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

by Christopher Lee

  “I cannot,” said Nastas. “It clings to me, ever present, waiting to be unleashed. It is why men fail, it is why we will always fail.” He paused. “We were never meant to be perfect. A perfect thing requires no change, no growth. Men require time to grasp their truth, their purpose. I know mine, it is why I came.”

  “And what purpose is that?” asked Arawn.

  Nastas lifted his head.

  “Sacrifice,” said the unmistakable voice of the Goddess. She emerged from the void, only Nastas did not recognize her. It was her voice, but what he saw was different. Something had changed her. She was not golden, she did not shine. It was as though she had been transformed by the Abyss. Her voice carried the weight of night, her eyes showed lust, she had been marked by the taint of men’s souls.

  Arawn bowed before her, prostrating himself. “My Queen. You have risen from shadow.”

  “My battle in the depths has yet to begin, but I come in this one’s defense. For he knows the meaning of sacrifice. So too does the father, whom you so wisely chose to bring to her aid. You have done well young shaman, but your time is not yet at an end. You must return to them now. Seek the stone, seek the black wing. Do this for your Goddess.” she said.

  Nastas nodded and she turned to the Dragon Lord.

  “He sacrificed the hope of his people to save my creation from war, despite the cost to his own soul. In such noble penance is born hope. As long as there is hope, order still lives.”

  Arawn did not say a word, Nastas could tell he feared her. He feared her. Arawn’s terrible visage drew no comparison. She was wild, the untamed force of the natural world. Her word reigned over all things.

  “Deliver him back unto the realm of the living, his work is not yet finished. The one who delivered him to you needs him now. The warlock is under siege.”

  “My Queen, this man has broken the sacred law, I must protest. None may return to the land of the living.” Arawn responded.

  She turned to Arawn her eyes burning with unbound fury. “He lives.”

  Before Nastas opened his eyes, he could hear the faint whisper of Arawn, “Clever fox, you have escaped death, but know my hounds will never stop hunting you. When you return to my realm, they will feast.”

  Nastas felt life return to him. He’d entered the realm of death and escaped its bonds.

  He relaxed for a moment, taking in the sweet scent of the living world. The cave was musty and damp, but it was home. His celebration was short lived. The report of the scuffing sounds of struggle and cursing came from outside the mouth of the cave. He heard great wings beat against the wind and the sound of his own voice crying. He wasn’t sure how that could be as he was still lying within the cavern. He tried to lift his head to no avail. His eyes moved as he looked around the cave for the old sage, but he could not see him.

  The warlock had warned him that the Nemeton would be upon them. In his haste he had disregarded everything the old sage had said. Nastas knew what happened to apostates, he’d witnessed the death of his kin with his own eyes. He imagined what pain lay in wait for a warlock. Nastas struggled as life returned to his body. He knew the old bastard had sacrificed himself for Nastas. Nastas panicked and struggled with all of his mental might.

  The sound of wings weakened and Nastas screamed. His body shot forward sitting up. He fell to the floor of the cavern with a thud and raced outside, stumbling and crashing into the cavern walls as he ran. His eyes burned at the sight of the sun, he raised his arm in defense of his eyes and watched as two pairs of wings beat against the wind carrying what appeared to be his double. He noted their direction.

  Nastas cursed and walked back into the cavern where three Guardians lay slain by the magic of the warlock. Nastas surveyed the carnage and felt his heart slide into his stomach. He had rescued Sam, but now the warlock was in enemy hands, and it was his fault. Nastas screamed in frustration and beat his hands against the wall of the cave. He would not let this happen, he gripped the hilt of a sword of the Guardians and strapped it to his belt. He had no training with a sword, no knowledge of the land he’d have to traverse. Nastas was alone, one man against a world determined to set itself ablaze.

  His part in this saga was far from done. Nastas cut his wrist and vowed upon the blood he would not rest until he had freed the old sage. Nastas had learned the lesson of sacrifice. He would not let the old sage who had sacrificed himself for him suffer for his decisions. The sun had risen once more upon the land and Nastas set off into the Greatwood forest. He only hoped that when he would not arrive too late.

  Chapter Thirty-Seven

  Amyrannii, the ArchMagus of the Nemeton

  Splintered mind,

  Eyes blind,

  Two souls intertwined.

  The night was cool and damp and the caverns below the Temple of the Goddess. He had come down to contemplate. The High Priestess had fallen into the druid sleep. The Nemeton’s connection to the Goddess was severed due to the death of the Fand. Falbanach the wretched old fool assaulted the inner sanctum of the Goddess in the Grand Temple. The leader of the penitent’s had been found in his tent crippled by some unknown assailant. Men spoke of rebellion, and the Fae vow retribution for the treachery of the men who underwent the ancient rite. The Trial of Calas was complete and only seven sacrifices remained. Seven of twenty. Even he did not see this coming.

  In all of his years he’d never witnessed war, but now it seemed the earth itself called for blood. Despite all of his careful work to eliminate the apostates and bring order, fate moved against him. One positive occurrence was that within minutes he would be face to face with the last apostate. The boy who evaded capture would be his to interrogate. Guardians brought the boy to the appointed location. Amyrannii would take him where none of the others could not interfere. With the events of the day the remaining members of the Fist would be sure to meddle in his affairs. He had to deal with this swiftly. He’d never liked the supremacy of the Golden Fist, nor how they looked down upon him and the other newborn.

  Amyrannii arrived and laid eyes upon the boy. He’d seen him before. One of his own had cornered the boy with a contingent of Guardians. The boy showed incredible alacrity in shifting, transforming into an enormous spirit bear. Amyrannii had been impressed by the boy’s abilities. He was dispatched and would have been captured had it not been for the rebellious Samsara. He wondered if she would continue to be a thorn in his side. She’d survived the Conclave despite the odds. He would deal with her soon enough, two trials remained, and plenty of danger awaited the foolish youth.

  He approached the boy. He’d been beaten to within an inch of his life. “I am surprised to see you alive boy. The wounds you suffered defending your kind were grave. The Guardians who fell to your rage were not so lucky.”

  He circled the boy and commanded the Guardians “Place him in chains.”

  The shackled the boy to the cold smooth wall of the cavern. “Do you know where we are boy?”

  The young man looked up at him with weary eyes. “A cave?”

  “Sarcasm is it? An effective tactic, but one you cannot rely on for long.”

  “We’ll see,” said the boy.

  “Do you have a name boy? What did your enchantress call you?” said Amyrannii.

  “She never gave me a name,” he said.

  “Pity, did you know she is dead?” poked Amyrannii. “Did you care for her?”

  The boy showed no emotion. It was clear he would have to employ a different strategy. “She left you here all alone, last of your kin. How could she expect you would survive against the power of the grove?” he stopped. “I know, she left this world because she knew what was coming. She left the burden to you. She abandoned you to this fate.”

  The boy remained silent. He placed his hands over the boy reaching into his soul. “She has made you ripe with power.”

  “Whatever you have planned Amyrannii, cease now, before you cannot turn back,” said the boy.

  “How do you know this name?” said
Amyrannii. “Did she tell you?”

  “It is not too late. Repent and return to us. You can still stop this, I know the burden you carry,” said the boy.

  Amyrannii stepped backwards, “Something is wrong.”

  “You still have time Amyrannii, but you must let go of your hatred,” said the boy.

  “Who are you?” asked Amyrannii.

  The guise fell from the boy and the old warlock Falbanach was revealed. “Falbanach, this cannot be. Where is the apostate? Where is the boy?!”

  “You will not find him Amyrannii, I have made sure of it.” said Falbanach. “By the time you next meet him, he will be beyond your power to control. You have failed.”

  “No warlock, it is you who have failed, by delivering yourself. You will pay for what you have done. Pythia has fallen into druid sleep because of your recklessness.”

  “We both know I did not slay the Keepers of the cauldron,” he said. “This thing you have become a party to is eating your soul alive. Do you not see how it weaves its way inside of you. It bends you to its command. Can you even control it anymore?”

  “How do you know these things? Who has broken their oath?” said Amyrannii.

  “None have told me, for I already know what it is you battle with. I have seen it before. I too believed I could control it, to harness its power, but it is not possible for you, nor I. Only one can command the Harbinger.”

  “No, you do not know what you speak of, I was chosen. I am his prophet. I will lead man back to glory, to redemption. I have seen it. He returns to us, to lead us against the tyranny of the Fae. Men will be free.”

  “Amyrannii you must listen. He deceives, he twists, he perverts. Do you not know what you have done? Search yourself, do you not remember?”

  The memory flashed before him. “The Fand, they lay dead. I saw it with my own eyes. You took their lives, only an oath breaker could do such a thing.”

  “Break free from his command Amyrannii,” cried Falbanach.

  Amyrannii looked down. His hands were covered in blood. “No, what trick is this? It was not I!”

  He backed away from Falbanach and felt the walls of cavern closing in about him. He turned and fled through the caverns. The smell of cave filled Amyrannii's nostrils as he ventured further and further into the darkness. The world spun around him. He fled deep within the cavern. The blood that tied Falbanach to the Goddess had been made impure. He was the warlock, he had been the one to break the law. Amyrannii was certain of it. It was the blood oath, a thaumaturgic ritual made it impossible for her Knights to betray her, lest they be cursed and damned like Atum. Falbanach had broken that oath. Amyrannii sought to uphold the law. The veil of deception fell, his memory returned to him. It nagged at a part of his soul, like a thorn in the shoe of the weary traveler. It had always been there lying in wait. Patiently it had waited for him to be led to these deep caves. Something deep within them had called to him all those years ago, and it called to him again tonight. He had lost control.

  How could he have been so blind? He thought.

  Amyrannii wanted the truth, and he wanted it for all. He cried and collapsed to his knees in the dark. In his frenzy he had found himself before an ancient altar. He knelt in the secluded shaft and drew a dagger from his belt, he wanted to take his own life to stop this thing he had unleashed. He drug the knife across his skin, drawing blood from his wrist.

  Blood be yours,

  Open the doors,

  Of truth and light,

  Awaken your ancient might.

  The blood dripped from wrist onto the altar before Amyrannii. The Altar was old, from a time long forgotten. When he found it, it appeared to have been unused for thousands of years. The dried blood had remained upon the altar as was the dagger that Amyrannii now kept as his own. He had been warned of the power of incantations sealed in blood. The oath was unbreakable as he knew from completing the trials of the Conclave, but his unquenchable thirst for knowledge and truth had driven him to the edge of madness.

  In the same manner, as it had a hundred times since that day, a light emerged from within the darkness and bathed him in its glory. It still gave him the same religious ecstasy it had over a thousand years ago. He’d discovered this ancient power as he searched for the truth that the Golden Fist hid from the world. He’d always know the elder druids to be mired in the same corruption they claimed to battle. It was this altar made of stone that had promised him the truth. By its power he had aimed to undo their false rule over men. He did it for men, he did it for the Goddess.

  "I come as a servant of the light. To serve truth and justice. To break the chains of deception and free the people. Your people, my people, the children of Atum."Amyrannii said as tears ran down his cheeks.

  "Has the zealot reached the holy city?" the voice said.

  "He has. He remains encouraged that man will be chosen. As do the many that follow the light. Your Fir Bolg have emboldened many men and women to stand against the injustice of the Nemeton."

  “The zealot will play parts as the truth unfolds in front of the eyes of man. His ways will awaken many to the light. With your guidance, he will be a great flaming sword in the darkness.”

  Amyrannii could feel the power of the light cleansing him of the darkness that the Nemeton held over him. The light cleared away his feelings of doubt, the veil of deception had fallen over him. Falbanach’s words had made him doubt his truth. Amyrannii remained within as the prophet came forth. They were two in one body. Amyrannii the servant of darkness, the prophet as the servant of the light. Within his flesh the battle of light and dark raged.

  He served two masters. In his duty as the ArchMagus, he was Amyrannii a member of the Hidden Circle. In his duty to the Light, he was the prophet, his soul had been split, shielding each side from the other. The memories of each personality divided. When Amyrannii awoke he was none the wiser, and could not divulge the work of the prophet if he was pressed. Though it had been effective, the prophet wondered how much longer his guise would hold. The forces he contended with were as powerful as the light and equally capable of taking vengeance. He played a dangerous game. Amyrannii kept his eyes closed in fear and the prophet stared into the light. It forced Amyrannii into the back of the mind, binding him and cleansing him of all he had glimpsed.

  The light of the spirit was brighter than any he had ever seen. It had nearly blinded him when he tried to look upon it the first time. The power imbued him with more than he had ever gained from the joining. The light had banished the spirit within him and given him freedom from his chains of surrender.

  “I feel a great stirring within the earth,” said the voice. “Have the children of the Light Bearer been condemned by the Nemeton?”

  “They have, great and powerful God. Their insurrection against you will not go unpunished. It is only a matter of time before I return them to your service.”

  The prophet could feel the Light rejoice in his report.

  “A powerful druid will be born, I can feel something I have not felt since the beginning.”

  “Has the enchantress been made ready?” said the light.

  “Majesty, the enchantress has been killed. Her power passed to another.” said the prophet timidly.

  The light shone brighter, burning his skin. “You’ve acquired the stone?”

  “The stone has also avoided my grasp, have mercy upon your servant the Lord my God.”

  The prophet lay upon his stomach, prostrating himself before the light. The voice of the light wailed in anger. He shielded his eyes, but it was not enough the light shone so bright it burned through him, tearing his sight from his body. The prophet howled in pain as the light took from him.

  “You have paid for your failure, prophet, but there is yet another way you can succeed. The time nears when her incarnation is born into this world. The harbinger must be born before the Goddess returns from the Abyss. I can only hold her there for so long. You must locate the proper host. Does her apprentice yet live?” ask
ed the spirit of Light.

  “He does my Lord.” cried the prophet. “The wheel is in motion. None of the Order suspect Amyrannii’s involvement, their focus remains fixed on the zealot, and the warlock. It was not I, but Pythia who discovered and named the wanderer as the warlock. He has left the circle and been excommunicated. I have him bound beneath the Temple. He can do no more harm, the Golden Fist is crumbling.”

  “Dian Cecht, Falbanach has woken? He walks free of the circle?” asked the spirit of Light.

  The prophet nodded.

  The spirit of light trembled unleashed a wave of anger, “FOOL!”

  “My Lord, I… my focus, should it not be on the boy? We require his living blood to lift the curse that binds you.”

  “If the wanderer is free of his bonds to the circle, he will ever be a thorn in our side. He must not be allowed to realize his purpose.”

  “My lord he is bound,” said the prophet. “The old beggar can do no more harm.”

  “No chains will hold him. You must return him to the dreaming at once. There he cannot interfere.”

  “I will do as you command,” said the prophet.

  “Find the boy, find the stone. My freedom from the abyss nears its end. I can only hold the spell over the eyes of the Grove for so long. The Goddess battles us in the long dark when she returns to your world I will no longer be able to blind them. I must be reborn before the Midsummer sun. If I am not the Derwyddon will discover who has betrayed them. You know where they will cast you if they discover you. If you fail me, I will visit upon you such wonderful horrors, here there is no end to pain, no end to suffering. I will rend your flesh from your bone, I will tear at your spirit until eternity consumes you in madness.”

  “I will not fail you,” said the prophet. “I am as always a true servant of the truth and your Light, Great Elohim.”

  The End

  Glossary

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