She saw a dark hooded figure make its way into the clearing. Samsara bit her lip in frustration. She had hoped for a guardian to answer her ill-conceived cry. If it had been a guardian, she would have had better chance in subduing it and getting information. Instead, she had drawn something else, but she wasn't sure what. She observed it from afar.
It’s not wearing blue robes, so it can’t be a Bard. The Derwyddon wear white. Only thing left is green, they wouldn’t have sent Ovydds. The robes appear the same, but they’re black. Why does that right a bell?
There was something else about the creature that piqued her curiosity. It hadn't arrived in the clearing the way she had assumed.
What mark is that? Druidic, but...
A guardian would have plowed into the earth with a thud and blown his ramshorn to alert the garrison. A bard would have arrived on the back of the wind with three others. But this creature arrived without making a sound and drew no attention.
Could be a trap.
Sam went over the options in her mind. She could not leave the position. The wood was too quiet. If she attempted an escape from her position, she would alert it. She remained steadfast, stiff and unmoving as she watched, only her eyes moved. The figure had moved into the center of the clearing now and had stopped. It stood facing her position but did not stir. Sam noticed, and she realized that despite her resolve the creature had discovered her.
Why is it not moving?
It stood there and stared at her. She could not see its face, nor its eyes, it remained covered by the shadow of its cowl. Sam strained her eyes to see if she could get a better look at the Ogham displayed upon its black cowl. Her eyes focused and then she saw it.
The mark of the blackthorn, he’s a warlock.
It all came rushing back to her. She had seen this exact scene. The black hood, the blackthorn mark, the clearing, all of it was part of one of her recurring dreams. It had been one of the most perplexing and terrifying dreams that had plagued her. Each time she saw the hooded creature in her dreams she couldn’t breathe. The fits were so intense that she would often skip sleep in the days after an attack.
If they had not been the affliction of the Night Mare, then what was happening to her? Was she a freak? How could she know this before it occurred?
Her people did not have the gift of prophecy. She felt herself going insane. Sam had wondered if the reason it made her so fearful was what the blackthorn mark meant. She had been taught that the blackthorn mark was the mark of an oath breaker, a warlock, or an apostate. In her tutoring, she learned that those who received the mark of the blackthorn were practitioners of twisted and evil forces. They were demonized, feared, and scant. Excommunication from the Nemeton was one of the greatest punishments within their ranks. Those banished were often hunted for sport, or if their crime was grave enough, a bounty would be placed on their head. Samsara's sense fled her, the recognition she had seen this all before only made matters worse.
A deep and chilling fear clung to her. She wondered if the being in the dark robes was the one she had encountered in the Acropolis. Perhaps the Nemeton had discovered the plot and had cast him out. Though that would be just, it made little sense. She was sure she had killed the one that had impersonated her father though she could not be sure.
Would anything have survived that attack?
The Derwyddon were hard to kill. Many believed them to be immortal, but, Samsara estimated that everything had an expiration date. If Atum could be killed, then so could the members of the cursed grove.
Whether or not the creature was the one she had encountered. It was a warlock, and the outcome did not bode well for her. As she debated whether to flee she noticed that the hooded figure waved in her general direction. It was neither an aggressive wave nor a friendly wave. Just a peculiar wave, and a notice it knew where she was hiding. The fear within her grew until she could no longer take it. Sam rose to her feet, turned, and run through the forest towards the cave. Fear had a firm grip on her now as she crashed through the woods.
She turned to look behind. There was nothing behind her but trees. She pressed on, hoping she had lost him. Then from above the canopy, she saw the dark shadows of guardian wings. She quickened her pace and tore through the trees below dodging and ducking the bolts that flew at her. She looked back to see how close the Guardians were. They were almost upon her. As she turned forward, the creature from the clearing stood in her path. Sam was moving at a breakneck pace and before she could reach for her halberd, the creature raised a hand.
“Kleuso,” it said.
Samsara felt her body go limp as she lost the power to sustain her movement. She collapsed into the arms of the hooded figure and everything went dim. She had awareness of her surroundings, but she could neither move nor make a sound. Sam was defenseless and in the arms of a warlock as guardian wings flew overhead. Just when she believed she was done for, her surroundings shifted.
In one moment she was beneath a canopy of trees, the next she was lying face up, staring at the roof of the fire lit cavern she had been hiding in this entire time. Nothing made sense, her dreams, the warlock, and now she found herself back where she had been hiding for days. She struggled against the weight of the curse that had been placed upon her by the creature. Sam was felt anger broil within her. She crashed and beat against the walls of the powerful magic. It recalled the memory of how she had fought against the grasp of the impostor. If she could just break the hold upon her, she would remove the head from the black hooded creature. She was beyond caring about the difference between the ones in the white or the blue or the black.
As long as they live, none of us are free.
She despised them all with gross loathing. In this moment Sam felt something shift within her. The anger it changed her, it called her to unleash it. She was inclined to oblige it. Anger was power as she had learned when she faced the guardian in the sanctuary. Had it not been for her indulgence in vengeance she might have been slain. She knew the only way out of this situation was to conjure the same devil she had when she broke free and made her escape.
Across the room, the hooded figure stood above the wounded young man observing his injuries. The wounds were extensive, several spear points had lacerated and punctured the youth time after time. The hooded figure removed it's cowl revealing a grimacing old and weather-beaten face. Not at all what Samsara had expected. For a moment she was able to contain her anger as she watched the figure of an old, tired looking beggar hover over her charge. His hands emerged from within his robes. Sam assumed he was going to harm him. Rage boiled over within Samsara. She struggled with all of her might against the curse and uttered a few words.
“Don’t touch…” her voice crackled. “Him..”
The creature turned in amazement and looked at the beautiful young Seraeph. Her fingers twitched and her facial expressions returned to her while the creature approached her. Samsara’s fear melted away. The creature appeared old and feeble, and yet it was able to maintain this curse upon her. If it could do that, then it commanded a force beyond her comprehension.
“Who... are you?” she muttered.
The creature moved towards her and examined her as he had the young man. She wondered what it sought. It was obvious now it was not in league with those that had sought to capture them over the past few weeks, but Samsara was wary of all in robes and hoods now. Her father was dead, her people enthralled, and she was to be offered as a tribute to the barbaric Conclave. Her entire world had been destroyed in a day and she did not know if she could trust anyone at all.
As the creature came closer to her Samsara noticed something peculiar about the tired old visage. He appeared older than anything she had ever seen. Ancient was the only appropriate word for how he looked. It were as though he had crawled out from the corner of a crossroads begging for a coin from the travelers on the pike. But how could a beggar have such incredible power? Then it hit her like a wave crashing upon a rock. She had heard of the wandering b
eggar and the tales of his deeds, her father had obsessed with the intricacies of the Order and their myths. He would often read them to her, and often she would tune them out in favor of her studies. She recalled one such tale in which one of the sacred order of the Golden Fist was placed in stasis, the only punishment for their kind called druid sleep. She struggled to recall the name of the tale, but in the back of her mind, his name lingered. In a flash, it came to her.
“Dian... Cecht…” she muttered.
His eyes widened. She had discovered something that only a few knew.
“How do you know this name child?” he asked her. Her powers of speech were returning to her. “What child of this age could remember the name I carried over four thousand years ago? Perhaps I was wrong to assume you all bereft of memory. I have misjudged your ability, but the rage you carry within you will do nothing to serve you child of Atum.”
He crept up to her and placed his hand upon her brow.
Samsara could feel him rooting around in her consciousness. It was a terrible violation, something she had never felt before, not only did she feel exposed it hurt her. The man looked her in the eyes and exclaimed, “I am sorry for this, but it cannot be helped. This is the only way.”
Inside her head, she could feel him swimming through her memories. He began deep and siphoned through her many experiences. His action was swift as though he disregarded most of what she had deemed to be important. Samsara knew she needed to fight him. She was tired of the Nemeton using their power to lay claim to anything they desired, their dominion over all had become less a defensive mechanism and had instead become a tyrannical rule bent on suppressing any person, place, or movements that strived to stretch its wings and grow. Through sheer force of will Samsara reach out with her mind and grabbed the old man by the shoulders and held him in place within her mind. His eyes were closed before, but now they opened and looked at her. In taking this leap of faith Samsara discovered that inside of her own mind, she was the one who held the power. If he was going to thumb through the pages of her life without her consent, he would first need to submit her.
Falbanach felt her resist and ceased his assault upon her memory. His physical eyes opened, and he retracted his hand from her forehead. Part of him was clearly in shock, she could tell it was a feeling he with which he was not familiar.
“I was foolish to doubt feminine power,” he muttered. “You carry within you such strength of will child. What is your name?”
She did not respond.
“It is your prerogative to turn me away. I see that my kind have done nothing but cause you pain. For that I must apologize though I cannot mend what was broken. All I can say Is that I am here to help you, thought I must admit that did not plan for this. You hold within you a strange seed of power, the Goddess has chosen you to do great work. I should have seen this before now.”
He stood back and paced. “Something isn't right. If this young angel could repel my curse, then her destiny is still in motion.”
Sam was perturbed by his behavior. He talked as though there were someone else there.
“Her cord, it starts small, and it grows attaching itself to others throughout time. Yanking and dragging the events of time with her, to the unseen shadow of the future.”
“To whom do you speak?” she asked.
He came to, “You must forgive my eccentricities young angel. I have not yet achieved equilibrium in this time. So many years, so very many years away, lost in the dream. How could I have missed this?”
“Listen if you’re going to kill me, can you get on with it? Otherwise let me go and step away from the apostate.” she demanded.
“I assure you young Samsara, I mean you and your companion no harm. I am here to assist you.”
Samsara regained the faculty of her hands, then her arms. She could feel life returning to her body.
“You have a funny way of showing it. Placing a curse on me is not a great first step in a relationship.”
He smiled. “A curse that saved your wings to be sure.”
She knew what he said was true. He had saved her, but that did not mean he did it out of kindness. Nothing in this world came for free. She knew this well. No matter the prize there was alway a price.
“If I remove the curse, will you promise not to act out of anger? If you do, I will be forced to defend myself, and I assure your wild and fierce heart, no mortal is capable of harming this body.”
Samsara took a moment to reflect on what had transpired.
If he was looking to exploit or turn us over to the authorities, he would not have pulled you out of the situation you were in. Think Sam, what does he need from you?
He had a hold over her and if she was to be free of it she needed to show him some modicum of trust. At least if she had control of her own body back she could come up with another plan to be rid of him. She nodded to him affirming that she would not attack him.
"Very well," Falbanach said as she felt her muscle control return to her. She coughed and sputtered as she sat up. Her entire body ached and throbbed, and her head felt like the entire east wind was beating against the inside of her skull. "It will pass, I assure you. It is an after effect of the curse."
She sat up and looked around the room. He had removed her weaponry from her belt.
“Perhaps you would feel more comfortable if I returned these? ¨ he said motioning to the halberd and crossbolt in his robes.
She nodded, and he handed them back to her. This small matter served as a warm balm for Samsara. She was no fool, she could not use them to effect an outcome with this being, he was beyond her power. Sam could tell that he was far older than the druid she had encountered, and thus more capable. If she was going to defeat him, she would need to outwit him.
"I know you do not trust those within the Order," he said. She was perplexed, it was like he knew her every thought. Nothing escaped his wandering eyes. She decided if he knew everything she was thinking she would be better off cooperating with him for the time being.
“Why are you here?” she asked him. “You are no friend of the Order. What use could two outcasts have to you?”
He smiled at her through the folds of his face. “Nothing gets by you does it?” He sat down on the stone outcrop on which the boy lay. He directed his attention towards the young man. “You’ve done well protecting him. His life is weak, but he remains with us.” He continued his gaze, watching each breath in and out.
Samsara was on her feet now, she finished attaching her weapons and walked towards the pair. She looked down at the boy. His skin was paler now than when she had found him. He was a shade of what he was. She had watched the assault on him. He had transformed into such a magnificent creature and stood so valiantly against ridiculous odds. She thought it was foolish.
“Foolish? Perhaps, but what he did gave you the time you needed didn’t it?” he said to her.
Sam was growing tired of the cryptic talks. “Why are you here?” she asked again.
“Why are you? What does this boy have to do with a rogue Seræphym? Why is he your concern? Was it not your people who cut down every last living relative of his?” His questions were pointed. She knew what her people had done. She had done what she could to stop them, even taking the lives of two of her own.
"I am no rogue! My people did not act alone, agents wearing white hoods assisted in the slaughter. I was there, trying to stop it. Where were you? I know what you are, you wear the mark of the Blackthorn which means you are an apostate or a warlock."
“That makes us both enemies of the law does it not? Answer this next question carefully young Seræphym, what is this boy to you?”
Samsara had blocked him from taking the information she knew but she knew he would want more. “He is the last link to my father.”
“Interesting. I must admit at first I did not believe you were the Sopher’s daughter. I was told she was a keeper, a bookworm, not someone capable of avoiding both the Nemeton, the Guardians, and the hor
de of mercenaries the ArchMagus has looking for you. The whole world seeks you and yet you remain victorious against all odds. Yours is a special destiny, for if it was not, you would not still draw breath.”
“Where is your father girl?” he asked as he stood. “Tell me what has happened at the Acropolis.”
Samsara felt a sadness come over her. Since the night it happened she hadn’t had the time to let her feelings flow. She had been on the run, defending this boy she did not know. It wasn’t until she was asked by the old warlock that she understood the gravity of what was happening. She had been lost in thoughts of revenge, hatred, and anger. Her emotions had ruled her in an unfocused and reckless attempt at justice.
“There will be a time to grieve. Much time girl…” he said. “Why do you defend this boy? You know what he is do you not? What his emergence means for this world? Your people hunt these apostates and turn them over the Nemeton blindly. Do you know what becomes of them?”
It all flooded her at once, just how much had occurred. “My father is dead…” She stood resolved to avenge him, but as one tear made its way down her cheek, the full weight of the loss descended upon her. She panicked and hyperventilated. Falbanach saw this and reached out comforting arms towards her. She grabbed him and pulled his ancient body close.
“There now young one,” he said. “Death is not the end. I assure you, no matter the truth in these matters your Father is in the good hands of the Mother.”
She sniffled and tried to compose herself. “Is there a place for us in all of this? Why would she care, we were not born of her?”
“Child we are all born of her, for from her sacrifice this everything, this all could not be. Regardless of who forged you from the space, you belong to her and in the end you return to her. If it was not so, moments like these would not exist. What you feel, what you experience is the entire point of it all. Were it not for theses moments, we might as well see ourselves to the long darkness.”
Nemeton: The Trial of Calas (Hallowed Veil Book 1) Page 28
