Do I still have a body? What am I?
I can say I looked, but it wasn’t like I had eyes in that place. It was more of a knowing – a sight without eyes. As I ‘looked’ at myself, the being that I am, I saw that I too was one of those small, pulsating stars. And all around me, in every direction that I could fathom, was the fine mist of throbbing netting, touching me and surrounding me all at once.
If I'd had a mouth, it would have been beaming in the biggest smile it could make. If I'd had eyes, they would have cried from the rapture of unbridled joy. There is no feeling that I have felt in my human body that can compare to the pure bliss that I felt in that moment of being connected to all these twinkling stars by that lovely pulsating web.
I concentrated on the low, melodic hum. I found that I could pick out individual notes, like the strings of a cosmic instrument had been plucked. Here, one is lower. Over there, it is higher. Some were so clear and beautiful. There were a few though that sounded a little off key. But mainly it was the most beautiful music I’d ever heard.
And yet to call it music isn’t quite right because in that place – if you can call it a place – I didn’t have ears to hear with. I just knew that there were different notes all playing together.
What about my note? Can I tune into my own frequency?
I again put all of my concentration on these questions. Within seconds, I began to hear a separate distinct hum. It was stronger than the others to me. It was clear and not particularly high but not low either. It was my own vibrating string, unique and individual amongst all the others, yet resonating with them as well.
It was so beautiful. I didn’t want to leave. In that place and time, I could see everything so clearly. I knew my own unique note. And I could see how I fit into it all.
In that instant, I knew. I knew who I am. I knew what I am. I am not a human. I am not a girl. I am not Emily or a daughter or a niece or a friend. In that instant of pure joy, I knew the true nature of myself.
“I know who I am,” I said (or was it a thought, I can’t be sure).
In an instant, there was a powerful whooshing feeling like I was being sucked up by a large cosmic vacuum and then spit out on that beanbag chair.
I felt like the wind had been knocked out of me and took a large gulp of air. I blinked open my eyes, and there I was, back in the clearing of the deep, dark wood. Only this time, there was a golden path. It was my yellow brick road. It lay before me, lit by bright sunlight.
Just a few minutes earlier – or was it days? – I’d wanted nothing more than to forever exit that gloomy forest. After being one with Akasha, I wanted nothing more than to go back to that place of pulsating webs and stars and beautiful, resonant humming. It was my true home and I wanted to return.
But I could see Madame Wong at the end of the path, her mere presence beckoning me. It all came flooding back, Fanny and Jake and Dughall and somewhere, my dad. All of them needed me. The pulsating web would have to wait.
I rose and walked calmly and serenely down the golden path to the waiting Madame Wong. How did she know that I was ready to come out? How did she know that I realize the truth?
“You ask that question? Why, when you already know answer. Annoying habit of yours asking questions to which you know the answer. Are you ready to answer your teacher’s question now? Who are you?”
“Annoying habit of yours,” I said, “asking questions to which you know the answer.”
Madame Wong smiled a bemused smile, one of the few smiles I’d seen on her face. I knew though not to push it. It was important for me to answer this question aloud for my own ears to hear.
“I am Akasha,” I said.
Madame Wong bowed her head gently. I followed her out of the darkest woods.
PART THREE
The Rise of Dughall
“The best way out is always through.”
-Robert Frost
38. UMBRA NIHILI
“… to arise and live once more, flesh reunited with spirit, to walk again as a man, back from the Umbra Nihili, arise when all has been aligned to achieve your deepest desire.”
These were the last words Dughall heard spoken before his thousand-year sleep. Cian uttered them as he completed his dark and forbidden magick at the end of Dughall’s life.
Dughall and his army had wandered across Ireland and the whole of Europe searching for the chalice. Over time, the legend grew. Many came to believe that the chalice was the Holy Grail, the cup used by Christ at the last supper. But Dughall knew better. He knew the real power of the chalice. He didn’t care if they had it wrong. The fools. All the better for him.
Little by little his army dwindled as his men tired of chasing a dream. They returned to their homes and families. Dughall had no family, only the quest.
For many years he wandered, searched and fought battles. Eventually he grew old and knew his time to part this earth was near. But such was his desire for power and to achieve his lifelong goal that he was not content to go quietly into history.
Dughall knew that Cian still had dark magick up his sleeve. As his last breaths drew near, he summoned the old wizard to his bedside to inquire of a particular ritual that he knew could help him achieve his deepest desire. Macha, ever faithful, brought Cian to his side.
“Cian, old friend,” Dughall croaked. “I call upon you once again, as I did in the Grove those many years ago, to help me now with your dark arts.”
Cian winced at the word friend. He couldn’t explain why he had allowed himself to remain with Dughall all these years, but it surely wasn’t friendship.
“I have no charms or elixirs that will prevent your death, Dughall. You are a mortal, like all of us, and it appears that you will soon draw your last breath.”
The façade of charm was gone from Dughall’s voice as he tried to raise himself up to confront Cian. “I know that, you old fool,” he growled.
Macha flew to Dughall’s side and urged him to lie himself down once again. “What Dughall means to say,” interjected Macha, “is that he hopes that you have dark arts to help him direct his soul to that place that he longs to be.”
“To Heaven?” Cian was incredulous. “Oh, malevolent one, there is no magick in this world or the next powerful enough to send your immortal soul to anyplace heavenly,” laughed Cian.
“I’m not interested in Heaven or Hell,” snarled Dughall. “Don’t toy with me Cian. You know that I’m talking about the Umbra Nihili.”
Cian grew quiet. The mere mention of the name brought chills to his spine.
“You do not want to go there,” Cian replied.
“I do. I know that you know how to make it happen, Cian, so don’t try to hold back on me. Your skill and knowledge of the dark arts is unmatched old wizard.”
“Dughall, as much as I dislike you, and I truly do detest you to my core, I would not send my worst enemy to the Umbra Nihili. You do not fully understand what you ask.”
“I understand that it is the only way,” Dughall choked out. With desperation in his eyes and his voice, he pled with Cian.
“I am not done here,” he said. “You know that I am not finished. It is all that I have dreamed of. All that I have hoped for. And I can feel that it is close. Closer now than ever before. I will achieve my dream, Cian, even if I have to sever my soul and wait a hundred years in the Umbra Nihili, it is a small price to pay.”
Cian had never seen such desperation in Dughall’s eyes. There was something more there, more than just a quest for power. The man was on a mission for something even deeper.
“You do not know what you ask,” said Cian gently. “If you do this, you have no control you see. Your fate will be up to the gods, not your or I. And I do not know when, or even if, you will be able to come back. According to oral accounts, your soul will be reunited, and you will be thrust back into creation when all has been aligned for you to achieve your deepest desire. But that may never happen, you see. If you do this, you may have a fractured soul for all eternity, stuck in a place of
nothing.”
“I do not believe that will happen, Cian. I know that my quest will be achieved. I just know it. I need your help though, old man. You must perform the ritual so I can go to the Umbra Nihili.”
Cian continued to plead with Dughall. “But you do not realize what you ask. It is not as if your soul will travel to heaven or even hell where you will be with other souls. You will be in the ‘Shadow of Nothingness’, in a place of no place. And you will be there entirely alone.”
“That suits me well 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. You will be a disembodied mind, alone with only your thoughts to torture you, perhaps, for an eternity.”
“You may be tortured by your own thoughts, Cian, but I am not tortured by mine. My only agony is the endless prattling of others. My mind is set. I know what I am doing. Now will you help me willingly? Or will I have to use my last breath to coax this favor from you?” Dughall grabbed for the dagger he had stashed under his pillow.
“You are in no condition to test your strength against mine anymore. Put that thing away before you hurt yourself. I will do this for you, against my better judgment. It is 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 imagine your time draws near. Rest and I will return to perform the ritual tonight.”
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.
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 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, 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. Cian swirled the smoke above his head as he walked and muttered incantations.
Once he had purified the air of the cottage, Cian pulled fine linen cloth out of his bag 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. 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 did not 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 would honor the request of his longtime companion.
“Macha,” he said, “the time has come. Wake your master and have him drink this tonic. Make certain that he drinks it to the last drop.”
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. 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 warmth coursing through his veins. His body felt as though every fiber tingled. There was certain aliveness in him that he had not felt in years.
“Cian, this tonic is healing me. Now I am not ready to die, old man. Perhaps this ritual may wait another day.” Dughall’s voice carried with a strength it had not 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.”
Cian pulled another bundle of dried herbs from his pack and lit the bundle. As the smoke rose from the herbs, Cian walked in a widdershins circle and muttered another incantation. The herbs smelled bitter and made Macha wrinkle her nose in distaste.
“Must you fill the air with that foul stench?” asked Macha.
“The odor matches the work that I do,” he said.
After Cian’s bundle had burned to ashes, he worked quickly and mixed another potion for Dughall to drink before his last breath. “You will drink this right before you take your last breath.” He handed the cup to Dughall. The liquid was thick and viscous. Dughall wrinkled up his nose as he smelled the vile concoction.
“Now this is most important,” Cian instructed. “As you feel yourself fade, 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. You must 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 is it?” Dughall asked.
“Yes, that is it. But you must say it with conviction. And it helps if you picture in your mind your deepest desire. Picture in your mind that end that you seek as you say the words.”
“Cian, what will happen to my body?”
“After you have stopped breathing, Macha and I will anoint your body, wrap it in medicated linens, and enshrine it in a stone box. 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 of the year. There we will bury it deep in the earth.”
“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, the 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, is it not,” said Cian. “I will be long dead by then and unable to help you.”
A sil
ence surrounded them, broken by Macha’s tinny pixie voice.
“I can help him.”
“How? Even though faeries are nearly eternal beings, you will not be able to know when your master has arisen.”
“I will if I am buried with him,” she replied.
The 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 the cold, my body too will go to sleep. I can put a spell on myself to awake at the first stirrings of his body. I will be weak, but with my magick, 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.” Dughall reached out his hand and lightly touched Macha’s cheek. Her wings blushed pink and crimson at his touch.
“If you choose to spend an eternity frozen with this vile man, that is your choice,” said Cian. “All is prepared.”
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 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 swallowed the draught that Cian had made. As he felt the last of his breath go from his body, he repeated the incantation in his own mind. He pictured attaining all that he desired and fulfilling a promise made to himself, and to the dead body of his most beloved, all those years ago.
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