by Peter Green
The frustration of no movement, not a breath in the rigging, no point of reference, imagined or real, soon turned into despair. The ancient mariner’s tales circulated around the crew, tales of doldrum madness, strange imaginings, creatures of the mind and deep-ocean taking over reality.
Amergin went below deck to converse with the representative of the Chapter of Mystics, Gyon. He requested that Terese of the Xantha join them. They all agreed that this mysteriously eery phenomenon was not entirely natural. They must be on their guard. Malevolent forces could intrude into weakened minds. Confusion, havoc and irrational thoughts and actions are their enemy now…
Amergin trusted Gyon, but he needed Terese to reassure him that he was getting pure, honest advice.
Gonne however, the high priest of the Chapter of Mystics, he did not trust. Amergin knew there was evil at work there. Amergin asked Terese to watch him, to use her telepathic skills to keep guard over him, to forewarn him of any malevolence at work…
Deep in the gunnels of Milidh’s vessel, the head priest of the Chapter of Mystics, Gonne, sat in deep meditation, chanting ancient verse. He was surely descending into the deepest of trances, and was calling on the spirit world, calling on the dark Sidhe to come forth.
Throwing runes into the pentogram etched into the decking of the vessel, a dark indigo colouration, and shapes formed above. Gonne collapsed in a shamanic trance, losing consciousness, his job done.
The dark Sidhe was summoned. They were emerging through the veil…
Scota stood on the prow of their vessel, next to Milidh. Suddenly her senses were jolted.
Danger was coming! Milidh her royal soulmate saw her demeanour change, her pallor whitening. He gripped her hand, and knowingly told all the watchmen to be ready, to be alert.The forlorn sounds of the conch still resonating. No sign yet of the brewing danger.
Drifting ever onwards. Still no break in the dense fog bank, still no breath of wind in the sails, still no ocean sounds. Just the mournful resounding conch…
Terese went to Amergin, she too was aware of the threat, she felt Gonne’s evil intent. She warned Amergin of the imminent threat… Amergin went to Xomas at the tiller. He took charge and once more braced himself.
Unbeknownst to the captains of each vessel in the Milesian fleet, an ocean drift began to steadily separate the vessels. Imperceptibly the resonating sounds of the conches changed as the distance between the vessels grew. The vessels at the tail of the fleet were being drawn to the East.
A watchman cried out unto the fog. Was that a light yonder?! An occasional flickering, then a flash and then in the distance the sound of booming surf!
There was no warning! They had no control, the strengthening drift, a current from nowhere!
The vessels at the tail of the fleet were caught, trapped, being drawn to their doom.
The captains of three vessels sensed the danger. They panicked! They turned towards the flashing light. Surely a warning sign, the light again! In unison they turned their tillers.
They turned their vessels looking for an escape, but in reality they turned directly on to the reef. Wreckers! Timbers creaked, cracked and snapped. A deception, they rolled, they were immersed, and were sunk. Desperate cries of drowning crew, sounding ship bells, and the conch resonating, and now smothered in a roar and boom of crashing surf. Three ships sent to their doom by wreckers of the dark Sidhe, lost without trace!
The rest of the fleet could only hold their course, relying on the sounding conches resonating in the eeriness of the fog bank.
Tears of despair ran down Scota’s face. She did not know who had perished, maybe one of her own sons? How many lives had been taken? She understood that this was no natural threat. Experienced mariners had been tricked, deceived, and sentenced to death by the Sidhe, and they were helpless. She fell to her knees and prayed for salvation, prayed for a break in this foul denseness, prayed for a breeze to cleanse the ocean and this demonic fog bank.
Scota ordered the watchmen to keep chiming the ship’s bell, and sounding the conch, warning the others that there was still danger while the fog lingered.
Each ship had its own distinctive bell, its own distinctive sounding conch. Amergin recognised the cadence and resonance of Scota and Milidh’s vessel. He too knew that the danger continued while the malevolent mist persisted. No one knew which of the vessels perished on a reef they hadn’t even seen.
He cried out into the denseness, “Help us Great Spirit. Bring us clear of this malevolence.”He too fell to his knees and prayed. All of his crew followed suit. Xomas, Terese, the watchmen, Gyon, the whole crew fell to their knees. They all wanted freedom and to be released from this peril.
“I hear you Amergin…”, and into the mist came a rich amber hue, moving mysteriously, wrapping around their senses. Amergin looked upwards, the mist swirled gently at first, then with a steady rhythmic beating, started to clear. Was that doldrum madness? Did he see an enormous, pure white swan beating powerful wings, fanning the fog away?
A glimpse of another vessel in the near distance, and their spirits rose in unison. Their sails were filling, and with another strong downward beat the mist cleared. The fleet came into view, the rigging straining in a strengthening breeze. The clearance! Amergin was blinded by a shaft of low slanting sunlight.
The vision was gone, the mist had cleared, and the ocean had come to life. Amergin stared to the heavens. He filled his heaving chest with freshening oceanic air. He yelled for all his crew and the rest of the fleet to hear, “Thank you Great Spirit, thank you!”
Mirrors flashed the reflected light of the day around the fleet. They were gathering to assess their losses and grieve the lost souls. Amergin stood high on top of the prow, beckoning his people to come to him.
Gyon, of the Chapter of Mystics blew the conch long and resonantly. They were gathering to be together, to raise spirits and to lay out a plan for the continuing sojourn.
One by one, ropes were thrown from ship to ship, reed mats between each hull to give protection from the buffeting of the low southerly swell. The fleet would drift in unison for a few days, while the wind blew gently, but steadily on course.
Milidh and Scota’s vessel pulled up tight, a makeshift walkway on to Amergin’s vessel. He lashed the walkway tight and grabbed his father’s hand as he came on board. Embracing him, “Father, it is good to be together. We must make ready for the stormbound, cooler latitudes!”Scota stepped on board next, smiling uncontrollably, her beauty shining through, “My son, we have been tested, but we prevail and are strengthened! I am sure you have felt the forces battling to overcome us.”Amergin embraced her tightly and lovingly, gently kissing her cheek. Scota’s wisdom will be essential when confronting the otherworldly spirits.
The next vessel tied alongside, and the next, and the next. Eiremhou strode purposefully over, giving a strong brotherly hug, “Brother we fight another day!”Amergin held him tight, “Brother, we fight many other days!” Eimbear’s vessel was already tied up, but no sign of him. Amergin’s brow started to furrow with anxiety. There! Eimbear was assisted to the deck by two crewmen. He was injured. Amergin greeted his compromised brother, “Eimbear how!?”
“The storm, my brother, I was lashed to the tiller.Teimo saved me from the great wave. “Amergin had mixed emotions, relieved that his brother was safe, but Eimbear’s trust was in doubt.
A giant raft drifted northwards. Tied, lashed and bound, side to side, prow to stern, the fleet of Milesia together, symbolically and spiritually. From the prow of the ship, Amergin conducted a memorial service for the souls lost at sea. Drifting and communing in silence, all bowed their heads, bitter sweet emotions, survival, but at what cost? Martyred for the cause … all in the name of the prophecy…
Gonne, the head priest of the Chapter of Mystics, lit incense and chanted ancient incantations for the martyred souls. Amergin felt his hackles rising… Where was Gonne sending those lost souls to?
Scota sensed it too. She took over th
e ceremony, delivering the final prayer in memorial of the lost souls of the martyred warriors.
Scota scattered dried flowers into the southerly wind. They became airborne, delicately landing on the ocean, drifting northwards to the Island of Destiny. A tinge of roseate pink proclaimed the dusk. The crews of the entire fleet contemplated in complete silence as the sinking sun touched the horizon.
Amergin imagined he heard the burning orb being extinguished, just as a sole bottlenose dolphin arched gracefully out of the ocean, silhouetted against the now violet and orange sky, and disappeared without a trace…
CHAPTER FIVE:
TIMES OF CHANGE
Unbeknownst to the advancing Milesian fleet, the mystical, legendary lands of the prophecy are in turmoil. Far, far to the north, earlier invasion forces are in collision. The mythical, magical Tuatha are battling against an earlier fearsome invader, the Firbolg. The Firbolg had divided the promised-land into provinces. The greatest of these provinces, Muintear, was held by the legendary warrior chieftain Gann. A war of cruel attrition against a seemingly irresistible Tuathan army blessed with magical powers had left Gann and his army weakened. His people were now dispersed around the land. Those not killed, had been driven to the far distant corners of the island. The mighty province on the western fringes of this prized and beautiful island finally fell to the forces of the Tuatha.
The Tuatha were in league with the spirit world, they had been able to penetrate the veil between the spirit world and the mortal realm. Antiem, the high king, used the spirit world, the Sidhe, to enslave and ultimately enlighten the pagan Firbolg. However his sons, particularly the cruel and acquisitive MacCuacht, had formed a pact with the dark Sidhe. The pact gave MacCuacht delusions of grandeur, believing that he was the High King in waiting. In reality he was being controlled increasingly by the dark Sidhe, turning darker and darker as the years went by. His brothers MacCuill and MacGreinne were younger and easily led. MacCuill, however, questioned his brother’s cruel and dark ways.
MacGreinne was totally under MacCuacht’s influence, and undertook all of MacCuacht’s commands without question.
The favourite of the High King Antiem’s siblings was Sceine, his beautiful wondrous daughter, as pure as a mortal being could be. Like Antiem, she had ingratiated the Guardians of Light. She was an enlightened being able to use the magical powers of the Sidhe for good. In Antiem’s mind she was the natural leader, she embodied the true spirit of the Tuathans.
En route to the high mountain fortress of Sliebh Mis, now the stronghold of the Tuathans in this province, they scaled the highest peak in the land, now named Corran Tuathail, to survey their captured lands. They looked to the West, across a majestic mountain range and over to a shimmering silver ocean. They had battled the Firbolg and endured, but they all were acutely aware of the force that approached. From the highest peak they could see the vastness of the ocean. They had sent emissaries of the Sidhe to contact the coming tribes. MacCuacht used his increasingly malevolent ways to deter the adventurers from the South.
Sceine communed through the veil to contact the seafaring newcomers. The Guardians of Light, the enlightened Sidhe, confided with Sceine that an enlightened being named Amergin, a sea druid, blessed with powers given to him through the veil, was destined to arrive on this island.
Sceine sensed she was destined to be with Amergin, and together they would confront the dark forces of the Sidhe led by her very own brother MacCuacht in the mortal realm.
Sceine rejoiced with her brothers, the victory over the Firbolg was theirs, the last mighty province under their control. Sceine was torn by the fact that this had been a victory at all costs. MacCuacht cruelly subjugated the Firbolg, huge losses were endured.
Antiem, the High King was furious. He, like Sceine, wanted to use the powers of the Sidhe for good, for healing rifts, for appeasing, bringing light in to the new world. Antiem and Sceine wanted this, an island of the imagination, an island of the divine in nature, a unified place, a place of peace and harmony.
Antiem was known as a peacemaker, the great redeemer, a unifier, but he was betrayed by MacCuacht.
Antiem had called for all the Chieftains of the Firbolg to meet on the sacred causeway in the far north of the island. Antiem planned to propose a life of peace with the Firbolg, to join forces, to settle, and permit their tribes to mix, grow and go forward.
This was anathema to MacCuacht. He despised his father’s plan. He had designs of his own, delusions of grandeur, an insatiable desire to be High King.
The gathering on the sacred causeway was undermined and betrayed by the treacherous MacCuacht.
He called on the dark forces of the Sidhe to bring grief and havoc. The dark Sidhe in the form of a black silver monster from the depths of the Northern ocean, reared up and swept the gathering Firbolg off the wave cut volcanic platform. Gann was the only Firbolg chieftain at the meeting to survive this treachery.
Antiem, the High King, had been severely wounded when battling with the Firbolg, he now returned to the mountain stronghold of Sliebh Mis.
Sceine nursed her wounded father in the mountain fortress. She had made the journey as soon as she had heard about his life threatening condition. This place was a fortress amongst the soaring white-tailed eagles, precarious and perilous to get to, but once here a haven. Precipitous peaks, sheer cliff faces, paths teetering on mountain ledges, easily protected. Few would have the knowledge or audacity to scale these heights.
Antiem had been a mighty leader and fierce warrior in his time. Recently his authority and leaderhip had been undermined, his legacy was waning, the time had come for him to pass his title on…
Sceine knew that his life was coming to an end. This high place was to be the grave of the High King.
Antiem was furious that MacCuacht had betrayed him, bringing the honour of the Tuathans in to question. Antiem was going to make most sure that MacCuacht would not become High King.
An untrustworthy High King in an alliance with the dark Sidhe was too much to countenance on his death bed.
Antiem asked Sceine to move him to the highest chamber in the fortress. A favourite place of his, overlooking the indescribably beautiful mountain chain as it swept in glorious majesty to the gently shelving beaches and the infinite ocean beyond.
While Sceine was nursing her ailing father, he turned to her, “I believe in you and trust you Sceine, I have a strong sense of your destiny. I know you will act instinctively and from the heart, and do what is right for Tuatha. I have given instructions to the priesthood, that on my death you and your brothers will be given a province each to rule over. There will be no High King, or Queen. I give you first choice of province. I sense that you will use the powers of the Sidhe for good. Tell me your choice.”
Sceine took no time to respond, “Thank you father, I choose the Western Province of course. Here where the greatest power sources are found, where the veil is closest, the province bordering the ocean. Where I am destined to be and where I am destined to meet the sea druid Amergin!”
“You are welcome Sceine. This majestic province, bordered by the ocean and warmed by the prevailing south-westerly winds and currents, is yours!”
On her knees, by her father’s bed, Sceine grasped his hand. It felt frail and brittle, not the strong grip that had hugged and embraced her in her youth. Pale and resigned to his fate. She talked quietly to him about the distant tribes that journey to these shores. She talked of the rifts occurring in the tribes of Tuatha. How the veil is torn and the Sidhe torn into the enlightened ones, the Guardians of Light, and the darkened Sidhe, who she fears is being led by MacCuacht in the mortal realm. She goes on to tell Antiem of the being of immense, courage, heart and magical powers that she sees in her dreams.
This being, the Milesian sea druid Amergin is her destiny. Together they will battle the forces of the dark.
Antiem smiled and agreed, “Be sure that your brother MacCuacht is the leader of the dark Sidhe in this mortal realm. I have
seen his work, witnessed his treachery. He tries to draw your brothers in with him.
I think MacGreinne is weak willed and will ultimately join him. MacCuill is on the cusp and is tempted by the power offered to him by MacCuacht. I hope his honesty and purity and integrity will shine through, like yours.”
Sceine confided in her ever weakening father, “There comes with the Milesian tribes, a mystic of unimaginable powers. He is corrupt and evil. He already communes with MacCuacht across the Northern Ocean.”
Antiem reassured her, “You will be vested with the powers of the High Priestess of Tuatha. You will go to the Temple of Xhara in the east. You will be anointed by the Guardians of Light. You will have powers to match this mystic. There will be no High King or Queen, but you will be the spiritual leader of the Tuathan tribes. I sense you are the purest and wisest of them all Sceine. You will use the powers of the Sidhe for good”
“I have already communed with the Guardians of Light. They have sent messengers to counter the powers of the priest Gonne, and the Machiavellian MacCuacht. Many of the souls have been lost to the dark Sidhe already. There is a time of huge change ahead, and a threat from within that could be even more damaging to the Tuathan way!”
Antiem gently squeezed his beautiful daughter’s hand, and looked deep into the rich amber eyes, he focused on the mesmerising fleck in her right eye, momentarily he was taken to another world, he was in awe of her beauty and power, “I knew you would understand… You are ready Sceine… I must rest now…”
Sceine rose and as she left her father, she looked out over the view across the mountains and to the distant sea. This was Antiem’s last resting place, a view for eternity… Her destiny awaits her…
The cooling mists of Sliebh Mis rolled over the summits and filled the valleys and corries. In the waning evening light, the Tuathan royalty gathered to witness and honour the passing of a great king.
