The Tales of Amergin, Sea Druid

by Peter Green

  In the distance he could make out a river mouth, pouring into the ocean. It seemed to connect to an upper lake that now emptied with the receding tide. The river mouth was fringed with verdant green pastures. Another shaft of sunlight swept through, miraculously illuminating an ancient megalithic monument standing in proud isolation on an escarpment to the East of the bay, three magnificent giant standing stones. A temple to the sun, the three carved Bluestones in alignment with the rising sun. They were also in alignment with the distant mountain range where the towering, darkening thunderheads ascended to the heavens. Now they were encroaching and threatening to extinguish the bright and illuminating ‘angel shafts’.

  “We must make for the estuary, and from there we will climb to the Temple of the Sun. We must hurry we have been given a sign. Look how the eastern horizon darkens! Our nemesis comes from there! We must prepare ourselves!” Amergin instructed Xomas to send the message to up anchor, and the oarsmen to row for the river mouth…

  Amergin was fully galvanised and animated. Wonder at this inspiring place was being replaced by reality. His survival instinct still strong and robust!

  The oarsmen on each vessel pulled in unison. Straining and stretching every sinew and muscle in their flexing bodies to get the fleet and the tribes of Milesia to a place of refuge.

  The shifting searchlights had now become stationary spotlights as the sun lowered in the western sky. Meanwhile the eastern horizon darkened. The daily battle between the light and the dark commenced.

  Fair weather and bright light meeting foul weather and darkness, the shifting, slipping rays of sunlight sent shafts of illumination into the distant darkness. An incandescent veil of refracted and diffracted white light diffused into spectral colours of the rainbow in the misting darkness of the encroaching thunderheads. Not a rainbow but a rainwall! The encroaching front became a red, orange, yellow, green, blue, indigo and violet weather wall. The descending sun sent protective, warming rays of light into the invasive, intrusive, intimidating storm front, still, the one blazing, brilliant shaft of sunlight spotlit the gigantic standing Bluestones of The Temple of the Sun. The oarsmen rowed steadily and strongly to the south side of the estuary. Amergin’s vessel slid silently into the soft sinking sand of the river mouth bar, Eiremhou’s vessel next, then Eimbear’s.

  Soon the rest of the fleet had landed. As soon as the prows touched the haven of the Promised Land, the expeditionary forces leapt on to terra firma. The full force brought the provisions ashore, soon making camp and setting the defences. They were strategically camped at the foot of the escarpment with the gargantuan standing stones of the Temple of the Sun overlooking them and guarding them.

  Amergin gathered his brothers, the representatives of the Chapter of the Mystics, including Gonne, at the Temple of the Sun. They knelt in prayer, placing their hands on the rough igneous Bluestone granite of the standing stones. In quiet contemplation, Amergin looked around. The location of the Temple of the Sun was breathtaking. Lay lines from all distant points, mountain summits, river valleys, sky touching offshore islands, all aligned here. The power, the energy, the spirit, the connection to the Divine, all was here. Amergin and his tribe had been drawn here, a portal to the spirit world where the veil between light and dark shifted and thinned.

  Amergin led the gathering in prayer, “Great Spirit we beseech thee, grant us your protection and give us the power and the strength to overcome the forces of the dark. Connect us to the Guardians of Light and give us the courage, fortitude and integrity to face our dark adversaries…”

  “All hail to the Divine!” was the response from the gathering.

  Amergin stepped away from the temple and looked east… from the ocean to the river mouth, to the winding river valley, beyond the upper lake, over the verdant pastures and lush lowland woods, to the mountain ridges and lofty summits. An extraordinarily beautiful place… now a place of challenge and adventure, a place of flux with evil posturing and threatening… here would be the beginning of the battle for the Promised Land. All the portents, all the omens, all the signs had brought Amergin here… his quest continues.

  CHAPTER ELEVEN:

  THE MAGIC OF DERWYDD

  MacCuacht marched on, he and the witches following the traces of the fleeing Eiru and Terese.

  Overhead the rolling and boiling thunderheads tracing every step of MacCuacht and his army of lost souls. The glowing light of the late evening sun filled the carved glacial valley ahead, catching the the summits of the mountain peaks above. To the north, the cloud piercing summit of Cadris caught the full intensity of the setting sun. Like a sleeping giant resting and basking in the rays, light reflected from the uppermost slopes on the southerly side of this breathtaking mountain. Light from the west penetrated deep into the long and undulating valley meeting the cascading reflected light from the majestic peaks. The high terraces of evergreen conifer forests trapped and diffused the cascading glowing light. A fine mist of swirling rain descended from the leading edge of the clouds towering to infinite heights above Cadris and her sister peaks. An effervescent kaleidoscope of rainbow colours illuminated the higher slopes. A wall of hallucinogenic mist announcing the arrival of a darkening, threatening storm front...

  MacCuacht surveyed his forces as they descended deeper and deeper into the valley. He was feeling stronger and more powerful than ever. The tribes of this land were increasingly turning to his cause. Ever increasing numbers and his foe in apparent disarray... MacCuacht did indeed feel strong!

  They marched on through the vast conifer forests. Giant pines standing resolutely, as their high canopy swayed in the cold north easterly mountain breeze. The cold air plunged into the valley, in a temperature inversion produced by the intensifying storm system. Even the elements were turning as MacCuacht and the army of lost souls marched through the valley.

  The shadows of the giant conifers lengthened and darkened. High above the canopy, the swirling wall of spectral colours began to dissipate to be replaced by an all permeating golden amber glow.

  Unknown to MacCuacht, ahead lay the nigh on impenetrable ancient deciduous Woodland of Derwydd and beyond Derwydd the first of the great portals of the Western Province, Machlleth.

  Machlleth was guarded by Thiorn and his elite guard, who awaited the coming of the dark one...

  The army of lost souls marched westwards towards the ocean, before them the notorious Woodland of Derwydd. Even the dark infectiousness of MacCuacht could not prevent their unease.

  They had all witnessed the permeating deep amber glow before. They had witnessed the shocking death of their esteemed second in command, Sirez. The writhing death throes were fresh in their minds. The darkening shadows, the deepening amber glow, disturbed even their twisted and demented minds.

  The solitary, giant evergreen conifers seemed to feed off this nervous energy. In the diminishing light, darkening shadows and descending, strange amber mist, the conifers appeared to close ranks. The passage through became a maze, no clear path, no western light to guide them. The brewing, boiling storm clouds above the canopy of the woodland also deadened and absorbed any ambient light. Even the children of the dark felt suffocated. The forest barred their way, an impenetrable barrier. Now their disturbed minds began tricking them. The amber mist drugged their senses. Solitary, ancient pines were moving! Hallucination or reality!

  The army of lost souls genuinely lost! The weaker souls and those who had been turned to the dark more recently were terror stricken. Some panicked and bolted into the woodland. They crashed into abrasive, resin soaked trunks. The mind altering sap clung to their flesh, sharp needles pricked and punctured exposed skin. Lowering branches scraped and scratched. Roots twisted, tripped and trapped them. In confusion, darkness and hallucinogenic madness they thrashed and battled through the maze, flailing into the darkness until they collapsed in quivering exhaustion!

  MacCuacht, MacCuill and MacGreinne, and the two raven haired witches stayed close together through all the confusion a
nd mindwarped frantic delerium...“Brother!” screamed MacCuill to MacGreinne, “We are surely on a demonic mission! MacCuacht is possessed! I fear for us! I fear for our souls! Where is our guiding light?!”

  MacGreinne saw weakness in his brother. He had no questions. He was strongly on MacCuacht’s side. “You must harden your resolve brother! Our mission is to repel an invasion force that arrives on our Western shoreline. Never lose sight of that! We must conquer or be vanquished!”

  MacGreinne saw in MacCuill the same questioning zeal that he had seen in Eiru. The same inability to trust in and connect with MacCuacht... and look what happened to Eiru!

  There was an incessant, unrelenting assault on the senses as they marched further into the Woodlands of Derwydd, the impenetrable forest, the mind altering amber mist. MacGreinne watched his brother becoming more and more unsettled, “Another traitor in our midst?” he thought to himself. As he pondered this the witch Banba came to his side, “I sense your disquiet MacGreinne. You have doubts about the loyalty of my husband?”

  Turning to face Banba, “Of course, her clairvoyant skills, she knew his mind!” She nodded in response to his thoughts. Banba was perhaps the most mysterious of the three Witches of Hawardden. She too was blessed with incredible beauty, as were Eiru and Fodha. Her resolve to the dark cause was without question. MacCuill’s weakness and questioning would be intolerable to her.

  Eiru had deserted, would MacCuill be next? “I will talk to my husband, and I will concoct a potion to strengthen his resolve. But we must be vigilant. We are dealing with the forces of the Light. Once his heart is taken, his soul will follow ...”

  The mysterious Banba, dressed in her silver cocooned fabric, pressed her cheek to MacGreinne’s and gripped his hand in a comforting, but still disconcerting, gesture. Her hand was so cold!

  As MacGreinne turned, Banba was already quietly fading into the mist with shapeshifting ease. As her spectral form drifted away, MacGreinne momentarily questioned his own mind. Her otherworldly presence and mind probing abilities and the coldness of her body made him shiver. Her beauty was beguiling, but she was pure evil. The depths of her possession shook him to the core.

  MacCuacht marched on deeper and deeper into Derwydd. Progress slowed but his resolve unwavering. He still felt his power growing, he fed off adversity.

  Suddenly without warning, the wall of conifers thinned, became more and more sparse and the last vestiges of the western light shone diffusely on to a grass covered clearing. A sentinel standing stone stood in the middle of the clearing, pointing heavenwards, a conduit between the spirit world and the first flickering stars of the evening. A cooling north-easterly breeze swept down from the icy mountains and swept away the amber mist. The stone pointed the way, aligned with Polaris and gently tilting in the direction of their path. This was the lay line that will take them to the portal of Machlleth.

  MacCuacht, once at Machlleth, will commune with the spirit world and unleash the fury of the dark Sidhe upon the Western Province. He stared heavenwards, he saw the clearing skies to the west, and was pleased to see that in the East, above the line of conifers, and above the ice capped summits the ever building and brewing thunderhead, the storm front following their every move.“Here we will make camp for the night! Gather your strength my dark brothers and sisters. Tomorrow we will take the Portal of Machlleth!”

  With every passing hour the forces of the dark were growing stronger, the giant standing stone leaning in the direction of the layline connecting the great portals of the Western Province. MacCuacht could feel the energy coursing into the stone and along the layline.

  The layline followed a natural fault line that descended deeper and deeper into the ancient deciduous woodlands and Oak groves of Derwydd. MacCuacht conspired with the two Witches of Hawardden, and his brothers MacCuill and MacGreinne. They had all been regaled with the tales of magic and spiritual encounters, “The Oak groves of Derwydd are in the power of The Guardians of Light, their power from the spirit world radiates through the Portal of Machlleth. We must expect all kinds of strange and dangerous experiences as we descend through the ancient Woodlands of Derwydd.”

  *

  MacCuill awoke before the first strains of the dawn chorus and before the weak rays of light could percolate through the ancient trees. But this day would be different. The rolling brewing turmoil of the thunderheads and storm front had arrived over night, bringing a cold, dank, dense, forlorn, all consuming mist. The grass meadows and clearance were drenched in a deluge of misting, morning dew. The massive standing stone stood stark and defiant pointing to The Portal of Machlleth.

  MacCuill wakening in the smothering mist had reached crisis point. He could take no more! He would desert his dark brothers this very morning! He would go before the masses stirred.

  He would go to warn the enlightened ones and go to join them in the cause of the Light.

  He feared the journey through the ancient woodlands on his own – but he feared the retribution of his evil, dark, merciless brother even more. MacCuill ventured forth in trepidation, but with the lion heart of the legendary warrior he was destined to become...

  He stealthily made his escape under the cover of the condensing mist. He had no reason to remain. He loathed the creature of the dark that his brother had become. He dreaded becoming one of the army of lost souls. Even his witch of a wife conspired against him, the wild, wicked and most mysterious of all the witches.Banba, could be MacCuill’s greatest threat. She had confided with MacCuacht about his traitorous intentions. If he stayed her witchcraft would be his undoing.

  Banba had power over MacCuill. She was in his blood, in his mind and his psyche. He must leave and put distance between him and the witch.

  The dawn was upon them, new light sifted through the swaying tree tops. The distant ridges and mountain tops lit up. MacCuill heard the shrill song of the sonorous Song Thrush, sat atop one of the great, twisted and contorted ancient Oaks on the fringe of Derwydd. Morning was breaking, time was precious. He took a moment, standing under the spreading umbrella of a thousand year Oak.

  Even here he was in the clutches of the damp shrouding mist. The moment was fleeting. He anxiously studied the slumbering camp for signs of any movement. Conscious of the perils of Derwydd, knowing the alarm would soon be raised, he must go...

  With each step he went deeper and deeper into the depths of Derwydd. The dawn chorus became louder and louder. He felt he was being drawn and guided through the mysterious Woodlands.

  He was confused and was in total wonderment at this divinely beautiful, unearthly place.

  His path was clear, a trail of floral abundance mazed through the dense woodlands. The air heady with the scent of wild Garlic, Bluebells covered the ground, Foxgloves colonised the hedgerows. All thrived in the patchwork of spotted sunlight that pierced the canopy of deciduous trees of all kinds. Ash, Birch, Elder, Beech the original ancient trees, a dendrinologists dream, in a magical, mystical place...

  MacCuill anticipated strange life threatening magical encounters... the stuff of fireside tales and legends...

  The truth, the reality, could not have been different! Why!

  The dawn chorus was in full crescendo. Every song bird known to man, and many not, gave full vent, a performance on an operatic scale given in a verdant, high vaulted cathedral created by ancient Oaks and the whole deciduous Woodland. MacCuill pressed on... by now the alarm would be raised, the army of lost souls would be in pursuit.

  The Woodland continued to welcome MacCuill. The dawn chorus continued to entertain as the first soothing rays of morning light filtered through the Woodland canopy. Life was abundant, Woodland animals peered and gazed from everywhere, acknowledging him and welcoming him and then blithely going on their way. They were no threat to him, and he to them, kindred spirits all.

  The giant Oaks, the Woodland animals, all sensed why he was there. He felt coaxed and nurtured... a far cry from the travails he expected...

  The lush green ca
rpeted path wound onwards, further into the Woods... the further he went the lusher and greener it got. Greens of every hue, lit up by rays of light bursting through the canopy of an ancient Oak grove with trees so massive, so ancient, so wondrous that MacCuill’s mind struggled to grasp the size, their creation and their beauty.

  The path twisted and wound into the verdant distance. Relieved and amazed at the ease of his journey, but still acutely aware of the hordes in pursuit, he continued to speedily press on.

  He noticed a change in the topography, stranger and stranger geology and rock formations.

  Limestone outcrops, rain and wind eroded over the aeons in to jagged clynts and grikes, the composition of the Woodland slowly changing. Ancient Oaks now interspersed with even more ancient Yew trees. The limestone formations had a dreamlike quality. The cover of soil became thinner and sparser as the path wound on. Oaks became rarer, soon only Yew trees could penetrate the cracks and crevices of the limestone pavement.

  The Yew trees were of an indeterminate age, thousands of years at least, their roots contorting and penetrating deep into the prehistoric landscape. Land laid down when oceans covered the known world.

  Before him was a raised mount of igneous bluestone, impermeable and volcanically hardened granite. The mysterious outcrop was surrounded by the most ancient of Yew trees. A pool of azure blue water gathered in the non porous rock. Stark shadowy branches reflected in water so deep that it seemed to draw MacCuill in. He was beguiled and amazed, kneeling down to dip his hands into the deep cooling water. He cupped the sparkling water in his hands and splashed and refreshed his smiling countenance. Ripples spread to all sides of the pool. As they cleared and settled, to his astonishment, he began to see forms and figures, marching and armoured, “The army of lost souls!”

  The clear azure blue pool was showing his pursuers in the reflections... Banba, MacCuacht, Fodha and MacGreinne... They were leading their macabre cohort into Derwydd...