“Your presence is as always most welcome fair Prince,” said Ubara. “But do you not need to be preparing for the parade?”
“Have no fear Ubara, I’ve been awake for some time now. Excitement I guess,” he said. “Eager to see who be joining me in this momentous journey.”
“This parade will serve you well. Keep a sharp eye today young Prince. These champions will not be companions in your trials, but competition. One must know the competition if one is to defeat it. Perhaps that is why you come now? Hoping to see whom I have chosen to represent the Penitents? I think it a wise move.”
Bres smiled, “Perhaps I had a good tutor.”
Ubara grinned back at him. “Perhaps. Yes dear Prince walk with me. What do you know of the other champions? Your father’s advisors have briefed you on each of them, I am sure. I mean to say I do not expect you to share such intelligence with the competition.”
“Nonsense,” said Bres. “Men must band together if we are to be successful in this. I believe it more and more each day. With news of the slaughter of the lost tribe and the sinking of the wingers island, we must show our resolve more than ever.”
“I couldn’t agree with you more Bres,” said Ubara as he stopped to allow the escort to walk ahead. “The Fae are weakened, and their cursed grove trembles. Should man place another sympathizer among their ranks, a day might come where justice shall be done. Where men do not have to go to such great lengths as I have, to claim their birthright.”
“I believe the day is near,” said Bres. “I can feel it.”
“Having a man such as you in the fold gives an old man such hope for the future. Our hopes and dreams rest on your sturdy shoulders Prince. Men require a champion, a hero to look to. I believe you can be that shining example young Prince. If you will but grasp the reigns. I know that you will not let us down. So long as war is decided by the their best champion against ours, we shall never grasp victory. Unless our champion holds the same power as Dagda.”
“But the law has prevented unnecessary blood shed, men need to forge a champion as formidable as the good god,” said Bres.
“Good god? Do not speak such blasphemy young Prince. Dagda is no god. Your father could have proven that once. But he squandered it as he always does.” said Ubara.
“Take care of your tongue Lord Ubara, he is still my father,” said Bres.
“Well, it seems this appointment to a sacred destiny has brought out the fighter in you. That is good. Let it do so. Our quest to return man to glory is just beginning Bres. Though the road is long and fraught with danger, you must never break from the path we have set upon. The wheels are already in motion, and if we do not all play our parts, the entire machine will crumble. The Fae are weak, but they are not defeated. We must be careful, they have eyes and ears everywhere in this land.”
They continued. “What of this sordid business of your father’s planned betrothal? Will you go along with marrying this Princess Arabella as your forefathers have?”
“I do not see how I cannot. My father has labored long for such an alliance, an alliance that could someday grant me the throne of a unified kingdom. Imagine that a man in the seat of Formene. I would be a glorious day wouldn’t it.”
Ubara sighed, “I fear your father’s plan to be foolish. Dagda would not so easily give up his throne, or his daughter, not to a man. Though I believe a marriage can be useful, but not in the same regards as your father does. Dagda’s Seat of Man, the chair he keeps in his council chambers, could be yours if you so choose. Your father would never approve, but should you survive the trial you will be beyond his control. In that seat you could parlay with the King of Hyperborea that seat could secure freedoms for men from the Ironwood to Elam.”
“You believe I could be such a champion? I’ve no knack for politics Lord Ubara,” said Bres.
“Ah, but with me at your side, think of the victories we might achieve. When you see what the Fae are underneath their deceitful guise, you will come to grasp my meaning. For now, let us meet your fellow Champion.”
Ubara, Bres and his two shadow warriors followed the Bard to the lodging designated for Sreng Bhat. The Bard stopped outside the tent and directed Ubara, “Please collect your tribute, I will wait.”
Ubara directed his shadow warriors to guard his tent. “Come Bres,” said Ubara.
They entered through the exposed flap to retrieve his champion. Upon entering the lodging Ubara could smell the stench of the man and that of several women. The brute lay upon a bed of animal skins with a nude woman on each side of him. The smell of rotting meat and the sour fermented milk of the plains people permeated the tent. Ubara’s nostrils flared at the stench. The brute was dead asleep, but the women noticed right away, timidly gathering their clothes and fleeing from the sight Ubara whose eyes were filled with righteous fury. He kicked at the feet of Sreng.
“Rise beast!” he shouted. “We must present you before the crowds within the hour.”
Sreng rose in a fit of rage and grasped for his iron falchion. Bres gripped the hilt of his sword in response. Ubara steadied his hand. “Do not fear Prince, he is little more than my dog.”
Sreng’s senses took him a moment to regain. He had risen but Ubara was certain that his champion was still drunk from the night’s revelry. The festival and the Conclave were celebratory, but Ubara despised the merrymaking as it distracted both men and Fae from their true purpose here. Ubara felt a tempest building within him as Sreng shouted at him in the belligerent tones of the plains peoples tongue. Ubara watched curiously as the man continued to fumble. Part of him was amused, the other part enraged. If his champion was seen in such a state, the whole of the world would think the Fir Bolg weak.
Ubara saw he could use this folly to his advantage. If Sreng was seen as nothing more than brute, then Prince Bres would look all the more the part as the champion of man. He smiled and grabbed the closest jug of the fermented milk and tossed it to the brute.
“Drink fool!” he said, “Right your mind and meet me outside.”
Ubara exited the tent and stood outside with a grin upon his face as the incoherent shouts and curses of the warlord inside rang in the ears of all in the area.
“As you can see young Prince, I have recruited quite the insurance policy. No doubt Sreng will not be chosen as the incarnation of power, but he will be a sight that will make the other champions fear a unified front of man. He is a tool Bres, a tool for you to use in the trials. If you do so, I promise you will be victorious. An alliance of the men serving as champions is crucial young Bres. You must work to to unify them, even this half blood the Tuatha De. The Fae must be destroyed in this trial. It will not be easy, but man must triumph. Especially against that foul little Seræphym who took the blood of our brothers. Such sin cannot go unpunished. She most of all must be eliminated. Should she survive, man will be made to look the fool.”
Bres nodded, though Ubara was unsure if the Prince grasped his meaning.
A few minutes later the brute emerged from the tent, his wits about him, but his feet still staggering. The Bard looked at the hulking man with a mixture of disapproval and trepidation.
“Now make haste young Prince, they will be gathering the champions by now.”
Bres bowed and made his way.
“This way please,” said the Bard.
Ubara waited for the Bard to lead. He walked at the back of their party and watched as eyes turned and watched the brute walk. The eyes of the pilgrims met the sight of the Fir Bolg champion with mixed emotions. To the smaller Fae, he was a monster, to the Tuatha Dé he was an animal, to other men he was a murdering savage. The Bard led them through thousands of pilgrims, to the main road where the procession would begin to the ancient forum in the stone city of Tara.
Each of the champions walked down the processional road with the King or Queen of their dominion. Ubara looked at the makeup of the rulers and their tributes. By his estimation, the tributes of mankind far outnumbered the tributes of the Fae. T
here were twenty champions from the twenty different dominions. Eight were of the Fae, eleven were men. Thousands of pilgrims had gathered to glimpse the champions in the forum. The forum had been converted from its usual use as a trading post for the Bardic Order. It was now decorated to honor the champions that would undergo the trials.
The parade marched from the outskirts of the city to its center. Crowds of pilgrims cheered and tossed herbs and flowers to the champions. Colors flooded the streets and trumpets cried as the champions entered the city they would call home for the next few months. Each one of them must have felt as gods in Ubara’s mind. He knew the effects of hope. He had felt them as his own people had cheered his ascension. Now these twenty souls were feeling the full force of the world’s hope. The men fully embraced the support of the crowd, and rightfully so. It was time, time for a change, time for justice to be done. The parade took the better part of the morning to conclude. Before the champions were presented the crowds assembled in the forum and the royal lines that birthed them took their seats.
Ubara took his seat in the rafters provided for royalty and persons of dignified station. He was seated next to King Balor a mere yard or two from where King Dagda and his royal family were positioned. He watched as each of the dominions showed themselves, trickled into their designated seating. The Bards had an uncanny sense of protocol and etiquette. Warring or unfriendly dominions were not sat near each other to minimize the chances of violence. They had informed Ubara upon arriving on the shores that bloodshed of any kind would be punishable by death. The only souls to spill blood would be the champions themselves, and only during the trials. The divine law was so enforced that no weapon longer than a man's forearm could even be ferried to the isle. Magic was also forbidden by both Fae and man alike unless they were members of the Nemeton. While most men did not have to worry about this, Ubara was different. His Bardic envoy had given him a talisman to wear for his duration on the isle. Here his powers were nullified by the power of the Nemeton. Under normal circumstances, this would have been unacceptable. However, the auspicious nature of the event and the stakes for humanity were too high for such hard-line behavior. He had submitted for his true purpose on this isle was not instigating rebellion, nor assassination. He was here to aid mankind in gaining the chance to undergo the final trial. Beyond that his personal ambition was limited to the rite that the prophet had spoken of.
He had not heard from the prophet since his arrival. Ubara had waited patiently, distracted by the study of his enemies, but as the days neared the first trial he had grown restless. He knew among one of the white-robed members of the Hidden Circle was his ally, though he did not know which it was. The prophet was wise to hide his identity from even his most loyal, the stakes had never been higher. All Ubara knew was that the ally was not Dagda, his witch the Morrighan, nor the strange and unexpected warlock Falbanach. He eyed each of the white-robed figures as they arrived to take their seat analyzing them for any sign that might aid him.
The master of ceremonies appeared on the stage built in the center of the square in a burst of light. The crowd gasped at the sudden sight and spectacle. He was ornately dressed in a robe made of colored feathers that shimmered and burst forth in rays of light. His brow shined and a wide-mouthed smile enveloped his face. He was one of the Tuatha Dé, a member of King Dagda's royal lineage.
“Good day pilgrims!” he cried out. “Welcome, to the beginning of the festivities. Today we celebrate the victory of light over the darkness, and of darkness over the light. It is in this sacred balance we achieve peace. That we live in peace. It is a peace that was won by champions of war. A Great War that scorched the heavens and burnt the earth, a war that begs to be reborn. Among many of you here, there are feelings of anger, of distrust, of pain caused by others. I entreat you to forget these feelings for but a moment and look around you at the wonderful and diverse creation that our Great Mother has forged for us. Here we have for the first time a thousand of years gathered in the holiest city of Tara, both man, and Fae. Here we gather despite the forces that seek to tear us apart that seek to spill blood. We gather in reverence of her grace, of her glory, of her divine will!”
The crowd erupted in sudden delight. Ubara observed as both man and Fae were taken by the shining spectacle on the stage. The bard was brightly dressed, and he colored his words with a similar hue. Ubara could not help but be somewhat swayed by his tongue. They were legendary, known for their mastery of poetry, music, and storytelling. It was also how they indoctrinated. Ubara turned a careful ear towards what the bard said next.
“In five days, the champions of people both near and far from this sacred isle will engage in the ancient rite of Conclave. Among these brave and valiant souls is the champion that the Goddess will bless with the gift of servitude. Among these chosen few will be the leader who will embody the grace, wisdom, and power of our Great Mother as she journeys through the Abyss to return anew, a light in the darkness. This is no mere festival of the Midsummer's Eve, Nay I say this is a festival of great merrymaking and celebration. We have traveled here under the harsh conditions of winter, and we have arrived here under the waning days of the Willow Moon. We will watch as the Hawthorn blooms, so too will our champions. We’ll marvel at the supremacy of the Oak Moon, rising high in the night sky, lighting the way for our champions to claim the sword of the sun. Finally, we will watch as our chosen hero, the one who shall deliver us from the darkness travels into the abyss of the Holly Moon. To return to us anew, and ripe with the power of the Great Mother, our Great Goddess!”
This time the cheers rang so raucously that Ubara sensed the sheer power and gravitas of this event. Nothing in all the dominions of man matched the religious zeal and magnetic power he saw, and it was only the beginning of the ceremonies. He realized just what power the Nemeton held, it was this power he craved, not for just himself but for all mankind. He had finally arrived at the place of his destiny, he could feel it deep within his marrow. All around him the leaders of the world sat entranced by the words.
“Pilgrims, fools, Kings, and Queens are all equal under the banner of the sacred grove. Here we are her children. I am Ogma, the sun-kissed, the face of the sun. I will be your master of ceremonies in this holiest event. Thusly, I ask you pilgrims, children of the Great Mother, are you ready to meet your champions?”
The crowd cheered and clapped their hands while the twenty champions were made ready for display. Ubara watched. The valiant souls as expressed by the bard were little more than sacrificial lambs. The rite of Conclave was one of the most barbaric practices that the Nemeton employed, though the champions were honored, Ubara saw the practice as slavery. All power came at a price, but Ubara could not fathom being chained. His God would never bind him in service, he served freely.
“Hailing from the farthest reaches of world, the blue waves of the depths, and the castle at the end of the world, I present the champion of House the Spilling Seas, Manannan son of Lir Lord of the Waves!”
Ubara examined the champion who bore of the blood of the Tuatha Dé and the Fomorians. His skin appeared shrouded in the misty foam of the sea from which he and his ilk were born. To many, the Mere Folk were mere pirates, though many claimed their people had mastered the art of shapeshifting into monstrous sea creatures. They were feared more than any other on the open ocean and ranged across the entire world. It would be no surprise to Ubara if the champion of the Mere Folk had advantages against the other champions. Manannan took his place at the far end of the stage his arms outstretched claiming the praise of the pilgrims. Though the crowd cheered, Ubara noted that the seafaring Mere Folk were not present in large numbers.
“Hailing from the black lands on the banks of the watery serpent of the Nile, I present the champion of the Kingdom of Kemet, Neith daughter of King Narmer of the Old Kingdom!”
She strode onto the stage with an elegant gait, her arms outstretched displaying a kaleidoscopic feathered cape to appear as wings. Her hips were broad and fir
m and in the fashion of the Kemet, she wore the provocative dress and markings of the cult of Isis. Ubara grimaced, the lewdness of the Kemet irked him. They had so little regard for modesty.
Painted whores, the lot of them. He thought.
Though he despised them, he could not deny his inner urges, she was a fine looking woman who carried herself with a royal heir. He looked at Narmer, standing tall and proud clapping for his daughter. Ubara commended Narmer with a nod, it was courageous of the Kemet to offer the heir of the family. Neith followed Manannan and stood in a row as Ubara noted they would all stand before the pilgrims in such a fashion.
“Hailing from beneath the earth herself, within the bosom of our Great Mother, from the land of the stone singers of Bizaram, I present Onyx-Stone Tongue of the House Stoneborn, Captain of the Stoneskein Legion.”
The diminutive creature walked onto the stage, his feet bashed against the wooden stage. Ubara had heard of the Stoneskein but had never encountered them. The Dweorg were not lovers of the surface, nor of the light. Those who dwelt in the sunlight were considered freaks amongst their own kin. The Dweorgen champion appeared a fit champion, he radiated with black energy, his stone-covered skin would be a boon to him in the coming challenges.
“Hailing from the glaciers of the Far North, home of the Dragon Riders, the land of giants, I present to thee Skadi, Mistress of the Hunt, Lady of House Dragonbane.”
Ubara marveled at the height and physique of the giantess. The Jotun were known for their colossal size. At the edge of the known world, they stood as Guardians of the peoples in the south. Legend dictated that they held vigil over all against the mystical dragonkin that lived in the fire deserts of the north. Skadi was an impressive champion, one whose size was matched by her skill.
Such superb strength, if only they could be enthralled, bound in the chains of men, to be used against the Fae.
Though their size was incredible, they were far fewer in number than the other races. Ubara did not consider her a grave threat in the rite of Conclave, the Jotun had yet to acquire a position within the Nemeton.
Nemeton: The Trial of Calas (Hallowed Veil Book 1) Page 31
