by Peter Green
Bubbles of exploding air burst to the surface, all the onlookers aware of the ticking time.
Scouring the seabed for the tell-tale white brilliance of the mother of pearl, Eiremhou struck lucky, prising the oyster from its rocky womb, pushed off the sea-bed, and glided up to the light.
Eimbear next, he pushed Amergin out of the way as he grabbed an oyster shell. The Machiavellian streak showing, he hoped his brother would return empty handed, the ordeal unresolved. Amergin was disturbed by his brothers actions. Where did that come from? No time to dwell, his lungs bursting, he could see the prize…
Eiremhou surfaced first, thrusting the shell to the skies. All those gathered on the ocean’s edge, roared in approval. Soon Eimbear burst triumphantly to the surface. All awaited Amergin…
Seconds passed, then a few more. Amergin with the prize, and he would be champion…
Seconds or was it minutes? The crowd moved restlessly. Was that a grimace or smile on Eimbear’s face?
Deep below, Amergin was entering a state of narcosis. Every sinew and corpuscle strained to tear the shell from its limpet grip. A vision flashed before him… long golden tresses and an amber cosmos enveloped him. “Amergin, I am waiting…”
The shell broke free, and he pushed off the sea bed. He seemed to be taken with the current, unseen forces guiding him and coaxing to the surface. He thrust upwards, the shell broke the surface, but he hardly had the strength to find the surface himself. Eiremhou sensed the danger and swam over, just as Amergin surfaced his face in contortion and agony. “I have the prize!” he screamed with a deep intake of oxygen.
He looked over to Eiremhou and smiled, “Thank you brother!” The onlooking crowd roared and cheered. Scota and Milidh held each other in a tight embrace. The royal entourage began chanting and dancing. The tribes of Milesia were exultant drumming there celebratory beat across the land.
Amergin swam to the shore with his prize, his brother Eiremhou swimming by his side. Amergin looked up to see Eimbear in the company of Gonne. That deep seated sense of unease came over him once more…
Milidh took Amergin’s hand and hauled him on to dry land. In one movement he stepped on to land and thrust the prize in to the air. The onlooking crowd erupted again, and as one started chanting his name “Amergin! Amergin! Amergin..!”
Scota grabbed him and kissed him on the cheek, “You were always destined for greatness Amergin.” She hugged and embraced him, “Milesia will follow you to the new world.”
Amergin presented the prize oyster to her, and she quickly and skilfully used her royal knife to open this majestic shell. She gasped! Before her was the rare, luminous, white brilliance of a pearl of Rodiles.
The legendary pearl giving the owner powers of clairvoyance. She in turn presented the pearl to Amergin. “You and only you will understand the powers of this pearl. Use it wisely in the journey to come. You are blessed with the purity of heart and spirit. Follow the path before you.”
Gonne, the high priest of the Chapter of Mystics, walked over to Amergin. Instinctively Amergin hid the pure white pearl. Gonne stretched out his hand to offer Amergin an engraved crystal amulet on a gold chain, as witness to the warrior prince becoming the honorary leader and head druid of the Chapter of Mystics.
Amergin looked down at the pearl. In the presence of Gonne, a strange transformation occurred. A dark swirling cloud of pigment appeared in the pure white brilliance…
The physical challenges of the ordeal completed and overcome. Now the champion must expose his soul and connect with the spirit world. The true champion of Milesia will endure, will be enriched, and granted otherworldly powers. Any weakness, any flaw, could mean the losing of your mind, the closing of the third eye, and the connection with the Great Spirit severed.
Gonne spoke to Amergin before he embarked on this final spiritual challenge, “The ancients have sent visions to the Chapter of Mystics of a powerful leader, imbued with the magical forces required for the fulfilment of the prophecy. You must have complete faith and belief in your abilities and your destiny Amergin. Should you falter, show any weakness, then you will be seen as an imposter. Then the route to the Promised Land will be closed forever. The prophecy ended.”
Amergin acknowledged the warnings, strange to have come from such a person as Gonne…
The procession of the Chapter of Mystics, led by Gonne, took Amergin deep into the ancient woods.
Amergin again found himself in this green mysterious landscape. Warped and twisted yew trees rooted in strangely sculpted limestone formations. Each outcrop covered in a deep carpet of all consuming moss. A winding path took them further and further into the dense, verdant woodland. Shafts of guiding sunlight showed the way, penetrating the canopy, taking them deeper and deeper, the sound of birdlife now quietening as they went into denser and denser ancient woods.
They finally arrived at the Pool of Cerces, a deep black body of fresh water, the surface of the water like a mirror reflecting the surrounding trees, trunks and branches. The mystics lined the edge of the pool.
Amergin stood on a limestone outcrop that gave him an aspect straight to the depths of this mysterious portal to the otherworld. Legend has it that such portals are connected in a web of earthly and divine dimensions.
The powers bestowed on the destined one by communing with the spirit world through the deep waters of the Pool of Cerces will enable the prophecy to be fulfilled.
Used incorrectly the Pool of Cerces will channel the dark forces through the veil. Milesia will be overwhelmed and inundated.
The ceremony began, orchestrated by Gonne. Amergin looked across the reflective expanse of the pool.
The mystics chanted ancient sacred verse. Each chorus drew his gaze deeper into the pool. He felt his very life force being drawn into the watery portal.
Amergin understood the nature of this challenge. He allowed his energy to be drawn deeper and deeper into the Pool of Cerces. The reflective surface represented the veil. Beyond this he would be communicating with the spirit world, gaining insight for the coming journey. He needed to feel synergy with the forces beyond the veil, and sense acceptance.
All he could sense was his his life force inexorably draining away, pouring into the vortex of the dark pool.
He remembered Scota’s words, “All is not what it seems.”He realised he was being tested, a test of his ability and suitability as a champion of the Milesians.
He knew he had to surrender to the spirit world, to commune.
He was disturbed again by a sense of malevolence. The echoing words, “Be careful on your journey!”, resounded in his consciousness.
Momentarily, he resisted and questioned the process, spiritually raising himself above the veil of the pool’s surface. Amergin became lucid, clarity swept over him like a cold torrent. Across the pool a shadowy figure seemed to orchestrate the sacred ceremony. Gonne was influencing the flow of energy, using his mystical powers to invite the dark forces from deep within the pool.
Amergin knew he had to resist, and counter Gonne’s influence.
He summoned all his inner strength and resilience, calling the Great Spirit for help.
He prayed for a peaceful intervention.
This time he drifted gently into the vortex, falling into an amber cosmos that seemed familiar to him. The spirits were guiding him, coaxing him, nurturing him and accepting him… the malevolence had gone. For now at least…
A searing white light and then hallucinogenic visions, thoughts, words and images filled his senses.
He was being shown the way…
The spirits were gracefully accepting his presence, sharing their powers, blessing him with magical gifts.
Amergin knew he was in the presence of the Divine, the Divine in nature.
Gradually, he rose to the mirrored surface of the black pool…
He felt golden tresses releasing him, and gentle finger tips caressing him as he broke through the veil…
“I am waiting for you Amergi
n. Be careful my love…”
CHAPTER THREE:
THE ALIGNMENT
These are poignant, mindfull times, a significant and symbolic era.
The mystics studied the darkening skies as the full moon rose over the Northern Ocean.
“Is this the time for the prophecy to be revealed?”
The ancients have foretold of this moment. The signs are in alignment. The warrior prince chosen… the champion elected… the druid Amergin anointed…
The nation is in a state of readiness, prepared for the great journey ahead. The challenges of the unknown await them...
The tribes of Milesia are gathered around the Tower of Galicia.
The royal family and the mystics are gathered and stare transfixed from atop the Tower of Galicia.
Will the astrologers and astronomers, the seers and the sages, be right in their predictions?
Will the secrets of the cosmos be unveiled?
Milidh turned to Scota, “Never has our nation been so close, never have the revelations of the prophecy been so tantalisingly near!”
Scota smiled knowingly at her king. His profile silhouetted against the diminishing, waning light. She sensed this was the time, her body charged with electric excitement and anticipation.
Amergin stood proudly next to Scota. Silently, patiently, they stood staring into distant space.
The full moon cast its golden glow, low over the horizon, a shimmering path of light on the ocean cascading its aura over the expectant masses. The moon climbed higher into the Northern aspect, gold turning to a starker silvery-white light.
There was a collective gasp! A black shadow bit into the moon. A quiet murmur of astonishment swept like a rushing wave over the awe struck crowd. A steady crescendo of noise built and the tempo increased. The eclipsing shadow crept across the face of the moon. Amergin felt his pulse racing. The long awaited alignment. The signs of the prophecy were upon them.
He felt his mother’s hand grip his. Neither could take their eyes off this magical, natural spectacle.
He heard his father yell in approval and encouragement, urging the eclipse on and on…
Eiremhou and Eimbear simultaneously turned to each other. They studied the reaction of their younger brother. They saw Amergin reaching out to try to touch the moon and the eclipse.
He was visibly strengthened and empowered by the alignment, the energy of the moment and of the cosmos surged through his very being. Amergin’s countenance and posture were uplifted, elevated and energised by the eclipse.
This was his moment, and his nations…
In the diminishing light of the ever waning moon they witnessed a strange phenomenon from the northern horizon. An aurora borealis warping, pouring, merging spectral colours, strange wrapping, permeating light fell over the awaiting throng. Gonne and his Chapter of Mystics recognised the aura of the Sidhe, and fell to their knees in unison. They collectively meditated as though communing with an all embracing power. They were all aware of the fine balance, the delicate equilibrium, the shifting veil.
There was a need for harmony, the need for real communication with the other world. The Mystics knew these forces had to be placated and humoured, or else they will never be contained.
At the time of full eclipse, at full dark, at full shadow, it was said the veil was at its thinnest and vulnerable to penetration and malevolent intrusion.
Amergin now became the conduit. He stood strong. Powers were shifting through the veil in both directions. He became the fulcrum. He was the portal. If the powers of the Sidhe felt weakness, and the wrong choice of champion, then the tribes of Milesia could be overwhelmed.
As totality fell, Amergin sensed his powers were being tested to the limit. He felt the forces of the dark and light whirling in the vortex of the eclipse. He sensed a malign influence was trying to deflect and defy his efforts. The dark at its fullness, he prayed to the Great Spirit for assistance.
Gonne fell to his knees, visibly weakened and drained. Amergin knew the first encounter of the legendary journey had begun. Gonne was to be a powerful adversary in the mortal realm.
The austere and stark white-silver light of the waxing moon now felt comforting. The strange light of the aurora had receded. The sense of enlightened spirituality restored, Amergin called his loyal followers together. The Chapter of Mystics, the tribal elders, his royal siblings all gathered on the edge of the Pool of Cerces. Plans for the great journey were made. The gathering prepared themselves… they were the children of the prophecy, much depended on them…
Amergin walked alone through the woods, on his way to the Temple of Japhet. He drew inspiration from nature. He had the ability to commune with the Divine in nature, and to tap into the reality of the world around him. The trees were in their full verdant glory, lush green, resplendent in the summer light. The morning and night time mists pouring in from the ocean, cooled and condensed, watering the ancient woodlands. the twisted and magical forms of sacred yew trees. The sky-touching evergreen forms of the centuries old pines. A deciduous wonderland colonised in copses by opportunistic conifers. The roaring, rustling leaf canopy, the gentle swaying and swishing of the rushes, tinkling streams flowed fresh and clear into the ever-stretching lakes and pools, interspersed with the distant thunderous booming of the Northern Ocean.Nature’s choir, a symphony on earth, clearing his mind, cleansing his body. Amergin needed true clarity. As a true diviner he would seek out the portals to the spirit world. His mind, body and soul felt in tune. As he walked he sensed a deeper knowledge, a spiritual wisdom. He began to sense the way forward.
He arrived at the Temple of Japhet and spent long hours into the night, praying and meditating.
Once more he felt he was being irresistibly drawn by a beautiful enlightened being, drawn beyond the veil, drawn across the Northern Ocean…
The following morning he scaled the heights of the Tower of Galicia and scanned the horizon.
Amergin prayed to the Great Spirit, and gave thanks, “I know the way! I am ready!”
Scota arrived at the tower. She too knew her son was ready. She and her husband would follow Amergin on his destined journey. She summoned her messengers, “Go tell the fleet to make ready. We sail tomorrow!”
Amergin and Scota sat in quiet contemplation. She had full confidence in the wisdom and resourcefulness of her son, but the unknown dangers worried her.
There was a clamour of activity at the Port of Jaisur. There seemed to be an innate sense of what to do, of what to prepare. The waiting over, all went about their duties in earnest, without questioning.
Amergin was heartened by his peoples unity, he had delegated well. The tribal elders took charge of the provisions. His royal siblings marshalled the manpower, ensuring the best crew and captain for each vessel in the assembled flotilla. Each crew member was provided with clothing suitable for the vagaries of ocean sailing. Waterproof layers, clothing for the warm latitudes, as well as for the cooling weather of the Northern Ocean.
Every man a mariner to the core and all highly trained in battle skills. An awesome fighting force was being assembled. Weaponry of all types, iron and bronze spears and swords, finely tuned cross-bows, plated armour. Each vessel was geared up with boarding and siege machinery.
Milidh gathered all the captains and the officer class for a final strategic, motivational talk. He wanted his leaders to be under no illusion as to the immensity of this challenge and the dangers confronting them.
Scota gathered the all female Xantha, a fiercesome, highly trained group of warriors with a legendary reputation. Scota is their spiritual as well as military leader. With finely tuned and honed fighting skills, each of the Xantha has been personally groomed by Scota in the magical arts. Their skills of premonition will be the key to sensing and pre-empting any infiltration. Scota knows that the Sidhe are steeped in the black arts. She is only too aware Amergin will need all the support he can muster when confronting them.
Amergin climbed the Tower of Galicia for
the last time. He had just left the gathering of the Chapter of Mystics. They blessed the fleet for the forthcoming sojourn. Still he felt the unease. He needed to find clarity. He had to have the Chapter of Mystics on his side to succeed in his mission. He knew the high priest Gonne had already been infiltrated.
He climbed higher up the tower, and as he arrived at the top and surveyed the far distant northern horizon… Was that mist? In a deep rich amber haze, he saw, or was he imagining he saw, a slowly, serenely, beckoning form of a hand. And from the ether, a sensual voice, “Come Amergin, come…”
Amergin stoked the fiery beacon atop the Tower of Galicia for the last time. The flame would endure until sunrise the following morning. At that time the fleet would embark on its perilous journey.
The Milesian tribes would leave the Galician shores potentially for the last time.
Amergin returned to the flagship of the flotilla. In his well equipped master’s chamber, he summoned his officers. Each captain on each vessel did the same. Navigators were briefed, and all the officers reminded of their duty.
On the sound of a mighty resonating conch, Amergin, his fellow captains, the crews, and all the tribes of Milesia turned to the still blazing beacon on the Tower of Galicia. Milidh, Scota and the Chapter of Mystics knelt in homage to the Great Spirit as they chanted their prayers. All of Milesia fell to their knees as one, “O Great Spirit we beseech thee, grant us the strength to endure, to find the true way, and fulfill the prophecy…”
Later that night, Amergin slept fitfully. The journey, the perils of the ocean, the shifting veil of the spirit world, flashing visions of beauty, Sceine wrapped in swirling amber mists, the promised lands of the prophecy, and there in the darker shadows of his dreams, an apparition of Gonne. Always the dream ends in the swirling rich amber vortex. He is drawn deeper and deeper…
The deep resonating sound of the conch, blown by one of the mystics signifies dawn. Amergin jolts upright, “This is the day of the dawning of the prophecy!” he internalised. With a deep sense of an adventure just beginning, he surfaced on deck, and with poignancy and synchronicity, the breaking morning sunlight washed over the Tower of Galicia. Within minutes the beacon was extinguished, the fuel gone, the adventure had begun. The sojourn, the great journey was upon them…
