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

by Christopher Lee

Things were coming to the forefront, and the most powerful beings in the known world were blind to what was occurring. The Morrighan wondered who might blind the Hidden Circle to the coming darkness, the only beings powerful enough to produce a curse of that magnitude were gathered here tonight. Her priority would be to determine who’d done so.

  “We are no longer alone,” Amyrannii said. “You may come out now Morrighan, your guise is not needed among present company.”

  The Morrighan unveiled herself stepping out of the shadow, her black feathered robes dancing forth from the darkness.

  “How you find me in the shadow will forever be a secret I covet.” said the Morrighan.

  “Someday such things might be known to you. Perhaps, when you reveal by what magic you slew the High Dragon during the fray at the Forbidden Crags.”

  The Morrighan smiled, betraying her dislike for the ArchMagus.

  “Thank you for joining us Morrighan,” said Pythia. “We should make haste to the central cavern, my acolytes have informed me that all are gathered there.”

  The triad made haste down the winding corridors until they came upon an immense hollow within the Earth. For miles in each direction, space stretched until the darkness swallowed it. The rock above their heads was littered with millions of bioluminescent fungi that provided the ethereal light that mixed with the light from their torches. At the opening of the cave, the ground leveled out and created a flat area the size of a typical Nemeta.

  The location was only accessible to those who’d taken the Oath of Surrender. As they crossed the threshold, the three noted the ancient runes that created the barrier between the womb of the Goddess and the rest of her creation. Beyond this veil all was secret, all was safe, and none whose heart carried impure intentions could cross. All three passed through with ease.

  At the center of the platform was an elaborately carved runic circle. At the head of the circle was the seat of the High Priestess, to her right was King Dagda, to his right was the seat of the Morrighan. To her right was the seat of Emrys Myrddin, to his right the seat of Falbanach who remained absent. They were the original five members of the Order, the legendary Golden Fist of the Goddess, the generals of her army in the Great Celestial War. They were the oldborn, the original vestiges of Her power.

  Since the initiation of the oldborn, the remaining members of the order were born out of necessity to combat the reverberating darkness created when the skies themselves rained blood. To the left of Pythia was the ArchMagus Amyrannii’s seat, to his left was Andraste, to her left was Mogh Rioth. Rounding out the circle were Birog, Amergin, and Lir. They were the eternal incarnation of her divine will.

  Morrighan, Amyranni, and the High Priestess were the last arrive to the meeting. Each of the other members sat in silence, their eyes closed in deep meditation. It was a rare occurrence if they came to this hollow within the Earth. The affairs of the wide world beyond kept them all busy directing the many Nemeta that operated beneath them. As the final three took their seats, the High Priestess addressed the gathered.

  “Please forgive the late hour and the urgency of this clandestine meeting. I assure you that both are necessary. Why are we gathered here?”

  “We live to serve the word of the Goddess,” the Circle said in unison. A silent moment came and went in reverence of their holy charge.

  “All here know why we are gathered in the holy city of Tara. For in the coming months another will be born unto us. All here know what our duty is. All here know of what this birth means for the realms of both men and the Fae. Tiamat the great dark serpent has awoken from the shadow. A dorcha awakens.”

  “The taint of Atum rears its head, let us pray the Goddess grants us worth sacrifice,” said Andraste.

  Each member looked at each other with concern.

  “If an Oath is declared, then a darkening of the soul is upon us.” said Emrys Myrddin.

  “Why did we not see the signs? What has blinded us?” said Mogh Rioth.

  “We should have noticed the darkness falling over a decade ago,” Amyrannii spoke with surety.

  “We’ve seen no comet, no omens. Are we certain? Each darkening has been preceded by such.” said Amergin.

  “The omen should have appeared…” The Morrighan said. “Yet we remain blinded by a force of immense power. Someone here must know where and whence this power has come?”

  The Circle was silent, none had a single answer to give. It was a remarkable sign of just how complacent the Nemeton had become in the peace of the Silver Age. It was unbelievable how these, the most powerful beings on the face of her creation could be blind to the one thing they were charged to combat.

  “Fifteen years ago.” His voice was the same graveled sense that those who knew him remembered. “Time is not our ally. The darkness creeps from each corner. We have a year at best before blood stains her hallowed ground.”

  Out of thin air, Falbanach entered the central cavern. The other Derwyddon looked with unbelieving eyes. It had been three thousand years since they had seen or heard from their ancient comrade-in-arms. The newborn had only known of the wanderer in the lore. The youthful members of their circle were seeing him for the first time. To those who knew him before he didn't appear as she remembered. He had aged in his time away from this world.

  ArchMagus Amyrannii appeared to squirm, again the Morrighan took note. King Dada Nada rose from his chair and walked towards the aged soul.

  “It has been a long time. Dian Cecht” Dagda said as he embraced him. “My brother.”

  “A long time great king,” replied Falbanach.

  “As you can see the years have not been as gentle with me as they have been with some of us,”

  Falbanach's grim visage looked at the Morrighan from beneath his cloak.

  Dagda laughed. The Morrighan recalled in the age past, how Falbanach had once been a tall and noble-looking youth, unlike any other in the ranks of the Goddess. Unique. This ragged form that stood before her was different, but the energy that came from it was as she remembered, if not far more powerful.

  “Please forgive my grim appearance Moon Priestess. The druid sleep has taken much from my body. It would appear that whatever this world has taken from my beauty it has given unto you.”

  He bowed before her.

  “I can see the years have not stripped you of your charm,” said Pythia. Her memory of the ancient druid was becoming more clear. Her current incarnation had not met Falbanach, but her spirit remained ever aware of his memory.

  Falbanach's grisled lips formed a semblance of a smile.

  “May we dispense with the pleasantries? To what do we owe the honor of your presence wanderer?” Amyrannii interrupted. “Who has woken you from the Druid Sleep?”

  The two druids had never met. Amyrannii was born, named, and made head of the Order long after Falbanach had fallen into dream. The Morrighan could see that to Amyrannii this was an unknown variable in an ever growing problem. To Falbanach, Amyrannii seemed little more than a distraction in a game in which the stakes were beyond measure. The Morrighan enjoyed their ballet of wits.

  “The trees have awakened and with them, I have risen from slumber” Falbanach's response was short and curt. His words displayed his feeling. He need not explain himself to a newborn.

  “Do you mean to say you do not know?” Amyrannii interrogated.

  Falbanach sat in his seat. “I said what I said.”

  The cryptic statement clearly vexed and irritated Amyrannii. “We have a growing crisis on our hands, and you find it necessary to speak in riddles?”

  “They are not riddles, they are truths.”

  Amraynnii was losing his patience. “Perhaps the wanderer believes he is above this council? Perhaps he has slept so long he no longer needs to concern himself with the trials of the current age.”

  The younger members of the Order nodded in agreement. Amyrannii was popular among them and his voice carried much weight. It was clear to the older members that Amyrannii was tr
ying to draw Falbanach into a confrontation.

  “Why and by whose hand the wanderer has come back to us is irrelevant.” said the Dagda.

  Amyrannii scoffed. “He sleeps for two thousand years, as punishment need I remind the Circle, that was supposed to last for another thousand years. Why now has he returned? Who authorized his awakening? It was not I…”

  Pythia broke her silence, “It was I, the Mother called for his slumber to end.”

  “The Mother?” said Amyrannii. “Did she give a reason? Why was the circle not informed at once?”

  Falbanach grew tired of Amyrannii’s incessant chatter. “It is none of your concern, what the Mother does. Or do you find yourself so empowered that you would challenge her will? Need I remind you ArchMagus of what happens when one of us does so?”

  He referred to his own punishment, for overstepping one too many times. All knew what he had done, all knew he had served his time in the dreaming. Amyrannii sat, but he was not done examining the issue.

  “Perhaps we could get back to the issues. Such as the mutiny at the Acropolis,” countered the Morrighan.

  “And what of the missing sacrifices, have they been apprehended and reached the holy city ArchMagus?” asked Emyrs Myrddin to draw the Circle back to the business at hand.

  “All but three,” he said with a shade of embarrassment. “Two will arrive by way of the sea at dawn. The third has,” he paused. “The third has fled.”

  “Which house has failed to produce a tribute?” asked the Dagda.

  All ears and eyes were on Amyrannii, “The Seræphym. Sopher Madan has been found guilty of treason, heresy, and conspiring in the dark arts of the first age. I have taken control of the Acropolis. His daughter Samsara has fled. My agents have yet to recover the tribute. It is a mere matter of time.”

  Dagda appeared shocked. Sopher Madan had been a loyal Lord to Hyperborea and to the realms of men and Fae for over three centuries. He and the Nemeton had had their differences, but it was hard to believe he had betrayed them.

  “How has this come to pass?” asked the Dagda. “I should like to speak with the Sopher.”

  “I am afraid that the Sopher is no longer among the living. Sopher Madan could not wrest himself from his obsession in locating the thirteenth tribe. I held council with the Sopher many times, each time he refused to cease his search. Several weeks ago, while the realms made preparations to make the pilgrimage, he and four guardian angels located the Lost Tribe of Atum.”

  “By whose hand did he fall?” inquired Dagda.

  “I regret to say it was by my hand. There was nothing I could do.”

  It was well known among the Circle that the Lost Tribe had been an obsession of the Seræphym leader. They had believed it to be harmless. The thirteenth tribe had not been seen in five thousand years. It was a fool’s errand, not something we believed could be accomplished. Hundreds of their own scholars had tried and failed. Yet he had done it. The implications of the tribe being both alive and found were beyond anything they had yet expected. If their bloodline remained pure, the key to undoing the curse upon mankind had been found.

  “Time slips away from us,” said the Morrighan. “And you fail to alert the council of this treachery until now? Falbanach is not the only one with secrets.”

  “What conspiracy did the Sopher engage?” asked Mog Rioth.

  “Sopher Madan, his daughter, and four guardian angels took it upon themselves to slaughter the entire tribe of apostates found hiding beneath an ancient and powerful spell of illusion. There they had remained hidden by both spell and wood, in the Greatwood Forest of Hyperborea. A spell of such power I could not believe it had I not seen it with my own eyes.”

  “How many apostates did they encounter?” asked Birog.

  “Over a hundred, living in peace, none of them harming a soul. It is my estimation they had raised the barrier themselves. An act of sacrifice to prevent the return of Atum.” said Amyrannii.

  The Morrighan did not believe the spin that the ArchMagus had placed on the event. “How many survived the attack?”

  “I could only rescue five of the hundred and forty-three,” said Amyrannii. “The others were slaughtered to the last woman and child.”

  “The Seræphym responsible have been captured or dealt with?” Amergin stated.

  “Two of the Guardian's fell in the chaos. Once I arrived they had come to their senses, I ordered them to cease their attacks. When they did both Madan and his daughter murdered them in cold blood. They then turned their advance upon me, though Madan fell to my dagger, his daughter fled. My injury prevented my pursuit, however, bards have been dispatched along every road from Tara to Fomor. She will not remain at large for long.”

  “What of the Seræphym remaining in the Acropolis?” asked Falbanach.

  Amyrannii turned to the one member who had been so silent. “They have been confined to the Acropolis. I have placed them under a stasis spell until the Circle determines what is to be done with the traitorous lot.”

  “Surely we do not intend to punish the entire people for the mistakes of one soul?” cried Emyrs Myrddin.

  The Hidden Circle remained silent on his comment. They had and would do such a thing. The entire race of man had been cursed, and far worse had been done in the name of the Goddess. They had kept mankind under their thumb for over six thousand years.

  “Where are the surviving apostates being held? I would very much like to speak with them,” said the Morrighan. “Was their enchantress among those who survived?”

  She could tell that Amyrannii did not like the request, but what choice did he have? He required proof he’d handled the situation as best as he could. His position as ArchMagus was granted by the Circle and it could be rescinded.

  “Very well, once the council here has convened, I shall take you and whoever else to them. But is it not more pressing to discover the source of our blindness?”

  “I agree,” said Lir. “By what magic or power could the Grove be so affected?”

  None seemed to have much of import to share with their brothers and sisters.

  “None among us has any idea how this is so?” said Mog Rioth. “Dagda? Emrys?”

  Falbanach stood, “Only one power could achieve this. It belongs to each one sitting in this room.”

  “You presume one of us is responsible?” queried Birog.

  “I presume nothing,” said Falbanach. “It is evident. One of you has turned from your Oath.”

  The chamber was silent. Morrighan could not believe what the old beggar said. The other members of the Circle stared at one another. The palpable tension erupted into raucous argument and the flinging of accusations. She watched as the fabled and wise beings displayed the behavior of children.

  Pythia stood and rose her arms calling the Circle to order, Morrighan could tell she could trust none of her peers. It was all over Pythia’s face. One of them had fallen from grace, and she alone knew of this betrayal. Only Falbanach could be trusted. He’d smelled it right away. He was the only one who could have remained pure. He had been in the arms of the Great Mother for over three thousand years, far from the darkness of the world. Morrighan could not vouch for the others.

  Even Dagda could be the traitor. The Morrighan thought. His work with the Hallow was suspect. She needed to create an environment of greater discomfort. If the group was alerted to a traitor in their midst, the combined will of the Circle would surely be enough to uncover the villain.

  “High Priestess, what say you to this?” asked the Morrighan.

  “In my last communion with our Great Mother, she revealed the reason our Order has become blind to the dorcha that has fallen.” she paused. “The crone spoke of a cancer that grows within the Grove.”

  The majority of the Circle gasped with disbelief while Dagda and the Morrighan remained silent. Each of the members scanned the room playing the guessing game of whom had broken their blood Oath. Even their most sacred Order had succumbed to the sin of Atum. For a
mongst them was someone who had committed a crime so foul it shook the foundations of all they believed.

  “How can we be certain of this?” cried Amyrannii. “High Priestess perhaps you misinterpret her words? The blood Oath cannot be broken by man nor Fae. It is preposterous!”

  “Did the Goddess give you inclination as to whom?” asked Andraste.

  “Whomever it is, they have shielded their identity from her, and she has become too weak to shine light on the darkness as it grows more powerful within her with each passing day.” said Pythia.

  “This is madness, have we all gone mad? Every soul on Earth knows this to be impossible!” said Amyrannii.

  “What say you Falbanach, did you glean this from within the dreaming?” said Andraste.

  He stood, “I’ve no time to deal with trivial witch hunts. I must speak with the Oracle.”

  Morrighan noted his behavior. He knew something, but what she could not be sure. He was on a warpath to discover how the entire Grove was guilty of abandoning their Oaths. Had they done their jobs, this could not have happened as the arrogant Amyranni had said.

  “Speak to her, she is right here,” said Amyrannii.

  “I will speak with the Oracle, alone.” He referred to the High Priestess. Her title had shifted over the centuries, where once she was known as the Oracle, now she had a much grander title.

  “That is not possible,” panicked Amyrannii. The rest of the Circle broke into close whispers.

  “We must know what you know. If the High Priestess is correct, the implication is far too vast. What have you seen in the dreaming?” Amyrannii’s words stunk of fear and suspicion and Falbanach never spared his time on blundering fools, the Morrighan knew this. The hooded beggar walked to Pythia and raised his staff from within his cloak and took the hand of Pythia.

  “I forbid anyone leaves this circle, under pain of the blackthorn.”

  Before the eyes of the entire Hidden Circle, the two vanished from the caverns.

  Amyrannii was enraged.

  “Insolent bastard! He can’t”

  The Morrighan shook her head. “That is Falbanach’s way. It is best you get used to his eccentricities. There is little any here can do about the matter.”