ubara lashed out and muttering a curse upon the name of the Morrighan.

  “By my word, you shall see all that cherish fall. You will watch as men drive lances through the hearts of your beloved Fae. By my solemn oath I declare that nowhere on this earth will your kind be safe. I will personally see all that you cherish fall. By the power of my living blood, I call to my ancestors to curse you and all your kind, from this day until the end of days.”

  This small act of defiance would show his resolve. All had seen what he had done. Ubara's eyes glimmered with righteous hatred. He had just shown all the men in the room he was both mad and fearless.

  The dark woman turned to Ubara and smiled. “You dare strike me with such feeble blood bound words?”

  Her smile held, it was both playful and filled with lustful malice towards the man who had publicly attempted to goad her into an altercation. She brushed her shoulder off as the feathers that donned the cowl of her hood sizzled from the power of his dark words.

  King Balor stood, “Guards arrest the Ensí!”

  Ubara sneered at the pitiful capitulation he saw within Balor. “You old fool! You bow to this sheFae, you are a disgrace to the throne and your ancestors.” The guards seized him and bound his hands. Balor fumed and reached for the mask that covered his Eye. His hand was stayed by the Morrighan.

  “That will not be necessary, he should live to see how grand his failures have been.” said the Morrighan. “The banal species of man has proven themselves unworthy.” She paused her address. “As the entire court can see his paltry skills are an annoyance. He is no threat to the Nemeton. We all here recall how his flying ships fell. Let men like this be a lesson to you all, of the pitfalls of arrogance. For the Mother's will is paramount. The Nemeton is a living testament to her divine love for all. A love she seeks to bestow upon man once more.”

  The crowd fell silent.

  “As we speak millions gather supplies for a journey to Tara. A land where men have not set foot for thousands of years. A most holy and sacred land where the Order of the Nemeton oversee the trials of the Conclave and the Oath of the Derwyddon. The darkening falls upon her creation. Those who stand here have never lived through what befalls us all. It is a pestilence, a great and terrible trial for all creation. A consequence of the actions of lesser men, and an opportunity for great men to rise from the ashes. To reclaim what little is left of your divine spark. Men will once again have the chance to prove their worth.”

  Ubara was aghast. There had not been a Conclave in over a thousand years. The silence broke to whispering between the many ambassadors gathered in King Balor’s Great Hall.

  “Are we to understand that men will once again take part in the Conclave?” said Prince Bres.

  The Morrighan nodded in affirmation. “And you fair prince, shall represent your people in the trials.”

  She handed him a scroll. “The contents list the names and descriptions given by the Oracle. Our Great Mother has called to twenty souls from each royal bloodline of man and Fae. Only those of royal descent may submit.”

  Ubara could not believe what he was hearing. If men were to take part in the trials, there may be a slight modicum of balance in the favor of men. It was a glimmer of hope for all of mankind they could participate. He could see it across the faces of each ambassador. The idea infested his mind before he saw what it truly was. It was a distraction meant give false hope to mankind. He wanted to speak out to rage against the farce, but something deep within him called him to be silent. He could only assume it was the prophet aiding him from afar. By now the prophet would have known what she knew and their plans would change. If Bres represented the Fomorii, who would represent his Penitent’s? His concentration was broken by the Morrighan's final words.

  “Send emissaries to all of your kingdoms. As the fires are lit on Beltane Eve, the tribute from each kingdom will submit to rigors of the Conclave. Send your bravest, your strongest, your quickest of wit. For what they face not just a test of courage and might, but of resolve. Many will fall, some will go mad, and one will surrender themselves unto the power of the Great Goddess.”

  “And my people?” Ubara said ending his silence.

  She turned to him and glared. He could feel her crawling beneath his skin, infesting his mind with her invasion.

  “The Fir Bolg may submit tribute, should they find one among them who has royal blood. ”

  The words rang in his ear. “Royal blood.” Ubara had no such lineage. It stung deeply because he craved the power the prophet had.

  Had they done that specifically to exclude him? He bristled at the thought. No, he shouldn’t be hasty, this could still be turned to his advantage. If one of his followers could be submitted to the trials, if they could succeed and absorb the powers of the Nemeton, then they would have two agents in a position to aid mankind and bring an end to the tyranny of the Nemeton. His own ego and lust for power was of little concern. In the end all the glory went to the Father. Ubara’s day would come when He triumphantly returned.

  Without a word, the Morrighan transmogrified into a flock of three great ravens who flew from the Great Hall of Balor. Their great wings carried them from sight and while Ubara watched the many ambassadors dispersed to send word to their dominions.

  “Guards lock him up,” cried Balor.

  Ubara watched as Prince Bres tried to intervene on his behalf, but the monstrous man was stubbornly pig headed. He could not be persuaded, not this time. Ubara went willingly with the guards. He knew that he would not sit within a cell for long. He smiled as he realized just how momentous this occasion was.

  Mankind had a unifying purpose, just waiting to be seized. They must capitalize on this mistake by the Fae. If one of the Fae demons were selected it would crush the resolve of man. If Ubara could unify their purpose behind his champion or Prince Bres, then his task would be complete. He was unsure of how to accomplish this given his current situation, but he had faith. Ubara took a deep breath and hoped that when he reached Tara, the prophet would reveal God's divine will.

  Chapter Fourteen

  Bres, the Crown Prince of Fomor

  Plight of man, plight of martyr

  Arise young Prince,

  Don sword and shining armor.

  Prince Bres paced back and forth before the door of King Balor’s chambers. He waited for an audience wit
h his father and the druidess Andraste. He held a dispatch from the Penitent Patriarchs demanding Ubara’s release. A week had passed since the Morrighan announced the Conclave and his former tutor Ubara had been imprisoned. Bres was aware that Balor had turned a blind eye to Ubara’s apostasy for many years, but Ubara’s outrageous display could not be overlooked. His mind was ablaze with questions about the ancient rite, the fate of his mentor, and his role in it all. Bres had not spoken with his father since the arrest, nor had he been allowed to visit the tower where Ubara was being held. He had tried to please for his mentor but according to the King’s advisors Balor had pressing matters with which to deal. Bres could not help but feel he was being punished for his association with the Penitent leader.

  Though he shared Ubara’s passion for freedom, he was caught between the teachings of his father and his mentor. Both men were admirable and despite their differences Bres knew they both wanted the same thing. After the rebellious political display by Ubara before the court, Bres was unsure of which method he believed in more.

  Was his father’s method of avoiding war the proper way to ensure man’s survival? Or was Ubara correct in insisting that survival wasn’t enough? He contemplated.

  From his perspective he did not see why both men couldn’t achieve their aims by pooling their resources and creating a new path forward.

  Bres stood at attention before the chamber doors and waited. His wavy brown locks were kept shorter than his peers. Bres preferred to keep his hair out of his copper eyes. As crown Prince he was rigorously trained in the art of warfare daily with master at arms, long locks of hair interfered with his vision. They were the mark of the less civilized northern tribes of man, of his own people. Bres fashioned himself in the southern style, a decision his father had disapproved of, claiming it was the influence of Ubara.

  The doors to Balor’s chambers opened, and the guards waved him forward. Bres entered his father’s chambers. The blonde druidess nodded closing her sharp red eyes. Bres sensed Balor was perturbed by her arrival.

  “Majesty,” Bres said as he took a knee before his father. “Andraste.”

  “Rise my son,” said Balor.

  Bres rose and presented the dispatch to his father. “Father the Penitent Patriarchs have sent demands for the release of Ensí Ubara.”

  Balor scoffed and unfolded the list of demands. “Blighters have gall.”

  Bres watched his father’s reaction. He was certain he would fly into a rage over the audacity of the Penitent Lords. Instead Balor looked at him. “What would you do?”

  He was unsure of how to answer. Should he answer as Balor or Ubara?

  “The Penitent’s are guests in our land. Threatening the crown with demands requires swift punishment. I would take a legion to the gates and blockade them. Starve them until they capitulate. Then I would select a few of the Patriarchs to hang before the common folk before placing loyalists in their positions.”

  Balor smiled, “A calculated response, from a worthy Prince. You’ve studied well underneath Ubara and your tutors. Were this any normal nobleman I would agree?”

  Bres felt proud, it was not in Balor’s character to pass compliments. “Thank you my King.”

  “Andraste here believes I should let Ubara go with a warning. She and the others in the Hidden Circle believe he is no threat so long as he remains where they can observe him and his Penitents. I am inclined to agree with her.”

  “Does the decision rest with Fomor, or does the Nemeton command this?” asked Bres.

  Andraste grinned, “The Grove does not command the King’s of man, our purpose is not to tell men how to rule, but to keep the peace.”

  Bres scoffed, “You’ve traveled all this way to recommend an outcome and yet you do not enforce it? Should we execute him and it incites revolt would we then be held responsible?”

  “The affairs of man are theirs to carry out. Though there are those among us would have it otherwise. One such member you recently visited your court to deliver the news of the Conclave.” said Andraste.

  Bres remembered the dark sheFae. She had chilled him to the bone, she was unnaturally beautiful, but her darkness sliced through his brave exterior and exposed a weakness even he was unaware of. He knew he was not the only one to perceive it. Both Ubara and Balor displayed discomfort at her presence. His recollection of her arrival brought up similar feelings as though she had never left. It was like her eyes were still upon him, watching his every move.

  “The Morrighan has that effect upon men,” said Andraste. “It was no mistake she delivered the news to your court. The High Priestess believed it prudent that the Fae deliver the address to men. An effective maneuver to reveal Ubara and the Penitent’s for what they are. It would appear that they were correct. ”

  “It was a setup,” said Bres. “They wanted him to break the peace, but why? His attack on the Morrighan proved harmless. What danger could he and his people be to the Nemeton?”

  Balor rose, “My son, I know that you believe Ubara and his refugees to have the proper intention. In my youth I too answered the call of a charismatic fool like Ubara. As a result I saw Dagda’s mercy first hand, when his club crushed my father’s skull like a robin’s egg. Such is the danger of youth, but believe me when I say your survival is far more important than the ego boost of heroics. There is much more at stake here than you know. We cannot afford to be naïve and rush headlong into conflict against a superior foe. Our people’s future lays in peace, not war. Should you rise to take my throne someday I hope you learn only one thing. You never cross the King of the Fae. What you take from him, he will take more from you.”

  Bres knew the history between the Fomorii and the Tuatha De to be complicated. His father both hated and respected Dagda. Intermarriage between the two royal families had been the primary means of preserving peace between the two neighboring realms.

  “Your father speaks the truth. By resisting openly, men like Ubara and his Penitents only serve the more powerful members of the Grove. Those who wish to institute far more devious measures than the Bane of the Fallen.” said Andraste.

  “What could be worse than cursing the blood and souls of every generation?” asked Bres. “Father why are we entertaining this serpent tongued she devil? It is her kind who enforce the laws that bind all men! She may have once been human, but she is no friend to mankind, nor to Fomor. This is more of the same, deception of the highest order.”

  Bres had lost his temper, and he knew he soon faced a rebuke. Balor stood biting his tongue. Andraste stepped in front of him.

  “Allow me Great King,” she said.

  “Father this is the second time in a week I’ve seen a woman of the Nemeton stay your hand. Are you their puppet? Or are you afraid of them as Ubara says?”

  “Silence you insolent shit!” Balor barked. “I am your King!”

  Andraste approached him and looked him in the eye. “The boy is overstimulated. Conclave, the imprisonment of his mentor, the coming darkness. It is all too much to take in, is it not?”

  Bres sensed a calm fall over him. Something about her words had driven away the spirit of anger that had fallen on him. He was stressed, his world was unraveling. The dark sheFae had disturbed his sleep, dreams of death plagued his nights.

  “You’ve had the dreams haven’t you?” she asked. Bres nodded. “This is why she was sent, this Conclave has implications far beyond anything you can imagine. She came to place doubt in the hearts of men. You brave Prince have the chance to tip the balance of power from the Fae towards mankind. You could be the soul that tips the balance in favor of man for a thousand years. Imagine the good you could do for your people if you became one of the immortal Keepers of the law.”

  Her words were true. He could become a champion of every man, woman, and child on Earth.

  “You believe I can triumph over the Fae?” he asked her.

  “You have as great a chance as any tribute that man will put forward. Make no mistake, it will be no easy ta
sk, you will watch your fellow champions fall to blade, claw, madness, and death. Should you triumph you will become far more than you ever imagined. That is why I’ve come, to provide you with the knowledge and support you need to succeed. If man does not claim a triumph at the Conclave, war between man and Fae war will be inevitable. Ubara and his ilk will have all the reason they need to incite rebellion, and with another Fae on the highest council on Earth, the fate of man will be ruthless slaughter.”

  Balor stepped closer and put his arm around Bres. “You may trust in Andraste, she has ever been an ally to Fomor, however she speaks out of turn. Fomor will not go to war. Fomor will stand with the Fae and the Grove because we a noble and reverent people who believe man’s destiny is greater than endless war and conflict. These things I’ve taught you since you were born. If the rest of mankind falters and falls to ruin as our ancestors did then so be it, but we will be a light in the darkness. War has only one end, and I’ve seen that end. As long as I draw breath peace will reign.”

  Bres saw Andraste’s reaction, she gritted her teeth. “Does this have anything to do with your bargain with Dagda? Damn you, when will you see him for what he is?”

  Bres watched the two stare at each other. There was more to the picture than he was privy to. Balor was a secretive man, which had only grown more prevalent as the years progressed.

  “What does she mean Father?” asked Bres. “What deal did you strike with Dagda?”

  Balor glared at him with his one good eye. His long gray hair hung at shoulder length. Bres examined the age on his father’s face. He was well over five centuries old now, but remained strong.

  “She speaks of your betrothal to the Princess Arabella.” said Balor.

  Bres was unsure how to react. Marriage between the two families was common, but Bres had never thought he would be used as a diplomatic tool. Though he had no true love aside from his love for his country, he had always assumed he would be married to Princess Neith of Kemet, or another human Princess. There had been no intermarriage since the Ironwood Rebellion. He should’ve seen this coming.