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

by Christopher Lee

  Sam tossed two trinkets against the wall as hard as she could, and she tore the bracelet from her wrist. The pieces of bone clattered against the stone floor. The stone broke into two pieces as it collided with the stone wall of her cell. The wooden carving fell to the floor unharmed. She stared at the items and screamed. The stone emanated a reddish energy linking the two broken pieces. She watched as the two pieces gravitated towards each other before snapping back together. It glowed with a bright red energy.

  “Take the stone in your hand you fool.” said the voice.

  Samsara picked up the stone in defiance. “Why? It is a rock! What am I to do with a rock? I need a halberd, a bow, something useful.”

  “Go back to the memories of when your father gave them to you. What do you feel?”

  Sam did as he asked and tried to recall the memories. Flashes of them returned, each one tearing at her heart like a dagger. She didn’t know whether to weep or to cry out in anger. She remembered her father’s face. The memory of it brought forth the image of the imposter, the one who had taken his form and caused the destruction that had befallen her people. A mix of rage and sadness enveloped her. She was unable to focus. Nothing made sense as she looked at the world through the lenses of bloodlust and revenge.

  “Your rage has unbalanced you Seraeph, you must learn to focus your rage, to channel it into purpose, or you will not pass the trials ahead. Then he will take from others what he has taken from you. He wants you unbalanced, his plan is to use you and your people to achieve his aims, if you fall to his deception now, then there is no hope for your people, or for any people. Is this the outcome you desire? Do you want to continue throwing a tantrum like a petulant child? If you wish to follow a path of destruction, then you will serve his purpose all the more. Do you even know what this demon plans for you?” the voice grew angry. “He will tear your soul from your body and put one in its place, one to do his bidding, you will be a pawn enthralled to him like the Guardians, only worse, you will know for all eternity that you could have stopped him, you and only you could have stopped him.”

  Sam could sense that the warlock was losing patience with her. She didn’t know how to respond, she was lost in a tempest of rage within her. She’d been thrown into a world of chaos, a world unknown to her. She responded in the only way her wild and shattered heart knew how. How was she to combat the chaos?

  “Calm your mind, calm your heart. What do you sense in the stone? Listen to it, what does it say to you?”

  Sam took a moment. She took a deep breath and focused her intent to hear the stone. She breathed into it, relaxing her thoughts. The stone vibrated in her hands, she felt the vibration deep within her. She closed her eyes and listened.

  “Balance,” the stone whispered, its voice was familiar, that of her father. “From order springs chaos, from chaos springs order. This is the unbreakable chain. The chain by which the living are bound. Focus chaos to achieve order. Once you do this balance can return. Take care not to misunderstand, those born in chaos will remain in chaos, order is for those who come after. Serve the balance and serve justice.”

  Sam opened her eyes. Her father had said the same words before, coaching her in patience, in guarding against rash action. He knew one day she would need the words and that they would find her. In this moment of realization, she perceived a sliver of peace. It was so obvious now. She had been hoping for a short game, a way to defeat the demon and return to her old life. Her old life was gone, nothing would ever be the same. She had to learn to accept the simple, sad fact that she no longer belonged to that past, that her future was before her.

  “The past is gone,” said the voice of the warlock. “What we do with the present creates the future for all. We are called into her service, you can fight the call with all of your might, but you will only bring suffering upon yourself, and those you care about.”

  Samsara cried. She was trapped in an endless conflict, one that had entangled creation since the beginning. One she wanted no part in, and yet it still it followed her like her own shadow. She’d tried to run from it, to break the mold, to fight it. Nothing had delayed the sure pursuit of destiny.

  “Only once we serve, can we experience true freedom, Seraeph. Once we submit we can shed the chains that have bound us. This conflict will not last forever, this battle will end, and you will be there when it does. Of this, I have seen.”

  Samsara did not know how much of what he said she believed though she understood some of the wisdom in his words. If he was correct, and she was to be the one to break the bonds that had tied everyone in a constant state of conflict then she had to try. Even if she was unsure of his prophecy, she had to do something. She took the stone in her hand and focused her intention into the stone.

  The stone’s power resonated in her hands, her fingers played at the sharp edge. She pricked the edge of her finger with it and rubbed her blood into the stone. Sam clenched hard as more blood trickled down her hand to her wrist and fell to the floor.

  By my blood, I will not cease my service,

  By my blood, I will break the bonds,

  By my blood, I will bring forth justice,

  For father, my people, and all.

  As she sat in darkness, repeating her blood oath a warm light enveloped her. She sensed the stone draw from her the venomous anger and rage that had entrapped her. She focused pouring her anger, hate, and sadness into the stone and watched as it transmuted to singular purpose.

  “Rage is a material, a material that can be forged into righteous purpose. Create a weapon within your mind, steel yourself and resolve to end that which was taken so much from you. If you do this, nothing will stand in your way.” said the warlock. “What you hold in your hands Samsara is the ancient stone of the Kings of Men. It will show us the way, it will show us the one who bears the mark of redemption, the one who will rend the bonds. It contains the memories of all things long since past. With it you cannot be defeated. It has chosen you to be the one, the steward of the throne, until the rightful body can take its place upon it.”

  His words seemed to cause the stone to vibrate. Samsara gripped the stone. Falbanach spoke to her in the ancient language. As he did, she began to understand the stone’s power. It spoke to her. It showed her the ancient battles of the heavens, the past as it truly happened. In her hands was the power to change the world, she but had to have the resolve to use it.

  “Listen to its wisdom and it will show you the proper path,” he said.

  Samsara closed off all other thought. As she fell into the power of the stone, she saw a small glimpse of her future. She stood before her future self. Though her future did not speak to her, she could tell the place her path carried her was one not of brokenness or pain, but of righteous fury against the forces that had destroyed her world.

  With her vows complete and her purpose realized, Samsara sat in the center of her cell in contemplation, forging a spiritual blade she would wield against the forces of chaos until she no longer drew breath. In her alchemical laboratory of the mind, she toiled and transformed herself into a living weapon.

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  Arabella, the Princess of Hyperborea

  Of fairy scorn,

  A man’s heart is torn,

  Of such things is love born.

  Arabella watched as the pilgrims gathered in the hills outside of the city of Tara. The sun neared the horizon and hundreds of bards waited with torches in hand to light the bonfires of Belenus, signaling the beginning of the Conclave. Millions had gathered surrounding a hill where a standing stone circle stood. Atop the hill stood the master of ceremonies Ogma sunface with two trumpeters.

  Only a day had passed since the people had seen the champions that would represent their individual peoples. All the hearts and minds of the pilgrims hoped that the champion who represented them would survive the trial of Calas. Rumors abounded in each camp about what would occur once the Nemeton began the ritual of summoning. Few knew the answers, but
all understood that it was imperative that at least one survive the challenges that lay ahead.

  The night before had been one for the ages. People celebrated with reckless abandon. The cares of their everyday had melted away, and they rejoiced in the grace of their Great Mother. Arabella was certain that many children had been conceived on this the first night of revelry. An entire generation of folk would be born under the auspices of the festival. Many would take the names of the champions, forward into the future. She was unsure of who would be victorious, but she knew who she hoped would not perish within the depths. Though she knew of her betrothal to Bres, she knew she did not love him. Not as she did Lugh. It was no fault of Bres; he was handsome, kind, and a fit mate, but he did not move her blood as Lugh did. To her and her kind, love differed from the customs of men. Men married of convenience while fairy folk beat against the wind with passion in their veins. Their emotion carried almost deadly consequence for their partner. Lugh had seen a fraction of that when he betrayed her trust by lying about his name.

  She had not slept during the night, instead the merrymaking took her. Before dawn she had found herself standing outside of his tent. She did not know why she was there, nor if she wanted to go to go to him. Her father had told her that whatever she felt for Lugh, it was not a part of her future. Arabella kicked herself for even being there. She waited around for a few minutes, but then walked away. As the champions prepared to go forth into the unknown depths of the earth, she felt her chance to tell him how she felt slipping away. She was to present Bres a token of her betrothal as he walked to the trial; she hoped that Lugh would not see it.

  Her servants had appeared and dragged her to her quarters to dress her in formal wear. Pixies swirled about her making proper for the event. She did not wear a gown as she did the night before, but a hooded white robe. Many of the pilgrims would wear the same color to symbolize their hope for light to return to the world and cease the darkness.

  Arabella waited for the procession to begin. The sun would set soon, and she would watch the two men who held affection for her walked into the most dangerous place in the world. Ogma sunface stepped to the edge of the hill facing the east and raised his hands to the air to grab the attention of the crowd. He smiled, his gleaming grin could be seen for hundreds of yards. What little chatter existed within the crowds silenced itself as all hung on the edge of anticipation. She watched in anticipation. Ogma’s words always stirred the blood.

  “Good people, pilgrims of her grace and beauty! Tonight as darkness lowers its veil upon the land you will stand as witness to the birth of legendary heroes. Tonight as we light the hilltops ablaze and hold our silent reverence for our Great Mother, your champions, the bravest, most courageous, and strongest among us will journey deep into the earth, to face their greatest fears and the most fearsome enemies in creation. They will see untold horrors and suffer through their great tribulation all so we might live through the coming darkness. Many of you here fear the darkness that approaches us all. That is why we must all lend the support of our spirits to our champions, that they may enter the abyss, conquer the fear that lies within the darkness, and rise again from the earth triumphantly, as true champions of divinity!”

  The crowd roared at the impassioned words of Ogma. He took a bow and signaled for the trumpeters behind him to sound. Horns blared and ripped through the air. Pilgrims watched as one pyre after another caught fire and blazed flame across the dusky skies of Eíre. The fires would continue to signal one after the other as far as they reached. When the signal reached the coast, it would then signal the boat carrying one final pyre to the continental mainland, whereby all other torches in the world would light themselves in sequence. Arabella had watched the pyres light from miles in each direction from the tower in Formene in past years when the festival took place in Formene. But when they were lit here in Tara, something changed. The magic of this place changed everything it touched.

  “Let the divine fires of the Great Goddess stay lit for three days henceforth. As our champions descend into the womb of our mother to combat the forces of darkness that set upon the peace and balance of her creation. Peace and balance created and enforced by her divine will the Nemeton. As those worthy emerge they will be welcomed into the hallowed Order of Divine Knights who uphold the will and testament of the Great Goddess. Will you please part the way and welcome the hallowed order of Druid Knights?”

  The crowd parted creating an entrance from the east for the former champions to enter the stone circle atop the hill. Ten white-robed and hooded males and females made their way through the aisle created by the reverent pilgrims. Each member of the Derwyddon was accompanied by a bard who chanted prayers and incantations and an ovydd who carried incense and tossed healing herbs out into the masses. Those pilgrims who had sickened children or were feeble and weak had positioned themselves to receive the blessings of the Nemeton. Among them were the High Priestess Pythia, King Dagda Nuada, the Morrigan, Emrys Myrddin, Lir, Archmagus Amyrannii, Birog, Andraste, Mog Rioth, and Amergin. The hallowed members made their way up the stone steps to the hilltop. The crowd cheered half-heartedly, making it apparent that not all approved of such power being entrusted to so few.

  Ogma sunface stepped forward and with his hands cupped his mouth. “Would you join me in welcoming your champions?”

  From the same direction, the twenty champions of the Conclave made their march towards the sacred hill. Each of them appeared prepared, sure of themselves, and welcomed the chance to become engraved into the annals of time. Many of them would not survive, and it appeared as though they all had accepted the fact, and had surrendered their lives into the hands of fate. Each one would be tested beyond their limits in what was for all intents and purposes a holy sacrifice of blood, bone, and spirit. The champions walked through the aisle showered in flower petals, sacred herbs, smoke, and salt water in an act of celebration and purification for the rite they would undergo. Once they reached the top of the hill, the champions were seated. Acolytes and servants attended to their purification anointing them with sacred oils and symbols of protection.

  Arabella watched them pass. She stood at the edge of the aisle. Her heart sunk when she saw the Bres walked ahead of Lugh. She knew Lugh would see her give Bres the token. Bres neared her and her heart skipped a beat in fear. A premonition came upon her that her path did not belong with the Prince. She was torn between her longing heart and duty. Arabella made eye contact with her father, who nodded. She could not defy him, not on this most sacred day. As Bres walked towards her, she stretched out her hand and placed a flower in his hand. She turned to face the hill. Her heart beat wildly, passion enveloping her she wanted to race to Lugh and tell her it was not her heart, but her duty. She could feel his eyes on her, she knew a part of him had just been broken forever, because she felt it in her own heart. Lugh passed her without a word. She wondered if the last words they shared were to be cross? Before she could allow a tear to fall she felt a tug at her sleeve. Below her was a child who handed her a letter. She opened the sleeve and pulled out the parchment.

  Dear Arabella,

  Though I know I have deceived you and broken the bonds of trust between us. On this day where I descend into the earth, I hope that you share only the memory of the kiss we shared upon the bow. The way the sea sprayed us when we met each other in truth for the first time. The man you spoke to then was the real Lugh. Though I do not know if I will return from the depths, believe I carry with me, your kiss, forever, until my lungs no longer draw breath,

  Lugh.

  Tears then dripped from her face as she realized he loved her with a true heart. This world was cruel, and she railed against within the walls of her heart. She vowed that if he should return her feelings, too would be known to him. She watched him ascend to the top of the hill, a courageous and foolish man, whom she loved with every part of her soul.

  Ogma once again addressed the crowd, “As our champions prepare themselves for the long and arduous jo
urney, I invite Dagda King of Hyperborea and High King of all the Fae to lead us in this most sacred and holy rite.”

  Cries of celebration rang out from the Fae that were in attendance while the men who looked on remained fairly silent. It was a stark contrast that could be heard by all. Dagda strode forward his elegant robes blowing in the slight breeze that cooled the heat of the day and gave way to the crisp air of the evening. He stood before the crowds and bowed his head. She watched her father address the crowd. His air, his level of decorum were impeccable.

  “Will you join me as I kneel?” he asked the millions in attendance, his voice cascading out amongst them. He then got down on his knees before the millions of pilgrims in an act of reverence to them. The pilgrims knelt wave by wave as far as her Fae eyes could detect. Arabella followed suit though she did grasp why her father knelt to commoners.

  “I kneel before you today as I am not only a servant to the Great Mother, not only to the Nemeton but as a child of our Great Mother, like all assembled here. I have made it my purpose to create a world where peace reigns where prosperity is available to all. Though not all agree with the decisions I make, my primary concern has always been the safety and security of all her creation. Many amongst you fear me, much more amongst you wish me ill-fortune or worse. For this, I forgive you, in the same spirit that the Great Goddess forgave us all. I understand this strife, for we live in a world chained by the bonds of conflict. I understand your worries, your concerns, and your grievances. For what pain I may have caused you or those you love I ask your forgiveness. I have known for thousands of years I am not perfect. Though I stand before you an immortal soul, I am nowhere near perfection. I am no better than you, for under this sky, under the light of the moon and the bonfires lit in her honor, tonight we are all equal. This was the gift she gave us, six thousand years ago. A gift of forgiveness, not for sins against her, but for the sins we commit towards each other. Sins I share with all creation. Sins I beg she still grants forgiveness of.” Dagda tore his priceless robe open and let it fall to the ground. “Mother forgive me!” he cried into the evening sky. His powerful gesture caused Arabella to gasp. All around her were in awe of his piety.