by Peter Green
*
Sceine kept constant vigil to the east. This is where MacCuacht will be coming from.
The trail of deception had been laid, with Eiru and Terese as the bait. Fuelled and driven by blind rage, MacCuacht would give Sceine valuable time to retrench. Sceine had instructed Temes, one of her loyal priests, to commune with the Guardians of Light at each portal en route, and then to place a guard, to best ensure that the portals remain in the power of the enlightened ones. Each guard was in the possession of a Bluestone key hewn from the Quarry of Izion, the purest source.
They were under instructions to take the key stones through the portal and beyond the veil to the spirit world, should they come under attack from MacCuacht. This would ensure the portals would close and not come under the influence of MacCuacht and the dark Sidhe.
*
MacCuacht, his brothers and their wives, the raven haired sisters, the Witches of Hawardden, marched onwards, tracing the steps of Terese and Eiru.
The Guardians of Light were alerted to their coming. They would take the form of beasts of the forests and raptors of the air to harry and deter the army of lost souls. The thinning veil left the portals vulnerable. The guerilla tactics and their enlightened magic would hopefully prevent the dark army from drawing malevolent forces through the veil.
“They go to the west my lord,” sensed Banba, wife of MacCuill, “They will meet the Milesians and the destined one Amergin!”
“Perfect!” exclaimed MacCuacht, “We will take them and Sceine in one fell swoop!”
From out of the blue, a falcon fell at electrifying speed, stooping with talons bared, ripping the fleshy cheek of Sirez, the Captain of the Guard. He screamed in terror and in excruciating pain. Blood streaming, lost soul dark, over his body armour. A second Peregrine Falcon came in like a lightning bolt, straight out of the sky. No sound, no warning, just the high speed “thuk” of the collision as MacCuacht’s second in command took another hit! A gash the length of his forehead opened up, and flowing dark crimson poured out. He fell to the ground clutching his torn, loosely flapping flesh. A third hit! As he fell, talons sliced through the exposed jugular artery, more dark fluid pulsed out of the torn conduit. Sirez writhed in agony, he screamed for help! There was panic and pandemonium all around! His fellow guards closed ranks – but too late! The falcons were gone! Mere specks on the horizon, as Sirez squirmed in his death throes…
MacCuacht reacted with typical rage, his deathly white pallor and darkening, pulsing veins revealing his fury. Not sorrow for the loss of one of his colleagues, but pure anger and indignation at being defied and outwitted. His heart was of stone, no emotion, no grieving… He knew the Guardians of Light were responsible for the attack… but the guerilla tactics had the hallmark of his beloved sister Sceine.
MacCuacht exploded with rage, “The war continues dear sister! We shall meet very soon…!”
MacCuacht left Sirez’s body at the side of the track for the hideous Vultures of Mis to devour.
The army of lost souls moved on, but even the most hardened, the longest turned, looked skywards now. There was still fear deep within their stony souls. Existence was still precious.
A group of Sceine’s elite guard too looked skywards. Far in the distance, they saw a wheeling vortex of preying vultures. They gave notice of a death, and the oncoming army of lost souls. They agreed, “Half a day’s march to the east! We must be ready!”
The elite guard arrived at the first of the great portals on the route westwards to the ocean. Their leader Thiorn held the purest Bluestone crafted from the Quarry of Izion aloft, and rallied his troops, “Come my brothers! We fight for the cause of the enlightened ones! By the Great Spirit we shall protect this portal!” From the gunnels of the portal, through a mysterious, majestic cave system poured a glowing golden amber mist, enveloping all, swirling and rolling into the mortal realm. The elite guard stood in jaw dropping amazement. A shaft of radiant white light burst through the veil and illuminated the valley and woodlands in the vicinity of the portal.
The Bluestone inserted by Thiorn into the portal, into the womb of the land …white light irradiated all around… The Guardians were in their presence… They all waited with trepidation for the army of lost souls to arrive…
CHAPTER TEN:
THE TEMPLE OF THE SUN
Days of endless drifting in a becalmed, benign ocean was now broken by the first gusts of a blustery, lively south-westerly. The sails billowed and Amergin gave the order, “Untie and be ready to tack!”
The fleet jostled, all vessels were separated and ready to sail. The next gust would take them, one by one, into the infinite blue…
No further encounters with the Orca. The Milesian fleet had settled again. They were strengthened once more and ready for battle.
Amergin too was heartened by his sensuous clairvoyant dreams… his destiny awaited him…Emboldened, life coursing through him, he gave the order, “Make sail to the Promised Land!”
He noticed a cloud formation in the form of a beauteous siren, beckoning them, leading them… The wind stretched the cloud into a long, elegant, sensuous arm, with a finger pointing to the northern horizon. The next gust took the fleet onwards. They tacked into the north-east. Amergin sensed in his bones, “Two days sailing…”
The beckoning, beautiful cloud formation rolled and reformed, morphed, reshaped and was gone. “Sceine!” uttered Amergin under his breath, “I will be with you soon!”
The defiant prows of the Milesian fleet pushed through the rising swell. An occasional set wave broke over the deck, giving a pleasing, cooling shower to the deck hands. High above in the rigging, the watchman atop the mast undulated in ever increasing amplitudes as the growing swell and strengthening wind pushed them ever onwards.
Amergin sent a message to all his captains in the fleet, to have the watchmen on duty and all on full alert. Land could be sighted at any time! They must expect the next onslaught from the dark Sidhe…
A distant pod of chasing common dolphins broke the surface, racing over the horizon! Arching, leaping, and forcing through a turbulent ocean. A shoal of frenzied mackerel their target. “Bring out the long lines!” shouted Amergin enthusiastically, “We will feast tonight!”
As he said this, he realised that this could be their last feast on the ocean. They must stock up, feast tonight, and salt the rest, ready for their journey to the Promised Land.
Tens, dozens, hundreds of shimmering, electric blue-silver and rainbow coloured fish were hooked and pulled out of the giving, bountiful ocean, stunned, gutted, cleaned and salted for storage in the holds of each vessel. Prize specimens were kept back and prepared for a satisfying feast for the crew that night.
Amergin and his royal family were reunited on his vessel that night too. A strategy for landfall was required. It was agreed that Milidh and Scota would heave too off the coast. They and their crews would be in the second wave, once a secure landing place was established. Amergin, Eimbear and Eiremhou, the warrior princes, would lead the way. They made battle ready… all of the Milesians were in battle attire… they were so close now. It would be foolish not to expect the unexpected…
Amergin wished his royal kin well, “May the Great Spirit be with all of us. May our paths meet again soon, and may our landings be safe!” They embraced and left for their own vessels.
Amergin rested quietly, regailed in full armour. The night slowly descended, he drifted in and out of a fitful sleep. Reality and dream world fused and joined… the thinning veil, portals of radiant light, a sublime, beautiful being… His senses were inundated, overwhelmed…
Suddenly his thoughts turned to Eimbear and his alliance with Gonne the High priest of the Chapter of Mystics! He was awake now! An unusual motion, as if another vessel was tying up! Bolt upright, he swung swiftly off his bunk and instinctively made for the darkened space behind the door. He knew he was in danger! The heavy mahogany door creaked slowly open, inch by inch. The tip of a Milesian sword appeared i
n silhouette through the growing gap, the unmistakeable steel, the royal crest on the shaft. “How, can this be?!” Amergin shoulder charged the door, crushing the assailant’s arm. The sword dropped to the floor, they wrestled momentarily. It was Eimbear’s helmsman Yatez!
Grappling with him, he grabbed his arm and threw him to the floor, and then Amergin cracked him with the butt of his sword. Yatez lost consciousness and fell like a stone to the floor. The sound of the struggle raised the alarm. Xomos and the watchman burst through the open doorway. Senses bristling and swords drawn, “My lord are you safe?!” Xomos anxiously asked.
“Yes Xomos, all is under control,” and Amergin threw a decanter of water over the prostrate, concussed form. Amergin grabbed him, picked him up and pressed his forearm against his windpipe. Yatez regained his senses, floundering he shook the water off his face, “Where am I?” He was dazed yes, but that uncontrolled look? “How did I get here?” He was totally confused, literally in the dark, thought Amergin. Yatez had been placed under some kind of spell… he did not know what he was doing.
“You have been sent here to assassinate me,” said Amergin pointedly, “What do you know? Who sent you?.” Yatez shook his head once more, “I don’t know… I can’t remember a thing…”
“Throw this man into the brig, Xomos!” ordered Amergin, “We will question him later, in the light of day!” Amergin knew it was pointless interrogating him now… he was still under the malign influence of his master… Everything pointed to Gonne and Eimbear. Maybe he was infected and controlled by the dark Sidhe!
Amergin and Xomos took the helm together. They needed fresh air, space to think, and a place where they would not be overheard. They knew the vessel Yatez came from, and his association with Gonne and Eimbear, but they had never witnessed such power over a subject before.
Amergin speculated, “As we near the Promised Land the veil is closer and they are able to channel greater and greater dark energy from the spirit world. We will meet land in the coming days, we must expect the worst!” Xomas agreed… He looked out into the early morning light… He saw in the distance huge thunderheads rising above the horizon. Water colour mirages, white pale misty high altitude clouds with a dark menacing underbelly, towering over and dwarfing the fleet as they headed north-eastwards.
The fleet rolled and dipped into the following, increasing swell. The prevailing south-westerly pushed them ever onwards…
Further into the distance, many horizons away, even larger thunderheads appeared. They were the bell weather, the indicator of land, of a mighty mountain range, where moisture laden oceanic air meets mountainous contours. Amergin went below, no words were needed, the most vigilant of watches now required. The cresting bows of their wooden vessels throwing more and more spray. Occasionally the bow watchman got a drenching. His oil skins glistened wet in an abstract patterned accumulation of drying, crusty sea salt on his back. Wetted and encrusted again, he ducked into bigger and bigger breakers. Wind freshening, sails billowing, vessel leaning, they were forcing onwards.
Xomos waved the bow watchman back to the mast for safety, exhilarating sailing as they reached for the north-eastern horizon. One of those bright, fresh, inspiring oceanic days with crystal clear visibility! A blue-green, light turquoise seascape against a wide panoramic, cerulean blue, expanse of sky, they headed north where distant thunderheads were building and brewing. They had company now, great black-backed gulls and fulmar petrels swooped and dipped in the white cresting, rolling wake, tipping their wings in acknowledgement of the onlooking crew as they soared past overhead.
They gracefully flew in a wide ranging arc away from the racing vessels, only to rejoin their avian brothers and sisters in their exuberant wake riding.
“A sure sign of land!” mused Xomas… he peered and squinted into the horizon, “There! Land ahoy!”
A jagged, still distant, but majestic promontory thrust seaward. Too far away to make out features and relief, but close enough to sense of the scale of the sea cliffs. Rugged, inhospitable, rock formations and a huge breaking swell. Certainly no place for landing! Xomos tacked to the north again, the ever nearing land mass seemed to be drawing the wind around, backing to the south-east.
Amergin and the rest of the crew joined Xomas to witness the first spectacular glimpse of the Promised Land. All of the crews on all of the vessels in the entire Milesian fleet, mustered on deck to savour and enjoy the view. A view that didn’t disappoint… The light, the ocean, the colours, the sound, the cloudscape, the energy, the place, the spirit… their destiny! There was a collective exhortation in awe of the place, and the realisation that they had arrived…
Amergin smiled inwardly, and breathed deeply, in relief and appreciation of bearing witness and being present at such a significant and momentous occasion. Amergin turned to Xomas. They were speechless and in awe of the moment and the place.
A tear dropped from Amergin’s cheek, falling like glistening dew towards the ocean, only to be picked up by the gusting, petulant south-east wind, and then lost in a mist of sea spray in the wake of their vessel.
The joy of the moment was hijacked by a warning beacon lit on top of the distant precipitous headland. They had been spotted! A chain of beacons soon dotted the horizon. The defending tribes were warned of their arrival!
The south-easterly wind grew in strength as they neared the headland. It was being funneled and channeled by the high cliffs. They were being taken towards the jagged rocks and monolithic slabs of ancient red sandstone, the currents, tides and turbulence converging at the exposed tip of this great promontory. A mariner’s graveyard… They worked in unison, each helmsman searching for a safe refuge… tacking, furling sails, responding instantly to confused and strengthening gusts and a building tide ripped swell. The irresistible ocean meeting the immovable land mass, a place where weather, time and Milesian destiny collided.
That same wind trying to take them on to the unforgiving rocks and submerged reef was slowly bringing the distant brewing thunderheads towards them. Darkening clouds, towering over the mountains and ascending to the heavens, had turned from the water colour mirages to the torrid, thick turbulent, elemental forces of nature. Real and dangerous! Tide, time, wind and weather and this force majeure were on a collision course. The Milesian fleet were taken northwards by a tidal race and gusting gale force winds. They searched along the coastline for a place of sanctuary, a place to land safely. Amergin took the helm, Xomas by his side watching…
Ploughing into wave troughs and cresting swell they forged ahead, the tidal race grabbing and controlling all the vessels of the fleet like flotsam at the whim of the ocean.
Following wind and flooding tide combined to push them to the north. On the horizon, two islands with pointed cathedral spire pinnacles, the tops of huge seamounts, shimmering like mirages.
Amergin had seen these monolithic islands in one of his amber misted dreams. This was the sign he needed! Instantly he tacked to the starboard, heading for the coast. Xomas was concerned, he urged Amergin to stay offshore, “With this tidal race and gusting wind, we will be in danger of being dashed on the rocks Sire! I see no place of refuge here!” Amergin turned to his first officer, “Have faith Xomas! The Great Spirit is guiding us! I have seen this place in my dreams…”
Amergin held securely on to the tiller. The entire crew relied on him, the fleet took his lead. Their fate was once more in his hands. Xomas strained to see the distant horizon – another monstrous headland loomed into vision. Offshore were the two island bastions, sea temples to the gods. Through the sea spray and mists of waves crashing into reefs and headlands, there appeared to be no place of refuge, no sanctuary, no safe harbour.
Amergin pressed on with total self belief, steering straight towards the tip of the nearest headland.
Xomas strained to see through the mist and spray. Then he realised that the first headland was actually an island! The roaring waves crashed into reefs and dissipated into a deep water channel to the nort
h of the island. The deep water channel between the island and the imposing headland to the north was that sanctuary, was that refuge, was a place of safe haven, “A miracle!” shouted Xomas joyously.
“No, destiny Xomas!” hailed Amergin, “Destiny!”
One by one each of the vessels of the fleet entered the deep water channel… beyond this a sweeping bay came into view. Once safely in to the bay they dropped anchor, safe haven for now… Protected from the wind and swell they were able to take stock and take in the distant land and majestic mountains. Amergin looked to the distant mountains, and seeing the ever darkening, towering thunderheads, wondered how safe they really were…
The Milesian fleet rested quietly in the vast, calm expansive bay…
The sheer beauty of the place, sweeping golden beaches with the muted roar of distant crashing swell…
Headlands and hills stretching as far as the eye could see, greens of every shade, emerald and viridian hues… Shafts of scintillating sunlight swept over the land, searchlights illuminating and brilliant white light highlighting luminescent green swathes of pasture, woodlands and forest…
Dark shadows followed rapidly as fleeting clouds obscured the sun, only to be followed again by sunbursts illuminating a patchwork of glorious, verdant, magical landscapes…
Amergin watched in wonderment as one such searing searchlight swept from turquoise sea, to bleached white cold water coral sands to emerald pastures. His heart leapt for joy, and his spirits soared as he surveyed this heavenly panoramic vista. The adversities and trauma of the sea voyage receded and the horrific memories with their encounters with the dark Sidhe were soothed and eased.
“This beautiful, magical, mystical place shall be named after the one I am destined to meet, the woman in my dreams, ‘Sceine’. This is now the Bay of Sceine!” declared Amergin wholeheartedly.
He continued to watch the searching shafts of sunlight as they travelled across the vast ‘Bay of Sceine’.