“Not like this…” he said. “Not like this. This is not freedom.”
A low rumbling growl came from inside his guts. His teeth gnashed, and his fingernails grew. His back arched and crackled as his body shifted and changed. The pain was immense. He’d never taken such a leap. His body strained and stretched. It felt as though he would split in two. His vision deepened in color and he bellowed a long savage roar. It was a force that Nastas felt connected to the core of the Earth. He felt his body growing with each roar. Four roars in all as his body underwent the changes of transmogrification. Without warning he had summoned the spirit of the great ancestral bear. The Guardian of the Underworld and protector of mankind. His claws were long, his teeth razor sharp, and he stood between the druid and his righteous angels in defiance of death. The strength of the beast delighted Nastas. He was drunk on the power and he aimed to use it. His vision went red and the berserkers rage took him over.
Nastas lashed out with his claws defending the last of his people with a ferocity that shook the earth when he bellowed his warning to all who would come near his people. He cried and roared swiping at their spears. The first angel lunged at him, thrusting a spear past his head. His arm crushed the oaken wood of the spear like a twig before his teeth frayed the arm from the angel’s body. He roared in delight as the angel wailed in pain. Then the others fell upon him. Dozens of spear points tore at his coat, drawing blood and poking into his hide. He cried out in pain, a sound that ripped through forest felling trees in its wake and shaking the ground they stood on. He fought valiantly taking a half dozen angels with him as he fell with a great thud to the ground, battered and beaten by the ceaseless assault. Power slowly left his body and the spirit of the Great Bear left his body. Nastas watched as the remaining angels tore their spears from his flesh and marched away with the remaining members of his tribe. He had done what he could, and he had failed. Only he was left, he and the druid that wanted his people. The menacing figure stood over him.
“Only now at the end do you begin to comprehend the mistake. Do you repent?” he said with a calm demeanor.
Nastas was unable to form words. His voice was caught between the wailing of the Great Bear and his own. He tried to speak but all that came out was air, however his eyes said all the druid needed to know. Nastas was defiant until the end. the druid shook his head in disappointment.
“So be it.” he said as he raised a dagger in the air.
Nastas could feel his failure descend upon him once more. His mistress had said his journey would be fraught with adversity, but how did she ever expect him to stand against such power. As he resigned himself to failure, he heard the cry of the druid standing above him. Nastas opened his eyes. the druid cried in pain and fell to his knees. Behind him was the dark winged creature he had seen in the clearing. It was she who had prevailed in the contest, and now she assaulted a member of the Nemeton. Her halberd stuck in his back, and she tore it from his flesh releasing a cascade of blood from his spinal column. He groaned and flailed to the ground, the air leaving his body. Nastas was slipping in and out of consciousness now. He too had lost a fair share of blood. His vision blurred, and his ears rang, but it did not appear to him that the dark winged angel said anything. She placed the halberd on her hip after it collapsed and she reached down to pick up his nearly lifeless body. Nastas watched as he was carried away from where his lay his life spilling upon the cold damp earth. He turned and fixed his gaze upon the blue portal that had remained open. The dark winged angel walked forward and through the portal carrying Nastas in her arms. He was not sure if he would live, he was not sure of anything except that he was the last of his kind free of bondage, and despite his failure to protect his kin, he had crossed the barrier. He was now outside of the sanctuary for the first time. He looked back at the final image of the place he had called home before the portal collapsed. Then his vision went dark.
Chapter Thirteen
Ubara Tutu, the Ensí of Penitent’s Vow
Cause gods to bleed,
Plant seditious seed,
Mortal man at once is freed.
The road was not long between Penitent’s Vow and the city of Fo. Ubara left under the cover of night. By dawn his carriage arrived at the gates of Balor's Keep. The city itself bustled with the cries of merchants peddling their wares. As he waited for the guardsmen to open the gates he observed how the Fomorii lived. Though he was no stranger to the city, the difference between his Penitents and the Fomorii persisted. His people strived for something more while the Fomorii seemed content to live underneath the heels of the Fae. It confounded him; the Fomorii were large men, physically gifted far beyond the men of the south. In contrast Ubara and his southern brethren were smaller, quicker and tired of living under Fae rule.
Ubara watched the flag atop the keep flapped in the wind. Even though these men allowed his people to stay in their lands, he still held them in disdain. Most of all Balor. He did not understand how a man with such power could have stood by and watched as his own people suffered under foreign, pagan interests. Ubara had suffered open defeat, he had a valid excuse no matter how damning it was to his own pride. Balor commanded a host larger than any nation of man in the West. The influence of his kingdom spread as far as the Nile in Kemet. No southern King would dare to challenge his rule.
The city guard escorted the carriage through the crowds gathered outside the keep, their standard displaying the monstrous eye of Balor. Ubara knew Balor was as powerful as the god-King of Sumer, thanks to his formidable Eye. It was an archaic artifact that Ubara and many others craved. Its power was old, from before the time of the Fae, a relic of the golden age of man. Though Ubara had never seen Balor use the Eye, legend held that its power rivaled Dagda’s fabled club. Balor’s own augers claimed it burnt men to cinders with a single glance. The Eye was discovered by the Fomorian augers and Balor petitioned to keep it. The Nemeton saw it as a deterrent to war between the Fomorii and the Fae. Balor had sacrificed much to gain the power he held. Whatever price Balor had paid for it, Ubara was sure it was a heavy one, he was sure it was a dark, sinister secret, one he hoped to reveal.
If Ubara could wrest the Eye or its secrets from Balor his own power would be magnified beyond his wildest imagination. For all of his careful study of Balor and the Eye, he’d seen no possible course. As far as he knew the Eye would pass to Bres if Balor fell. And so he’d tutored Bres hoping one day he would at least control the direction in which the Eye was pointed.
Ubara and his entourage disembarked from their carriage and were escorted up the marble stairs into the great hall of the keep. Ubara controlled his ambitious thoughts, they were susceptible to being captured by the minds of spymasters and information brokers. Though the men living in the kingdom of Fomor had lost much of their ability to use the source of magic, they used what little connection they had to develop incredible intuitive powers. Ubara once underestimated their skill when he first joined the court, a mistake he was not willing to repeat. If Ubara walked into Balor’s court reeking of twisted plots or betrayal, one if not more of the members of the court would sniff him out. He had no friends in the court, save Bres. The sycophants and noblemen in the Fomorii court did not share his vision. These men were content with the scraps that Balor’s alliance with the Fae yielded. They had become rich and powerful because of peace. They would kill to uphold it.
The task set before him was beyond acquiring a single relic, he had to gain access to the relic of all relics, the Womb of Creation. He would never achieve that dream without entering the city of Tara. If he could not take it by force, then he would have to use misdirection and subterfuge to achieve his vision. The prophet had been clear, the road to Dagda’s destruction was through his desire to bring man and Fae together. Thus his mission was to convince young Bres to travel to Dagda’s court, and parlay with the Fae.
It was unclear why he had been summoned by the young Prince; the summons had not indicated a purpose for the gathering. Regardless
of the reason for the summons, it created the precise veil that Ubara could use to persuade the Bres to bend to his own wishes. The interior of the hall was remarkable in its grandeur. It lacked the refinement of Fae architecture, but it commanded the same level of respect. The beams, the stones, the sheer scale made the room feel as if it were built by the primordials themselves. The ceiling ascended to a height of over three hundred cubits. Even in Sumer Ubara had not seen its equal. There was only one edifice in all the lands of men that surpassed its grandeur, and Ubara would stand in it soon enough.
As Ubara and his entourage approached the throne, they could not help but gaze upon the gargantuan man. Balor was more monster than man, a full two feet taller than even Ubara was. He and his northern men were cut of a different set of cloth. Ubara always assumed it was from interbreeding with the Jotun though the physical traits seemed to diminish with each generation. Bres was taller than Ubara, but only by inches, though he was far more pleasant to look upon. Bres the Fair was one of his many titles and he was coveted by princess, and commoner alike.
Bres walked forward, down the steps from the throne as Balor stood towering over the visitors.
“Ensí Ubara Tutu,” Bres called grinning from ear to ear. Behind him, Balor feigned to acknowledged his presence. Ubara removed his hood and embraced the Prince and smiled. ¨I trust your travels were safe along the kingsroad.”
“The steeds were swift, the night offered its darkness to speed our way, young Prince.” Ubara said as he bowed and kissed the hand of Bres. It was a minor inconvenience, but one that still grated on his nerves. He did not believe he owed any man his allegiance. It belonged to Elohim. Ubara straightened up. ¨How can I be of service to the House of Balor? ¨
Balor rolled his one good eye. He kept the other Eye masked. The members of the court whispered. Balor and his people had tolerated the Penitents to avoid issues with the Grove. Ubara knew just how much of a thorn in Balor’s side he and his people were, and he relished being so. It was after all his entire purpose for coming to this infested land. To be a burr in the side of all that stood in the way of man reclaiming their birthright. It only sweetened the taste to know Balor was powerless to do anything about it.
Bres looked to his father for a moment and back at Ubara. The look was one of concern, it seemed, concern for Ubara. The eyes of the court were fixed on Ubara. They waited for something. He had not noticed beforehand, but the court had several unusual guests. Ubara noted the foreign ambassadors and realized he was unprepared. Their silence betrayed their disdain for him.
¨My son has summoned you at the request of the Nemeton,” Balor broke his silence. ¨Trust it is not by my will you stand here in my hall. the Sacred Grove commands and we obey. It is how we survive.”
Ubara smirked. He had never understood why the banal folk capitulated to the hooded sorcerers of the Grove so easily. Few had heard word from the druids in decades. Peace had eliminated the need for deliberation. Despite the overwhelming numbers of man, an ancestral fear of the Goddess was still present. Atum had flown high and been laid low. No matter how long ago it had occurred it remained a warning to all what happened when anyone stood against the law of the Grove. Ubara was here to change this line of thinking and now he had an opportunity.
Surrounding the throne room were ambassadors to each dominion of man. Bres had called them all to the throne room to hear an address. Ubara surveyed the room. It had quieted since his arrival. Each one of them knew who he was, and what he had done in Sumer, in particular the Sumerian diplomat who whispered with the ambassador from Elam. His defiance had set the entire world on edge and almost brought Sumer to civil war. His long wandering exodus from the south had brought his people to the edge of war with many of the dominions represented. He was despised and feared. Their eyes were transfixed on his figure as he spoke.
“You all know me, you know what I am. You all have your opinions of me and my people. Your hearts have already made their decisions. Whether you harbor ill will or secretly speak of our cause does not matter now. What matters now is that we are all here, gathered in this great and ancient hall. A structure built not by the hands of cursed Fae, but by the hands of men. Men like you. A once proud and righteous people, a people whose ambitions carried them to the heavens. ”
Around him, people gasped. They knew what he was referring to.
“It is true. It is our history,” he paused. “Our legacy. We are all sons and daughters of Atum, are we not?”
¨As Atum rose, so too did he fall,” called out the voice of the Ambassador from Sumer. “It is no surprise that a heretic would forget the plain and simple fact that Atum may have been our father, but he was also the reason we are now subject to their laws! ”
Ubara laughed. “Are we subjects? Look around you!” He paused. “How many warriors do the Fae have? How much land do they control? What wonders have they built?”
“They have the Derwyddon!” cried a voice. Ubara smiled.
“Answer me where have the druids been? I myself have not seen one in over ten decades. Where have they gone? ¨
The court was silent. He had their attention, and he planned to use it.
“The Nemeton claims to maintain an impartial balance between man and the Fae, but when was the last time they sent aid to our kingdoms? When the serpent riders invaded Fo, did the Cursed Grove intervene? When plague tore at our cities from Kemet to Hebros did the druids offer aid?”
“No,” cried out the ambassador of Hebros.
“Every single one of you here knows the Grove favors the Fae and their King Dagda. Meanwhile, our people struggle against the harsh environs of lands of the banished tribes. Who among you here wished to place their feet on the hallowed ground of Eden?”
Ubara walked out into the center of the throne room. Behind him Balor clenched his fists. Ubara sensed the heat of Balor’s hatred and fear. He delighted in it.
“Many here believe as you do Ubara. Mankind once held a cherished place in Eden. Our ancestors were once caretakers of the sacred hills in Hyperborea.” said Prince Bres.
Ubara grinned. He had tutored the boy well, but it was not enough.
¨Not caretakers, LORDS of EDEN!” Ubara’s voice boomed. “Have you all forgotten your birthright?”
“A birthright we forfeited when Atum fell to folly and ruin,” Balor challenged.
He cringed. Balor threw poisoned barbs with his tongue.
“Our forefathers made mistakes. That much cannot be denied.”
Ubara turned to face the titanic man. He bowed before the King to display reverence for his word before turning back to the crowd.
“Must we continue to suffer for the sins of our forebears? It has been six thousand years. Have we not paid our debts in tears, pain, and blood?” Ubara’s passion filled the air.
“Aye,” cheered the ambassador from Minos. “We’ve had peace. Only war we’ve seen was Faeborn.”
“Do you not all see? The Fae can do as they wish, prospering in the land of our fathers. Will we sit by and watch as they consume our ancestral lands in their dark sorcerous ways?”
“No!” the court cried.
Ubara could feel himself winning the room. He hoped that if he showed them their own strength, they might sunder the chains that held them. If he could only show Balor and the others that man deserved more...
“How many legions does the King of the Nile command? And the Men of Hellas and Hebros? Sumer? Senarra? Elam? Assuwa?” He paused for dramatic effect. “How many men does the King of Fomor command?”
Everything he was saying had already occurred to them. If man unified and rallied around the House of Balor, they would outnumber the Fae and their Nemeton ten to one.
“The Nemeton would never allow a unified realm of mankind.” said the young Prince Bres. “Not in a million years. What you suggest would result in open war!”
Ubara turned to him.
“If the Fae disregard our grievances, why should we not claim our freedom? We do n
ot ask for war, but for a King, for a land free of their meddling Nemeton. Free of the bonds of oppression!”
The court cheered his bravado.
“Tell me young prince, what is it that the Derwyddon want from man” Ubara´s mocking tone was thinly veiled. “To be forever chained by the past? What are we to learn from the mistakes of our forefathers?”
“Humility,” said a feminine voice. A shiver shot up Ubara´s spine at the sound. It was not the voice he had believed it would be. He thought the prophet, his druidic ally would have been the chosen emissary. Instead of being reassured in his task, Ubara now faced a feeling he had not felt in quite some time. He felt fear, a chilling ever-present fear. By the looks on their faces, both Balor and Bres felt the same way. It took Ubara a moment to regain composure. He drew in a deep breath and turned to face the dark penetrating voice.
“It was hoped you’d learn respect for her divine will.” she said.
His eyes fell upon the darkly clad, alluring sheFae. Her eyes, they seemed to peer straight through him. Deep into the recesses of his mind. She alarmed him; something in her being disturbed him. It reminded him of his deep-seated feelings toward the Priestess of Inanna in Sumer. They reminded him of the great and terrible things that had been done in the name of the Goddess, the things done to his one true God and to man. Ubara looked into her eyes defiantly, he would show these men courage. If only one would stand against the tyranny, more would follow.
“Respect, you say? Does the Nemeton believe it can stand as god and judge of all mankind? Can you judge us for sins that did not commit? How is this just? How do we respect such behavior?”
Nemeton: The Trial of Calas (Hallowed Veil Book 1) Page 16
