by Peter Green
One by one they were tied to the mast and lashed mercilessly. The “cat of nine tails” cut them to the bone. They were whipped to an inch of their lives. They cried out in to the night for mercy. “We will take this ship and its crew hostage!” exclaimed Zendris, “We will not submit to these Milesians!” Magire prepared the flagship for battle. He feared they would be boarded, “We must make an example of one of their own!” At random, one of the tortured and now demented crew was selected. He was forced to climb the rigging and go to the extreme limit of one of the cross spars. Here he was tied, bound and gagged and a noose placed unceremoniously around his neck.
Magire and Zendris of the Shamen of Land’s End, waited expressionless and unfeeling. They showed no fear, no emotion and no compassion. The crew all watched on in horror.
The Milesian fleet drifted serenely closer in a current of luminescence. Zendris sensed they were immune now from her ancient magical powers. The vessels were cloaked in the Light of the Divine drawn through the veil by the priesthood of the Chapter of Mystics. “They are immune to our sorcery!” Zendris observed, “but are they immune to our reign of terror?!”
Magire could see the boarding parties preparing. They were armed to the teeth. They were completely outnumbered! “We shall see my Queen!” and with this he signalled with a downward gesture for the terror to commence, The poor hapless Milesian crewman was doused in whale oil, a highly flammable and noxious substance. A naked flame ignited the oil and he was pushed from the top most cross spar. His necked snapped in mid scream and he was left a dangling, twitching human torch.
“No!!!” a collective expression of utter horror and condemnation swept through the crew on the flagship and the oncoming fleet. They were all shocked and appalled!
Before Amergin could react, he saw the next of his crewmen being ushered mercilessly to the crow’s nest and out on to the top most cross spar. Then bound and gagged and a heavy rope noose placed around the exposed flesh of his neck. He recognised Jonnh, one of his most able seamen. Ironically, he was always the one to rely on when the storm sails had to be unfurled, and someone had to scale the rolling and pitching rigging in the teeth of a gale. “Jonnh!” was now the collective cry from his fellow mariners. All eyes turned to Amergin... he knew at that moment that this awful human blackmail could not continue. This was stalemate! Leadership required now...
Amergin called to Xomas, “Drop anchor! Lower the sails! Tell the boarding parties to stand down!”
The priesthood of the Chapter of Mystics ceased chanting and meditating. There was an awful silence, a terrible dread that Jonnh, now doused in pungent and flammable oil, would be next...
Time elapsed, and more time... nothing happened... was Jonnh safe?
Amergin gave his instructions. He realised that a bigger sacrifice was required, “We must leave this place Xomas! Prepare to sail!” Amergin had acted, he must leave the flagship, leave the crew and they must sail on... the mission demanded it, the prophecy demanded it, his humanity required it...
The only way to save the crew of the flagship was a tactical retreat. This battle was lost! There would be many more to be fought…
CHAPTER TWENTY ONE:
THE KILLING MOON
One day, and one night and the equinox will be upon this land.The time when day equals night, a time when the growing season ends and the season of the dark begins.
One more night and the track of the autumn sun would dip behind the Ridge of Thormond, casting a perpetual shadow on the deep and mysterious lake known in the Annals of Tuatha as “Dubh.”
Legend has it that all the pagan deities of the dark could be summoned after the equinox. Eiru understood the significance of the equinox. It was the moment when the veil touched the mortal realm. Certain places, certain portals could be used to transcend the veil, to go beyond and commune with the spirit world. The lake “Dubh” was such a place. One day and one night and she would go beyond the veil to summon the demons and denizens of the spirit world.
In league with the Witches of Hawardden, the dark forces would be irresistible. Sceine with her diminished force would be no match. Sceine has been careless. Away from the impregnable battlements of the high mountain fortress of Sliebh Mis, she is vulnerable, without reinforcements and without the destined one they call Amergin. She is as good as taken...
Eiru confided in her raven haired coven, “The Portal of Hushinish is in the control of the Guardians of Light. Soon we will be able to overcome Sceine and the demons and denizens will pour forth from the portal!” The three witches looked on as the tracking sun scraped slowly along the Ridge of Thormond, only hours now before the equinox. Eiru, Banba and Fodha stepped out on to the weathered ancient red sandstone slab... the place of ceremony and sacrifice. The festival of harvest time, a celebration of abundance and plenty, had come and gone. Now was the fallow time, of die back and retrenchment, a time when live sacrifices were sent to their doom in the eerie, reflective depths of Lake Dubh. A ritual perpetuated through the centuries to appease the pagan gods of winter.
“You can almost touch the veil now!” thrilled Eiru, “The time is close!” She thrust her arms aloft as if channelling from the depths of the mirrored lake, “I go now to find our live sacrifice!” With this, pulses of photonic light vibrated and swirled around her silver cocoon clad form. Banba and Fodha stepped back, away from the red sandstone slab to watch their sister transform. Waves of energy pulsing and morphing in the gathering gloom, Eiru became airborne, once more a mighty raptor and fierce predator. With a few wing beats, she circled the lake and followed a steep sided glaciated valley to the north and was out of sight. She flew high on the end of the day thermals, looking for her prey, watching for movement. Live animal sacrifices had been forbidden in the Western Province under the reign of Antiem. His daughter, the High Priestess Sceine, had continued with the tradition.
“The pagan gods of Dubh must be very hungry!” thought Eiru mischievously, “What can we find to appease them and summon them at the Equinox?!” She flew higher and higher, spiralling in the updraughts, covering huge distances in a wing beat. Where the high sided valley opened out in to rolling grassland, surrounded by ancient deciduous woodlands... She saw movement! Human prey!
“Even better!” rejoiced Eiru, “The pagan gods of Dubh will feed well this Equinox!”
A thousand feet below on a track winding along the edge of an ancient Oak grove, Terese of the Xantha and her troop of amazonian warriors marched steadily on... they were in a strange land, looking for land marks described to them by Erhombu, the Guardian of the ancient Woodlands of Derwydd. The high glaciated steep sided valley in the distance was such a land mark. Terese of the Xantha looked upwards, scanning the horizon... She too saw movement!
In the gathering dusk, the sun cast its final glowing remnants on to the far side of the high glaciated valley. The golden rustic glow on the high mountain ridge slowly disappeared in to shadow. Terese was aware of the poignancy of this sunset, “Tomorrow the equinox!” she informed her sisterhood of Xanthans. They had all been trained by Scota, the Queen of Milesia and the High Priestess of the Xanthans, mother of the Sea Druid Amergin. Scota had given them the knowledge of the occult and the wisdom to interpret the signs in nature. They knew that at the time of the equinox the veil was at its most vulnerable, when the dark forces of the spirit world fought to intrude in to the mortal realm. In the last glimmers of Light on the far side of the valley... a movement! A flash of white!
Terese pointed, “Look yonder! High over the ridge! A Sea Eagle spiralling in the updraughts! All the Xanthans watched now... here was an apex predator at work... the ultimate hunter!
The Xanthans too had finely tuned hunting and battle skills. They had all been trained by Milidh the King of Milesia, father to the Sea Druid Amergin. Each of the Xanthan warriors had been scrupulously selected for their physical and mental strength. Generation upon generation of training had turned the Xantha in to a feared and respected force. An iconic mixture
of legendary power and strength combined with stunning beauty. The troop of Xantha stepped onwards, along the meandering track.
They kept gazing upwards as the magnificent bird of prey swooped and glided in the evening thermals. The sea eagle flew so high now that it became a speck in the gathering dark. The shadows finally consumed the mountain ridge and the raptor vanished out of sight. Terese shared her concern with Syra, her faithful and loyal second in command, “We must be vigilant! This raptor is no ordinary predator... the wing span is massive... woman nor beast is safe!”
The track steepened, progress became slower. Their number stretched out. Communication became more difficult. The path meandered in and out of thinning deciduous woodlands. The ground was strewn with moss and lichen covered boulders, limestone rock formations made their progress even slower. The line thinned out even more...
This was the moment Eiru, in ultimate predator mode, had been waiting for!
The line of marching Xanthans had spread out even more. In the evening gloom she was invisible. She came in fast over the ridge. Feathering wings, now furled, she fell in a free falling stoop. She fell from a dizzying height at break neck speed, targeting the last in the line of the marching Xantha. The last one, the straggler, just out of view from the others, skirting a massive moss and lichen covered limestone boulder.
The timing, the moment, perfect! Executed with precision! No one saw her coming! No one heard the attack until it was too late! A feather muffled thud and a shocked yell, the Xantha Nesta had been knocked unconscious and was taken...
Far too late, they saw the White- tailed Sea Eagle climb over the tree line, powerful wings beating and carrying the forlorn, drooping form, higher and higher in to the darkening sky.
“Nesta!” they cried out collectively. Terese recognised the distinctive wing beats and the avian form, “Eiru! It can’t be!” The one that had saved her from the clutches of her evil partner MacCuacht now turned predator.
All the Xantha watched as Eiru flew back along the steep sided glaciated valley. Encumbered now by the weight of a living being, ready for sacrifice at the equinox, she flew lower. Nesta came round.
She was struggling to breath in the grip of the tightly clasped talons. There was no escaping, but her movement was seen, “She lives!” one of the Xanthan warriors yelled. “We must follow her! We will march through the night!” Terese commanded, “We will find her, whatever it takes!”
They marched quicker now... Terese was sure of a connection to the coming equinox. She was equally sure that Sceine was in imminent danger.
Eiru flew above the tree line and the steep sided valley, the weight of her prey taking its toll. The lake Dubh came in to view. Her wing beats more laboured now. Once more, she could feel the veil getting closer and thinner as the Equinox approached. She flew low over the mirrored surface. Eiru could see her own reflection and marvelled at the winged predator she had become! She swooped and dipped the tips of her wings touching the water, sending ripples across the lake.
Banba and Fodha saw Eiru, her prey drooping helplessly from her gripping talons, “She has the live sacrifice!” hissed Banba, “Only hours now until the Equinox!”
They lit the fire on the red sandstone slab, to greet Eiru on her return. The reflected firelight guided Eiru. She landed gracefully with her prey in tact. “A prize specimen!” drooled Fodha, as Eiru released the Xanthan from her grip. Nesta was tied and bound to a stake driven in to the sandstone slab.
“She is one of the Xantha!” Eiru clarified, “They march towards the lake now!” Eiru morphed back in an avalanche of photons…the three raven-haired Witches of Hawardden back together, “Terese of the Xantha marches to rescue Sceine... but she will be too late!”
The full Equinox moon now rose over the Ridge of Thormond. This was the time when the celestial orbs were in alignment. The time when day equals night and the season of the dark begins.
Sceine sensed that the Witches of Hawardden would use this day to try to intrude through the veil, to bring the demons and denizens of the dark in to the mortal realm. She could not return along the Ridge of Thormond, the route was too exposed. She would stay at the Portal of Hushinish with her priests and summon the Guardians of Light. Sunset would be the tipping point, the time when the season of dark would prevail, the time when the spirit world was at its most vulnerable to intrusion by the dark Sidhe. She instinctively knew this would be the time... the time known in the Annals of Tuatha as the “killing moon.” The next time the moon rose over the Ridge of Thormond could be the time they meet their nemesis.
Sceine and her few loyal priests gathered around the Portal of Hushinish. They were trapped here and they were all aware of the dark powers mobilising. Sceine, the High Priestess of Xhara and Princess of the Western Province began the ritual incantations. She called to the spirit world beyond the veil, “Here us Great Spirit! Bring your Guardians of Light to protect us from the evil that arrives!”
Diarmuid, the most loyal of her priests and good friend, took up the ceremonial bodrhan, beating it rhythmically. All the priests repeated Sceine’s chant, calling beyond the veil. They would chant all night, summoning the Guardians of Light... Way below in the contours of the high glaciated valley, marched Terese and her Xanthan warriors.
They all saw the aura of The Divine spilling down from the Ridge of Thormond, pouring from the Portal of Hushinish, pouring like an ethereal waterfall in to the darkness below.“Sceine! We have found her!” Terese was heartened. They were still a good few hours away... and they must first rescue Nesta! She called to her Xanthans to keep moving, time is of the essence!
The track kept rising, becoming more and more arduous, boulders strewn everywhere. Ahead of them rose a seemingly impassable barricade of misshapen and jagged boulders. Water gushed through every crack and crevice. The stone surface was incredibly slippy. They struggled to find handholds and footholds. Occasionally one would slip and whince as bone met cold, hard rock.
The barricade of sandstone boulders was the result of millennia of land slips from the steep glaciated mountain sides. There was no sunlight now, sunset long gone. Behind the barricade was a vast, cold, deep and dark body of mountain water. Terese was the first to scale the barricade of boulders. She stood on one of the ancient weathered, red sandstone boulders. The silver-black reflective surface of Lake Dubh stretched out before her.
A shiver ran down her spine. She could feel the presence of evil. The tipping point was nearing…
The brooding lake…heaven in the summer months, hell in winter, dark, dense cold water, deep and mysterious, ice melt from thousands of years ago. Over this dark, cold layer, flowed clear, fresh mountain water energised and sparkling as it tumbled down the steep mountain sides. This fresh mountain water flowed in silver streams over the body of dark aqueous.
Terese helped each one of her brave and beautiful Xanthan warriors over the last slippy boulders.
Now, they all stood on a giant, weathered ancient red sandstone boulder, a remnant of the Ice Age, wedged in to the barricade by the force of ancient glaciers. They were dwarfed by the high ridges and steep slopes plummeting in to the dark depths of Dubh. Across the silver-black surface of the lake, a flicker of firelight, way over on the other side... the light beckoned them and teased them.
“This is the lair of the Witches of Hawardden!” Terese and her sisterhood searched for a way across the mysterious lake. There appeared to be no way! No path and the mountain sides too steep! How will they rescue Nesta?! They were so close...Terese sensed the connection with the Equinox. She had been told of the tales of the killing moon.
Nesta was priority, then to Hushinish to help Sceine. This moon rising over the Ridge of Thormond could be Nesta’s last! She could be the live sacrifice! “But how do we get there, how do we save Nesta from an awful end?!”
Erhombu, the Guardian of the Woodlands of Derwydd, had told Terese of the spirits that live in the mountains near Hushinish, spirits that could be summoned on a full mo
on by prayer and the sounding of the hunting horn. The killing moon was a full moon, “This is our only hope!” despaired Terese. She confided with her faithful, explaining their predicament. The distant firelight burned brighter...
The Xantha collectively fell to their knees. They prayed to the Great Spirit. The radiant glow of the Portal of Hushinish, and then an ethereal mist poured endlessly down the steep mountain side from the Ridge of Thormond. The mist crept quietly over the dark water...
The Xanthan warriors still in deep prayer, Terese took hold of her hunting horn given to her by Erhombu. She pursed her lips and with all her breath sounded the hunting horn. The piercing, echoing sound resonated through the gloom. Filling her lungs, she blew again. A wall of sound reflected and reverberated off the steep mountain sides. The ethereal mist floating over the lake thickened and was now pouring like a river towards them. “The veil is so close now!” thought Terese.
The sound of the hunting horn pervaded the mountain air. Sceine turned to Diarmuid at the Portal of Hushinish, “Terese of the Xantha?! It must be!” Diarmuid agreed, “We must pray to the Great Spirit!”
On the far side of Lake Dubh, the three Witches of Hawardden waited for the killing moon to rise above the Ridge of Thormond. Through the pitch black gloom they heard the sound of the hunting horn, “Terese of the Xantha!” they cackled in unison. They stoked the fire that burnt more brightly on the ancient weathered sandstone slab. Sparks and smoke rose in to the cool night air. Flickering light cascaded over the silver-black lake. Nesta, the Xanthan hostage, had to turn her head away.The heat of the fire was too much for her to bear. The sparks burned her eyes, smoke nearly cauterised her windpipe and seared her lungs. At the sound of the hunting horn she managed a smile, “Terese, I knew you would come!” Nesta twisted her body towards the sound, but the ropes binding her cut deep in to her flesh. The binding around her neck was so tight she could barely breath.The friction of the rough hemp rope rubbed her skin away, “Come soon Terese!” she coughed in to the thickening smoke.
