The crowd followed his brave act of humility and cried, “Mother forgive us all!” It was an act of unison among the divided. Under the magic of the moment, millions of souls cried out begging for their transgressions to be washed away. The hysteria of the moment caused cries from every corner of the island as the land itself seemed to respond to the act of surrender. The power of millions of souls acting upon a singular purpose shook the earth, making it fully present that the Great Goddess was listening to their cries. Dagda climbed to his feet and addressed the crowd that remained humbled by the shaking of the earth. He raised his hands towards the sky.
“Before the first stars shone. Before the first blade of grass crept from beneath fertile soil, there was only the eternal void of darkness. Out of this darkness came forth our eternal, divine mother. In this darkness, only the primordial forces could thrive. It was in a single flash of inspiration she saw that more could be achieved. Thus she gave the gift of life to the cosmos by way of the realm of spirit.” said Dagda.
The crowd raised their heads to watch as the High King began his oration. “Man was born first to these very lands. The first race of creation, born from an immaculate conception, a product of the light of her creation. Thus man became the first being composed of light and given physical form. Man was proud and righteous, and the Mother loved him dearly. I was there in the realm of the spirit, and I marveled at the abilities of man. They were the crown jewel of creation a marvelous and spectacular sight and wonder to behold. It was from this magic in the union of the physical realm with that of spirit that the primordial kin of the Great Mother feared man would abuse their power. To save what she had created the mother sacrificed her body, her birthright, and her family to provide what we all share to this day. Though man and the Goddess flourished for a time, we know that all things must end. So too did the Golden Age of mankind. In defense of her creation, the Mother and her firstborn son Atum fought for the freedom of creation against the terrors of the abyss. Their efforts were valiant, yet the Goddess fell in battle laid low by her own kin. Without her guidance, the burden of guarding creation fell to my brother Atum. Though he too fought valiantly for the will of the Goddess, he fell. In his hubris, his rage, and his sorrow Atum forgot the importance of his charge, as a servant of her will. His folly created within him a sickness, a sickness that spread into every living thing that would follow. Though today many among us vilify and demonize the first child, my brother Atum, I believe that before the end, he repented for his sins as you do. May we all follow his grand example and be humbled this day before the Goddess who granted not only life but something far greater.” he paused. “Purpose. A singular purpose that exists in the hearts and will of many of you gathered here. A great and grand scheme to rend the bonds that chain all who live to this existence. It was our ascension that the primordial beasts of the abyss feared, that we would challenge them one day not in our physical bodies through war and affliction, but greater still as champions of valor, righteousness, and perfection.”
His words were revealing. Arabella understood though many gathered had seen him solely as the master of the Fae, the person with the biggest stick in an endless war of ideas and ideals. Now they saw him as a visionary, whose mouth professed the divine will of the Great Goddess. All were silent as the King hung his head. She sensed a blossoming pride within her. Her father had wooed the hearts of the crowd.
“A darkness descends upon us all, brother turns against brother, sister spits upon sister, but we will overcome the darkness. Guided by our savior the champion who will conquer the trials of the Conclave and rise to the most sacred station of her divine will, as a member of the Hidden Circle, and a Knight of the Nemeton.”
He bowed before the crowd and stepped backward. Not a soul drew breath after his gripping oration.
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Ubara Tutu, the Ensí of Penitent’s Vow
Award oppression,
With in kind transgression,
Without thought, without question.
Ubara bled himself, dropping his life essence on the altar, calling forth to the prophet. He grinned as the blood dripped from his wrist. The prophet had led him and his followers to the promised land, and now after centuries of searching he was leading the faithful towards their birthright. It was glorious to have come so far and suffered so greatly. To now stand upon the precipice of greatness brought a rush to spirit. The blood trickled out of his veins and covered the stone altar. The power of the calling drained his life-force. His devotion had taken its toll over time, his body was covered in scars from countless self-inflicted wounds. He was once a flawless man, but he had tossed vanity to the wind to achieve freedom from deceit. Now all he wished to achieve was closer than he had been in over three hundred years.
Come forth prophet of light,
Shine in the darkness of this blight.
I give you my blood, muscle, and bone,
Speak to me from within this stone.
His words crashed against the stone, their power dredging through the depths seeking an answer from his savior. His magical abilities were muted here in Tara, but his blood still called to an ancient magic within the depths of the earth. The bardic magic has stunted him since he arrived in Tara. The power of the Nemeton, the reason he and other ambitious men had not invaded these lands sooner. His forces no matter how numerous or devout would have been stamped out like a candle flame standing against the ocean's waves. He waited patiently for a signal, for weeks he had been here putting on a smile, following the rules of the bards. As dawn broke, he received a message bearing the seal of the Nemeton. It was an order for Ubara to remain in his tent.
By order of the Nemeton,
Ensí Ubara Tutu leader of the Penitent Refugees,
May not attend or view,
The Trial of Calas.
~ArchMagus Amyrannii
At first, he had been perplexed by the note. Why was he being excluded from the viewing? I reeked of more discrimination against man, against his people. But, upon closer examination, Ubara noticed something, a clue cleverly hidden within the text. Next to the signature of the ArchMagus was a watermark, a mark he had seen before many times. It was the mark of the prophet, a red crescent moon. Distinguishable only to him. Ubara's heart leaped, the guise was perfect. Ubara did not know if his ally within the Grove was Amyrannii or if it was another. He doubted that the ArchMagus who had built his reputation on the cracked bones of apostates was the one who aided him. Regardless of his identity the prophet passed his mark on his decree. He instinctively knew his blood would uncover the true message. One drop of his blood alone would unveil the direction he had so eagerly awaited. As the drop of blood seeped into the fabric of the parchment, the letters confessed their true nature. Methodically they rearranged themselves.
Harbinger stirs within the earth,
Stand fast, and open thy veins,
Your faith affords rebirth,
Meet the prophet on the astral planes.
The only way to communicate with the prophet was through the magic within his blood. Though his power to focus his intention into the physical plane was muted, he could still operate on the astral plane. Blood magic was a dangerous art form, and one that if not mastered would drain the user in a matter of minutes, his time in the astral world would be limited by the limits of his endurance. Even with all of his practice in the art he too was debilitated by the calling of the blood. The rune carved in the flat altar stone lit up with a surging, energetic light. His eyes rolled back in his head as his consciousness floated away from his body, rising high above the Earth. Without his corporeal form, he could travel much quicker through the world. In seconds he was miles from his body, within a cave shrouded in miles of Earth. His astral body had been called to this place as his feet contacted the cavern floor he sensed the archaic power of this place. It resonated with his spirit like a return journey to home he’d never knew.
Out of the stone wall appeared a figure, a man b
athed in pure light. It was the prophet of light that had come to him and bade him embark on this desperate quest, hundreds of years ago. He had never seen his face; it was always shrouded by magic; he knew him only by his voice.
“Ubara, most loyal of the children of Atum. I come to seek your help.”
The prophet walked towards him. The light was so blinding that Ubara never saw the face of this mysterious prophet. He had grown accustomed to the fact he may never know who or what the prophet was.
“You have carried out your ends as expected. Deep in his stone cage, the Harbinger stirs. It is pleased by your work. Soon the master will send forth his vanguard unto this world. To deliver a message, a gospel unto the people, his word from within the abyss. It shall be a beacon to those who suffer, and you shall raise it high for all to see, like a city on a hill. Millions will flock to its banner, you will show them the way to salvation. You shall be the carrier of the sacred word, his mouth on Earth. You will call forth the legion.”
“An army,” Ubara said with holy zeal.
“You think small Empyrean, an army would do little against the powers of the Order and their false Goddess. He sends to us his most loyal servant, the one who stood with him until the end. The one who will punish those who abandoned him in his hour of need. It will be your task to reclaim the tools the master needs to bring about an end to the chaos and restore order. You will see to it that the dark tower will be fit to receive the vanguard until he has regained his strength.”
Ubara was not sure of what to make of the prophet's words.
He’d had made no promises to Ubara, save that he would reclaim his ancestral homeland. There was nary a mention of a crown or a throne, but deep in the recesses of his mind Ubara had always assumed that it would be he. Ubara wondered was he being used all this time?
“You believe you should rise to a higher station?” said the prophet. “Is the harbinger of his second coming to low for your petty grasping palms?”
Ubara was perturbed by his disposition.
“Perhaps you wish to assume the throne of the master? To usurp his glorious revival and rule on high?”
“My only intention…”
“Be silent, be still. If it is power you crave, the master will grant you ability beyond any your kind has ever aspired. Even your divine king of old will tremble as the Vanguard of his will descends upon the lands of men with you as his first Cardinal.” he paused “Ubara do you still wish to serve the Lord our God? Or has your faith been corrupted by this return to Eden by the filthy Fae and their revelries?”
Ubara filled with righteous piety as he responded, “I am as always his to command. My blood, my muscle, my bones are eternally indebted to the Lord our God Elohim, Atum the first of Men, the Lord of Truth, Vanquisher of Deceit.”
Ubara hung his head low in reverence. “Rise and accept his gift.”
Ubara was undeterred by the prophet's words. He knew his piety would shine like a lighthouse rising above stormy seas. His ascension to the seat at the right hand of God would be gloriously recounted for eternity. His faith would propel him past this Vanguard and the prophet who now mocked his ambition. He had learned patience in his years of wandering in search of the promised land. That patience would serve him well as he sought to unseat the powers that would keep him from fulfilling his birthright. He would bow, accept this gift, and rise a Cardinal of Conviction. He would be a weapon in the coming darkness, to be wielded by his righteous God in the jihad against the false Goddess. Ubara’s astral body shone like the sun.
“Rise and know the omnipotence of the Lord our God.”
The prophet spoke in a language foreign to Ubara’s ears. It was a garbled mess that made no sense. Yet Ubara felt the omnipotent will of God filling him with righteous fervor. His consciousness, mind, and soul were brimming with knowledge he had never thought possible. He bent through space and time, becoming something altogether different from Ubara Tutu of Sumer. Something more than a conquering magister, or a shepherd of men. He was now a Cardinal of Conviction. A righteous weapon of Atum.
“I rise unchained, bowed humbled to be in the service of God. Now and forever,” he said.
His hubris was muted by a strange sensation within his soul. The sensation of power gave way to another. Ubara felt the cold grip of iron upon his wrists, ankles, and neck. Ubara struggled to resist the entrapment that had come upon him.
“It is no use to resist, the Lord will mold and shape you in his image. Accept his yoke,” said the prophet.
He did not perceive a yoke, but chains with which to be controlled. It was a feeling Ubara had never experienced. He continued to fight until the force of will was too great. It bent him like a hurricane bends the reeds along the water. He was thrashed about as a doll is by a child, powerless to resist. Inside a hole emerged, a hole that had never been there before, a lust that would not be contained. Ubara's will shattered into dust. He accepted the gift of chains and in doing so bound himself to the will of Elohim. He was not longer Ubara, but a newly forged weapon of God was no longer Ubara Tutu of Sumer, but a cardinal.
“You now have great purpose, zealot of Sumer, but your God calls you to another task. You must accompany me to the well of Annwn where we shall collect the abused that have been chained. They shall be the army you so crave. It is not without consequence, this thing we do will scar your soul, it will cause pain you have never imagined, but it must be done. Has the beast of the plains been set to his task? Is he clear on what is to be done once the champions have crossed the veil of darkness?”
“He has accepted the charge of this holiest task, as I do.”
He reached towards Ubara, "Take my hand Cardinal of Atum, together we shall shake the foundation of the Cursed Grove, and send forth a quake that shall cleave their sacred circle in two."
Ubara took the luminous hand and followed as the prophet's spirit led him towards the surface. Their souls journeyed through the astral plane to the place that Ubara had seen in his tour of the city of Tara. They rose from beneath the Earth inside the Grand Temple of the Goddess. Before them stood a massive wall, with many symbols, cut into the rock's surface. He perceived the power that lay beyond the portal, it was unlike anything he had felt, surpassing even the power of his ally. A fear gripped him.
“Have no fear, the light of our father will show us the way.” said the prophet. “Place your hands upon the stone and believe in his power. Watch it crumble beneath the weight of your faith.”
Ubara did as he was told and placed his astral hands upon the stone. His time in this plane had strengthened his abilities. He had learned to affect the physical by way of changing this level of existence. A simple word or action could move an object in the physical realm if one devoted enough study and practice. Ubara remembered this simple fact, “For he can move mountains, damn the waters of the ocean, and bring fire from the sky. The faithful man is his servant, his sword against the darkness.”
The prophet spoke again in the old tongue of Elohim, thought now Ubara could understand him.
Lord of Light, Celestial Solar King,
Open the hallowed fairy ring,
Chase darkness to the chasms below,
Turn blackness as white as snow.
The wall crumbled before them revealing the inner sanctum. Ubara knew after this next step, everything would change. The power of the Cursed Grove would unravel, and in that vacuum he would rise like the phoenix. One warlock had already caused strife, if more feet tread where only one shall, their power will wither like unwatered wheat. The cauldron of Annwn stood before them, bubbling and hissing. The strongest guardian moved to strike them and when she did the prophet immolated in fire and blinding light. The crone shrieked and wailed as the celestial light of the prophet turned her into a pillar of salt, her hands frozen in the air. They walked past her. The mother and the maiden still held vigil over the cauldron, both wielding swords of dark black flame their eyes fury. They did not say a word, they simply stood swords drawn thei
r breath heavy.
“They exist on the physical plane, this form gives us a clear advantage. We must use it if we hope to achieve victory.” said the prophet.
The maiden cried out first, lunging forward towards Ubara. With his new found power he drew forth a sword of pure light. He crossed blades with the maiden as the prophet advanced towards the mother.
Ubara stood face to face with the spry young woman, a battle fury without equal, she raged and gnashed her fairy teeth at him. He grinned at her and gritted his teeth forcing her backward. She engaged again, advancing her position her emotion sending her into a berserker's rage. Ubara focused his defense and fought hard, out of the corner of his eye he saw the prophet engaged in battle with the mother.
He appeared to be faring well against his opponent as Ubara came to grips with his newly forged power. His focus drawn from his own contest, Ubara suffered a crushing blow to the leg, a pain searing through his flesh. The pain was beyond intense. It burned deeper than any pain he’d experienced. The prophet's words were not metaphorical, he meant what he had said. Ubara's connection to the astral world faded for a moment and he watched as his body leaked blood profusely from his left leg.
He could feel the pain growing like a wildfire within his soul, tearing at the fabric and wreathing him in agony. His vision tunneled. Before he lost total control, Ubara dug deep and summoned the power to continue his connection to the astral plane, his endurance had been outrageously improved by bending his knees to Elohim. His astral body shot forth like an arrow towards the inner sanctum. The anger and righteous piety within him came forth in the form of a tremendous arrow composed of light. He took aim at the maiden and sent forth his energy. The arrow struck true, embedding itself in her back and pressing through the other side of her body.
Nemeton: The Trial of Calas (Hallowed Veil Book 1) Page 36
