by Peter Green
Terese took her turn at the helm, guiding the vessel through a gently surging, now benign ocean, occasionally having to wrestle with the tiller as an unannounced gust swept through. She constantly surveyed the northern horizon, looking for any tell-tale changes that would forewarn danger.
Her clairvoyant senses were telling her the veil between the spirit world and the mortal realm was close and getting closer as they headed north.
They were all on full alert, looking for any minor disturbances, any unusual disturbances or phenomenon.
Bith inspected this fine, sturdy vessel. He gathered the crew together to praise them, and keep their morale high. They had enough provisions for at least one lunar cycle… surely enough for them to reach the promised-land. He regularly prayed to the Great Spirit for a safe passage. Days went by, the prevailing winds kindly pushing them northwards. They were making good progress… until…
One fateful morning whilst on watch, Terese heard chanting coming from the prow. In the dim light of the dawn, a group of five meditating, calling… she immediately recognised them as the five that Gonne and Eimbear had selected. She instantly knew they were summoning the forces of the dark…
She hailed the watchman over, “Go and fetch Bith! Be quick! We have very little time!”
Bith was on deck before the watchman hailed him, just as the first and strongest gust yet hit the Fintan broadsides. As a mystic, Bith had sensed the malign ceremony - the ritualistic summoning of the dark forces from beyond the veil.
By the time Bith stood with Terese at the helm, the ship was rolling in an increasing sea. The sails were being buffeted by more and more frequent gusts.
“Reduce to storm rigging!” Bith bellowed to the crew. The horizon darkened, a silver- grey line approached from the north, speckled with white cap crested waves.
“Brace yourself Terese, our nemesis arrives!” he grabbed the tiller with her, turning straight on to the oncoming storm front.
Moving so fast they hardly had time to react… a maelstrom of wind and rain, giant hailstones tore sheer through the storm sails. Thunderclaps overhead, lightning striking the mast, deck and rigging simultaneously. The vessel Fintan was being torn asunder. The storm seemed to rage forever, but in reality was over in minutes. Bith, Terese and the loyal crew were hurled to the deck by a final furious vortex. Air was sucked from their lungs, nearly suffocating, gasping for breath, as the front roared through. Senses stunned by an electrical field discharging along the vessel.
Suddenly, there was quiet, a stunned silence…Bith prone on the deck of Fintan, saw demonic apparitions writhing in a wall of all consuming mist rolling over the ocean. In the aftermath of the storm front, strange sea creatures swam through the ocean. The creatures and apparitions were real yet not real. They surrounded the vessel, beasts of the air and the sea.
They were helpless, looking on in stunned silence. The masts had been snapped like kindling, the sails shredded. Now an eerie calm, not a breath of wind, the sea mist enveloped them, and slowly, inexorably, the vessel Fintan started drifting in an ever increasing ocean current…
“We are being taken northwards, but I know not where!” Bith exclaimed, “This shroud of the otherworld has us in its power!”
Terese felt the tiller being manoeuvred by an otherworldy force, “Wherever, whatever this is, they have control, the helm is theirs!”
The mind numbed, you questioned your sanity, and your place in the universe. Only those with the strongest faith would survive with their integrity in tact.
Bith conjectured, “This must be the terrible place, the place of legend where souls are taken and converted to the dark Sidhe!”
Terese responded, “We must be united, our spirits must remain undaunted. Amergin selected us for a reason. Together we must call on the Guardians of Light!”
Bith was galvanised into action, “Gather around me, all of you!” the concern and anxiety showed on his face and in his voice. He began praying, delving deep into his psyche, drawing on his magical powers as a priest of the Chapter of Mystics. A lifetime of training will be needed now as they have never been needed before… Fail and they were lost!
“Great Spirit, protect us!!!” he chanted, the crew following, repeating. Together they prayed, without unity they would be lost forever…
The strange mist continued to roll and boil. The apparitions sapped their minds of their will to resist.
“Weaken and you will fall prey to the dark Sidhe! You must stay strong, we must unite!” urged Bith.
They gathered in unison calling the Guardians of Light. Calling the Great Spirit to protect them…
*
Amergin started awake, his dreams disturbed. A cry from the void! His adventuring vanguard in trouble! He leapt to his feet, and bounded up on to the deck. Racing to the prow of the flagship, he stared towards the northern horizon, no signs… but he knew there was trouble…
Scota too had woken and was up and watching the northern horizon.
The soft glowing light of dawn was no comfort to them now.
Amergin studied the raft of vessels drifting, bound securely in the prevailing Southerly.
“The time for Milesia was coming!” thought Amergin, “Bith and Terese were sent to negotiate, to find a peaceful way… but now is the time for the warrior! Xomas sound the conch! Our emissaries are in grave danger. We must call on the Guardians of Light!”
The sound of the conch drifted and resonated from vessel to vessel…
The crews of each vessel came up on deck. They all turned to the northern horizon chanting in unison.
Scota and Milidh began chanting ancient sacred verse.
Amergin chanted, “Great Spirit, protect our people. Come to their salvation!”
Eiremhou, the Chapter of Mystics, all the loyal Milesians knelt in prayer, chanting this again and again!
*
Bith of the Chapter of Mystics and Terese of the Xantha chanted with their vanguard, keeping their faith, but all too conscious of the malign energy unleashed against them.
They saw their vanguard weakening, it would not be long before, one by one they would be taken, their souls lost to the dark Sidhe. They battled the mist of apparitions that swirled and consumed them.
The vessel Fintan floated in currents being controlled by demons.
Suddenly Bith saw a vision, a vision of evil, the High Priest of the Chapter of Mystics, Gonne, was orchestrating and manipulating the apparitions, and controlling the ocean currents! In that same vision Bith saw three darkly shrouded women, mysterious and malevolent. They were in league with Gonne. They were in league with the dark Sidhe on the island of destiny. They all worked against the vanguard.
They were summoned to destroy a mission of peace… but who were these three?!
Bith knew that he would soon be meeting these agents of the dark…
The mist was impenetrable now, the ghostly apparitions haunting and disturbing.
“Was this hell? Is there no salvation!?” Bith cried out, as he witnessed members of his vanguard weaken and fall. Minds numbed, spirits weakened, bodies taken, souls lost…
There! The five selected by Gonne and Eimbear in a shamanic huddle, they were the conduit for this malevolence, the channel for the dark Sidhe…
Bith joined Terese in prayer, they were at their limits, they prayed, they chanted, they called the Guardians of Light, “Surely there must be a way!?” They implored the Great Spirit, “For Milesia and for the prophecy!”
Bith could take no more, he must act! He unsheathed his normally ceremonial sword.
Bith was sworn to peace, as a mystic he had vowed never to take life! He realised the lives of all on board were threatened…
“Come with me Terese! We must take these five traitorous vermin! They are the connection. They are drawing the dark forces to us!”
Terese of the Xantha was always ready for battle, always ready to fight for the cause! Terese tore into the five. One already clutched at his side and fell to the
deck, her bloodied dagger raised and lunging towards the next victim.
Bith threw himself at the next one, grappled with him and was able to stun and wound him.
Terese’s next victim was fatally wounded. He stumbled, was unbalanced and fell over the side of the vessel, as it drifted inexorably north in an unnatural ocean current…
As the body fell into the swirling sea mist, Bith anticipated the tell-tale splash into the veil of the ocean. But there was no splash! Not a sound! The body was consumed by the boiling and swirling mist of apparitions. With this, the remaining sinister traitors took flight and threw themselves overboard.
No splash! The bodies just disappeared into the impenetrable mist. The haunting apparitions continued to swirl around the vessel.
Bith sensed a difference now, the conduit broken. A light flooded in from the North, penetrating the mist. Beginning with a dark rich amber glow, then the white light surrounding an ethereal, beautiful female form…
Bith questioned, “Was this another apparition?” Then a voice came, “Bith of the Chapter of Mystics and Terese of the Xantha. We will watch over you for the rest of your sea voyage to the island of destiny. Beware. You are still in grave danger!”
The female form swirled into the impenetrable mist and was gone, the amber glow dissipated and the mist thinned. The apparitions were absorbed into the ocean, the tormenting shroud faded away.
Bith embraced Terese and a shaft of sunlight burned through the mist, bathing the vessel with normality once more…
The vanguard gathered again. Strangely the bodies of those who had fallen were gone, lost souls, taken beyond the veil by the forces of the dark.
In shock, mourning those lost, they gathered to witness the unfolding view of a distant coastline on the north-eastern horizon.
This was the land of the prophecy, the island of destiny. A land still shrouded in the thinning but still eery mist.
Under the power of the damaged and shredded sails, still drifting in a southerly breeze, and guided by a drifting offshore current, they approached closer and closer to the promised-land. Huge promontories taking the full brunt of the open ocean swell, crashing, surging surf, deep green to azure blue to cobalt turquoise to brilliant white breakers. Rays of warming light penetrating and spiritual illuminated stacks of jagged igneous rock. Huge slanting slabs of darkened, weathered, ancient red sandstone gleaming and reflecting in the slowly searching shafts of sunlight. Angel rays for those seeking sanctuary in this stormbound, weather-beaten land.
Slowly, diffidently, warily they edged the vessel closer. Following the rolling motion of the swell, they edged under mighty 600 foot cliffs. Staring upwards to exposure inducing heights, the crew suffered from vertigo attempting to get some scale and perspective from these monoliths.
Drifting further northwards the cliffs gave way to a sweeping bay. The shoreline stretched and curved to eternity, pounding breakers curling, cresting and detonating on to pristine white beaches.
The air a heady cocktail of ozone and sea spray intermixed with a twist of sea salt and seaweed.
They breathed deep, instinctively filtering the essence of the sea and the new land.
They scanned the endless sweep of the bay for a deep water haven and safe anchorage… beyond an impressive dune system, a huge spit of sand was pummeled and pounded by incessant surf.
Beyond that an outpouring of fresh water, siltier, sandier coloured indicating a rivermouth and potentially safe anchorage. Around the spit and in to the estuary, the deep water invited the Fintan up the beckoning channel. Travelling waves pushed along the river banks, slowing and filling all the time, finally, the calm slickness of the outflowing river.
Now under the power of the oarsmen, they rounded the first bend. Pristine white sands gave way to verdant, emerald green fields and soft rolling hills… Haven…
The keel of the Fintan pushed appreciatively into the soft sinking silt. The tide was still ebbing. The vessel would be safe until the next tide. Bith and Terese were proud to be the first Milesians to set foot on this island. Carrying and dragging heavy mooring ropes to the river bank. These were tied around the trunks of ancient yew trees. Trees that had seen a thousand years of storms, carved and sculpted by prevailing winds, their branches twisted and tortured leaning away from the gales. Trees that could tell the tale of many waves of invaders over many centuries, would secure their vessel, temporarily at least.
Bith was particularly conscious of those who had travelled before them, and more worryingly, conscious of those who waited for them… He gathered the crew under the shelter of the sculpted yew trees.
Were the trees listening? The swaying and creeking branches applauding and encouraging his rallying speech to the vanguard, “We are the emissaries of Milesia. Even with the horrors and misfortunes that we have experienced, we must be cognisant of why we are here. We are here as peacemakers, our last resort is to be warriors. We are destined to be here, we must do whatever is necessary to bring our tribes safely here.”
A body of warriors remained to protect the vessel. The rest gathered provisions and weapons and began their journey inland, following the meandering river.
Everything appeared new and verdant, a pristine and beautiful land. They marched on, searching for signs of life and civilisation. For half a day they marched, eventually arriving at a steep sided valley swathed in ancient deciduous woodlands. Beyond the valley, the mountains rose into the far distance.
They followed a steeply ascending path. At the head of the valley, they climbed to a ridge that gave them a panoramic vantage point.
Here, Bith decided to make camp, nominating round the clock watchmen, to warn of anyone or anything approaching. As dusk descended he looked up towards the mountains, at the base of the highest peak, atop a huge granite outcrop, he saw a single light, then a trail of lights, weaving their way down the mountain track. They had been observed…
Dusk descended into the dark of night, the trail of lights getting ever closer. From the ancient woodlands nocturnal wildlife curiously watched. Silhouettes of nervous red deer moved through the trees. Bright eyes, reflected, flashed and disappeared into the dark.
Other creatures of the night, like moths drawn to the flames.Bats predating in the spreading firelight.
Sparks, smoke and ash filled the air. The trail of lights grew ever closer…
A mist of condensing, oppressive, cool night air formed and gathered in the lowest places.
Streams of colder mountain air rolled down from the surrounding ridges. Their vantage place was consumed. They could see nothing now. They were helpless, defenseless. They could not escape. The oncoming horde had them trapped.
They heard them long before they saw them.
The steady military step, the metallic clank of armour against spears and shields, and swords being drawn from scabbards. Voices pierced the night air. Lights surrounded them. Figures and shapes took form. Reminiscent of the mist of apparitions at sea, ghostly figures appeared through the swirling fog.
Three raven haired women, dressed from head to toe in a cocoon of radiant, luminescent fabric.
Bith knew them, these were the Witches of Hawardden so feared and reviled… the three seen in league with Gonne when at sea.
They all instinctively took a step back. They had seen their powers at work, they were afraid for their lives, afraid for their souls. They had seen their friends lost at sea.
A voice came from the shadows, “We have been sent to talk to you. You must try to understand our ways…”
Terese thought to herself, “You have come with your dark army. You have taken the souls of our warriors. We have seen evil in you. We have seen the dark Sidhe in your actions!”
Before the thoughts had formed, a reply was forthcoming, “Terese, I am Banba, I hear your fears. Would you not protect your nation from an invasion force?”
Bith had already felt the witches probing his mind, delving deep into his innermost thoughts. Just being in the presence
of these sinister women was endangering them. He spoke to the others, “Close your minds, these beings are of the dark Sidhe. Let them in and you will be taken… lost…Protect yourselves!”
Bith was trained in the art of mind control. The others were physically strong, but he feared for their vulnerable minds…
He realised there was little point in trying to appease these lost souls. He had come as an emissary of peace. These dark beings saw them as invaders… In a conventional sense they were. However in a universal context they were saviours, the defenders of the Light.
Bith talked to the witch known as Banba, “Our tribes are coming to this island of our destiny. I have been sent to try and find a path, a common way. I have been sent in peace.”
Banba stood motionless, expressionless. She communicated telepathically with the witches known as Eiru and Fodha, “These mere minions believe they can save themselves and their kind. We must humour them! Take them to Hawardden, from where they will never return!”
This time Bith heard their thoughts. He also heard the words, “Never trust them, you are in grave danger!” Words that came from beyond the veil, subconsciously he and Terese knew this and believed this.
Banba spoke, “Bith of the Chapter of Mystics, and Terese of the Xantha,” They knew exactly who they were! “You must travel with us to the high mountain fortress of Hawardden. You will stay and engage with us.”
Banba abruptly clapped her hands. The witches Eiru and Fodha signalled for the creatures of the dark to encircle Bith and Terese and their vanguard. Without a word they were being filed into the ranks of the dark army and were being marched to Hawardden.
The glowing embers of the campfire soon disappeared into the distance. They walked with their captors, they had no choice. They already knew that the mission was lost… A peaceful way was never going to be found…
Up and up they marched. After a few hours marching, they were scaling the imposing granite cliffs that protected the high mountain fortress of Hawardden…
