Nemeton: The Trial of Calas (Hallowed Veil Book 1) by Christopher Lee

Author:Christopher Lee [Lee, Christopher]
Language: eng
Format: epub, mobi
Published: 2017-11-29T22:00:00+00:00

Chapter Twenty

Pythia, the High Priestess of the Great Goddess

Sacred power crumble,

To hellish, profane rumble,

Making privileged humble.

They had vanished from the chamber. It had been many centuries since Pythia traveled in such a manner. As they forced their way through time and space, she sensed his auric pull. She’d forgotten how his nature felt. Falbanach had fallen into distant memory and many had forgotten his power, herself included. He was as capable as they all were, but something about his robust understanding of the infinite language made him somewhat more dynamic. Falbanach wasn't physically gifted as Dagda; he did not command the elements as the Morrighan; he didn’t have the raw power of Pythia. Even Myrddin for all his gifts did not compare to the transcendental essence that Falbanach exuded.

One moment she was in the caverns beneath the Grand Temple and the next the wanderer had taken them to a blustering mountain peak. Pythia could not identify the lands that lay before them, even the sky was different. It was as though the color of the land was washed away.

“Goddess,” she gasped.

All within the Order knew of the realms outside of Eíre and Hyperborea, the realms of man were ever on their mind. But this land, the place he’d taken her existed outside of their own time. The ancient laws of conduct in the Order forbade them to interfere in the affairs of time. This was heresy.

“Falbanach, where have taken me?" Pythia said. “If this is...this is heresy Dian Cecht. What have you done?”

Falbanach did not say a word, he merely pointed.

In the distance, she watched as the cities below made war. City after city fell. They were rebuilt and fell again. There was no doubt in her mind where Falbanach had taken her.

“Tír na Beo..." she said with disbelief. “Why do they?” she paused. “Goddess have mercy, they murder Her creation!”

The land was darkened, the soil soaked in blood, famine, and suffering. From lands far and wide the false gods, the lords anointed by Atum warred against each other, leaving the bodies of countless human slaves in their wake.

“Not where, but when,” he said. “This is the land of toil, of the exiled,” his voice was as grim as the scene before them. “Outside the precious eden of Hyperborea the children of Atum enslave, murder, and deceive one another.”

“They found a way,” she said. “A way to…” Falbanach turned to her. “To break the power of the Grove.”

“Here is where the current course takes us. To the destruction of all, we hold sacred.”

Pythia stepped backward and covered her face.

“This is where you have been all these years, among the exiled? The dreaming was meant to prevent you from accessing your power. You know why the Mother ordered your sleep.”

She realized why he’d aged. She looked down at her hands. They were covered in wrinkles and age spots. Pythia backed away in horror and in an instant, they were back in the Grand Temple of the Goddess. Her youth had been returned to her.

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