Emily's House (The Akasha Chronicles)

by Wright, Natalie

  “Well that suits me fine since I detest every living creature anyway,” snorted Dughall.

  “That may be true, but there is more that you need to know. You will not only be alone, but you will not have a body or ability to create – a disembodied mind – your thoughts only – to torture you, perhaps, for all eternity.”

  “You may be tortured by your own thoughts Cian, but I am not tortured by mine, only by the endless prattling of others. My mind is set Cian, and I know what I’m doing. Now will you help me willingly or will I have to use my last breath to coax this favor from you,” said Dughall as he grabbed his dagger from under his pillow.

  “You are in no condition to test your strength against mine anymore,” said Cian. “Put that thing away before you hurt yourself. I will do this for you, against my better judgment. It’s probably what you deserve anyway.”

  With that Cian turned to leave. “Where are you going?” Dughall shouted out.

  “To make preparations. You have used a fair bit of your remaining strength to threaten me so I reckon your time draws near. Rest and I will return to perform the ritual tonight,” said Cian.

  Dughall flopped himself back down on his pallet to rest. His heart beat rapidly with excitement. Soon I will make the final journey to all that I desire, Dughall thought.

  39. Macha’s Promise

  Cian returned to Dughall’s cottage that night with a basket full of linen strips, vials of potions and herbs and other plants. It was just a few hours after dusk and Cian found Dughall sleeping fitfully. He was still alive, but his breath was shallow.

  Macha was there by Dughall’s side. Her wings, always reflective of her mood, were a muted blue and grey. As Cian walked in Macha brightened a little.

  “Do you have all that you need to do my master’s bidding?” she asked.

  “Yes, Macha, it’s all here. Why you stand by his side all these years is beyond me,” Cian replied.

  “I would ask the same of you, antediluvian one,” Macha retorted.

  Cian ignored her taunt and moved quickly about his work. He took a stick of sage that had been wound tightly, lit it in the fire, and then walked slowly around the room in a sunwise direction three times, swirling the smoke above his head as he walked and muttered incantations.

  Once he had purified the air of the cottage, he pulled out fine linen cloth and dipped it into a bowl that had been filled with water that he had blessed and prepared with purifying herbs. He took the cloth and wiped Dughall’s face and body with it, doing his best to purify Dughall’s body before it drew its last breath.

  He could see that Dughall undoubtedly was near his end, as he did not protest being touched and bathed by Cian. Here in his fragile state, Cian thought Dughall looked much like any other man about to die. There was no trace upon his face of the sadness and fear he had inflicted on others. There was no evidence of the battles he had waged and the lives he had taken. There was only an aged man, skin greying and sallow, overtaken by the illness that raged in his body.

  Cian knew that he had to wake Dughall so that he could get him to drink the tonic he had prepared. He was hesitant to do so. Perhaps I should just let him die. It would be best for the fellow anyway – to pass to whatever realm best befit a man who had lived the life Dughall had chosen. That fate would be better for him than the Umbra Nihili, would it not?

  But Macha was right. Cian had a strange allegiance to this wretched man lying before him. He didn’t know the reason a brilliant former Druid and dark wizard spent so many of his precious years in the company of Dughall and his deceitful, ever-present companion Macha. Perhaps the allegiance was forged out of a shared quest to achieve the domination and power each sought.

  Cian had no time for philosophy. He had to make a choice, and he knew he’d honor the request of his longtime companion.

  “Macha,” he said, “the time has come. Wake your master and have him drink this tonic – all of it.”

  Macha did as he requested and the small vial of bitter tonic seemed large in her small faerie hands. She woke Dughall and ordered him to drink the tonic down. In his weakened state, he did not protest.

  As soon as he had swallowed the last bit his head fell back against the pillow. “Trying to poison me again, hey Cian?” he asked.

  “The tonic will prepare your body to more easily allow a portion of your soul to depart to the Umbra Nihili,” replied Cian. “Rest now.”

  Dughall kept his eyes open. He was tired but felt a warmth coursing through his veins. His body started to feel as though every fiber was tingling. There was certain aliveness in him.

  “Cian this tonic is healing me. Now I’m not ready to die, old man. Perhaps this ritual may wait another day,” Dughall said with a strength in his voice he hadn’t had for a long time.

  “Yes, the tonic is working then. You feel alive and tingly now, but it is just the tonic preparing your body for its long rest. You are not healed man,” said Cian.

  Cian worked quickly mixing another potion for Dughall to drink right before his last breath. “You will drink this right before you take your last breath,” he said as he handed the cup to Dughall. The liquid looked vile – thick and viscous. Dughall couldn’t help but wrinkle his nose at the smell.

  “Now this is most important,” Cian instructed. “As you feel yourself fading, begin to recite these words over and over again. As you drink that draught of potion, repeat these words in your head. Repeat them as you take your last breath. Repeat them with every fiber of your being – believe these words and repeat them as a part of you moves to the beyond.”

  “What are the words, Cian?” Dughall asked.

  “I sever my soul,

  I sever my self.

  Go to the Umbra Nihili,

  Oh part of me that is lost,

  So that I may gain

  All that the whole of me desires.”

  “That’s it?” Dughall asked.

  “Yes, that’s it. But you must say it with conviction. And it helps if you picture in your mind your deepest desire. Picture that end in your mind as you say these words.”

  “Cian, my body – what will happen to it?”

  “After you have stopped breathing, Macha and I will anoint your body, wrap it in medicated linens, and enshrine it in a stone box. Then we will travel north with your body, as far north as we can to the place where the gods cover the earth in white all the year. There we will bury it deep in the earth.”

  “Cian how will I come back, when all is prepared for me to achieve my deepest desire, how will I be able to come back to a long-dead body buried deep in the frozen ground?” asked Dughall.

  “You will not be fully dead, you see, but frozen. Your body will be well preserved. In the moment that all conditions are met, that severed part of yourself will find its way back to its body and be reunited with the rest of you. You will be whole again and ready to wake.”

  “But how will he get out of the ground?” asked Macha.

  “Yes, how will I escape my stony tomb?”

  “Well, yes, that is a challenge, isn’t it,” said Cian. “I will be long dead by then and unable to help you.”

  A silence surrounded them, broken by Macha’s tinny pixie voice.

  “I can help him.”

  “How? Even though you faeries are almost eternal beings Macha, you will not be able to know when your master has arisen.”

  “I will if I’m buried with him,” she replied.

  This thought was too gruesome, even for Cian. Buried alive with Dughall’s cold, lifeless body. He could think of nothing more horrible.

  “You know how it is Cian,” Macha said. “In that cold, my body too will go to sleep – a long, quiet sleep. I can put a spell on myself to awake at the first stirrings of his body. I will be weak, but with my magic, I will be able to lift the stony lid and burrow us out.”

  “Macha, my dear little Macha,” Dughall interrupted. “I knew that I could count on you. You will be rewarded well for your loyalty. When I
achieve all that I desire, yes, you will be rewarded well,” he said as he reached out his hand and lightly touched Macha’s cheek. Her wings blushed pink and crimson at this touch.

  “If you choose to spend an eternity frozen with this vile man, that is your choice,” said Cian. “All is prepared then.”

  They waited by Dughall’s side for a few more hours. When the moon was high in the sky, Cian saw that Dughall’s breaths grew shallow again. Cian lifted Dughall’s wrist and could hardly feel a pulse.

  “It is time,” he said.

  Dughall began repeating the incantation, murmuring it aloud over and over again. “I sever my soul. I sever my self. Go to the Umbra Nihili, oh part of me that is lost, so that I may gain all that the whole of me desires.” He said it over and over again while picturing in his mind the vision of his deepest desire. He pictured himself entering the portal. He pictured himself victorious and powerful. He pictured himself with many subjects, all bowing before him.

  “I sever my soul. I sever my self. Go to the Umbra Nihili, oh part of me that is lost, so that I may gain all that the whole of me desires.” He knew it was time. He took a deep breath and then swallowed the concoction that Cian had made earlier. As he felt the last of his breath go from his body, still repeating the incantation in his own mind, he pictured having all that he desired and fulfilling a promise made to himself – and to the dead body of his most beloved – all those years ago.

  40. Dughall Wakes

  Dughall awoke to an impenetrable darkness. He knew he was alive by the sound of his lungs coughing and wheezing as they sucked in the first air they had breathed in over a thousand years. As he lay in the dark rasping in breath, the reality of his new situation dawned on him.

  It had worked! Here he was, in his own body, alive again after so many years. But how would he get out of this icy tomb?

  Dughall lay there quietly for a few moments, trying to use as little air as possible. Then he heard a sound. It was muffled, but he could hear the sound of someone pounding on the granite coffin.

  A few minutes later he heard the lid of his stony coffin being removed. Fresh, cold air wafted over him. As his eyes adjusted to his surroundings, he could make out the faint shadow of a tiny being. Macha.

  Macha and Cian had built an underground tomb in the frozen wasteland. She had been true to her word and had put herself into a deep pixie sleep in the gruesome tomb. Besides the coffin, they buried items that Dughall would need when he arose: the warmest furs to protect him when he exited the tomb; a torch and flint to light his way; cured meats and water sealed in airtight jars, and Macha herself whose magic was always of assistance to him.

  “You are with the living once again,” Macha croaked as Dughall stretched his arms. For her part, Macha looked exactly like she had a thousand years before except that her skin and hair were a dull, lifeless grey. Even her wings, once a beautiful iridescent rainbow of color were now grey and without any hint of their former luster.

  “Yes, Macha, I live!” replied Dughall in a raspy voice.

  “You will need to drink and eat to regain your strength. Your body is much withered from lack of sustenance.”

  Dughall looked down at his own hands and arms and could see that Macha was right. He still had flesh, but it was wrinkled like a raisin and clung to his bones. His skin was brown and weathered like a mummy, yet he was not a mummy – he was very much alive. But he looked like no more than a skeleton with flesh covering it.

  Fear gripped Dughall, a feeling that was most foreign to him. This was not what he had expected. He could not go out amongst the humans like this. He looked like a monster and would be tracked down and killed. How could he achieve his deepest desire looking like a mummy?

  As if reading Dughall’s mind, Macha said, “Don’t worry. Your flesh will plump out again in time. With food and drink and the special cream that Cian left for you, you will look normal in a few weeks’ time.”

  “A few weeks? We don’t have that kind of time. I need to get out of here now!”

  “You must stay in the chamber. You cannot complete your task in your present condition. Look at you!” she said. In Dughall’s mind he quietly conceded that irksome Macha was right. He couldn’t even rise to leave his grisly stone casket.

  “Eat the stored food and drink,” Macha offered. “I will go in search of more food for you.”

  With that, she flew to the ceiling of their chamber and removed a large stone that had been left unsealed for their escape. Then Macha grabbed a small spade and dug furiously as she flapped and flapped her wings. It wasn’t long until Macha had a small hole, large enough for her to squeeze through and poke out the top.

  Macha flew down to Dughall and handed him a jar of cured meat and a sealed jar of water. “Eat this and stay here, Dughall,” Macha said before she flew away.

  Dughall had no intention of staying put, but he hadn’t the strength to raise his body out of the coffin. Cursed Cian! Dughall thought. He had completed the spell but had neglected to care properly for Dughall’s body. Dughall had not bargained for being a cripple upon his return. He tried to scream out a curse in his rage, but it came out as a mere raspy strangled yell.

  In utter frustration and with nothing else to do, Dughall opened the jar and grabbed a handful of salty cured ox. It tasted like leather that had been covered in salt. Awful! Dughall chewed and chewed, swallowing it down with the stale water from the other jar.

  When Dughall’s jaw tired from chewing on the leathery meat, he lay back and envisioned his next steps. While in the Umbra Nihili Dughall was still connected to the ether – to the web of all existence. Even though he could interact with it in no way, he was still able to know what was happening in all of creation.

  Dughall knew well why his soul chose to come back together at this time and place. Modern humans were building a most magnificent machine. “They think they are so clever,” thought Dughall. “They haven’t even dreamed of what that machine of theirs can do! So lacking in imagination, these modern humans.”

  Dughall lay in his cold, hard home of the past thousand years, smiling a gruesome smile to himself. Soon, all that I have worked for will be mine. Soon, my most beloved, we will be reunited.

  41. The Face in the Bucket

  It was a whole night and day before Macha returned. In that time, Dughall had forced himself to eat all of the briny meat and putrid water. Macha was right too – his skin was starting to plump up again. Now he looked slightly less gruesome than he did but still not acceptable to walk among humans again.

  “Macha, my favorite gnat! What have you brought me to feast on?”

  Macha flew down through the small opening to Dughall, all the while levitating several dead rabbits tied together by their legs. Dughall thought he saw one of them still twitching.

  “The Devil take you pixie woman, I’m not eating half-dead hare!”

  “Raw meat has more energy in it,” Macha replied. “It will help you regain your strength faster. Blood is good for one like you.”

  “I’ve already tested my ancient gut as much as I care to, Macha, by swallowing that retched ox. You will cook those for me!”

  “If you wish, but it will prolong your stay in this crypt, my intolerant one,” Macha quipped.

  With that, she began her work. She used her small but extremely sharp knife to skin the hares and gut them, removing the entrails. With the wave of her hand, she produced a large copper pot and set it over a fire that she conjured with the clap of her hands. She made a horrific stew of the rabbits in the pot with melted snow from outside. She threw in parsnips and other roots she conjured into the pot in an attempt to please Dughall. The stewing rabbits produced an odor most foul. Dughall was certain that his ancient intestines would surely seize up and cause his demise in one bite of this putrid stew.

  Macha practically forced the fetid stew down Dughall’s throat. For two more days, Dughall endured her force-feeding him the blood, guts and meat from the poor hapless hares that happened to
have been in Macha’s path.

  Dughall also endured Macha rubbing the rank cream that Cian had created for him all over his body. Her small hands were more like cold claws than human hands. It felt like nails scratching him all over on his delicate mummy skin.

  But for all the torture that Dughall endured, the results were nothing short of miraculous. His hands looked more and more normal. The skin, less yellow and more white and luminous. He no longer looked like a skeleton but instead like an extremely thin older man. Dughall was finally ready to see what his face looked like.

  “Macha, fetch me a bucket of water so that I may look upon myself.”

  As Macha placed the bucket in front of him, Dughall braced himself for what he might see. He sucked in his breath and looked down into the smooth water of the bucket.

  The man he saw staring back shared little resemblance with the face of the man that he once knew himself to be. The man in the bucket had long, shaggy hair, not well-groomed short hair in the Norman style. This man had sallow cheeks with all the bones in the skull clearly visible under the thin, papery skin, not the firm but fleshy masculine face that he once knew. To Dughall, he looked like the lowliest old beggar.

  But at least he now looked human. He would need to set aside his vanity for now. Bide your time, Dughall, he thought to himself.

  “I am ready,” he said to Macha as much as to himself.

  With that, he put on the fresh linen clothing and furs that had been put in this icy tomb so many years before. Covered from head to toe in fur, he looked the part of an old nomad from the north.

  Macha levitated Dughall right out through the opening in the ceiling and into the wide-open snow covered north. Dughall squinted and covered his eyes. So much light! Slowly his eyes adjusted to the light of life again.

  Dughall wasted not a minute more. He knew he must make his way south. He trudged, Macha flittering beside him, for many days as he made his way to the ancient continent of his ancestors and of his former self. On to his destiny.