by Peter Green
Again they rolled, gripping on for love and life, giving each other protection from the razor rocks.
He stretched out an arm looking for purchase to drag himself and the limp body of his brother away from the tidal zone. As he grasped the rock he realized he held the prize.The necks and beak-like shells of the goose barnacles. Praise the Great Spirit! His bravery and fortitude rewarded…
So the scene was set, the seeds of a new empire sown, survival the new instinct now. Whosoever the champion-elect may be, the realisation that one and maybe the one could be lost in an instant, a twist of fate, a moment of rashness…
The first trial and nearly all was lost, the royal princes returned to the Temple of Japhet to gather strength, to consult with the mystics, and connect with their divinities. All the brothers were very aware the ordeal had only just begun, and now there was a growing sense of a need for unity. If the challenges of the physical were to be overcome, they must now work together. Beyond that the challenges of the spirit will be personal, the meeting of magical and potentially dark forces on the path before them.
At the setting of the sun on this dramatic and traumatic first day, the three faced to the horizon as the heat of the star dipped into the cooling ocean. Amergin as the hero of the day spoke for them, addressing the solar deity Raqan.
“Great Spirit behold, our nation is in your power! The new land that you show me in my visions and dreams is nearing, bring the promised signs and take us on our great journey!”
Amergin turned to his brothers and implored them to be strong, to meet their destiny with courage, to be prepared for the immense challenges and dangers to come.
The tribes, the mystics and the royalty gathered again at the Temple of Japhet as the waxing moon rose in the northern sky. Scota and Milidh knelt in prayer before the deity Lunasa. The mystics led by their high priest Gonne, bowed before their deity, knowing the promised conjunction of Raqan and Lunasa is coming…
The chieftains and tribes of Milesia prostrated themselves as the first great ceremony of the ordeal began. Gonne stood before them, chanting as Amergin rose to start the ceremonial banquet. All of Milesia rose to join in the incantation. The mystics and the tribes chanted as one.
“May all the spirits bless and protect us, may all the strength of the gods be with you!”, and in crescendo, “Amergin!!!”
At this point Amergin presented the elusive, sacred and highly prized goose barnacles on a silver platter to his Queen, Scota. Once again, all eyes were on this dark Eastern beauty as she tasted the much coveted delicacy, biting in to the neck of the goose barnacle, sea salted and spiced.
She kissed Amergin and smiled, in full knowledge that the prophecy was nearing, but in the bitter sweet realisation that one or possibly all of her sons could have been lost this day… the next challenge awaited…
CHAPTER TWO:
THE STACK OF ORMOND
In the mists of the bay stood the Stack of Ormond, a 400 foot precipitous outcrop of granite standing guard over its surroundings. A monument to volcanic forces and erosion, and now home to a myriad wheeling seabirds.The three stood on a carved platform, hewn into the cliff face, a place of ceremonial burial where the tribes connect with the ancestors.
The ocean surged below them, rhythmically, hypnotically filling the bay, aquamarine with brilliant white streaks of foam following the currents almost a mile out to the stack, shimmering in the heady mist of ozone and sunlight.
Amergin dived first, falling into a graceful arc. Silence then the tell-tale “shud” as he pierced the ocean 60 foot below. A ring of white-water and then he surfaced beckoning his brothers. Eiremhou and Eimbear launched themselves executing the same arc, surfacing almost simultaneously.
This time they were as a team, assuring survival and completion of the ordeal, the task to scale the vertiginous stack to reach the colony of storm petrels and return with the beautifully delicate egg of the storm petrel. This tiny creature of the ocean had become a potent symbol of Milesia. The dainty, fluttering of this tiny black petrel as they feed on the ocean surface, belies their powers of endurance, spending months on the ocean surviving all the tumultuous storms. The petrels symbolically represent the mortal struggles of their race. The powers of endurance required to fulfill the prophecy against the gathering dark forces.
They swam steadily and strongly towards the base of the stack, knowing that the only access point is at high tide. After this they would be confronted by a sheer, weed covered rock face, impossible to scale. At high tide a cove is filled and hand and footholds are reachable, an hour either way and the window is gone. As they swam in unison towards the towering, seemingly indomitable stack they were only too aware of the tide. They also knew deep water currents and shifting winds could affect tidal movements. The conjunction of sun and moon could massively increase tidal range… They all stroked deeply and strongly into the ocean, their goal in sight.
“Time and tide wait for no man!”, urged Amergin as he saw his brothers catch their breaths, and interrupt their swimming stroke. All were powerful swimmers and had developed the low, steady, economic stroke of the distance swimmer, the anxiety, and the significance of the challenge weighed heavy on them. Amergin could see it in their eyes. Usually self assured and confident, the challenges, the near death experiences, had chipped away at their armour of invincibility. Amergin’s talent of motivating, and his natural leadership skills would be key in this ordeal.
Nearing the jagged rocks at the base of the stack, all of creation seemed to be around them. They swam through the surging and cresting swell. The air above and the water around was full of bird life, gannets diving at break-neck speed to plummeting depths, kittiwakes launching from perilous ledges, puffins wheeling in eyeing curiosity, gulls of every description riding the thermals, forcing up and around the great stack. Gently, in the distance the black fluttering presence of the gracefully beautiful storm petrel.
Amergin drew his brothers attention to the diminutive bird, “Let the Great Spirit lift us to the summit of this great stack!”
The cove is full, timing the surge will be critical to reach the handholds. The echoing raucous cacophony of the sea-birds resounded around the sheer cliffs. One by one they hauled themselves on to the still dry refuge of the high tide ledge. South facing, protected from the sea breeze, the morning sun slanted in to the cove, basking on the ledges like grey seals, they rested and regathered their energies.
Restored, collectively their gazes studied potential routes upwards. A steep treacherously sloping ledge meandered skywards, around and out of sight, the only route, life threatening and challenging.
The weight of expectation almost crushing, the brothers embraced each other and yelled and roared to the heavens, “Great Spirit give us the strength to endure, in the name of the prophecy, and in the name of Milesia!”
Free climbing, steadily, handhold by handhold, foothold by foothold up the ancient granite stack, past the burrows of curious, brightly ornamented, clown-faced puffins, beyond the ledges of the tightly packed guillemots and razorbills, higher than the perilous perches of the kittiwakes and fulmars. The seabirds never see humans and are strangely indifferent, if curious, of the three beings ascending to the heights of the stack. The abundance of seabirds on neighbouring cliffs and the remoteness and inaccessible nature of the stack, make this staggeringly beautiful place a nature reserve, immune from the raidings and plunderings of the local tribes.
Only here in the most remote and most inaccessible places, can the nest of the storm petrel be found.
Skywards, silhouetted against the brightness of the mid-day, fleeting glimpses of the diminutive, jet black, storm petrels can be seen.
From the security of a high ledge, Amergin reached down to hoist Eiremhou to his side. Eiremhou in turn, reached down to help Eimbear. Again they rested, each breathing hard, their heaving chests straining for every thimble of rich ozone filled air.
From this point on it was very clear that only the most exper
t and brave of the free climbers should make the ascent. Eimbear conceded that he was at the limit of his skills, the near vertical slabs, narrowing to needle-like pinnacles, scared him. His resolve had been tested and finally broken. Only Eiremhou and Amergin would continue.
Now they were in competition. The choice of route of ascent was theirs. With no clear route, they now relied on their instincts to pick the fingertip holds, to wedge their bodies into claustrophobic cracks and chimneys, to swing from massively exposed overhangs, to scale the heaven touching pinnacle.
The sea breezes strengthened with the convectional heat of the early afternoon. The masters of the air currents, the fulmars, soared gracefully and majestically by, with a look of “Why are you here? Why do you do this?” Amergin and Eiremhou knew only too well…
In the distance a vortex of frenzied gannets plunged deep into the ocean. The ebbing tide had brought a shimmering, silvering shoal of mackerel into the bay. On cue, a large pod of common dolphin charged in to the feeding zone, diving deep, surfacing, coralling, swiftly and precisely, a time of plenty.
Eiremhou had found a climbing route, and was making good headway. Amergin had chosen a route with an insurmountable overhang. He had to back track and wasted valuable time and energy negotiating and moving to a route with a clear line to the peak.
Amergin saw Eiremhou above, now at least five body heights further up the peak, scaling the pinnacle to the North side of the peak. Amergin chose to go to the pinnacle on the South side of the stack. In a flash of realisation, he was reminded that this was not a race to the top, but a challenge to find the delicate egg of the storm petrel. The southern route was the right choice. There perching precariously, glinting in the afternoon light, wedged into a sheltered rocky alcove, was the prize! The parents must be out over the ocean, the egg still warm in the incubating glow of the sun.
Now, in his clutches, he carefully placed the egg into the pouch attached to his waist belt. Instantly he began the descent. He saw Eiremhou traversing towards the nesting area.
Way below, Eimbear was making his way down, he saw Amergin making his descent.
In the spirit of brotherhood he shouted up to Amergin, “By the blessing of the great spirit, you have found the prize! Bring it back safely, for the sake of the tribes of Milesia!”
On the distant cliff edge, the gathering tribes roared in unison as they witnessed the princes descending.
All the princes were descending safely. Who would deliver the prize safely to Queen Scota?
Scota and Milidh embraced each other. Milidh sent the message for the royal barque to make ready.
The royal barque would intercept the brothers on their swim towards the cliffs.
Amergin was only too aware that the descent could prove to be the most dangerous. Focus was all now, to find the route back to the ledge… safely.
Eimbear waited on the ledge. He would help his brothers in to the ocean. The long, arduous, energy sapping swim would begin…deep, steady strokes, efficient, breathing deeply. Amergin realised he was in the tidal race, drifting away from the cliffs. He knew he had to compensate for the current, tacking so he would arrive at the deep water mooring where the royal barque would drop anchor. He estimated an hours strong swimming.
He surveyed the horizon. No sign of the vessel. Turning his head to breathe in air, he witnessed Eimbear easing his elder brother into the ocean from the ledge. Eiremhou quickly got in to his swimming rhythm, forcing through the ocean. About two minutes behind Amergin. Choose the right tack and the time could be made up. The race was still on…
If Amergin boarded with the prize in tact, he was the champion, and the dive to the deep of Rodiles pure ceremony.
Amergin paced himself, cognisant of the valuable prize he was carrying. The mantle of champion was in his grasp. Eimbear sensed deep within that Amergin was destined for this. The omens were undeniable.
Eiremhou could not reconcile that his younger brother was fated for this.
Eiremhou could not catch Amergin, if anything the lead was stretching. Amergin called to the gods, “Give me strength. Give me the wisdom to be a great champion!”…
On cue the royal sailing vessel with its Phoenician designed sailing rig, bright red against the deep blue, appeared, cresting majestically towards the deep water mooring.
Spurred on, revitalized, enthused with new vigour, Amergin surged on, digging even deeper his swimming stroke visibly lengthening. He could hear the cheering on the cliffs. He saw his parents standing on the prow of the vessel, waving him on…
A crew member threw rope netting over the side. Gonne, the head priest of the Chapter of Mystics took up the sacred conch and blew a ceremonial blast, as Amergin grasped the netting. Rung by rung Amergin hauled himself upwards and on to the deck… the finishing point.
A mighty roar resounded around the sheer cliffs and out into the bay. The tribes of Milesia rejoiced, on the verge of finding a true champion…
The full moon rose over the northern horizon. The mystics gathered in the silver light, waiting, patient, the moment of prophetic truth in the ether, tomorrow night or the night after? The celestial signs are in alignment. Surely the time has come…
Amergin rested contentedly, his body relaxed in sheer exhaustion, his heart joyfully elated, his mind drifting in to quiet dreamful oblivion. The slanting silver light casting deep shadows, a green mysterious world started to emerge from the depths of consciousness. A serene flowing feminine form came in to view. Long golden tresses wrapped around his dreaming body, and soft tender finger tips caressed his gently heaving chest. An inner peace, through his body, his heart, and his soul, massaged to near ecstasy, he heard the words seductively murmoured, “I am waiting for you Amergin. My people, the Tuathan Guardians of Light are waiting for you. Be careful on your journey. The dark Sidhe also await you. Be careful of their dark magic, they can steal your soul, and you and your people will be lost.”
In that moment, from deep dreaming sleep, to wakefulness, a vision of the most beautiful creature he ever beheld flashed before him. He stared into deep rich amber eyes. He noticed a small fleck in the iris.
He became that fleck, and felt he was falling into a cosmos of amber… “Sceine!!” he cried out…
And the slanting silvery light washed over his countenance. Amergin turned to see the full moon framed by the Tower of Galicia, and the ocean and stars beyond.
Now awake, he stirred slowly and took a cooling sip of water. All of his senses knew the dreamlike vision was of the world that awaits him …
Straightaway he went to meet with his mother, Scota. She of all people would understand the significance of this vision. Scota could commune beyond the veil, into the other world. She is blessed with the wisdom of the ancients, and will be able to interpret Amergin’s vision.
Scota informed Amergin that until now the powers of the good Sidhe were guiding Milesia onwards.
Now, under the influence and the collusion of Gonne, the high priest of the Chapter of Mystics, the path forward for Milesia is threatened by the dark Sidhe.
“Nothing is as it seems”, Scota forewarns her questioning son. She pours a glass of golden rich apple liqueur distilled from the fertile valleys of Asturias. Given almost as a potion to the apprentice… “The veil is thinning and stretching, be sure to see clearly that which represents genuine good, and to dismiss that which is manipulative and malevolent.”
The balcony on which they sit is directly in view of the Northern Ocean. Amergin sips the rich liquor and stares to the distant horizon. He tells his mother of the vision. She understands… Scota has had similar visions before she met Milidh. When travelling through the vastness of the North African deserts. She knew with absolute certainty her path was being guided by the ancients. “It would appear Amergin that your path is so destined.”
She embraced her son and whispered gently to him, the echoed words, “Be careful on your journey Amergin, there are dark forces trying to foil your every move.”Scota looked know
ingly into her sons eyes. Here was the champion of the Milesian tribes, someone who has the physical strength, the spiritual connection and would ultimately be able to meet magical forces with powers of his own.
“Go now Amergin, go to meet your brothers, dive to the deeps of the Trench of Rodiles, and we shall celebrate the gathering of the final prize. We shall surely anoint you as Champion of Milesia”, Scota’s heart filled with pride as she embraced Amergin once more.
Amergin walked through the woods surrounding this palacial residence. The ancient woodlands with moss covered boulders, reminded him of his dreams, if that is what they were, where he became immersed in a green world, with slanting silver rays penetrating the deep shadows. He expected to meet his dreamlike queen at any time. His heart beat furiously and his mind raced. His stride lengthened, emboldened by a sense of destiny, his mother’s path, his own path… merging into oneness.
He felt the ancients guiding him… He was living the prophecy… He knew he was the destined one…
*
The day dawned on the final challenge of the ordeal. Once more the princes met on the edge of the ocean, the challenge to dive to the lung-bursting limits of their endurance, the prize, the deep water oyster of Rodiles, a delicacy that had cost the life of many an adventuring waterman. Not only legendary for its size and flavor, but also the libido enhancing qualities, the ultimate gift of a suitor to their loved one. Very rarely, the Rodiles oyster will serve up a pearl of extraordinary quality, luminosity and brilliance. A pearl said to have otherworldly powers, a symbol of complete purity, bestowing the power of clairvoyance on the owner.
The three plunged in, arcing in a common trajectory, piercing the blue-green water, gliding with momentum into the serene depths. The Trench dropped away before them, deep and mysterious. The light struggled to penetrate in these nutrient rich waters.
All three exhaled as one, lungs emptying, buoyancy decreasing, stroking onwards and downwards.