by Peter Green
THE TALES OF AMERGIN
SEA DRUID
“THE JOURNEY BEYOND THE VEIL”
By
Peter Green
First Published by Mirador Publishing at Smashwords
Copyright 2014 by Peter Green
Smashwords Edition, License Notes
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First edition: 2014
Any reference to real names and places are purely fictional and are constructs of the author. Any offence the references produce is unintentional and in no way reflect the reality of any locations involved.
A copy of this work is available though the British Library.
IBSN : 978-1-910104-91-0
CHAPTER ONE:
THE TOWER OF GALICIA
Amergin’s life will be spent in the search for the truth. He is the embodiment of the prophecy.
From the Tower of Galicia, as a young Milesian prince, one of the eight sons of Milidh, Amergin surveys the limitless expanse of the Northern Ocean.
The great journey prophesied by the tribal elders is about to begin. Steeped in mythological tales passed down from generation to generation, the Milesians have swept through Europe on a crusading quest.
Great Mediterranean civilisations have succumbed to the military might and magical forces controlled by the tribes and horsemen of Milesia.
Amergin embodies the vision and the restlessness of his people. The ancient tales, the collective belief that the warrior prince, druid, poet and champion of their nation will launch into the greatest adventure from the Northern shores of Galicia.
The elders and the mystics of the tribe have seen their visions become reality. The ancient tales of a tower built on the edge of an endless ocean, and from that tower a dream like vision of a distant place that is at the very heart of their consciousness, at the very core of their being, the root of their quest, fundamental to their reality, the source of all truth…
Imbued, instilled and impassioned by the quest for the truth, the young prince Amergin searched for signs on the northern horizon that will foretell the moment when the tribes of Milesia will embark on the next and the greatest phase of the legendary and historic journey.
*
The three eldest sons of Milidh, the King of Milesia, gathered at the foot of the great Tower of Galicia for an ordeal of strength and endurance. These three princes had been selected by the Chapter of Mystics.
The ones blessed with the powers and wisdom to confront the physical, spiritual and magical challenges ahead.
When the moment arrives, the champion of the ordeal will lead the Milesian tribes over the Northern Ocean to the Promised Land.
The three chosen sons, Eiremhou, Eimbear and Amergin, waited in anxious anticipation as the King of the Milesians arrived in regal procession. The shadow of the great tower lengthened as the sun set over the shimmering Northern Ocean.
Two of the prophesied signs were due. The summer solstice, when the sun reaches its northern zenith on the ocean horizon, and the shadow of the great tower reaches the Temple of Japhet, the place for the start of the ordeal for the chosen Princes of Milesia.
The second of the signs as foretold by the astronomers and astrologers from the ancient land of Scythia - a lunar eclipse as the full moon rises over the horizon of the Northern Ocean. The conjunction of full moon and total eclipse will give the coordinates for the great sojourn to the new land, the land of their dreams, mythology and ancient prophecy.
The third sign was in the hands and the destinies of the young princes. It was foretold in legend that the sons of the great King from Phoenicia, descended from Magog, the son of Japhet, the son of Noah, and the Queen, the daughter of the Pharoah, would pit their wits and their bodies in an ordeal of endurance and strength. The winner shall be declared on the day after the solstice. With the signs fulfilled and the declaration of a champion, the tribes of Milesia shall be in readiness for the greatest journey and the most challenging adventure to begin.
*
Scota, the Queen of the Milesians, surveyed the thronging masses gathered around the great Tower of Galicia and the Temple of Japhet. All eyes were on her as she walked in the company of Milidh, the glowing radiance of the solstice sunset gently confirming the belief in their hearts and the knowledge of their eyes, that before them was a dark skinned daughter of the great Pharoah Sona, a royal beauty beyond compare.
Milidh smiled knowingly at Scota, aware that his people adored and loved her, and would as soon follow her to the edge of the undiscovered world and uncharted realms, as they would him.
As the fiery globe of the solstice sun rested on the dark indigo horizon of the Northern Ocean, Scota gave the signal to her sons to ready themselves. When the last rays are extinguished the ordeal will begin. All of their youthful lives had been spent physically, mentally and spiritually preparing themselves for this moment.
As the vestiges of the light shimmered and danced and the crimson pink of the sunset slowly turned to the dark blue-black of the night, Scota raised her golden mace to the skies. The crowd roared in approval as the beacon on the great Tower fired to life. The princes knelt in homage before their king and queen, awaiting a royal blessing before beginning the greatest challenge of their young princely lives.
The ordeal before them could challenge them to the core of their being and threaten their very lives, but will ultimately bestow on the champion the honour of leading Milesia to the new world. The champion will have the wisdom and power of the ancients. He will be able to contact the spirit world, reveal the secrets of the cosmos and have a true sense of their destiny.
In Scota’s words “The champion will embody the truth, even if he cannot know it.”
*
Eiremhou, Eimbear and Amergin are royal siblings with all the traits, quirks and human conditions of any brothers.
Eiremhou, being the eldest had the innate and undeniable belief that he is the chosen one, the destined one.
Eimbear has a sense of the successor, but with limited patience, and a touch of the Machiavellian, an ingrained knowledge that he will have to manipulate his world, if ever he is to succeed.
Amergin, the youngest prince, has the heart of a lion, and a streak of wrecklessness. No expectation to rule, but the self belief and confidence in his own abilities. The mantle of potential ruler and champion will rest comfortably on his head.
Eiremhou was raised in the expectation of being king, and grew up as a pure bred aristocrat, groomed and trained in the manners of royalty, becoming the epitomy of royal stock with all the associated airs and graces.
Eimbear surrounded his life with beautiful stories and cultivated beliefs. He had nothing to lose and therefore nothing to fear.
Amergin valued the beautiful things in life, embodied the wrecklessness of the artist, the restlessness of the warrior, and the philosophy of the poet.
This comfortable truth was seismically shaken by the announcement by Gonne, the supreme mystic to the court of Milidh that the cosmic alignment was such that Milesia had to find a great champion. The time had arrived for the ancient prophecy to be fulfilled.
Surel
y Eiremhou would be that champion, as the eldest prince? Not so, states Gonne and his Chapter of Mystics, cosmic revelations, and magical interventions have unveiled new truths. The prophesied signs are in alignment. The great ordeal would choose the champion, warrior prince and druid to lead the Milesians over the Northern Ocean…
And so it is written… and is in the stars… and the eclipse…
*
The first great challenge of the Milesian Ordeal is to harvest the fruits of the ocean, a race to gather sacred Goose Barnacles from the exposed reefs of Galicia, timing the entrance and exit between giant set waves heaving in from Biscay. Next to ascend the Stack of Ormond to collect the precious and rare egg of the Storm Petrel, then to dive to lung bursting depths to prise oysters from the deep trench of Rodiles. These are to be presented to Queen Scota on a silver platter, with an oath of allegiance and a declaration to the tribes of Milesia of their loyalty, and a promise to lead with honesty, bravery, fortitude and integrity.
The first test is seen purely as a physical challenge, to measure fitness, stamina, endurance and a willingness to push their bodies to the limits of their conditioning, all for the greater cause and the fulfilment of the prophecy.
All of Milesia knows the real tests are of the mind, their spirituality, their connection with the spirit world, and the wisdom and knowledge gleaned from the Chapter of Mystics. All of Milesia sees the champion as the one who can muster, and can corale the powers of the ancients. Collectively they sense the gathering magical forces over the distant Northern horizon, and the mystics have forewarned that these forces can be turned to good or evil. The correct choice of champion will enable the forces to be channeled to the benefit of Milesia. A wrong choice, a wrong decision, will ultimately determine the future of an entire race. The right choice, the right decision will take the nation to a heavenly paradise, harnessing the powers of the spirit underworld for good. The path is fraught, each turn, each move, can undo that gone before. A sensitive delicate balance, an equilibrium resting on choices made. The veil between the mortal and spirit-world can be shifted by indecision, inappropriate choices and human frailties.
*
The raging fire of the beacon on the Tower of Galicia lit up the dark, replacing the golden orange orb of the setting solstice sun.
The ordeal would run until the day of the lunar eclipse, forecast by the mystics, astronomers and astrologers.
The fiery beacon will be fuelled constantly by the Chapter of Mystics, overseen by Gonne. Should the flame be permitted to falter or be doused, then legend has it, the magical powers of the Sidhe will arrive on the shores of Galicia and the route to the Promised Land closed forever.
Gonne and the Chapter of Mystics sense that the magical powers of the Sidhe are increasing as the beacon burns. The beacon seems to be drawing energy from across the Northern Ocean, warning the Sidhe of the prophesied coming of the Milesians.
Further visions forewarn of the dangers of selecting the wrong champion. This will be the signal to the Sidhe that the Milesians are weak and the royal princes will be taken hostage and converted to the ways of the Sidhe.
Selecting the wrong champion is a death sentence to Milesia. Instead of a powerful leader taking their tribes to the promised world, the Sidhe will be channeled back to the Tower of Galicia and the lands of Milesia will be overwhelmed.
Either way a great battle is foreseen between the magical, otherworldly Sidhe and the invading wave of Milesians.
The only hope for the Milesian tribes is for the ordeal to select the destined leader and champion… The ordeal begins…
*
Each of the three stood transfixed at the edge of a powerful, surging, awe inspiring ocean. The rhythmic pounding of giant waves on sharp limestone rocks, resonated through their tense and braced bodies.
They have seen local fishermen risk their lives gathering the famed and precious Goose Barnacles that are literally worth their weight in gold. Only the extreme tides such as those at the time of the solstice will expose the harvesting reefs. Only when the oceanic swell is of such a wavelength, after traversing thousands of miles, does the fisherman have the time to reach the barnacle encrusted base of the razor sharp reef. Before the drawing waves regather, tower skyward and consume the exposed reef, and the vulnerable gatherer, if the wrong choices are made. Timing is all.
Each would go in turn, watching with baited breath as a brother would descend and make a death dash seaward. None were successful on the first attempt, each learning and refining their technique, watching the others and adopting their own strategy.
The gathered crowd, stood staring, on-watchers, with no influence on the outcome. En mass they took in breath as each of the royal princes timed the run for the exposed treacherous reef, only to exhale as the safety of the high tide mark, now warmly bathed in the early morning sun, was reached.
In the distance were the celebrating drummings of the solstice exuberances. All of Milesia were aware this was the dawning of the prophecy. Celebrations were slowly turning to the anxious reality that royal blood could be spilt this fateful morning. Life could be lost in the cresting of a wave. The destined warrior prince, champion and druid could be gone, consumed by the ocean. The prophecy could end, here and now…
Scota and Milidh watched on with resigned contemplation. This was a time for faith, a belief in the natural and trained powers of their offspring. They too were powerless. The forces of nature cannot be controlled, only harnessed, fleetingly and momentarily. Each meeting with natural energy has to be embraced, understood and absorbed, in readiness for the next encounter, and the next and so this will continue…
The parallels were not lost on Scota and Milidh. The first of the trials, although worldly and physical in nature, tested the future champion in ways similar to the forthcoming encounters with the magical otherworld forces of the Sidhe, encounters beyond the veil.
Each encounter will change, each encounter is life threatening and could fatally end the prophecy.
Eiremhou, the eldest, took up the gauntlet first, emboldened by his sense of destiny as the chosen one.
Timing his move, as the turquoise-emerald waters drained from the coral-like heads of the carved and sculpted limestone reef. White spume sucked and receded towards the low tide mark of the extreme solstice time. These strange shell creatures with goose neck-like stems live at the turbulent margins of the ocean, only found where cold water upwellings meet wave beaten zones, highly oxygenated and rich in plankton. They wave in synchronised dances in the pouring, surging surf.
Like a gaggle of geese moving in unison, the beak-like shells now glinting in the summer dawn, beckoning the unwitting harvester. This is the death zone. Drawing waters gather remorselessly, the tidal surge and readying giant set waves, as if a living entity, boil, fall and rise to the heavens. The moment is here. Eiremhou has split seconds to react and grasp the waving necks, stretching, reaching out, the prize in his grasp. Finger tips touching, his heel wedges into a razor sharp protuberance, slicing to the bone like a fisherman’s knife. He flinches momentarily, the prize is lost. The white spume, now streaked with crimson, starts to fill the crevices of limestone. Eiremhou has a second to react, pushing off the reef. He takes off, like a false-starting sprinter. The all consuming surf projects upwards and outwards in a warping cavernous void. Eiremhou sucks in rarefied oxygen and throws himself towards a high tide crevice and wedges his bruised and beaten body tight into the reef.
Tons of water crash around him. The onlookers fear for his survival, inhaling deeply in empathy with Eiremhou. The explosive impact of ocean on sharp immovable reef sends shuddering sounds to the core of Scota and Milidh. Before they can react, in shock and disbelief, the wave dissipates and Eiremhou miraculously appears and lunges towards safety, just as the next gathering watery monster irresistibly crashes to land.
Eimbear breathed deep, taking volumes of heady ozone, seeing his brother fail, but fail bravely.
Naturally, as the next in line h
e felt this could be his time. He knew this was the first of many trials, and was aware that the natural order had been changed by the revelations of the mystics. The prophecy required a great champion to be selected by the ordeal.
Opportunity tinged with fear flashed through his psyche as he moved down to the ocean. His mind was consumed by the realisation that Eiremhou’s failure enhanced his chances, and already he strategised a way to capitalise on his brother’s failure.
To enter this gladiatorial scenario where man is tested against natures’ forces requires total focus.
Before Eimbear knew it he was perched on the edge of the death zone. Flashing visions of Eiremhou’s chances being dashed confused and distorted the clear thinking required by a champion. The first thunderous wall of white water swept Eimbear’s feet from under him. As he fell, the axe-like lip of the next crashing wave drove him into the river of spume that flooded seaward from the refuge of land.
Volumes of heady ozone had long been used up as he was drawn, pitched and submerged in the seabound rip current. Half concussed by the driven lip of dense cold water, now his life flashed before him. Like a rag doll, he floated in the riverine rip, only to be drawn back to the zone where the ocean boiled, fell and rose as giant sets marched in from the horizon.
There was a collective exhalation by the tribes of Milesia as the young prince Amergin swam to the aid of his brother. Focused and fearless, he used the rip to get to his hapless brother. One more watery monster would be the end for him. As the behemoth of the ocean arrived, Amergin dove deep pulling the now near lifeless form of his brother with him. A real sense of oneness with the ocean, he knew they must get to the shallower water and avoid being drawn back into the breaking zone. The wave rolled and pitched forward, and deep under water he went with the liquid momentum. The surging white water rolled onwards. He held tightly on, embracing his brother, rolling again, surfacing to gain some ozone.
