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

by Christopher Lee

  “Why is it you have paid such attention to me? To my preparation that is? I would have thought you would spend more time with the champion of the Aélfar. They are the people under your jurisdiction are they not?”

  She smiled, the corner of her mouth curled. He had looked at her as she looked at him and had called her to reveal what she wanted.

  “Will you walk with me Lugh?” she gestured for him to take her hand. He did so and followed her lead. She walked him to the corner of the tent a shadowed area where few eyes would meet. She looked at him and covered her mouth with a finger, calling him to silence. She’d done this many times as he had become frustrated during his preparation and training. Her power had a way of calming his inner demons so they no longer fought him but served his purpose. It was her mindful approach that guided him to pass each guidepost along the way of his advancement. Now she called him to do so once more.

  “Close your eyes, and tell me what you see, what you hear, what you feel?” she said before closing her eyes. “Stretch out, relax into it, tell me what your inner eye sees.”

  Lugh did so, his balance was challenged. He leaned against the crates behind them and took a deep breath. Lugh reached out as she had taught him to do. He called to his inner vision to allow him to see past the distractions, to be present in the current moment, and to view what purpose and gift the moment entreated him to receive. As he relaxed, he saw a muddled web of colors, all intertwined, some larger, some smaller, but all connected.

  “A tangled web, a web of colors,” he said. “Some are small, faint, without color.”

  “And the others?” she asked.

  “The others command the attention and direction of the smaller strands.”

  “Do you sense your own?” she asked.

  “I do not,” he remarked. He could see a majority of them, but none of them felt as though they belong to him.

  “We can never view where our own strand leads, though we may perceive that of others. Some will call to you with brighter color, and more alluring sounds. Those of love, those of hate, those of envy. Our emotions color this web, and our actions guide it. I have seen your web Lugh, and it stretches farther and more prominently than you would believe. You will perform many more great acts before your time here is done. The decisions you make from here on to the end will affect many, but only if you can conquer the demon of doubt that dwells within you. The same demon that claims you belong nowhere and with no one. You asked me why I have taken such an interest? It is because of this potential. Open your eyes and look at the others. Such confidence they have, such zeal for competition, each knowing they will be the ones to pass the test, to progress, and to claim the gift of servitude, to take the Oath of Surrender. And the crown Prince Bres?”

  Lugh turned his attention to the prince who was standing by Princess Arabella. His walk was proud, his frame stout and tall. He was the epitome of etiquette and proper manner. He was also full of pomp and vim.

  “I see a man who is proud, fit, and capable, a venerable champion,” said Lugh.

  Morrighan grinned.

  “Do you also see the man beneath the facade? The man who would not dare to peer into his own abyss? Do you see the fear dripping from him? He hides it well, but behind his shield lingers the stink of fear, fear of failure, of inadequacy. This gives birth to ambition, ambition borne of fear. He would not dare to stare into my eyes and face what he might see reflected back at him as you have.” she paused and looked at him. “What you a true champion, will face in the trial of Calas will test more than your body, more than your mind, it will test your will. A night gives way to day many who stand as champions now will no longer draw breath. You must be one of them. Though you are both man and fae, you carry within you the blood of my people. The Dagda saw this in you, and though at first, he may have believed you were a sacrificial lamb to save his daughter, he looked deeper. If you fail, then we all fail. The Fae have grown weak and man has grown strong, many of the Fae champions will fail to advance in the first trial. Look upon their faces.”

  Lugh did so, he examined the Fae champions. Though outwardly they appeared fit to undergo such rigors, something called to him from behind their eyes. They did not respect the champions of men. They spurned them. But why? When it sunk in it made sense to Lugh. They were all afraid, afraid to serve, afraid to give up the peace they had enjoyed, afraid to change. Afraid that man could once again grasp at the rungs of power. A shift was coming, and they knew it.

  “They are afraid,” he said to her.

  “And the men?” she asked him.

  In the faces of the men, he saw a starkly different spirit. They beamed, they were ready, prepared, and angry. Though they may have appeared meager in physicality or in grandeur, their eyes revealed a hunger that burned within them, a hunger borne of fear and desire for power. Because Lugh had been borne of both worlds, he was well acquainted with both. He knew the arrogance of the fae, inversely he knew of the greed of fearful men.

  “Do you see it now Lugh?”

  Lugh shook his head. “What must I do? How will I prevail?”

  She smiled, “Come with me.”

  The pair walked out of the tent hand in hand into the moonlight. Lugh was full of ale and his senses were dull. He followed her lead towards a wooded grove in the trees behind the royal tent. The moon was high in the sky though half illuminated. Underneath the canopy of trees little could be seen. She begged him to close his eyes and let her guide him through the darkness. They walked for what seemed like an hours time before they arrived. These lands were foreign to Lugh, he had never walked in their midst. The trees were different, the leaves sang as the wind danced upon them. He had never been surrounded by such magic. Lugh stood in the center of the grove with his eyes closed listened to the wind. He heard a voice upon the wind itself.

  “Surrender,” it whispered. “Surrender.”

  Lugh opened his eyes and before him stood the Morrighan bare-breasted in the moonlight. Her eyes were ablaze in red and she waved for him to approach her. Lugh rubbed his eyes, unsure of what he was seeing. Then he heard it again.

  “Surrender,” the wind called.

  Lugh walked forward towards her. His feet were not his own. The voice persisted until, he stood before her. He looked into her eyes, eyes that had seen more than he could have ever dreamed.

  “Your people will require your strength and guidance in these trying times, do you surrender to her will?” asked the Morrighan.

  Lugh knelt before her, his head hanging in surrender.

  “Will you pledge your body and your mind to this land and pledge to serve the people?”

  “I will, with all I am and more,” said Lugh. “By every skill, I possess, by every bone, by every pint of blood in my veins.”

  From behind her, the Morrighan revealed a dagger forged of obsidian.

  “What do you offer? Blood, bone, or union?” she asked him.

  Lugh looked into her eyes, the dark and alluring sheFae was filled with lust. Though she was older than him by many thousands of years, she had not aged a day. She was as young in body as she was in spirit, yet her power and wisdom were much older. In this peculiar moment of surrender, he understood what it was the Morrighan wanted from him. In return for her blessing, she wanted either his blood oath binding him in fealty to her, a part of his essence from his bones, or the product of a union with her.

  “I offer all to you lady of the darkness, whose shield protects me in battle, whose body delights me, whose words fill me with righteous courage. I Lugh offer myself in surrender to you and to my people.”

  “Rise Lugh of the Long Arm, Knight of the Fae, he who wields my spear,” said the Morrighan.

  She gripped the back of his head and pulled his lips to hers. Lugh gripped her waist and pulled her close to him as her legs wrapped around him. He felt the sting of her bite against his lips, bringing him to his knees with her clasped to his body. Lugh lost himself, her passion, her lust overcame them both underneath
the moonlight. Before the Goddess, the moon, and the sacred souls of the trees, they were joined in union. The Morrighan looked towards the moon as the pair engaged in the ancient rite of sovereignty. Though Lugh did not know what he had surrendered, the Morrighan knew, and she grinned. Her cries of ecstasy rang through the wood as Lugh pledged himself into her service in the old way. The young man had given her pleasure, his oath and had become tied to the land itself, giving him a clear advantage in trial. Lugh collapsed into her bosom, covered in the sweat of their union and fell fast asleep in her arms. She laid him down upon the grass and took out her dagger. She cut into her flesh and let the blood from her veins flow forth upon the head of an obsidian spear.

  To my blood, he is bound,

  To my blood, he is bound,

  To my blood, he is bound,

  Macha, Anu, Badb,

  Thrice shall he owe me a debt,

  Thrice shall I come to collect.

  My shield is his, dark and true,

  My spear is his, for he is made anew.

  She gathered her robes before leaving him to sleep amongst the stars upon the land, a land that would welcome him, and offer him no threat.

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  Samsara, the rogue Seræphym

  Revenge and hate,

  Will ever create,

  A heavy burden, a lofty weight.

  The cold iron bars in front of her brought forth a mess of feelings. While the other champions were steeped in the revelries of the night Samsara was confined to a cell beneath the Grand Temple of the Goddess. Samsara was not afforded glory and cheer; she was treated as a criminal. She was still struggling with the fate of her people and their home. Her people were cast to the wind in a series of events that had unfolded so quickly there was nothing that could be done. Six thousand years of meticulous work, the legacy of her father, his lineage, and her entire people had sunk to the ocean floor. Though she knew it did not rest on her own shoulders alone, she felt the weight of it in her heart. She had helped destroy everything that her people had ever done, and now the rest were enthralled, imprisoned, or had been declared rebels and heretics.

  Samsara gripped the iron bars of her cell and squeezed imagining they were the neck of the traitorous demon that had infected her world. His words still rang in her ears, driving her mad. When she had surrendered to the Guardians, she’d been unaware of the torture and duress she would be placed under. The warlock had failed to mention that. The memory flooded back into her like the waves that crushed her home.

  “Where is the warlock? Did you give him the stone?” the demon called to her. “Should you give me his location, and where you took the boy, I will pardon your people. They need not suffer any longer because of you. You can save them. Their fate rests in your hands. All you have to do is give me the stone of Fal.”

  His voice was even more corrupt than she had remembered. Whatever he once was, he was no longer in control. The perversion within him seeped through every pore. Sam wondered how this demon could have deceived them all. The warlock had given her little power to combat this infernal creature.

  “Relent from this wicked path the warlock has sent you down. Return to the light child, and you shall be heralded as the one who brought the One True God back to us. Be the wings that lift your people and the world from bondage. We rest on your decisions.”

  The demon placed a spell of stasis on her to submit her. In her mind he assaulted her with images of her father dying, of the broken bones and wings floating above the water. He carved his nails into her skin. Samsara screamed and wailed at first, but as he perverted himself in the torture, she became more resolute. Her pain fed her future vengeance. She called for more, taunting the wicked fiend. He had responded by doubling his efforts, but Samsara did not budge. Her hatred had created a barrier that even his malice could not pierce. She glared at him,

  “Torture does nothing but further twist and destroy what little is left of you,” she said to him. “You may take my body, but you will not have me. I will never surrender unto your sin.”

  She had enraged him. He wailed and spat at her until he was called away by another wearing the white robe of the Derwyddon. It was a feminine voice though Sam remained incapable of tearing their masks away. His spell was strong. He left her in the care of the other who bandaged her wounds. Samsara observed her as she cleaned the blood from her bare skin.

  “There is no point in resisting him,” she said. “He will break you before you even face the trials. If you are not whole you will not survive. It would be wise to give him something to prove you will cooperate.”

  “And if I survive?” Sam asked. “Will I still be held in chains? Or will my innocence be proven if my life remains?”

  “My dear Seraeph. You will not survive, he has made sure of that.” she said. “Those in his employ stretch from the realms of men far and wide. The Fae will not survive. Man rises again, should you serve them, then you may prove your worth.”

  “I will not,” said Samsara.

  “Then you will die, that much is certain,” said the druid.

  Samsara was tired of their cryptic talk, “I’ll tell you what is certain. When I survive and claim the Oath of Surrender, I will hunt each of you who follow him until the end of my days. No King, no God or Goddess shall keep me from exacting justice upon you. I don’t care where you run to, nothing will stand between me and you. That much is certain.”

  The druid left with a chuckle and Samsara felt anger give way to sadness. She sensed the tender kiss of tears on her cheeks. Sam had shielded herself from their assaults, but inside she was wounded.

  She wanted nothing more than to put an end to the madness, to place her hands around his neck and choke the life from him. Every cell in her body was in a state of confusion. In order for her to bring justice to her people, to her father’s name she had to surrender. It was all so counterintuitive. She allowed herself to be captured by the same creature that had taken everything from her. She allowed the warlock to destroy the Acropolis making her entire people refugees. None of it made sense.

  “What a fool I am?” she said to herself. Her cell was cold and dark. Though she had been paraded through the streets as a hero a champion of the Conclave, she felt like a prisoner. She failed to understand how she would exact revenge from behind these bars. “How am I ever going to kill what cannot be killed?”

  “All things come to an end,” said the familiar voice of Falbanach.

  Samsara turned to peer into the shadows of her cell though she saw nothing. She continued to look around, but still, nothing was there. “Warlock?” she asked, “Is that you? How did you get in here?”

  “My spirit is there, my body lays with the one you saved,” said the voice. “It has taken me much time to find where they are keeping you, but the stone has grown stronger. It is by its power I speak to you. Has the traitor spoken to you?”

  “He tortured my body,” Samsara paced in frustration, “Then he turned his venom upon my mind.

  “What did he say?” asked Falbanach.

  “He talked a lot about the Acropolis he seems mad about it. You sunk my home to the bottom of the ocean. He seemed quite happy about the thousands who sunk under your assault. Are you sure you aren’t playing on the same team?”

  “He does as expected, he places the blame for the Acropolis on me and further dissolves into the shadow, where it will be harder to detect him. It will be your job to shed light on his treachery.”

  Samsara shrugged, “And just how am I supposed to do that from inside iron bars.”

  “You will not be behind them for much longer, once you pass the first trial, he and the rest of the Grove will be forced to recognize you as one of the Order. It will be then that your true work will begin.”

  Sam grew irritated with the cloak and dagger routine, “Yet again, how am I supposed to pass a trial I know nothing about? I saw the other champions, I’m five years younger than the entire lot. Each one of them with advisors, trainers,
mentors. I have no idea what to expect, nor how to prepare.”

  “The others will fall like wheat in the field, you have what they do not.”

  “And what is that?” she asked him.

  “The artifacts your people paid dearly for, they will guide you in the dark. How many were you able to recover?” he asked.

  “Two maybe three? I was interrupted by the Watchers before I could gather them all.”

  “It is no matter, you retrieved the stone. What ever else you have will have to be sufficient? You must use the stone to absorb their power.”

  Sam looked at the relics, they were small, one was the palm-sized flat stone she had worn about her neck, another a small wooden carving of the bare-breasted Great Mother, the other a bracelet she had made with beads made of bone her father had given her. She failed to understand how these three trinkets would help her in the trials ahead. Her father had given them to her as gifts. It was not until after his death he had revealed to her they were made from relics of the first age.

  “What possible use could these three trinkets be?” she asked the voice.

  “They will reveal themselves to you at the proper time, let your heart guide you.”

  “Let my heart guide me? My heart tells me I want to throw them against the wall and break through these iron bars. My heart guides me to strangle the creature that took my father from me, to expose the Nemeton for what it is. It tells me you are of no help.”