The Tales of Amergin, Sea Druid

by Peter Green

  The three witches were oblivious to the river of mist flowing across the lake. The raging inferno signifying the coming of the killing moon blinded their night vision.

  The veil gets closer...

  Under the blanket of ethereal mist the Guardians of Light sent their messenger, “the ferryman of Dubh.” The ancients used the ferryman to journey beyond the veil, to appease the pagan deities of Lake Dubh. Hooded in a white shroud, his face is never seen. Legend has it that if you happen to gaze upon the ferryman’s face then you will journey beyond the veil, never to return...

  Terese of the Xantha watched in wonder as the high prowed vessel, made of aged, blackened bog Oak, decorated with exquisite carvings and ornamentations, sailed out of the ethereal mist.

  The white shrouded ferryman remained silent as he punted the vessel to shore. He gestured serenely to the Xantha to get on board. Under the blanket of ethereal mist, they would be punted across the silver-blackness of Lake Dubh...

  The river of mist poured slowly, drifting over the silver-black surface of Lake Dubh. Silently, effortlessly, the ferryman punted them towards the now raging ceremonial fire, each dip of the punting pole keeping them in pace with the camouflaging blanket of mist. They could see, but were not seen, the intense fiery glare of the sacrificial pyre effectively blinding the witches.

  Slowly, Terese and the Xanthans began to make out three sinister figures tending to the blaze. The three raven haired witches in silver cocoon dresses, shimmering and reflecting in the flickering flames. They chanted and swayed in a ritual ceremony communing with the pagan deities and summoning the demons and denizens of Lake Dubh.The killing moon nearly in position. Nesta’s time in the mortal realm coming to an end...

  The veil now thinner than ever, Sceine and her priests prayed to the Great Spirit. They sent messages beyond the veil to all the enlightened ones. Their message to Terese of the Xantha giving their support and telling her to stop the live sacrifice at all costs...

  Terese sensed the presence of Sceine and knew she had sent the ferryman to help them save Nesta.

  The concealing mist still poured over the lake. The wind gusted down from the Ridge of Thormond and in that moment as the mist cleared Terese caught a glimpse of Nesta, tied to a stake on the ancient red sandstone slab. The vortex of wind and ethereal mist sucked hot ashes and embers in to the dark night. Sparks and cinders enveloped the witches, stinging and burning them, singeing their raven locks and discolouring their silver cocoon dresses. Nesta too took the full brunt of this vortex of fire. She cried in to the dark, “Terese! Help me! I beg you!” Nesta sensed the closeness of Terese and her sister Xanthans...

  Terese was helpless though, she could not go in boldly and brazenly, the powers of the witches were too great. She would have to wait and hope for a moment of weakness...

  The ethereal vortex of wind went as soon as it came. The three Witches of Hawardden restoked the fire. Eiru glowered at Nesta as if to say “Your time has come!” In that moment the full equinox moon seemed to be brighter than ever. The full, rotund orb appeared to perch on the distant Ridge of Thormond and follow the track of the ridge towards the Portal of Hushinish. “The killing moon, the time is nigh! When the moon is directly over the Portal of Hushinish, we shall give our live sacrifice to the deities of Dubh!”

  Terese observed the witches from the obscurity of the mist. They were cloaked from the senses of the witches whilst in the mist. They dare not venture closer. She watched as one of the raven haired ones untied the binding around Nesta’s feet, then her hands and lastly her neck. Nesta crumpled in to a heap. Her circulation had slowed, and her limbs had no sensation. She was a Xanthan though. She soon rallied as blood circulated through her body. As soon as she was able to stand, she was taken at knife point to the edge of the ancient red sandstone slab.

  Nesta looked at the mirrored siver-black lake. She could see her own reflection in the fresh mountain water circulating and eddying like mercury on glass over the blackness of ancient glacial melt water. The killing moon tracked remorselessly on... her demise was nearing.

  Terese watched helplessly, “How could she save Nesta?!”

  The moment was now... the sacrifice...

  On Eiru’s instruction, Banba took the dagger held at Nesta’s jugular vein and in one swift downward and then slicing motion severed her Achilles tendons. First the left, and then the right, Nesta screamed in agony... Terese turned away in horror... not before she saw Nesta again crumple, and in a forward rolling motion fall headlong in to Lake Dubh. The moon was now at its zenith. The mirrored surface of the dark depths of the lake, the veil between the mortal realm and the spirit world, was broken. Shapes and forms began to appear from the deep dark aqueous...

  Nesta’s Achilles tendons were sliced cleanly. Bright crimson blood mingled with the fresh, surface mountain water. She could not swim with her tendons severed. She sank quickly, the cold, dark glacial waters consuming her. The deeper she sank, the colder and denser the water became, the slower she sank. Nesta was able to use her own buoyancy to flounder to the surface, gulp a lungfull of oxygen and sink for the last time through the highly oxygenated surface, mountain water. Her hand stretched out above the surface in a final gesture of helplessness. She was returning back to the denseness. As her fingertips disappeared beneath the surface... Terese stripped off her weaponry and armour and dove in…

  A powerful swimmer, she was soon at the place where Nesta’s hand had waved helplessly. In a shallow dive through the silver-black surface, she saw Nesta sinking in slow motion in to the denseness. Time stood still, the dark Sidhe gathered beyond the veil...

  All of the Xantha held their breath with Terese as she dove deep, through the now blood red surface and down in to the cold blackness. The raven haired witches smiled at each other in firm belief that Terese was too late...

  The signs were in alignment, the live sacrifice made, the hungry deities of Dubh fed. The veil between the mortal realm and the spirit world shifted. The demons and denizens began to awaken.

  Even the mirrored surface of Lake Dubh grew darker and darker. The pure radiant light from the Portal of Hushinish began to dim. The killing moon continued on its remorseless track along the Ridge of Thormond. The ethereal mist began to dissipate, to reveal all the Xanthan warriors peering in to the depths over the side of the high prowed, black bog Oak vessel. The white hooded, shrouded ferryman pointed to the far side of the lake. He began to dip the punting pole. He was returning back beyond the veil. They all would be taken to join the dark Sidhe... never to return!

  “Terese!!!” they all yelled, “Come back to us!” Deep below, in the denseness, all seemed lost. Terese could no longer hold her breath. Nesta, although still living, haemorraghed volumes of blood.

  Deeper and deeper, time still in slow motion, Terese contemplated her life, resigned herself to her death and resigned to the dark Sidhe taking over the mortal realm... she felt a hand grabbing her wrist and an amber cosmos began to fill the cold, dark denseness... A brilliant shaft of radiant Light pierced the deep... Inexorably they began to rise! First in slow motion, then ever faster! A vision of beauty, an enlightened being... Sceine… and with her the Guardians of Light! Rapidly now, they rose to the surface... Terese with her amazonian strength kicked and swam to the silver, now reddened with blood, surface. The darkness below turning to a rich amber.The demons and denizens releasing them, returning back to the spirit world, going back beyond the veil...

  Terese and Nesta burst through the surface of the highly oxygenated mountain water, filling their lungs with fresh, sweet, cold mountain air. Terese swam with the limp, rag doll body of Nesta, towards the high prowed, black bog Oak vessel, occasionally stopping to give the kiss of life while she swam away from the ancient, weathered, red sandstone slab. Xanthan warriors grabbed and hauled them in to the boat... warning them not to look at the ferryman! “Beware his gaze!” Terese continued with the kiss of life, whilst wrapping her warming body around the still limp and cold body
of Nesta. Others tended to her, tying tourniquets around her still bleeding heels. Terese prayed to the Guardians of Light, “Bring this brave Xanthan back to the mortal world!”

  With a gasping intake of air of amazonian proportions, Nesta came back from near death... the live sacrifice had failed!

  Once more an ethereal mist slowly poured over the surface of the mirror surfaced lake, the dip, dip of the shrouded ferryman, punting them deeper in to its cloaking camouflage.

  Three raven haired witches were left cursing their tormentors. They had been thwarted by the combined powers of enlightenment. The Portal of Hushinish shone its radiant Light even brighter than ever. The Guardians of Light, the saviours and redeemers of the enlightened ones prevailed for the moment...

  The raven haired Witches of Hawardden, embattled and even more embittered, retraced their steps.They would rest that night in the ancient deciduous woodlands of the Valley of the Mad. The witches would return... their darkness knew no bounds. Each of them vowed to the core of their sinister souls, that they would reap revenge. Sceine had eluded death this time...

  CHAPTER TWENTY TWO:

  THE CAPE OF WRATH

  In sanguine resignation Amergin took the helm once more, but it was not the flagship helm. The crew hauled the anchor in, but it was not his crew! They had been abandoned! Distraught and distressed, but he was not distracted. The mission must continue…

  All the fleet up anchored and made ready for the open sea. In this quiet windless bay, the oarsmen heaved in synchronicitous strokes. The Milesian vessels edged nervously past and away from the eerily quiet flagship. MacCuacht had sown the seeds of this treachery. His conniving and deception and finally the murderous onslaught on the Northern Province had wrought this vengeance.

  Xomas understood the pain Amergin was feeling, he could see it in his face. The Sea Druid will have to find the inner resolve from deep within, “My lord, have the courage of your convictions. The nation depends on you.” Xomas tried to console and sooth Amergin’s conscience, “We will return to retrieve the flagship. We will undo the spells of the siren Zendris! We will save the crew! Go below my lord, go and pray, meditate, find your strength again. Go! The night is long... I will take the helm.”

  The first stirring of an ocean breeze, flags fluttered and then straightened and the unfurled sails filled. Still the prevailing South Wester pushing them on, slowly at first and more quickly once they sailed out beyond the headlands and in to the beckoning open sea.

  The Milesian flagship remained anchored, unmoving. Amergin stared out in to the half light. He was sure he could make out the deadly beauty, Zendris, standing provocatively on the prow. The siren, even now, was trying to lure him back. He still felt a strangely disconcerting connection to her...

  “This must stop!” He closed his mind, shutting out her influence, “The power of that woman!”

  He turned and went below. He must reconnect with Sceine! He was in denial, his feelings for the siren, had not gone, her influence lingered in the recesses of his mind.

  Xomas remained at the helm. He too had seen the siren Zendris on the prow of the flagship. He too was drawn to her. He gripped the tiller more tightly. His nails digging in to the wood until the blood drained out of his fingertips. He must resist! He closed his mind to her beguiling magical ways...A gust of freshening wind filled the sails. The distraction needed to be free from her entrapment.The vessel planed in a stiff breeze and began to roll in an open ocean swell. Droplets of blood fell to the deck from an open wound on his white and straining knuckles.

  They sailed on... two twin masted vessels followed. A thought suddenly struck Xomas, “What of the leader of the Pirates of Grannh? Was Senet now under the spell of the siren Zendris?” Xomas hung on to the tiller as a larger than expected wave surged through. The vessel rocked and rolled and then steadied itself. He must tell Amergin of his fears... but later...

  Amergin prayed and meditated in quarters that were not his own. It took him a good while to feel at ease in these new surroundings. He lit a storm lantern that cast a comforting glow in to the strangeness. He knelt before an effigy of the sea god Manannan, “This god will have to smile on the Milesian fleet if this mission is to be successful!” he thought. He stared at the pagan idol, his mind beginning to rest. Staring again, his mind was beginning to drift... He prayed for the salvation of his abandoned crew. He prayed for his own sanity, free from the spell of Zendris. He prayed for Sceine. He hoped with all his heart that she will come to him this night... his mind drifted once more. For an hour or more he let his imagination run free. He prayed, he chanted ancient sacred verse. His mind easing and his spirit rising, he began to compose poems in his mind. He chanted the rhythmic, lyrical verse:

  *

  “Safe haven, protection, storm front chasing, shelter anchored.

  Heave to, breaching, the seventh wave, spirits in accord.

  Fine lines, carved in liquid, sail stretching, straining.

  Fair weather, foul, sun burst, wind squall, raining.

  *

  Dulse, kelp, flotsam, jetsam, washed ashore in brine.

  Sea soaked, weather worn, salted, leather faced, sunshine.

  Aeons, wave crested, rolling, timeless, boundless, sublime.

  Surf sodden and spume thrown, wind borne nature’s rhyme.”

  *

  The poems were his mantra. His soul was being soothed. His body was being gently caressed. He was being taken out of his body. He was travelling beyond the veil. He fell in to an amber cosmos. He opened his eyes... Sceine! “Come to me Amergin! I am waiting for you my beloved!” She was safe! He was drawn deeper and deeper. He fell in to the fleck in her eye. Her hands caressed and aroused him, taking him to blissful joy... “Sceine...Sceine!” He was in ecstacy... and then he was awake... his destiny confirmed, his resolve strengthened...

  Amergin smiled in quiet relief, the first smile in a long time. His body re-energised. His mind rejuvenated and refreshed. He prayed for a final time, “Great Spirit I am your willing servant. We are journeying in your realm. Bring us safely to our destination. Help us complete our mission! Bring the Guardians of Light to this darkening land.”

  Amergin stepped up on to the deck in the breaking light of dawn, “Xomas my good helmsman. How was your shift?” Xomas smiled, he was mightily relieved to see the Sea Druid was back! Strengthened and revitalised! “My lord, all fares well... but!” Just as he was about to express his concern, “We have company!” Amergin pointed to the two twin masted vessels on the distant horizon. “That is my concern my lord,” responded Xomas, “Who are the Pirates of Grannh in league with? Is Senet in charge? Or is it Magire and Zendris?”

  Amergin nodded, he understood the dilemma. His mind was racing, “We have greater duties now my good helmsman.Your shift is done now, but first bring MacCuill to me. I need his cartographic wisdom and local knowledge...”

  As Xomas went below deck, Amergin turned to watch the horizon. Squinting in to the rising light of the new day, he certainly saw the two red sailed, twin masted vessels of the Pirates of Grannh. But there! Just revealing itself over the horizon was a third, familiarly rigged vessel. His own flagship!

  MacCuill stepped up alongside Amergin. He too stared in to the sunrise, “Magire and the siren Zendris on your flagship my lord!” he wisely advised, “They will be making for Land’s End and reinforcements. Once they are rejoined with the Shamen, they will be powerful adversaries!”

  “We must get there before them!” urged Amergin, “What lies ahead of us? Give me your verdict and your judgement.”

  MacCuill spread out a sea chart, roughly drawn on parchment. “Here my lord, a days sailing to the north, the infamous Cape of Wrath. We will sail in the protection of the outer islands until this point,”MacCuill stabbed a dry quill pen in to the parchment, scratching an X to mark the spot, “From here, the sea god Manannan willing, we navigate around the cape. From here we will be exposed to the full fury of the Northern Ocean. Storms of inordinate s
trength track through. Now at the time of the equinox they are more powerful than ever.”

  Amergin studied the sea chart, “What of the tidal races and rip tides?”

  “This is another concern my lord!” said MacCuill worriedly, “The tides around the Cape of Wrath are legendary. The tide from the south meets the tide sweeping along the coast of the Northern Province. Time it wrong and the incessant huge swells of the Northern Ocean combine with the converging tides making this the infamous mariner’s grave yard of myth and legend!”

  Amergin listened with quiet consternation. He gestured for MacCuill to continue, “It is critical to meet the convergence of tide and swell at slack tide. Then there is a window of two hours only. The two great bulges of ocean will then annul one another. The drift is east along the Northern Province. Time it wrong and the combined tidal races and swell are irresistible. Any vessel caught here at the wrong time, will be drawn in to the great whirlpool known as The Coirin. Even if you survive this, the strength of the rip currents and tidal races will take you further and deeper in to the track of the unrelenting storms. Any hapless sailor will be swept north-east in to the limitless ocean!”

  “By the sea god Manannan, this is a fearsome place!” Amergin felt a cold, nervous sweat on his brow, just at the prospect of such a marine encounter. MacCuill left Amergin alone to ponder and strategise. Amergin was now fully aware that they will need his lifetime of marine training to survive the coming sea voyage. He turned to study the horizon. He called to his watchman, “How many vessels do you see?” “Three my lord!” came the reply. “Do they get any closer?” Amergin suspected that their knowledge of these waters will give them an advantage. “Yes my lord! They are steadily gaining on us!”