She pulled out her halberd and pressed it against his neck. “Sariel let me go. I will use it if I have to.” Her eyes conveyed an urgency that her words could not. Sariel looked at her in utter confusion. He knew her to be headstrong, but to him her actions conveyed a complete abandonment of her duties and she knew it.
“You are just like your father, you abandon your people when they need you the most.” His words cut her deeply. She wished she could explain herself to him she had always cared for her mentor, he was a dear friend, but her duty was to a much larger cause, and to finding the man who caused this to begin. She approached him and wrapped her arms around him.
“I will make sure that the Guardians are distracted. It is me they want.” she whispered to him.
“Samsara they will kill you,” he said.
“They won’t stop. The Nemeton, the one responsible for this, the Guardians. None of them will stop until they have me. This is bigger than our people Sariel. Trust me, have faith.”
“How can you of all people tell me to have faith?” he asked.
“Help our people, do not worry about me,” she said before letting go of him and climbing out the berth. She let her wings carry her above the water that had reached over a mile into the sky. Waves lashed and rocks crashed from the seafloor into the pillar-shaped island. Thousands of wings lifted off the island. It was complete chaos. The storm that Falbanach had summoned aimed to swallow the entire island whole. Samsara reached a height where she could see its full power. From her vantage she saw thousands feeling, and thousands more still on the ground. Sam saw a group of Watchers with the flightless children, one in each hand. She knew just how tragic it all was, but she could not stop the warlock from doing what had to be done. No one could.
She had to complete her end and feign capture by the Guardians, but many were distracted by the tempest. There would be many deployed throughout the city in an effort to salvage relics and records. Sam flew towards the city center where mass hysteria had gripped the populace. Errant feathers floated through the air as stress gripped the people. Ahead Samsara saw one them barking orders to others. Though she felt the slow burning of rebellion rise within her, she continued on, it would be a matter of seconds before the guardian recognized her. She kept her pace and walked straight towards him. Falbanach had said she needed to appear as though she didn't want to be captured. Her plan was to walk right into them her halberd in hand. She gripped the hilt, her eyes ablaze. From across the grand square in front the ancient Temple of Elohim she heard her name.
"Samsara! No!" cried Sariel. Sam turned to see Sariel crying out to her. He had noticed her foolish plan and hoped that one scream would shake her from her lunacy. The Guardians noticed the cry and directed their attention toward both Sariel and Samsara. Four Guardians gave their wings command to fly to her position. Within seconds they were upon her. Looking back she could see that Sariel had fled. It was his cry that stayed her blade and prevented her from taking the lives of more of her people. The Guardians took her inside the Temple. In the central chamber, the white robes of the Nemeton stood in a circle. There he stood. The one she had laid in the dirt, he was unharmed and well. He directed the others to defend the city. She noted their faces.
“The Acropolis must not fall, deploy at the cardinal directions and cast a barrier against the storm at once.” Five other druids created portals with their hands, walked through them and were gone in an instant. The remaining druids stood with their back turned to her. Guardians brought her forward and forced her to her knees in front of him. They had already secured her weaponry and bound her hands and wings.
“Leave her with me, secure what you can from the reliquary and the archives. Bring all that you can to Tara. The others will only be able to hold the oath breaker at bay for a short time. It will fall within an hour.”
Guardians dispersed and carried out their orders. It was then that Samsara realized how truly powerful her ally was. Six of the other members of the Order could not stand against him with the combined might of the Guardians. She glared at the back of the hooded villain.
“Tell me Seraeph, when you put your blade in my back did you think me finished?”
He struck her across the mouth. The pain stung in her jaw and blood dripped from her mouth. She spit upon his robes, painting them red her defiance. He turned and raised her chin to look into her eyes. "For the life of me, I cannot figure why you would return here of all places. No matter, the warlock has delivered you into my hands, whatever his plan I can see that your taste for revenge has foiled what little hope he had in uncovering my identity."
Samsara looked into his eyes. The rest of his face was shrouded. She could not discern any defining features. He was a master of deception. He was closer now, his face inches from hers. Sam summoned the strength to crash her skull into his. He reared back in pain and laughed maniacally.
“Our Lord was truly right in assuming you ripe. You will make a fine vessel for his return from the Abyss.”
The remaining druids returned to the chamber in haste.
“The storm is strong, our wards will do nothing against its rancor.”
He sneered, “Return to Tara and report what has occurred. The warlock has sunk the Acropolis, the missing tribute has been found.”
Four disappeared from view. One stayed behind and whispered into his ear. “You should kill her now, she will cause us nothing but pain.” Samsara could not make out the face, but the voice was feminine. She turned and walked through the portal. The Guardians that had been dispersed returned, hundreds of them carried all they could carry in bags, crates, and anything they could secure. It was a fraction of what was held here within the vaults and archives. Samsara could not believe in only minutes it would all be gone. The legacy of her people, sunk to the bottom of the ocean.
“We’ve secured what we can sir, we must leave the Acropolis now. A wave two leagues high approaches. The island will sink.”
The druid conjured a portal before them. Samsara felt the ground beneath her feet tremble as the waves approached her home. The Guardians brought her to her feet and walked her through the portal behind the demon wearing the white robes of the Nemeton. They turned and watched as refugees flooded through the portal. She had completed her part of the plan.
Falbanach had sent wave after wave crashing into the island. Before the portal closed, the druid stood and made her watch. Sam looked on as the storm gorged itself on the island and cast it into the deep blue waters below. The alabaster city that had been the home of the Seræphym for millennia was no more.
A moment passed, and the waves receded back into the depths.
Chapter Twenty-Three
Ubara Tutu, the Ensí of Penitent’s Vow
Know thy rival,
Ensure survival,
From pride’s ashes springs revival.
Ubara had traveled with the warlord to the city of Tara along with King Balor and the Prince Bres. When Ubara heard the news of the destruction of the Acropolis and the crisis it caused for the Nemeton was filled with joy. It was a sign. An omen that the iron grip over the populace was weakening. The news had spurred a new wave of recruitment in the city of Penitent's Vow, men from lands far and wide were flocking to the Crest of Conviction. This event had put the world on notice, a notice that reminded many of the Iron Rebellion.
Ubara recalled the time of the Iron King. Cian had risen to power and challenged Dagda for the Starlight throne. It was a fool’s errand, but it served Ubara well. It proved that it was not the only man, but Fae who was fed up with the politics of the Nemeton. The rebellion blustered for a couple months before the Dagda and his bannermen crushed them in the field. Ubara and his Fir Bolg had quietly supported the Iron King, hoping his rebellion would weaken Dagda. Unfortunately, the Iron King proved unable to achieve such a victory. This story was still a thorn in the side of the Senarran Riders who had ridden with the men of the Ironwood. The Ironwood was the frontier of Hyperborea, nestled against the bor
der of Fomor. As such, it was populated by both man and Fae. Among the ranks of his rebellion both had served in a united front against tyranny. It was a beautiful sight.
If only the whole of mankind and marched against them, we’d not have to endure their wretched customs.
The Iron Army enjoyed several victories in their crusade towards Formene. However, it was all for naught. Upon the fields outside of Freehold, the armies of Dagda met with the armies of Cian. Dagda's force though impressive was outnumbered three to one. Cian had secured the allegiance of the Senarran Warlord Sreng Bhat, who commanded a host of terrible beast-riding warriors that dwarfed the numbers of the Fae. The battle raged for two days before Dagda forced his sword through Cian's chest. When the tide of battle turned on the Iron Warlords and the Senarran Beast Riders abandoned the Iron King.
'How?' Ubara wondered. 'How could an offshoot of mankind be this stunted, disjointed, and powerless?
Despite his misgivings about their breeding, Ubara had called a parlay with the Warlord Sreng Bhat, entreating him to become the champion of the Fir Bolg in the trials of the Conclave. Remarkably Sreng it seemed was part of an ancient line of the kings of men. Thus he fit requirements that Ubara needed to submit a champion. If he could convince the warlord to march with him to Tara, his odds of securing the honor for all mankind would increase.
He recalled how the rider had arrived in Penitent's Vow atop the back of an enormous snake. The Beast Riders of Senarra rode anything they could into battle, yet this man had chosen the gorgon-like beast of the depths. It was a horrific sight, even to Ubara, the snake gnashed and hissed at the men that secured it to the post. Even more impressive was the man who had the courage to ride the infernal beast. He had been all the legends had promised, and Ubara was certain he would do more than impress.
The warlord had stood in front of him as clear as it was happening in the present moment. Sreng Bhat was the chieftain of the largest Senarran Clan in the Great Expanse. His vest was made of shimmering serpent skin. He had cut it from a gold Emperor Serpent, the largest and most feared of the gargantuan serpents. It was a remarkable feat. The Senarran people were masters of domesticating these colossal serpents and using them as engines of war.
At Sreng's side hung a broad iron falchion, and a dagger made of an emperor serpent's fang. His right eye was only partially opened due to the scarring from his brow through his nose. The man's fists were covered in leather wrappings from the grassland bison. His powerful legs were covered in chaps made from the cobbled fur of fox, rabbit, and field mice. The warlord's hair was shoulder length and pulled back in a braid behind his head. His stride and gait were confident, boots slapping against the cold metallic floor of the ziggurat in Penitent’s Vow.
Ubara sat on a stone bench, his garments simple, a plain black cloak rested on his shoulders. The Penitent way was an austere way, power was not held in the possession of materials. Despite the technological prowess of his people, their power was rooted in the acquisition of the ancient knowledge of their ancestors. They believed this power to be preeminent. This was why he craved knowledge of the infinite language.
The Senarran Mongrel Men seemed content in raiding villages. Acquisition of iron, women, and slaves was all they sought. Smithing was something the Senarran had never mastered.
Sreng was muscular and well fit for battle. In single combat without the aid of magic, Ubara would stand no chance. It was this raw animalistic power he wished to abuse. The Senarran sneered at him with one hand on the hilt of his falchion.
“Word reached my camp, that the mighty master of the dark city wished an audience with Sreng Bhat.”
The Senarran brandished his weapon.
“As you can see the warlord of Senarra does not fear the shadow of the dark city.”
Sreng stood tall in front of the seated magister.
Ubara waved away his shadow guard.
His head still hung as he looked at the floor.
“As you can see, Serpent Rider, the master of the dark tower does not fear the leader of the mongrel man race of east.”
His voice was deep and confident. The serpent rider had interrupted his meditation, bursting through the doors, instead of awaiting the proper time. This had prompted Ubara to stand in front of Sreng in an act of disgust. His dismissal of the shadow guard was a clear sign to the Senarran that the leader of the Fir Bolg did not fear him. Ubara walked towards his wardrobe. A mirror hung inside one door of the wardrobe. He removed his cloak, revealing his nude form, his entire body was scarred from self-flagellation.
Sreng examined the foreigner's slender frame as he walked around the room unarmed and unafraid.
“Mongrel?” Sreng snarled!
His hand clenched the rowan hilt of his poisoned serpent dagger.
Ubara laughed, “Does that terminology irk you serpent rider? You'd prefer a more appropriate term.” He paused, “Befouled? Unclean perhaps?”
Sreng's rage built within him. Unable to contain it he surged forward. Ubara didn't flinch. The massive brute unsheathed his fang dagger and drove it into the back of Ubara. The dagger stuck straight through his chest. Sreng shook as he twisted the hilt, turning the blade inside his enemies body, it was evident that he thoroughly enjoyed killing. He was the perfect weapon for Ubara.
“This is for the thousands your shadow warriors have taken from my people, may death forget to greet you.”
He left his dagger planted in the back and walked towards the chamber door with his falchion in hand. Ubara had allowed him to believe he was victorious before he laughed maniacally. It only took a few seconds for the serpent rider to understand that his assault had done nothing. Ubara rose from the floor with the knife in his back and laughed at the brute. Sreng backed away in disbelief.
“Bile, my god, lord of death grant me passage,” Sreng said under his breath. Ubara turned, his merriment displayed in his chortling. The mongrel of a man had believed Ubara himself was the ancient primordial god of death he and his ilk worshipped. Ubara reached backward, removing the dagger from his back. He rolled his neck and turned. Sreng watched as the wound closed. It appeared to be wrapped in a dark purple energy. Sreng stood shocked. He stepped backward and dropped his falchion. He spoke with fright ringing through his voice.
“What demon are you?”
Ubara smiled. “Demon you say? Or God?”
He looked at Sreng's shaking hands. “What I am not, Warlord of the plains, is your enemy.” he paused and covered his nude body. “You won't need your weapon.” With a flick of the wrist, he ripped the sword from the man's hand and flung it across the room.
His grip took hold of the Senarran warlord, freezing him in place.
“I did not bring you here to take your life serpent rider. If I had wanted the blood within your veins, I would have breached your camp, slaughtered your women, and drank your blood before enslaving all of your children and men unto my bidding. You and your filthy people are beneath my ambition. Your people are blind to the world that can be. You fail to see a future where mankind can stand upon the corpses of this infected land and once again shake the heavens with righteous fury, in the name of our Father.” Ubara stopped and took a deep breath. “No serpent rider I do not want to kill you. I have brought you here to offer you a gift.”
“What gift, my lord,” said Sreng
“Why a fist to strike back at your true enemy. Yes, you know of whom I speak?”
Straining to talk Sreng spoke, “The Aélfar?” The Senarran people despised Dagda and the Tuatha Dé, but they hated the moon children more.
Sreng’s fear gave way to the ambition of his bloodlust. He smiled and bowed before Ubara.
“I Sreng Bhat, warlord of all the Senarran clans, pledge my life to you, Bile, my god,” he said before he uncovered his wrist and sunk his own teeth into the flesh, drawing blood. His mouth covered in blood, he spat it on the floor before Ubara as a sign of his blood oath.
The memory of the encounter faded as Ubara heard a knock
on the chamber door, his eyes still bloodshot from his lack of sleep. He won the fealty of Sreng and his armies at no small cost, but it had been a great victory for him. Though Ubara’s primary concern was the success of the Prince in the trials, Sreng was a fantastic insurance policy. Ubara would wield them both as weapons against the system that had held humankind down for so thousands of years.
His voice carried. “Enter.”
His servant stepped inside the chamber.
“The champions of the Conclave are now gathering my Lord.”
Ubara smirked, “Splendid.”
Ubara gathered his things and left the modest lodgings he had been granted. The sun had risen and with it, the dominions would present their champion to the crowds. It had been explained to Ubara that the tradition displayed the strengths of each dominion. A celebration of the soul of a nation. It seemed counterproductive to Ubara. If he was going into battle he did not want to be analyzed by the competition. However, it was helpful to him in this case. With this ridiculous display, he could determine the strengths and weaknesses of each of the champions.
Two of Ubara's shadow warriors waited outside his tent with the bardic herald that had come to escort Ubara and his champion. Ubara measured the Bard. The young Fae did not seem like much, he was not fairy, but was rather a strange mix of races. It was both horrifying and sickening to Ubara, yet he maintained his composure with a hard swallow.
“Greetings, Bard,” he said holding back a wave of disgust in his voice.
The Bard showed a similar distaste at his appearance, “If you would please follow me Ensí Ubara. We must collect your champion and head to the forum at once.”
“After you, ¨ said Ubara.
As they preceded Ubara heard the familiar voice of Prince Bres calling to him. “Lord Ubara!”
Ubara turned to see the Prince trot over to him. “Greetings fair Prince.”
“Shall I walk with you?” asked Bres.
Nemeton: The Trial of Calas (Hallowed Veil Book 1) Page 30
