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

by Christopher Lee

  Bres couldn’t believe it. “Lugh please come sit.”

  “But he’s one of those half bloods. He’s no man.” said Lycaon.

  Bres looked sternly at Lycaon. “And whom among us is pure of blood? Who here walks about with Atum’s blood untainted? There isn’t one among us who doesn’t have a connection to Fae blood, and we all know it. My cousin may have Fae blood, but he is also of my blood, and he is most welcome.”

  Lugh appeared as bewildered as the others. Lugh sat down and Bres smiled, pleased that none of the others took it upon themselves to hasten themselves away from the table. He was winning their allegiance.

  “So what do you propose then Prince?” said Hermagoras. “We’ve got six here. Something tells me you will have a tougher time convincing Princess Neith and the Blessed Daughter.”

  “It’s a start,” said Lugh. “These revelries go into all hours of the night. If we all move fast, each of us can split and make way to the others. By night’s end we can unify power.”

  “You seem oddly ready to betray the banner you carry Lugh,” said Lycia. “Too quick for my liking.”

  Lugh glared at the man. “Just because I wear the colors of the Fae doesn’t mean I don’t still harbor a grudge against him. If you don’t remember your history lesson, I suggest you recall how the same Fae who cast me into this meat grinder also thrust a sword through my father’s chest. I’d not consider my allegiance tied to such a ruler. Besides, it’s a clear game of numbers, eleven champions of men, seven Fae, and one Seræphym. You do the math Lycia.”

  “Lugh makes a good point, there is no reason that with our advantage in numbers we can’t come out unscathed. If we only band together.”

  “And if the Fae move against us?” said Iason. “Then we defend ourselves. There is no rule save the rule of survival in this contest. Where we go, many dangers await. We must be prepared for anything the grove throws at us. That includes the Fae.”

  “I say we point the brute towards them and let him wear them down,” said Hermagoras. “He looks robust enough to hack a leg from that giantess. Perhaps we need to be taking orders from him.”

  “If the beast could speak, I imagine you might be right,” joked Lycia.

  “Listen men,” said Bres. “We owe this to our people. All of our people. This night is for champions, but let us not forget what we stand for as champions. We are the hopes and dreams of our peoples. We must shine brighter. The manner in which we triumph makes us all the more golden in their eyes. We protect our own, we band together, and we will survive. I assure you. No I entreat you enjoy your evening. Make merry and speak with our brothers father afield, do your best to bring them into the fold. Together we can bring about a new age of men.”

  “Aye!” they cheered in unison clanking their glasses together.

  Four of the champions from departed to seek out more ale. Bres stared across the table at Lugh. Lugh stared back. Bres could tell that the half blood who sat across from him was from his noble stock. He carried himself as Bres. They both demanded respect when words left their lips.

  “I want to thank you Prince,” said Lugh. “For defending me. It was a welcome feeling.”

  Bres nodded, “You are of my blood Lugh, despite my father’s feelings none here are closer to me than you. Though I did not know you. I was but three years when father ordered your death. I have never understood his obsession with prophecy.”

  “Ah, well prophecy is a slippery slope,” said Lugh. “That I know well.”

  “Do you mean to stay with the men Lugh? If you do, I will vouch for you, but I need to know where your allegiance lies. Should we enter the fray and you are undecided because of incomplete business, with this Princess Arabella.”

  “What of her?” said Lugh.

  “I saw the way she looked at you Lugh. Everyone in the forum did. It is obvious that you have shared an intimacy with the sheFae. It is no matter she is my betrothed, not my heart. That belongs to my people. But if you are to be one of those people, I need to know I have you watching my back. Are you with us Lugh?”

  Lugh took a moment to respond. Bres could tell that the mere mention of her name brought forth feelings for the half blood. He was surprised when the answer escaped Lugh sooner. “It is no matter, I stand with the brethren. This isn’t about men or Fae, its survival. If you care for these men, these other champions you will make sure they heed your word. I will do what I can to make sure no harm comes to those of my blood, but I cannot ensure their allegiance. Only you can do that. I think it's a mistake to disavow all usefulness from the Fae. They can be useful in securing us passage. We are stronger if we all stand together. But I leave the decision to you.”

  Lugh got up from the table and walked away. Bres sensed a great victory in securing the support of Lugh. His father would disapprove, but his father wouldn’t face the trial. With a skilled warrior like Lugh at his side Bres was sure to triumph. He tossed back a gulp of ale and finished the tankard.

  As he swallowed there she was, standing before him. Her skin seemed to sparkle in the twilight shade of the stars. She offered a hand. “Will you dance with me young Prince?”

  He took her hand and off they went into the revelry of the night.

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  Lugh, the half-blood vagabond

  Cast out all doubt,

  By blood, by spirit, by bone,

  Assume the long absent throne.

  A grand feast had been prepared for the champions and dignitaries from the many storied realms attending the Conclave. The High King Dagda provided pleasantries, food, drink, and magical spectacle for those special souls invited. Outside of his opulent party, the commoners celebrated in kind. Millions were joined in merrymaking by their brothers and sisters from lands far and wide. The commoners had built pyres on each hilltop as far as the eye could see. Though they remained unlit, the light of the moon highlighted their form against the black night sky.

  Lugh stared at the horizon from an opening in the massive tent that housed the festivities. His mind reeled at the happenings of the day. The presentation of the champions had been a spectacle, one in which he had felt vulnerable. He had spent so much of his life in hiding, far from the eyes of politicians and the public eye. Particularly Balor’s eye. He recalled how Balor had glared at him. It was the first time he had seen his grandfather in the flesh. He was even more imposing in person than he had imagined. Though Lugh had become untouchable as he was both a champion of the Conclave and a member of Dagda’s royal household, he still felt vulnerable. His training with the High King had only added to the feelings of humility.

  Balor had refused to attend Dagda’s merrymaking, but his son the Prince Bres had chosen to attend. Lugh had spoken with him and a group of other champions. Bres was a noble youth, who sought to give mankind a triumph. That was fine, but Lugh understood if any of them were to survive, they’d need more than either side could provide. They needed unification. He was not sure Bres would achieve this aim. He needed to speak with the more aloof wings of mankind, specifically the Princess Neith and the Blessed Daughter of Sumer.

  Seeing the other champions had also humbled him. The Fae were sturdy and powerful, and the men were numerous and pliable. Though he was fit to compete with them in the trials, each of them had been chosen out of millions. Every one of them had been trained with as much vigor as he had been. The reality had sunk in. In the morning, he would engage in the brutal and ancient trial of Calas. Though he knew little of what would occur during the trial, he assumed many of the champions would be set against each other. The Morrighan had told him only a fraction of them would be worthy enough to survive. He had measured the others and found that any of them could end his life if he was distracted.

  Lugh made his way to the delegation from Kemet. They were a finely dressed people whose land was lush and hot. Up here they were most certainly cold, which was why they wore the white fur. He made his way to the Princess Neith. As luck would have it, she was engrossed in c
onversation with the Blessed Daughter of Sumer.

  “Princess Neith,” said Lugh as he bowed low. “I am Lugh of the Long Arm. I come share a drink with the southern kingdoms.”

  Princess Neith raised her goblet, “You are well met Lugh, your feats are spoken of as far as Thebes in the lower Nile. I am humbled to be in your company on this most auspicious night. Have you prepared yourself for our journey tomorrow morning?”

  Lugh nodded, “I prepare myself as we speak with the courage of ale and tales of heroic deeds by the champions far and wide. Champions such as yourself and the Blessed Daughter of Sumer.”

  Though Neith was cordial the Blessed Daughter stared at him with careful eyes.

  “And what does the champion of the Fae wish to know of human courage? In my country the deeds of heroes are those who sacrifice themselves for their people. Not self-aggrandized vagabonds who flee their people.”

  She was a going to be a hard egg to crack. Lugh knew this. “Blessed Daughter I must beg forgiveness if my presence offends thee, I will take my leave.”

  “If your presence offended me, I would have removed your head already.” she said.

  “I believe what the Blessed Daughter means is, everyone is curious which side the half blood will choose? We saw you speaking with fair Prince Bres and the champions of the Median Sea, does this mean you will join the side of men or of the Fae?”

  Lugh could feel himself becoming distracted by Neith’s beauty and enraged by the Blessed Daughter’s abrasiveness. In this moment he realized just how little he ever understood about women. He feared he may never grasp it.

  “I have spoken with Bres. As his blood run in my veins, we are of one mind. But I must say I have urged him not to split the champions up by such rank and file. If we want to survive what we face, we will need the strengths of each champion. Some of us will fall, there is no avoiding that, but the stakes are too great. If we fail, and all lose their lives in the trial, because of trite political barriers then a fate far worse will descend on our peoples. We have to survive, and we only do that if we work together. Fae and man.”

  “Spoken like a diplomat,” said Neith. “Perhaps this vagabond is more than meets the eye Shala.”

  “We shall see,” said the Blessed Daughter. “What I know is that when fear grips the champions leadership will be required. If it be not Bres, then someone else will take the mantle. I pray it this soul takes the form of the Goddess, and not of men. The darkness can only be vanquished by one who knows its depths. Where we go, no light of men may conquer.”

  “Perhaps that soul will be you, Shala,” said Lugh. “I only hope that when we face our fears, we remember that we are stronger together. When that moment comes, I hope I have your sturdy bow Neith, and your sword Shala, at my side.”

  Lugh bowed before them and took his leave. He had entreated them and planted the seeds of unity. Whether they watered the seeds was no longer up to him, but to fate. The men had been easily convinced, they would follow as Bres commanded. The brute might be a challenge, but Lugh believed that together they could use his force. His work was nearing completion, and the ale had gone to work on his body and his mind.

  It was then he heard a familiar voice, outside the tent.

  “No you half wit, a mundane blade won’t cut through that canvas. It’s enchanted.” it said.

  “Then how do you suppose we get in there and wish fair Lugh farewell.” said another.

  Lugh reached underneath the canvas and gripped the ankles attached to the two voices. He yanked them underneath. Sure enough his intuition served him correct. It was the twins.

  “You two fools are going to get yourselves killed.” he said to them.

  “What we don’t look the part?” asked Feorn.

  They had dressed themselves in fine robes. By the looks of it they had stolen them off the backs of two wealthy Tuatha, most likely in a game of dice. They looked ridiculous though Lugh thought no one at the gathering would notice them. He didn’t see the harm, he could vouch for them if they got into any trouble, as a champion he had pull.

  “Listen, If I let you in here, you can’t cause trouble, I have a reputation I have to uphold.”

  “We know, you’re a champion now? We cheered for ya? Did you see us in the crowd?” asked Dofaar.

  “Not exactly, there were a lot of folk about.” said Lugh. “Listen I have things I have to do, make merry, I am sure you’ve both lifted the names of the nobles from which you stole those clothes.”

  “Lugh, we are not stupid,” said Feorn. “I am the Baron of Bonewood, and Dofaar is the Count of, what was it?”

  “The Count of Bridalwood,” said Dofaar with an attempt at a fairy accent.

  “Right,” said Lugh. “If you get caught, I am not bailing you out. I’ve got bigger things to deal with right now.”

  She came into his line of sight. She looked even more beautiful than ever. He hadn’t seen her all night. He had been distracted. The shifting world had unbalanced him, most of all his growing infatuation with Princess Arabella.

  “The Princess Arabella,” said Feorn before laughing aloud. “Lugh’s got himself in a twist over a princess!”

  The twins laughed and chuckled, “How’d you convince this lot you were noble? That right there is right dirty trick, one I’d very much like to put to good use on the prim and proper folk in Formene. How’d you do it Lugh?” asked Dofaar.

  “It’s because I am of noble birth,” he said with shame.

  They roared in laughter, “You of noble birth? Right and I’m the Elder!”

  Feorn danced about pretending to be Lugh. Lugh covered his face. Though they were a pair of half brained fools, they were the only family he’d had before this. Their sudden emergence was a breath of fresh air among this stuffy nobles.

  “A noble, Ha that is good,” said Feorn.

  “Wait, why ain’t he laughin’?” said Dofaar. “Oh, oh gods, he must tell us the truth.”

  The looks on their faces showed how dumbfounded they were.

  “Look, everything has happened so fast.” said Lugh.

  “We wondered why you’d left in such a haste. Couldn’t find ya anywhere. We looked for days before we left for Tara, figured we’d run into ya and looks like we did. Found you all nobilified and in love with a Princess, nonetheless. How’s all that going for ya?”

  “Not great, I face certain death in the morning, and I’ve scorned the loving heart of a fairy princess. I am damned if you ask me boys.” said Lugh.

  His past had left him. Where he now treads the twins could not follow. He couldn’t follow that path any longer, and though he knew it wasn’t goodbye, his heart responded with aching.

  “Would you two be able to deliver something to someone for me, on the morrow?” he asked.

  “Name it Sir Lugh of the….” said Dofaar. “Wait, where are you from anyways?”

  “The Ironwood,” he said.

  “Sir Lugh of the Ironwood,” said Dofaar.

  “It Lord of the Ironwood,” said Lugh.

  “So now he’s a lord, the story just keeps on changing.” said Feorn. “Of course we will Lord of the Ironwood. We are your ever humble servants.”

  “All right get out of here, go make merry and no pocket picking. Lest you want your heads removed by the OakWatch. Come by my tent in the morning, I’ll have a letter I need you to deliver.”

  The pair made their way into the dancing circle of Fae and men. He watched them enjoy themselves and he looked for the soul that his heart ached for, for Arabella. Though they had started out as friends, his deceit had left them on rough terms. Despite her new found avarice towards him he had grown to admire her passion not only for her people but also for her keen sense of duty. He admired in her not so much her looks, which were beyond pleasing to his eyes but by what he learned from her, in how she made him grow into a more whole person. All the things he had lacked in life, stability, loyalty, compassion, and many more were readily represented in her attitude and approach.
She was truly one to be admired by all of her constituents, he most of all. The spirits he had been imbibing in only emboldened the feelings he was experiencing for her. His heart beat quicker as he remembered how she had looked at him during the presentation. It smashed into him like a rockslide, his inhibitions were lowered and he wanted to tell her how he felt, at once.

  Lugh turned back to the festivities. He was holding a mug of ale which he drained at once before heading back to the festivities. He decided he would do that after he told Arabella.

  As he parted the crowds and walked towards the table of honor, he saw Bres fraternizing with Princess Arabella. His shoes turned to lead. Arabella laughed and placed a hand upon the arm of Bres. Lugh watched and noticed Bres extended his arm to the Princess, which she took amicably before the pair walked away from the table, through the crowd. What was a cordial act familiarization between the two when viewed through the fog of ale looked more to Lugh like a spark of romance. His head whirled, and his heart panged. Then realization hit.

  “You have bigger problems to deal with,” he said to himself under his breath.

  “Of that you are right,” said the Morrighan. Her voice had become familiar to him. He felt as though she were always watching him, even when she was not in the room. In fact, that was how many felt when she took an interest in them. No matter where he was, Lugh sensed her eyes on him. Though she had been beyond helpful in his preparations for the trial, deep down he wondered why she had taken such an interest in him.

  “Is it that noticeable?” he asked her.

  “To my eyes perhaps, but to others, what happens in the head of Lugh of the Long Arm is of little concern. They have bigger problems to deal with as you said.” added the Morrighan. “How does your work with the Prince commence? Does he believe you to be an ally?”

  “He does, though I do not trust him.” he said.

  “Nor should you,” she said.

  Lugh smiled and laughed before pouring another cup of ale to steel his nerves before turning to look at the Morrighan. Ale helped. Not that the Morrighan was not pleasing to the eyes, any man or Fae would be mad to deny her dark beauty. It was something else, the vulnerability he and others felt around her. She saw everything, felt everything, knew everything, particular about the inner realms of a person. It was as though her eyes pierced through the mask you present to the outer world. She did not seem to wish him harm, but to understand the identity of those behind the mask. With his nerves calmed he turned and looked her in the eyes. Where before he had always veered away from direct contact this time he stared back into her.