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

by Christopher Lee

  Lugh had impressed all he had trained under in the last few days since they’d arrived in Tara. Even Arabella could see he was exceeding all expectation even if she didn’t like it. She had held a grudge towards Lugh since he embarrassed her. His deceit had revealed the person he was. She kicked herself for ever falling for it. She was the Master of Shadows, trained to illuminate secrets. Yet she was blinded by his shining lies. The added sleight of taking the rite of Conclave from her only served as more fuel towards her anger. Making matters worse, she still perceived him lingering inside the walls of her heart. The kiss they had shared still tingled on her lips, they’d connected. A connection not easily severed.

  Arabella ground her teeth and bit her lip trying to banish the feelings from her mind. She had no time to be mixing politics with personal conflicts. The situation had become a matter of state. Her father’s decision was final. Lugh must be made ready to undergo the trials. Her father had given her the honor of overseeing his training.

  What an honor it is? She thought. Drop it.

  Arabella waged war within herself. She wanted to stick him with the end of her blade. She wanted to tackle him in the training yard and kiss him hard. Her fairy passion was getting the best of her.

  How can I hate him so and yet feel this way? He’s the son of Cian, the man who took my mother.

  “Focus Arabella, you only have three days to prepare him.” she muttered to herself.

  The three rites of the Conclave were no trifle. They were the most rigorous initiations in the world, so rigorous in fact that many did not see the rite of Conclave as a desirable honor. Three of the tributes had already tried to escape or desert their duty to their people. Arabella found abandoning this sacred duty unforgivable. She and Lugh had both offered their lives for the greater good.

  It brought to mind her feelings of the traitorous young Seræphym delinquent on the run from the Nemeton. The entire city of Tara and its surrounding encampments had been ablaze with rumor and the startling news that there had been a mutiny at the Acropolis. The Seræphym had located the apostates of the Lost Tribe and slaughtered them in cold blood. Such events shocked the world that the ArchMagus of the Nemeton had addressed the millions of pilgrims to allay their fears. This incendiary act set the entire world on edge. Both sides had seen the attack as a slight aimed towards their cause, the Fae believed it is organized by the Fir Bolg, and men believed the attack was orchestrated by the Nemeton. Neither side would give way. Nothing could be done until after the Conclave. For the time being all eyes would be on the sacrifices that emerged from the trials.

  The politics had distracted her. Her agents had brought in reports of the other tributes. The majority of the tributes were gifted, courageous, and dangerous. Each race and dominion had submitted a tribute to the Conclave. This would be Arabella’s first time viewing the ancient rite. When she had first learned of it she had marveled at the tradition. She had always believed she would be the one to undergo the trials. Because she had gained a vast knowledge of the trials, her father had assigned her the duty of gathering intelligence on the other tributes, and planning a strategy for Lugh. This aggravated her. Not only must she capitulate what should have been her right, but she must help the one who usurped her position.

  “How is the tribute of House Starlight shaping up?” asked Dagda. His words jolted her focus back to reality. He had caught her off-guard and his keen sense of awareness knew it. Dagda always knew. He stood beside her and watched the sparring match.

  “He is as fit as any who hold the title of tribute, he will perform well,” she said. She watched him smile.

  “Why do you smile?” she jabbed. “It should be me down there. That’s two scars I owe him now, two for the two precious things he stole from me.”

  “Does it bring you so much pain?” he asked. “You know what I did, I did for you. For your future, and that of our people. You cannot blame Lugh for what I have done.”

  “It was not you who spoke out of turn.” she paused. “It wasn’t your father who got my mother killed and then came to our house brimming with lies.”

  “Arabella, you cannot place your mother’s death on his shoulders. He was but a babe. If you must blame someone, blame the one responsible.” He paused. “Blame me.”

  Arabella turned to him. “Father it is not your fault either.”

  “Is it not? The OakWatch did not need my blade to stall the Ironwood advance.”

  “You are their King, it is expected of you.”

  “My dedication to this Kingdom, to this peace ended your mother’s life. It has been no one else’s shame but my own.”

  Arabella said nothing. She turned and watched the training yard. “Was this all politics Father?”

  Dagda nodded, “Our people require an heir. Regardless of their beliefs, there is no escape from death. It calls to us all. One day you will understand.”

  She rolled her eyes. “I understand the politics. I wish you would have talked to me about it. We could have chosen from many other candidates, your blood flows not only his veins. We could have submitted Tuireann son of Ogma, or…”

  “Blessed daughter, Tuireann has yet to reach his eleventh name day, none of my blood is more fit to bring glory to our people.” he paused “None save you.”

  She smiled at his admission. Arabella understood why he had done what he had. She was more valuable to him as a member of his royal council then as a member of the Nemeton. No one guessed how long her father would rule as King of Hyperborea. He was ageless, however, she knew in the back of her mind that there would come a time where she and her kin would be forced to take the mantle. That meant more to him now then the bureaucracy of the Nemeton. Though man would forever be an issue, they both knew Nemeton would always be there as a counterweight.

  The pair watched as Lugh received instruction.

  “The men of Kemet carry a curved blade, quicker, lighter, it snags and tears at the armor. You must be ever wary of this,” instructed Goibniu.

  The sparring partners danced. Goibniu imitated the different styles of fighting Lugh might face in the first trial. Lugh was flawless in his technique. His blond hair flowed, his muscles rippled, he was the epitome of graceful masculinity. There would be many brutes in the contest, Lugh would have to rely on his skill. He was strong, but there was always someone stronger. She enjoyed overseeing his training regimen, she had even stepped in a time or two to hasten his progress. Each time he had met her with the same brash attitude. It was clear that he too felt scorned. It infuriated her.

  “He shows little weakness, the only flaw I see is his arrogance,” she said.

  The Dagda smiled. “Then perhaps the young tribute requires a lesson in humility,” he said as he hopped from the balcony overlooking the courtyard, his drop softened by his fairy wings. Arabella gasped and followed. Dagda walked towards the sparring yard and called forth to Goibniu, “Ready steel!”

  Arabella interrupted, “Make that oak, Master at Arms.”

  Dagda barked, “Steel for the tribute, Oak for your King.”

  Goibniu made haste towards the training rack.

  “Father, I protest.” she cried.

  Lugh joined in the protest, “Sire, I don’t feel this is appropriate for the King to be engaged in…”

  Dagda laughed heartily. “Do you not?”

  Goibniu had retrieved the weapons, one sword made of starlit steel and the other made of oak. Dagda took the oaken practice sword in hand and positioned himself opposite Lugh. The servants and guards in the courtyard looked on in horror as their King stood in his royal robes, with a mere practice sword in hand. Meanwhile, Lugh was wearing elaborate armor and wielded one a sword made of some of the finest materials in the world.

  “Sire, I do not wish to harm you,” said Lugh.

  “Nor I you,” said Dagda as he lunged forward his oaken sword thrusting past Lugh’s head. It was a warning that the King was serious. Lugh’s face showed the realization as he adjusted his stance to defend.<
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  “Goddess,” Lugh gasped.

  “Who better to teach you what you face, then one who has succeeded in the trial?” said Dagda while he advanced on Lugh. His sword was swift and sure, his footwork was impeccable. Lugh marveled at the King’s advance. His feet backed away, each step backward he gave way to Dagda’s advance.

  “What you face in the first trial will be unlike anything you have come across. Even for a man of your travels and feats.” His sword smacked against the side of Lugh’s metal helmet. Lugh’s ears rang. Dagda could see that Lugh became enraged. He lunged forward whirling and striking a bolt of cloth from the King’s robes.

  Across the yard, her father displayed what true skill and power were like. Still, a part of her wished her father had not engaged in such folly. Though she wished to put an end to it, she knew her words would carry little weight. Once he decided the proper course her father became unyielding. Though Lugh was a fine fighter, he was terribly outclassed. His advances only strengthened her father’s position. Dagda flowed like a river while Lugh appeared more like a rock slide. Arabella waited for the weakness to reveal itself. Lugh had not shown all of his cards yet, and he was sure to unveil them soon.

  “What has my daughter told you of the first trial?” Dagda continued the conversation whilst remaining unmolested by Lugh’s barrage of advances.

  Lugh’s breath was heavy. “The tributes are allowed one weapon, though amulets and talismans may be worn by the tribute, the use of magic is expressly forbidden in the trial of Calas.”

  “Good,” said Dagda “Where shall the trial take place?”

  “In the sacred circle of stone amounts the henge. Where untold horrors await us,” said Lugh.

  Lugh backed Dagda into a corner with his wild advances before the King gracefully ascend over his position by the power of his starlight wings. With Dagda at his back, Lugh advanced his blade over his right shoulder and met the King’s wooden sword with steel for the first time. Though it appeared to Arabella that the blade would shatter it her father titled the hilt in such a way that the steel glanced off the oiled surface and landed in the dirt. Before his sword had even hit the dirt Lugh’s helmet was removed and his face received a heavy blow from the oak sword knocking him backward and into the stone wall behind him.

  “Why have you come Lugh?” barked Dagda.

  “To answer the call. To represent this great house.” answered Lugh through heavy breath.

  “No, Why have you come? What destiny calls to you in your heart?”

  Lugh was silent as he searches within himself.

  “This you must answer if you are to succeed. You must know what it is you fight for. You must understand why it is you have surrendered yourself unto this great power. Grasp this Lugh, and you will succeed.”

  Throughout all of his training Arabella had never seen Lugh struck in such a way, nor had she seen his face display such humility. She delighted in watching his pain for a moment. It was then she realized that much of his arrogant bravado was a facade. Though he was sure of his abilities, she sensed that he suffered from a nagging sense of self-doubt. The same self-doubt that laid claim to her. Then it came rushing back to her, his past had been such a sad one. Her heart panged for him, and yet she wanted to tear his eyes out.

  “You fight as though this were a game young Lugh, I assure you it is no game,” said Dagda as his blade again advanced on Lugh. Lugh was still stunned by the last blow. Dagda’s blade landed on each of his limbs before Lugh could raise his defense.

  “Arrogance will only send you to the great cauldron of the deep. If it is arrogance, I must remove from your blood, so mote it be.” He paused and watched Lugh reel from the blows. “Perhaps I shall remove it as I removed it from your father.”

  Arabella cringed at the statement. She had never seen her father taunt another in such a manner. Stress had driven her father to approach this lesson with a heavier hand. She walked forward to intervene. Her father raised a hand and gave her stern look staying her intervention. She watched as the pain in Lugh surfaced, she could see how deeply the King’s words had affected the young man. She was surprised to watch as his pain built to controlled rage. It was then she felt as though she was seeing him truly for the first time. As who he was, and who he would become. He stumbled, his breath heaving. After catching his balance she saw him advance.

  “Perhaps the Princess was correct, perhaps it should be she serving as tribute.” taunted the King.

  Lugh let out a terrible cry, his roar filled the air with glorious showmanship. “Aaaaagh!” his blade made careful assault upon Dagda’s position, forcing the King to adopt a defensive stance. Arabella gasped in horror as Lugh struck at her father with hatred in his eyes. She could tell her father noticed as well though he did not seem alarmed. Guardsman across the yard took their hilts in hand after the example of Goibniu. Dagda whirled past the advances and laid a heavy blow across Lugh’s back sending him falling to the earth. He was defeated for the first time in his life and it showed.

  Dagda stood above the young half-blood and smiled. “You are a talented warrior Lugh of the Long Arm. Where your talent has lifted you to a position in my house, your rage has unbalanced you, your arrogance has led you to defeat. The trial of Calas will test your body, your mind, and your heart. Make sure you are being honest in your work with all three. Should you give way to emotions as you have today, I assure you the other tributes will not be as forgiving as I have been. When men or Fae are placed at the doorstep of death, there is no telling where they will strike.”

  Dagda tossed the oak sword to Goibniu before walking to the edge of the courtyard.

  Lugh struggled to his knees, his face covered in dirt and mud. She could tell his wounds were superficial, it was his heart he felt more keenly at the moment.

  Should I go to him? She wondered. You know the darkness he faces.

  A feeling she recognized well in the recesses of her mind. Lugh appeared to look at her, and then his eyes wandered to the balcony above. She turned and saw the Morrighan standing above the courtyard. Arabella wondered how long she had been watching. The dark sheFae fixed her gaze upon the fallen Lugh and grinned. Lugh and the Morrighan stared at each other for a moment. Arabella turned back to Lugh, he was struggling to his feet. She walked forward and offered him a hand.

  “Water” she cried to the servants.

  “I am fine Princess, do not concern yourself, It was a fine lesson. One I will master,”he said before staggering off.

  The young half-blood hobbled back towards his chambers to lick his wounds. She had wished her father had not wounded him in such a harsh manner. She had imagined seeing his arrogant smile fold under pressure, and she had hoped for it. It did not feel as she imagined. In fact, it filled her with a sickness she couldn’t explain like someone had punched her in the gut. Nothing made sense, not politics, not her father, nor Lugh.

  “Morrighan attend to the tribute,” said Dagda. “Arabella I require your report.”

  Dagda walked out of the courtyard.

  The Morrighan descended from the balcony overlooking the courtyard. She walked up behind Arabella and stood next to her. She smiled. Arabella had even less of a clue when it came to the Morrighan. Her feelings were forever been mixed. She admired her ferocity, her untamed wildness, but she lacked knowledge of Morrighan’s darker natures, including her inappropriate relationship with Dagda. The Morrighan gave a similar smile toward the fallen Lugh.

  “He has become accomplished,” Morrighan said. “But will it be enough to overcome the trial of Calas?”

  Arabella knew the Morrighan harbored ulterior motives in bringing this conversation into being.

  “He favors you,” said the Morrighan. “His eyes gave it away. He will need your strength in the coming weeks. You must provide him with whatever it takes for him to succeed. Our people must be the one to submit the final tribute to the Great Mother. Should a human take the honor, the repercussions could be far more immense than we have imagine
d.”

  Arabella glared ahead. “Will he succeed? Father believes him capable.”

  “His success hinges on whether he is resolved. He must be made whole before the trials. If he is not, his past will dictate his future. You will know of what I speak when you meet the moment. For now, I must have words with the tribute. Go to your father.”

  Arabella walked away as confused as ever. The Morrighan entered Lugh’s chambers, and a sudden realization fell over her. She was jealous that it was the Morrighan behind that door and not her.

  She hurried out of the courtyard and followed Dagda. His pace was brisk, she could tell he was agitated. “Father, I wonder if perhaps your lesson came too early for the tribute.”

  “You cannot shelter him any longer Arabella.” said Dagda. “He must be made ready. You’ve done well in your task. The Morrighan will attend to his final training.”

  “Morrighan? Father why am I being removed from this most important task, Lugh needs me!”

  “Strike Lugh from your mind. I know what feelings lurk within your heart. I require you to perform another task. Lugh will be fine, none understand the trials better than the Morrighan, she will prepare him body, mind, and soul.”

  Arabella did not like the sound of that. She fumed inside. She was sure her father could sense her anger. If he wanted to play with her feelings than she would respond in kind.

  “What does my King require of his servant?” said Arabella as she bowed.

  “Arabella do not take that tone with me. This is bigger than any one soul or heart. You cannot become attached to fleeting things. This world is not made for us to experience in such ways. We must keep our attention fixed on providing that world for those beneath us. That is the burden we bare. Destroy all feelings within your heart and mind, you must be resolved if you are to perform this task I ask of you.”

  Arabella grasped what he spoke of. She’d long waited for the day where he would call on her to commit herself to the craft of state, to politics, and the preservation of his realm. Still the sting of love ached within her.