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

by Christopher Lee

  “Which scribes? Do I need to remind them of their duty? I’ll do it gently!”

  Madan knew she only partly jested. He scowled at her. “No, no I can handle the scribes. Besides you know how it calms my nerves to transcribe. I wasn’t always the Sopher you know.”

  She sighed. “The scourge of Salos... What that battle must have been like…” Her eyes gleamed with the itch of adventure.

  Madan recognized the same gleam that took hold in his eyes when he read of the deeds of great souls. He recounted how he first heard the tale. “It was the first story my mother told me. I couldn’t have been older than my fifth nameday,” he paused. His facial expressions mimicked a toddler’s wonder. “Many children had heard of Ballaton and his heroic deeds. It was common here in the disciplinaries, but none had heard the tale as I had.” he grinned at her. “In my imagination, the story was mystically animated. As though the words themselves flowed through my veins, just as Ballaton's blood did. It wasn’t just a tale it was a song. A statement of our people and our duty to the dominions of the Goddess. It has been a constant reminder of my charge as the Sopher, as the descendant of Ballaton, and as your father.”

  Samsara beamed.

  Madan loved that she still responded to his stories. It reminded him of her younger years. Of better days.

  “Can you imagine what it would have been like to have been there? Ballaton’s flaming halberd glimmering in the rays of the setting sun. The scent of decay filling the air as thousands of warriors from the five legions laid down their lives to turn the tide. The druids and bards of the Sacred Grove chanting in the dark speech,” Samsara imagined aloud.

  He knew she relished the adventure and glory of such a battle. Madan continued her thoughts, mimicking her desire for such exhilaration.

  "The sound would have rung through the air, permeating existence as they contained the spirit of insatiable hunger with magic older than mankind. The majesty of victory and yet the crushing horror of potential defeat. It is one of the grandest tales in all the annals of these ever-storied halls."

  She sat down next to him, transfixed by his words. Madan peered off into the open window that overlooked the Sea of Mere and the coast of Hyperborea.

  He sighed. The dreams of youth had never left him. Yet his daughter would realize his dreams. It soothed his regrets but also filled him with worry for his daughter.

  “Alas, as a keeper I could never be a part of the tales themselves. But oh how I wish I could witness such grandeur.”

  “Father, you make it sound as though you wished your wings were free. That you belonged to the Watchers, and not the Keepers.”

  Madan perceived the five-year-old within him. It was buried under three centuries of duty, and yet it remained. His eyes lit up at the prospect. He envisioned his life among the dominions of Hyperborea. Pretending he was not trapped here within the alabaster walls of the Acropolis.

  “There was a time Sam, where I wished that. When my only dream was to let my wings carry me to the far corners of this world. To see the adventures before they are committed to dusty shelves and distant memory. Yet, the rays of the eastern sun dictated a different future for me.” he paused and recounted. “For many years, I resented the future that was decided for me. Until I came across this exact scroll of the epic, I cherished so much as a child. It was in reading the personal accounts of Ballaton, and his personal journal, that I found the value of my position. It was in these words I found peace.”

  Madan paused. A lesson was ripe and ready to be learned.

  “It is not among the stars where we are beset with our destiny, but in our own minds, hearts, and deeds. So you see I was not as trapped as I may have thought.”

  Sam looked at him with intention. He could tell she was ready to learn what he offered.

  “Our destinies lie within our own deeds,” Madan reemphasized. “I could no more be a Watcher than I could have been a Guardian. My destiny was in keeping the words. In making sure these pieces of parchment are safe and available for future generations. So, my daughter and future generations would know the value of our people’s ways and why the orders of our people exist. Why we most of all must obey the will of the Goddess.”

  He knew his impassioned words were welcomed by her ears even if he was passively chiding her for her rebellious ideology. Their people were an obedient folk who stayed true to their traditions. Only once in their storied history had they ever stepped outside their duty, and that was a time of great peril, to save the whole of creation from certain destruction.

  “You know you aren’t the only black wing in our family line,” he said. “The Lightbringer himself had black wings. It is his rebellious nature I believe lives on in us both. An asset to be sure, but one we must be ever cautious of. Rebellion is a tool, to be used as a last resort. Its call is seductive, and we can find ourselves lost in its pull.”

  “Father, I… I’m sorry. My actions were reckless. I put our people at risk. It’s just that...”

  “Never mind the research,” he said. “I'd rather not rehash an old argument. You were right to challenge where I failed to defend our people.” he paused “I sometimes forget that you won’t always be the little cherub I remember. That you’ve grown into an intelligent, strong willed maiden and I can no longer command you as a child. In raising you differently than our custom, I have betrayed my hopes for our people. You will be the first of us to choose your path. To be a light for future generations as the Light Bringer was. Our people deserve better than I have provided.”

  “I don’t know what to say.” she said.

  “Say nothing. Just come and sit with me for a moment. We have so few of them any more.” He smiled at her. “Do you remember that day on the coast?”

  “Of course I do,” she said. “It feels like it was only yesterday.”

  “I wish I had made more time for moments like those. My devotion has often been displaced. If I’d given a fraction of dedication to being a proper father.” he said. “But that day, may always be my favorite day.”

  “A proper father would not have allowed me to train with a halberd,” she quipped.

  Madan laughed, “Sariel says you’re one of the best he’s seen in a generation.”

  “Sariel tells too many stories. You’d think he was a scribe.” said Samsara.

  “Tonight, you are truly a Keeper of the ashen feather and so much more. Though I hope you bring an era of freedom to our people, I hope you remember one thing. Our ways have stood for over six thousand years. It is because of these ways we have not only survived, but our people have thrived. These things never occur overnight.” Madan looked at her and his heart brimmed with pride. “I’ve waited a long time for this day, to see you grow into a fine young woman.”

  As the words escaped his lips, a heavy dread fell upon him.

  Madan reached into his desk.

  “Now where's that blasted thing?” he said as he rifled through his desk. “I twas right here only a moment ago.” Papers fell off his desk with a precariously placed book. “Ah here, here it is.”

  He reached out his hand and handed her a brass cylinder in haste.

  "What is this, Father?" Samsara asked.

  “A gift, to be opened in the morning. It carries your first set of instructions. Your first task for the Order of the Keepers and for our people. I know you will make us all proud.”

  His mood had shifted, and he knew she would see he was acting strangely.

  “Come on Father, tell me what’s inside?” she asked again.

  Madan was about to speak, but a deep chill filled the air. He stood up and walked to the window to draw it closed. The happiness that filled him only moments ago had fled. He faced the closed window and took a deep breath. Madan drew on his own internal strength to move past the dreadful feeling he was experiencing. He mustn't let her know what was coming.

  “Tomorrow we both embark upon the dominions of King Dagda. Hyperborea can be a beautiful but dangerous land, I trust you’
re prepared? I have assigned two Guardians to travel with you should you require.”

  Samsara nodded, “I’ve already gone over your flight recommendations and plan three times, father. I’ll be fine! Besides it’s not like the Guardians will let me have any fun during the voyage.”

  “The pilgrimage to the Midsummer Festival is a momentous occasion.” He smiled at her, his pride displayed across his widening smile. “I'm glad you'll finally get to see the world outside, Sam. I know that being confined to this island has been hard for you. You’ve always been a free spirit, and now your bounds have been broken. You must be the master of your own fate from this day forward.”

  The chill in the air deepened and Samsara shivered.

  "I suspect our destinies take us both down new paths. I hope the words of Ballaton help you too, my dear daughter. Follow his example and you will vanquish the darkness as he did.” he paused. “If you will please excuse me, I must finish this work before I depart."

  Madan turned his back to her and shuffled through some papers.

  “Father, are you ok? Is something going on? It’s that damned obsession of yours isn’t it?”

  She walked over to him and put her hand on his shoulder. “You’re freezing!”

  “Father, this has to stop! The Nemeton will not stand for this much longer!” she cried.

  “Damn the Nemeton!” he shouted as he shrugged her hand from his shoulder.

  Madan turned his back to his daughter and took up his quill once more transcribing the aged tale. Tears formed in his eyes. He knew he’d walked a dangerous path. Sooner or later his obsessive behavior would kill him. He had no choice but to continue on, it had utterly consumed him. He must protect Samsara at all costs, no matter what happened to him or the rest of his people. Madan had dug too deep and now disaster loomed over all he and his people had achieved.

  His voice quivered as he spoke, “I love you my sweet, we will see each other again at the festival. Now please leave me to my studies. You have a long journey tomorrow, Sam. And I must transcribe this text before I too leave for Formene. I suggest you get rest, the trip is long, even for a youthful spirit like yours.”

  “But father I don’t.”

  Sam didn’t budge. “I’m not leaving until you let me help you. If it something I can help with my pilgrimage can wait.”

  “Samsara please,” Madan begged. “If you won’t leave by choice, I will invoke the Guardians. I will see you at the commencement ceremony tonight.”

  Samsara looked puzzled and wounded by her father’s insistence. He was serious. He hoped beyond hope that his headstrong daughter would not challenge him. Not this time. He was even tempted to soften the edges his threat. But, before he had a chance, she stood for a moment and walked out of her father’s study.

  Madan heard the door close. His lies cut at his heart like the edge of a razor. The chill he sensed fill the room came not from the windy seas outside his window. It came from the sudden entrance of an unwelcome and unseen visitor. A visitor that Madan feared despite their long acquaintance.

  From out of the shadows, a druid appeared. His robes were white, and he bore the mark of the oak upon his cowl. Madan was unshaken by the sudden appearance. This was not the first time the druid invaded his studies, but it would be the last time. The druid had gotten the better of him for the better part of a decade, but not this time.

  “It is time,” the voice of the druid cut through him.

  “A moment,” Madan replied hoping to stall the inevitable.

  Madan scrambled through the parchment on his desk.

  "Do not stall, the apostates must be dealt with swiftly.”

  Madan hated this part. Each time he handed over information that led to the capture of a child somewhere in the world, he could feel the heartache of the parents. He had done it countless times over three hundred years. Every time he did, he experienced another part of his soul darken.

  “Must they all be put to the sword?” he paused. “Could we not cleanse them?”

  The druid walked towards him, “You know the law. What good does cleansing do against a line that has proven resistance to the curse? Those who harbor the ancient gift are to be destroyed. It has been this way for ages. The public holds no love for these abominations.”

  “You were a man,” Madan posited. “The Nemeton saw fit to give you the gift.”

  “A gift given by the law. These magic born are not bound by the same laws as I. They are a danger to peace and all who prosper from it.”

  Madan knew the druid was making the proper moral judgement. His own feelings were clouding his judgement. He had spent so much time and effort locating and preparing for this that he had formed a bond with the tribe. Even though he’d never met one, he was absurdly curious about them.

  “Could we not learn from them? The key to their immunity lies in their blood. Perhaps, we could study it.”

  Madan could tell he struck a nerve with the druid by the silence that followed.

  “You’ve discovered something,” inquired the druid.

  Madan retrieved Samsara’s journal and handed it to the druid. The man thumbed through the pages.

  “I believe the apostates come from a single bloodline. With work we can isolate the immunity and eventually the abominations will cease manifesting in the entire population. Within four generations we can eradicate the race of magical men.”

  The druid met his eyes with a confusing glare. Madan was certain this information would please to the Nemeton.

  “No one else has seen this research?” asked the druid.

  “No eyes but mine your grace,” replied Madan.

  The druid closed the journal and placed it within the folds of his robes. He went to the window and stared out upon the crashing sea below. Madan could sensed his heartbeat return to a normal rhythm. He felt a great victory wash over him. This finding may have just secured the lives of the thirteenth tribe, at least long enough for him to finish his research.

  Madan breathed a sigh of relief.

  “Midsummer's Eve will soon be upon us Sopher. The Nemeton demands tribute for the great and ancient rite of the Conclave. You will hold up your end of the bargain, or your pretty little daughter will be cast as tribute as the Nemeton demands.”

  “She is not to be harmed,” Madan barked, pounding his fist against the table. “None of my people are to be a part of this!”

  “Hold your word true, and I shall eliminate the need for a sacrifice from the Acropolis.”

  Madan suffered as panic crept within him.

  “Conclave...” he mouthed. “If I do what you ask, and you find the apostates? You will exclude my people... my daughter from your barbarity?”

  The druid nodded within his darkened hood.

  “What will you tell the Nemeton? If we do not submit tribute, they will take who they wish by force,” said Madan.

  “What I tell them is not your concern bookkeeper,” replied the druid.

  “You must tell me how you will convince the council,” Madan barked like a maddened dog.

  The druid lost his patience with Madan. His hand emerged from within the white robes. As he did, it glowed with a fiery bluish-green hue. Madan felt the power of the druid grip his body before being thrown across the room and into his bookshelf.

  Madan struggled as the force of the blow kept him pressed against his ash-wood bookshelves. The druid walked forward towards him. Madan struggled to get words out.

  “The Nemeton will not stand for such blatant disregard. They will hear of your involvement.”

  The druid grinned and let a chuckle loose. His insidious laughter turned to anger.

  "I AM THE NEMETON," the druid demanded. "They will do nothing because I have blinded them to this. Their focus has shifted to much larger problems."

  The druid raised his head, revealing dark yellow eyes beneath his hooded cowl.

  "The Nemos cry out for a sacrifice to the ancient grove. One soul shall be given up to her will to keep order
and keep the balance of her creation. Word has already been sent to every corner of the earth. All under the age of twenty-five, who hold noble blood are subject to the call of sacrifice. All must present themselves in the Whispering Hills or suffer the same fate as Atum. They will be selected for the trial at the Midsummer Festival, and youthful blood will be shed to secure our survival. As it must be." He paused. "There will be no other course of action Sopher. You will give me what was promised, and your daughter will be exempt. Do I have your cooperation?"

  Madan nodded. The druid released his hold upon the aging Seræphym and turned his back. Madan lay on the floor his eyes regaining focus. As he came to, he could see a black feather floating from the balcony above. Madan rose to his feet.

  “So mote it be.” said Madan. “I do not do this for the Nemeton, but for my daughter’s safety. For the freedom of my people from your barbaric institution. You’re little better than the demon kings of old.”

  “Is that so? Tell me Sopher where you there when the demon kings ruled?”

  Madan did not respond.

  “Should you provide me with what was bargained for, I will ensure her release from her sacred contract with the Sacred Grove.”

  “Damn you,” muttered Madan.

  “Take me to the Reliquary Sopher, my patience grows thin.”

  Madan thought about his daughter as he grabbed his ring of keys and took a long look at the tale of Ballaton. He was helpless, and he hoped that she would do nothing rash. He could not even protect his own daughter. If the druid was telling him the truth, it was possible that even the deal he’d struck with the druid may not be enough to protect her. None stood against the will of the Nemeton, for it was her will, and the Great Goddess did not bargain. He was not sure if he would have another conversation with her nor if would he hold her in his arms again. He wondered if it was his obsession that had led to all of this. This druid, whom he once believed to hold similar hopes in finding the Lost Tribe, had hoodwinked him time and time again. He was in an impossible position and he only had one more move to make. If he played his cards right at least Sam might avoid being cast into the service of the Nemeton. Madan knew he would trade the entire collection of knowledge of the Acropolis if it meant her survival and freedom.