The Chosen

1 Prologue and chapters 1 to 3 of Volume 1: The Chosen Ones, by Ray Jones

Prologue

The Tapestries

I am Myriddin, the weaver and guardian of your histories, which are woven with the use of the Deep Magic, and which chronicle the life and times of the gods.

The Tapestries of Danu are held safe in the separate dimension of space and time that is Avalon, so that only those with magic in their souls can read and understand them. They were created to be used by the druids, and any who are among the enlightened, to learn from their past, and to change the future, and so maintain the balance of this world.

This is the story of the keepers of the Talismans of Power, and of the Chosen Ones, who will fight for right or wrong, of the children of destiny, of those people who will serve either the light or the darkness, and of those who were forced to serve the causes of evil at the time of the great divide.

I, Myriddin–Hu–Emrys, shall be your guide, as I tell you the stories that describe the time before the coming of the Romans, of how they tried to destroy the druids and their magic. For you will need to understand why magic was lost to the world of humankind.

2

Chapter 1

The Druids of Caer Gybi

This part of the Tapestries starts on the Holy Isle of Gybi, which the Roman invaders call Mona. It is the year 43 in the real world, but what is time to a Druid?

And in the Holy Groves of Caer Gybi, time is not fixed. To show you how the events of the Iceni rebellion came to pass, we must first understand the druids and their deep magic.

Dracus–Hu–Araflon, a Bardi druid of the henge of Gybi, was trapped on the Isle of Mona.

Trapped, waiting for the return of his old master, Barach–Hu–Concebar, one of the members of the High Council of Elders, and his first tutor in the ways of Durantia.

Barach had brought him to the Holy Groves of Gybi to become a druid, but instead of teaching him as he promised, he had left the Holy Isle on a quest to find the sacred Redeemer, whose birth had been foreseen in the night skies ten years before on the Tor of Araflon, the night of their first meeting. Months ago, the tutor druid Frema had received a mind–meld dream telling of Barach’s return, and that very night Dracus’s nightmares had started again: dreams and visions that spoke of a dreadful fate for them all. Dracus knew that only Barach could make sense of them, for Barach had started it all, by choosing Dracus to become his apprentice, and by locking away his boyhood memories all that time ago.

Now the druid had returned, but he no longer seemed the mighty wizard that Dracus had known in his youth. It appeared to him that his old master had aged far beyond his ten years of absence, and was a broken man. Perhaps things had not gone well on his quest to find the King Redeemer of the vision quest. Barach had not spoken to anyone in the groves before going straight to the council chamber. Now, however, he was to be found in his hut, and Dracus intended to get some answers to the questions that had haunted his dreams these recent months.

Approaching the roundhouse that was his abode whilst he was on Mona, Dracus pushed aside the hide cover to reveal the interior, lit by a single taper. Barach sat by the fireside,

3 looking into the flames, as if he could make out what the dancing flickers were telling him. If so, they spoke no comfort. Dracus shivered at the shadows he saw in his master’s mind, and at the painted symbols on the whitewashed lower walls of his hut, which seemed to dance and move in the firelight. The smoke from the small fire swirled to the top of the thatched roof, to hang there like a spectre waiting to pounce. The scent of magical herbs was thick, as this roundhouse had been shut up for so long. He almost lost his nerve and wanted to flee back into the sunlight, but he felt his master’s need and the power that pulled him there this day.

Barach did not move as Dracus closed the hide cover that kept out the east wind. The druid held up a firebrand: speaking the ignition spell, it burst into a bright light, and Dracus was blinded for a moment. When he regained his sight and composure, the man standing before him seemed to be taller and stronger. Barach the wizard druid had returned.

Gone were the hunched back and frail body that had entered the Holy Grove that very morning. Now Barach stood tall, his face full of purpose, his grey eyes alive and searching beneath those mighty eyebrows that had always seemed so fearsome. Now his hair was tinged with white and grey — it no longer hung tangled and lifeless. It fell to his shoulders, framing his strong high cheekbones and the prominent hooked nose that stood out from his craggy face. His old master was exceptionally tall for any follower of Durantia, and, while he was as thin as ever, he now stood proud and assured. Dracus came to kneel before him, and, taking the end of his woven belt, he kissed the silver tree symbol of Calendar, which was wrought at its tip.

“Master, I come at your bidding.”

“I see you Dracus–Hu–Araflon. I see you are finally eligible to wear the silver twisted belt of a druid. I feared that your strong will would never allow you to submit to the force of the Earth Mother, and her Deep Magic. Come, you must not kneel to me now. You are no longer my apprentice. Look, I have prepared some food. Will you break your night fast with me?”

4 Dracus rose and went to sit beside Barach on a carved log seat beside the hearth. He placed the firebrand into a brazier, and the whole interior of the hut was transformed with its light–warmth, as the familiar home was reborn.

“I see you master, and I have missed you badly. Perhaps if you had stayed at my side, I would have found the way of Durantia much sooner. However, enough of that. I heard you were sick. I feared that the years spent in the outer lands had not treated you kindly.

Are you well? You look troubled. Did you find your new King, during your time in the east?”

“In a strange way, I did, Dracus. However, that is a very long story, and one I will recount to you as soon as I may. For now it must wait, though it touches on why I have come here to find you again this day. You may not know it, but four summers ago I sent another acolyte here. He was also chosen to serve the Deep Magic, as you were. Prasutagus is a young man from the lands of the Iceni. I sent him here to be trained in our basic lore, and the history of the Caltae nations. You see, I had good reason to believe he had a crucial role to play in the destiny of everyone in this land. I discovered him whilst I was on the quest you spoke of, and had him brought here…. I was hopeful that Prasutagus might settle down and become a Strabo — at least learn some reason, and manage to control his foul temper. Now, on return, I find he has made little or no progress. It is because of this I have sought you out and must ask a favour of my old apprentice. You are near his

age: if I can prise you free of your duties to the High Council, will you take him on as your own apprentice?”

Dracus nearly choked on the mead wine he was about to swallow at this unexpected question, for it was the very last thing he wanted to do. He intended to leave Gybi as soon as he had the council’s permission.

“No, by all the gods, you ask too much Barach. I am sorry, but I do not even like this Iceni warrior. I have seen this Prasutagus, trying to study the lore of herbs with Frema. The Iceni gave Frema a black eye for his troubles, when he tasted the mistle berry for the first time. Please do not ask this of me master, for you must know I am intent on leaving the Isle. I have decided to go out into the world, to seek these Roman invaders, and try to discover why they are so resolute on destroying our people. Besides, this Iceni warrior is 5 far too old to learn any fresh ways. He will soon become of age: he will receive his tribal name at the next Hu Gaddern. Then he will become a shield warrior, and we cannot hope to hold him here after that.”

“Indeed, I fear you have the right of it Dracus. But to tell the truth I have tried everyone else. You are my last hope for this young man. I had hoped you would do this for him, considering your own years spent here and your difficult initiation. I expected you to have some sympathy for him, for we all know just how hard you found it to settle down.”

“Indeed and that is why I have been waiting here for your return. I need your help to resolve my dreams. I fear I will never become a full druid until I can understand and control them.”

“More nightmares? I thought we had dealt with those once and for all, when I left you in the care of Frema. I will do what I can, but first you must promise to help me with Prasutagus.”

“How is that ever to be possible, master? All I can see is that his heart is so full of hate, with a thirst for revenge for the death of his Iceni brothers, killed before the shield walls of Aesunos. I fear he will never find any peace in his heart, or follow our ways of Durantia. You must see he is a hopeless case, master!”

“Perhaps he is, but surely that is even more reason not to give up on him. Look Dracus, I cannot make you do this thing, or insist that you stay in Gybi a day longer than is necessary. But you are young. You have all the time in the world.”

Barach looked into the young man’s eyes to see what effect his words were having on his old apprentice and friend.

However, Dracus seemed unusually disturbed at something more than his dreams.

“I have tried to leave on many occasions, but each time I was pulled back to the Holy Groves as a great fear took hold of my heart and mind. It was as if a binding spell held me here until your return. I see you have changed greatly. I see your white hair, and beardless face, and now that you have been on your vision quest….”

6 “You cannot leave? Does the council business still tie you to them?”

“Perhaps — I must ask them — but the passing of the days and years I have spent at Gybi have been in my mind recently. You say I have all the time in the world. What is this time you speak of? I see that you have aged so badly in the outer world. Why is that?”

The old druid looked into the fire before answering, and it seemed to Dracus that he was gathering his thoughts.

“Time is a strange concept, something we still do not fully understand. You know of the seasons of the year, today, and yesterday, night and day. These periods are seen as the coming and going of Lunesca and Sol across the skies, marking the passing of time. But it

is not a constant, as some believe. Time passes differently here and in our Holy Groves. I see that you stay young, living nearby, whilst I have aged considerably by going out into the real world.”

Dracus was trying to grapple with this concept, though it was not the first encounter he had had with such a mystery.

“That is true. Tutor druid Figol has told me that those touched by the Deep Magic of our gods age slower, in order that they may gain wisdom and pass on the old knowledge and its stories. Is that what you meant to say, master?”

Barach waited for a long moment, whilst reaching for his tankard, and when he had wet his lips, it seemed he had gathered his thoughts well enough to go on. Dracus knew this ploy of old. Barach often used it when he was not quite sure of his words or when he wanted to think.

“I do not have the words or the means to show you now, but you must have heard the old stories of the Tuatha–De–Danann and the battles of Nuada, the tales of the First battle of Magh Tuiredh against the Fir–Bolg — when they used weapons of power to alter time.”

“Yes, of course, to hear and remember the First Druids is compulsory learning for anyone who intends to train as a Bardi.”

7 “Tell me what they told you then.”

“All of it? There is so much. It will take far too long. Is this a test, Barach?”

“No, just tell me what you know about the Two Talismans and the First Druids.”

Dracus had to dig deep into his training and try to visualise the tapestry that he had been shown, which told of the Chair of Danu. Dracus dug deeply into his memories and for a brief moment went into a trance. Then he was able to speak them for Barach.

The First Druids, they came about when the goddess Danu had grown weary of sharing the worship of we humans and our magic, which provided the astral energy that maintained the life force of the gods and elementals. She needed the love and devotion of humans and others who would worship only her, in preference to the other gods. All this was before the great divide, when the gods walked this earth with the Earth Mother Durantia. Therefore, she decided to create a special sect of humans, the Peoples of the Goddess Danu, who would dedicate themselves to her worship before all others. Then it was that she allowed Nemed to sire a new type of being, a mystic, who could also see and use the Deep Magic of the Earth Mother Durantia. So were created the Tuatha–De–Danann. These were the First Druids, who were to teach the people how to worship and venerate all the gods, and, as the first among the elementals, were also to lead the people in the worship of Danu.

Unfortunately, this act angered another of the gods, Arawn, the god responsible for the dead, whose souls resided in the underworld of Emania — the souls that were forbidden ascension and awaited rebirth. Arawn was forbidden to leave Emania: he could not enter the physical world of humankind to enjoy their unequalled devotion to the gods, or share in the greater astral power that the druids provided for his sister. Therefore he demanded that he must be allowed to create a magical talisman, his gift to the world that would allow him to speak directly to the hearts and minds of humanity. This was to become known as the Amulet of Arawn.

On seeing the evil influence the Amulet of Arawn was having in the world of man, Danu had Amaethon steal the amulet and give it to the Tuatha–De–Danann for safekeeping. Unfortunately, Amaethon also stole a beloved dog from Arawn, and his 8

favourite bird. These were precious to Arawn, and cherished most among all his treasures. As Amaethon rode away from Emania on a roebuck, Arawn became aware of his losses. Then his rage knew no bounds and was he driven mad with a desire for revenge. The amulet gave him control over the souls of humans, who would listen to his voice. In his thirst for revenge, Arawn decided that he would seek to recover the amulet and destroy the Tuatha–De–Danann, along with those druids who would rather serve his sister Danu.

It was this conflict which was to lead to the first Battle of the Trees. As the gods and elementals were forced to take sides, it seemed that they would destroy the world of the Creator. They were forced to ascend to the higher plane of Nivernais, for to stay in the physical world would risk the utter destruction of humanity — the battles were being waged with ever more potent weapons of power and magic, and unless this was stopped, all of creation would be undone.

One of these weapons of power was the Chair of Danu, a magical gift from Danu to her people. The Chair of Danu was the Talisman of Life, a counter force to the Amulet of Arawn, which had become the Talisman of Death. To some, the Talisman of Life is a simple chair, but it was grafted from a branch taken from the tree of life — Calendar itself. The Chair of Danu was an item of great power and magic. When used by those who were pure of heart, it could work amazing miracles of healing. It was used to heal the hearts and minds of humankind, as well as healing those beings whose souls were stolen by Arawn.

However, when this chair was given to the world of humankind, so also was the Amulet of Arawn, allowed by the gods to return to the physical world, as a counterbalance to the divine gift of Danu.

But Arawn had deceived the other gods, for he had not given up his hold on humankind and he refused to ascend, remaining in his realm of Emania, from where he could still touch the souls of humanity.

For it also transpired that the Amulet of Arawn could be used as a key to time.

If used by one with the Deep Magic in their soul, it could alter time itself and prolong the life of those chosen as its keeper. Further, when placed into the hands of those 9 with evil in their hearts, it could kill, maim, or corrupt the souls of all who heard its song, and then they could be made to serve Arawn’s minion Shaitain — he who has become known as the Dark Destroyer of Souls.

Therefore, Danu allowed some of her people, the Tuatha–De–Danann, to share her powers and to remain in the physical world, as a counterbalance to the druids.

Those humans she chose were made elementals — all were female, to become known as the Seeresses of Leane.

After the battles between the gods, the Amulet of Arawn was given to Myriddin–Hu–Emrys of the Tuatha–De–Danann, for safekeeping, and he was told to hide himself away in the deepest cave, to live a long life as a hermit. His reward was to become an elemental, and to be given some of the Deep Magic of the immortals.

Unfortunately, another of the Tuatha–De–Danann, Fer–Doritch, was corrupted by Arawn, and he eventually learnt of the amulet’s hiding place. Myriddin was forced to give his life to protect the amulet. His last act was to send his soul to Avalon, there to become the guardian and weaver of Time. This was at the moment of the great divide, when the old gods left this earthly world, so that humanity could grow and experience the gifts of free will, as determined by the Creator.

As Dracus came to the end of this section of the tapestry so was his mind meld broken.

He awoke to see the wizard staring at him with his enormous eyes, and it seemed that he also had been reliving these holy words.

“Druid Frema has taught you well,” Barach said, his eyes both thoughtful and concerned at the same time.“ If the amulet can change time, I dread to think what else it may do, should it ever be found.”

“Master, are these weapons lost forever?”

“I fear not. One is Dagda’s Cauldron — that is held safe in Avalon. Another is the Spear of Lugh, along with the Stone of Fal, belonging to Nuada, and they were destroyed in the last battle. It was then that they used the five weapons of the Deep Magic to change time to their advantage. It was by altering time that they were able to win the wars against the Fomorians. The Sword of Light, which some name Excalibur, is unfortunately still 10 lost to us. Strange that you should ask, for I do believe I know where it can be found.

However, there are two more: the Two Talismans of Power that serve the forces of light and dark, according to how they are used. As you know, it is forbidden to speak of one of them outside a Holy Grove: the Amulet of Arawn — a key that can unlock the underworld and bend time, to do the will of the bearer.”

Barach fell silent as he ruminated on these mighty weapons of the gods. Dracus was growing a little uneasy about the course this conversation was following, for it touched on the secret knowledge.

However, there was something in what Barach had said that sparked a deep memory of his own training, concerning this very amulet. Now, as he dug it up from the dark recesses of his mind, the Bardi druid was truly terrified. He had good reason, for it had featured in his vision quest — the secrets he had been given when he was finally chosen to serve as a druid. After his vision quest, this knowledge was lost to him.

Dracus realised that they had taken far too long with this meeting already. The High Council was to meet soon, and they would be summoning him hence. He was in the service of the council, for he was chosen as their recorder of words. As such, it was his duty to commit the proceedings to memory, for the Caltae tribes had no written words at that time.

Moreover, one of his ‘god given’ druid’s abilities was as a speaker of tongues, for once he had heard and studied the words of a language, he could remember and translate them.

“Barach, I fear Prasutagus must wait for another day. I must ask you to tell me more about this lost time. You see, I am looking forward to leaving the Isle, as soon as I can deal with my dreaming. It has been five summers since I was granted the silver acorn of a druid. It is well past the time I went out into the real world. However, if many times that number of years has passed outside the groves, will I turn into an old man, the moment I leave them?”

“Indeed, there is a time shift that can take place in our Holy Groves and henges. Our concept of time can sometimes be altered where the Deep Magic is used, as I have said and know to my cost.”

11 He stopped at that and seemed to be considering what to say to his friend concerning this strange concept of ageing.

“Dracus, my friend, as a druid, you need not worry about getting old suddenly when you leave the protection of Gaia. Your body will simply age naturally once you step out into the world of mankind. However, for every summer that passes here in the holy grove of Gybi, three will pass in the real world outside.”

“That is indeed a relief. It has been bothering me for some time. Perhaps it was this fear

that prevented me leaving before now. But these three summers — that means that for the ten I have spent here, thirty will have passed outside.”

“That is correct. You were born the year 25 in the real world as the Caltae count it, and was twelve when you came to Gybi. That was the time of the birth of the Redeemer, ten Gybi summers ago, and thirty years have passed outside the grove. In the real world it is 43 by their reckoning, and so much has changed since the coming of the Legions of Rome. If you leave the Island now you will be thirty two years old to them.”

Dracus was stunned by this announcement and it took him a long time to take it in. But at long last they had come to the reason he wanted to leave the Island.

“Master, I want to find out why the Roman legions persist in destroying our groves. I intend to try to teach them the ways of Durantia, and ask why they are causing so much harm to the great Earth Mother.”

“I see that you are indeed ready to go out into the world, and you set yourself a worthy task. I have reason to believe that our time is shorter than you think. I have discovered that the legions of Rome are intent on destroying our sect and the Deep Magic we hold. If the Roman legions have their way here we shall all perish, and our magic with us. It is only three summers past since the Romans came to our shores. They have already taken all the eastern lands and are even now advancing towards the west. Soon, wild mountains will be all that is left as a refuge for our Caltae people.”

12 “That is terrible news, master. I see now why you were so distraught and lost when you returned, and we can only pray to Durantia that the High Council will find a way to prevent this.”

“I fear that they are going to make a terrible mistake. They have summoned the seeresses to a council moot and are considering mounting a holy war against the Roman invaders. I could not make them see that peace and love were the only way to win.

Surely, they must see that those that live by the sword shall perish by its bloody edge.”

“Master, this is incredible, and I must think about what you have told me. However, I also came here on another matter, concerning my dreams and nightmares. They have been very dark of late, and in most of them you hold sway. You must help me to understand them, and tell me what really happened that night, on the Tor of Araflon.”

“I’m sorry Dracus, that will have to wait a moment longer. I must press you further about Prasutagus, for there is more to this young man than you can ever imagine. It is foreseen that he is our best hope of avoiding this terrible fate. Perhaps, if I tell you something of his background, you will change your mind. If you will return after you have finished with the council, possibly you will agree to listen to my story and reasons. Either way, I promise I will try to help you with your dreams and then leave his fate in your hands.”

With these words, Dracus felt a great weight leave his shoulders, and a bell rang deep in his mind. However, as the firebrand spluttered out, Barach seemed to shrink and become feebler — it was as if the flame were feeding his will.

“Thank you master. I will leave you to rest. I see that you are fatigued.”

“Indeed these last years have not been easy. Go about your duties. A good night’s rest and some wholesome food will work wonders, I am sure. Even now, I feel the power of the grove refreshing my bones. Return on the morrow and I will see to it that you are free of your duties to the High Council, and I will not stand in your way if you still wish to leave this place.”

Dracus then knew that after all he was trapped, for he owed Barach so much. He nodded his reluctant acceptance.

13

It was near nightfall when Dracus was released from the service of the High Council.

After partaking of some soup, he made his way to the hut of his old master, hoping to have him restore the memories he had taken ten years ago.

“Dracus, are you sure you wish this? Mind melds of this type are not to be taken lightly.”

“Yes master, but first I will hear your story, concerning Prasutagus. For the new High Druid Damien has also asked that I try to help him.”

“Thank you, but this may take some time. Please do not interrupt me with questions, for I fear my mind is not as nimble as it once was. Be patient a little longer and you will get the answers you seek this day. Afterwards, I will try to help with your dreams, if I can.

Perhaps you will see a way to succeed in taming this Iceni warrior, where so many have failed to.… It all started with my own vision quest that we shared on the Tor of Araflon, that day when we first met and when I set out to find a special newborn baby boy, one who was to become a saviour of this evil world of ours. It was on that tor that we both heard of the birth of a great leader in the far empire, who would someday be a new King of all the nations.”

“That sounds familiar, but my memory of that time is unclear. Is it related to the nightmares I have in which my family is all killed.”

Barach’s face seemed to soften at this, and he took the druid’s hand.

“Dracus my boy, you were still so very young. I fear you would have gone mad if I had not hidden some things from you. I am afraid that things did not go well for you and your family that night. Indeed, it was the only way I could think of to stop the magic overwhelming your untrained mind.”

“What do you mean master? What is this you tell me?”

“There you go, jumping in with your questions. Be patient. I must tell it in my own way and time. Now that you have at last managed to master the power within your mind, perhaps you are ready to learn the truth about why you were chosen by the Deep Magic.

However, in order to restore your memory, I must perform another mind meld to unlock these memories for you. I should have done so a long time ago. Please forgive me. I fear 14 that I have been so caught up in the search for the One True Redeemer. You also have a right to hear my story, before you decide on helping young Prasutagus. The time has come when you must understand everything if you are to save this youthful warrior from himself. I would ask you to prepare yourself for a shock my friend. I am afraid I was forced to bend the truth a little to save your sanity and to heal your broken mind.”

“I feared as much. I have had glimpses of the past during these last years. My parents did not agree to let me leave with you, did they?”

“No, I am afraid they did not. You must have the rest of it, before you judge me too harshly. Come put your head in my hands and look into my eyes, and we will see why you are troubled so.”

15

Chapter 2 The Seekers

Avalon Here in Avalon exists a fourth dimension, one that exists out of time to your physical world. It is at this space and time that the elementals shall be the guardians of the destiny of humanity, and see that the work of the Creator is not unmade.

Furthermore, it is given to Myriddin — also known as ‘Merlin’ by some, and as ‘Ambrosias’ by those of the Roman Empire — to do what he must to ensure the balance of creation and the will of the Creator is maintained. It is in the matrix of

Avalon where the elementals shall witness the fate and destiny of those who will choose to give their souls to serve the Creator, or to choose to follow the Dark Destroyer of Souls.

Who will serve the powers of goodness and light in the never–ending battle for the souls and spirit of humankind?

As Myriddin created the tapestries of Avalon, so does he choose those who will fight for the forces of good and seek to follow the light.

Therefore, also shall Arawn — god of the underworld of Emania — send his minion, Shaitain — the Dark Destroyer Of Souls — to seek out those who will listen to his false promises. His promise that those whom he has chosen shall sit at his right hand at the time of the new coming. Those souls — who will listen in exchange for his gifts and false promises of eternal life and supreme power over their fellow beings — they shall be named ‘the Seekers of the Talisman of Arawn’.

Unfortunately, there are many who will serve him on this small island of the Britons. Among those in the land of the Keltoi tribes is the Roman legionnaire Lossius Veda — he will soon seek out the new Procurator of Britannica, Decianus Catus, who will see that the will of his dark master is done there.

16 It is the year of 43 in the lands of Brittanica, and Lossius Veda and his friend, Fucus Marcellus, had been sent out on a scouting party. They were supposed to be on the lookout for a ford to cross the river these barbarians named the Colne. Lossius had heard of a cavitas, or holdfast, of the high chieftain Cunobelin. Surely his cavitas would hold many treasures. They were on the way back from an independent scouting expedition he had managed to wrangle from Optio Lucius Suptrus, and his bribe had been the last jug of his apple wine. As usual, Lossius was also on the prowl for any plunder or women he could procure. Lossius saw smoke trailing from the top of the roundhouse, which sat beside the banks of the Colne. Perhaps this denoted a ford, for this was no oppida, or settlement, just a collection of three huts, ringed by a small ditch and a wooden fence to hold some livestock. All he could see was a mangy donkey, two pigs, and some chickens penned up, scratching at the baked earth. No people or signs of human life, other than the smoke. There were some hides drying on frames — surely they would fetch a good price at least. Whilst he waited to see if there would be anything else worth his trouble, Lossius spotted two horses tied up behind the smaller of the huts.

Satisfied that there was not any Keltoi warrior to be seen, he reckoned that this was a likely place to look for some fun. Leaving Fucus to take care of the horses and secure the other huts, he gingerly opened the hide cover at the door, standing ready to deal with the owners.

At first glance, he thought this barbarian hut was empty. It was very dark and smelled something awful. There was no light other than the firelight and the proverbial pot, boiling at the centre hearth. All he could see was their normal rubbish and furs.

However, despite the warmth, he shivered with the chill that ran down his spine. As his eyes accustomed to the gloom, his vision was blocked by a large dark blob at the back of the hut. Then he heard a whimper and muffled curse: it came from the pile of furs in the darkest corner. When he concentrated hard he could just make out a women, hiding in the shadows. She was sheltering somebody and holding something shiny behind her back. Here was plunder at last and a good shag if he wished it. However, he was well used to the smell of death, and, judging by the smell of fresh blood, something very bad had happened in this hut.

‘By all his gods, what evil had he stumbled onto here?’ he thought. However, before he

could speak to the women, she stood up. She was holding a jug and was dressed all in 17 black. No wonder she was hard to see. Then Lossius thought she meant to attack him, and his instinct was to back away, seeking a sword distance. However, he was completely wrong, for as she turned away, Lossius saw she was hiding a man behind her.

Her tattooed arm was not aimed at him. She hit the man behind her a mighty blow with the clay jugs, sending the contents flying across the hut. The man did not make a sound as the thick jug crushed against his forehead and he lay sprawled across the dirt floor, now covered with the contents — a mixture of blood and guts? The man lay unconscious or stunned, but as Lossius tried to speak to this crazed women, his voice would not come. He was held rigid, but not by any physical force that he could discern. It was as if someone had placed a great weight onto his chest. Moreover, his mind seemed to turn to mush. Lossius knew he had to fight to regain control of his mind and body or this mad woman would kill him as easily as she had the dead chicken hanging from the rafters — its blood dripping onto what seemed to be a stone altar. Then this barbarian fiend cried out, cursing him and all of Rome, and in his Latin tongue of all things!

“I curse you Roman. By what ill wind have you come here this day? I curse you for interfering in this ritual. I nearly had the amulet and the answers I seek. I curse you by the name of Nemain. I am a Seeress of Leane. Leave this place, Roman, or suffer the consequences.”

Magic — she was using dark magic. Those remains splattered on the floor were all that remained of a newborn baby! She was an evil one, one of the sorcerers he had been told to find and kill! Lossius grabbed his own charm, the lion’s claw that his birth mother had placed around his baby neck. As he did so it seemed that she had lost a little of her powers to control him, and he had managed to regain a little of his mind and reason, enough to fight off this evil spell.

“Leave, woman? Not until I wring your scrawny neck, or will you lay down for me? I have not had a good fuck for weeks.”

But she just cackled and the words echoed in his mind.

“You would trifle with me Roman? Well let us see what you have my Roman friend. I will suck the very life from you for interrupting Nemain–Du–Chille.”

18 But instead of attacking him, she threw off her black robe to reveal she was completely naked beneath…

With her arms akimbo, she placed her hands on her large hips, and she seemed like a goddess, standing before him, her dark bush and inviting womanhood on show between her strong thighs, her large, full thrusting breasts pointed and firm. Then she smiled and beckoned him to her. In that moment, Lossius was transfixed with desire. His manhood and lust were rising as his passion overcame reason, and throwing aside all caution, he found himself walking towards her. All he knew was that he wanted to take this luscious woman right here and now — he must have her luscious body.

In truth, he was not averse to giving any women he fancied a right good fucking in these lands, and ‘by the gods’ she seemed more than willing! Nevertheless, this coldness in the hut and her strong words had unnerved him for a moment. Then the full import of her words hit his mind. She had said something about some seeress. If so, perhaps she was a holy woman. So what? He had taken the juice of quite a few of the holy virgins who served at their shrines, since he had come to Britannica. As for this Nemain, now all he wanted was to take her there and then. He had rarely felt so powerful, and his normally small manhood was fully engorged, as never before. He could hardly remember her lying

down or offering herself for his delight, but her thick black bush between her legs was drawing him in and he intended to give her what for, there and then!

As her incredible large eyes became as large and black as night they held his until he was sinking into a vast void. He was trying to take off his uniform. He began tearing at his upper–body armour, but it pulled at his belt buckle, throwing down his sword belt. Now naked, Lossius was just about to go down on her sex, and this incredible goddess of love, when Fucus held open the hide cover to the entrance, and sunlight flooded into the roundhouse.

As a shaft of sunlight shone on her bare flesh, the spell was broken, and where it touched her flesh, she was transformed from the love goddess to an old wizen hag! Gone was the beautiful woman with raven–black hair, here was a very old woman, just a pitiful bag of bones that he was about to ravish. Then, as quick as lightning, she jumped up and had a cooking knife in her hand, thrusting it at his bare flesh. Now Lossius was no longer a 19 willing sacrifice, and as his training kicked in, he moved aside, the knife slicing across his arm and cheek, just missing an eye.

“Fuck you woman. Knife me would you!?”

He still had the gladius within reach, and his reaction was instant. Grabbing the few strands of her hair, he held her head ready to slice it off her shoulders! Then his strike was frozen in mid air, as something stopped his sword arm from making the thrust. He could not breathe or break completely free of her control. It was then that the voice of Fucus saved him from her evil — that, and the sunlight that flooded into the hut.

“Hurry Lossius, our advance guard is coming down the hill. We must not be here when they get through the woods. Do what you must, and be done with it man.”

Lossius Veda turned back to the hag, intending to kill the witch, but she shrieked another curse at him, and for a moment the hut was in utter darkness again as the void returned to his mind. With a flutter of what could possibly be wings she was gone, and Lossius regained full control of his senses.

To say that he was shaken was only the half of it, but as he looked around at this hovel, even he was disgusted at how dingy and dirty it was. ‘What is that foul smell coming from the bowl hanging over the fire?’ he thought, and then it came to him. He could recognise burning flesh when he smelt it. A baby’s foot was sticking out of the top, and then he saw the runes and pentagram carved on the floor, and it hit him. Her words and curse came back as he remembered the name she had used — Nemain — and she had cursed him as a sorceress would. Had he stumbled into some sort of vile ceremony that required a human sacrifice then?

Lossius began poking around very carefully after that, for he did not want any more goblins or devils to spring out of the darkness. Taking up some rushes, he lit a firebrand to see what else this hut held.

There, beneath a pile of furs, was another naked body, probably the mother of the baby, as fresh blood was seeping from her vagina. She had just given birth, but was obviously dead now. The body of the man the witch had struck was lying dead or unconscious, 20 presumably the husband or son, but turning over his body he was not too sure of that — he seemed to be dressed a little better than the murdered woman was. There was not much else, and he saw the small ring on a finger of the women lying on the floor. With a flick of his knife, a quick slice freed the finger, the blood already congealing. Getting dressed, he wiped his blade. Taking some of the best of the firs, he went outside the small roundhouse where Fucus was minding their biga chariot.

Fucus had taken the two horses that they had seen tethered out the back, and was holding their rope bridles. Lossius was quick to hide the plunder in his overskirt, before buckling up his belt and scabbard as Fucus turned to speak to him.

“Come Lossius, was she worth risking the pox for? What did you find, my lusty friend?

The other huts were empty. It seems that the inhabitants have fled, leaving their food cooking. I had some fine chicken for you but ate it while you were rutting. There is a ford here. I believe it will serve our purposes. It was just as well I made sure that the scouts did not see us. What did you find?”

“Nothing much, but these Caltae women are a very poor rut. Give me a full bloodied Latino woman any time. They have nothing except for these ponies and a few furs. You can keep them Fucus, but they will not fit that giant’s frame of yours. I fear we will have to give the horses a miss. They will lead to too many awkward questions. Come, we must get back to camp before we are missed.” *** The druid’s ring was only a small portion of the plunder that Lossius Veda had managed to horde so far in his service. If the truth were told, he was heartily sick of this horrendous dung heap. The fighting was all very well, but to do this for so little reward was not his idea of an easy campaign. Where was their gold and silver? They had found not much of it in these southern lands, that was for sure. This marsh–infested land is even worse than Gaul, and that was saying something. If he did not find a way to get some loot or regain his rank of Optio soon, he was seriously thinking of deserting and finding his way back to Rome.

21 However, at last he could anticipate some pickings after the sacking of Canabae, the chief settlement of Cunobelin. The Trinovantes have been as easy meat so far, for they were not warlike people.

To tell the truth of it, once they had arrived at Canabae, they were to discover that the king’s holdfast was no better than a fortified village. It was just a collection of mud huts set beside a small river ringed by a wooden palisade. The Romans had soon overridden the fosse and the earth works that were their main defence.

Lossius Veda had led his conteubemium of eight men into the heart of this holdfast, and he was intent on seeking the chieftain’s treasure house.

“Come away Lossius, we cannot tarry here much longer. Come away man. Look Lossius, there is nothing in this shit hole worth ten strokes of the whip. I am off — this place does not hold a temple, if you ask me.”

“Fucus, my hasty friend, you just wait a moment man. See here where this path ends at the cliff. I heard that these Catuvellauni scum are supposed to be very rich. Did you see that torc held around their chieftain’s neck when he surrendered? It is at least a year’s pay. Where are their priests hiding? If I know anything, they always ensure they get rich pickings. Besides, this settlement is supposed to be the oppidum of Caratacus the old king’s son. So there must be something here to make it worth fighting for. Look harder, you lazy bastard.”

Lossius was examining some rocks and a path that seemed to lead nowhere.

“Fucus come over here. Look at this stone, it has Caltae runes. Can you move it? If this is hiding what I think it is.… This may lead us to a cave and some sort of shrine. We may have found some treasure at last.”

As they both put their backs to the spear that Lossius had used to ply away the stone, it shifted to reveal a small entrance to a stone cave of some sort. As Lossius lit up a firebrand, the interior of the cave tunnel glistened with myriad silver stars, as the very

rocks themselves shone with the silver ore contained in them. There was the sound of running water, an underground spring — this was a shrine all right! There were two 22 Caltae warriors guarding it. As Lossius lifted the rush light higher, he could see some people huddled together in the shadows. Then there was a shout and two men rushed at them, armed with shield and spear. Lossius dropped on one knee, holding his spear against his foot as if he was going to make a stand, and shouted for Fucus to deal with the other attacker. Just as the warrior charged along the tunnel and drew back his throwing arm, Lossius rose and rushed towards him, his shield held before him as a battering ram. The metal boss struck the warrior with a sickening thud, and Lossius struck from behind the shield with his gladius, gutting the Keltoi. As he fell to the ground, the spear and shield were sent spinning aside. Lossius turned to see Fucus tear the head off his assailant as the neck snapped, leaving the body a lifeless corpse. Then they stood back to back, awaiting the next onslaught, but none came.

Going deeper into the cave, they saw a priest standing there, holding up some sort of curved knife that glittered like gold! He also held up a branch of a yew tree, as if this would ward off the attackers. Another robed priest or druid was kneeling before a stone altar. It looked as if they were hiding some women and children behind them. They were mumbling some incantations and, for a brief moment, Lossius lost his desire to sack this place, believing that there was nothing here to interest him. He turned to Fucus, who was going towards the women, a hungry glint in his eye. ‘At last, some treasure,’ for on top of the stone altar was a gleaming silver tray — and some sort of wreath made from mistletoe, judging by its white fruit. A foul–smelling concoction filled the air with noxious fumes, and Lossius wanted to be sick. However, all he needed was to see the priests’ treasures — the silver torc glinting at their throats, their twisted belts of silver holding their robes together, and the fabled golden scythes used to harvest their holy fruits. Once again, he held his own talisman and his mind cleared of the druids’ spells.

Lossius could see the fear in their eyes and they would be easy meat for him and Fucus, as would their women.

By Mars he was not going to let any priest put a hex on him again. He had had enough of their magic. Nevertheless, somehow his resolve to act against these kindly old men was disappearing. Once again he felt a strange compulsion to get out of the place. It seemed damp and evil. However, his greed would overcome any evil spell, and he managed to raise his temper to a fever pitch. Then he swiped his knife across his own arm to draw blood. Putting it to his mouth, he was lost to the blood lust. It was then that Lossius Veda 23 became lost to the berserkers’ rage, as a red haze descended on his mind and soul. The need to kill became overwhelming. It was like nothing he had experienced before.

As the last druid’s body collapsed to the ground, Lossius grabbed at his garments, seeking the gold and silver. With a swipe of the short sword, he decapitated the druid and took his torc. The druid’s head went rolling towards the stone altar, splashing it blood red.

The women, who were some sort of priestesses, had bronze daggers. They flung themselves at Fucus and Lossius. They were like wild banshees, lost to their desire to save their shrine from desecration. Nevertheless, a thrust and twist of Lossius’s gladius soon dispatched one, and Fucus broke the neck of another. Wiping their blood from his face, Lossius Veda had never felt so strong or invulnerable. Before they knew it, they had finished the slaughter, and all was silence. It was all over.

Ripping aside the altar cloths woven with all sorts of Caltae shapes and signs, Lossius

held his own amulet and crossed two fingers to ward off the evil runes and patterns that decorated the stone altar. Surely there must be more plunder to find here? So what if the walls of this cave were rich with silver ore? He could not mine it. Otherwise, there is nothing but a stone slab with a figure carved into its top wearing some sort of amulet.

Lossius tried his best to move it, but soon realised that it was far too heavy for him to move aside. It must hide their treasure — why else were these gentilis or barbarians so ready to die to protect its secrets?

Something here was once again holding his heart and mind in a grip of fear. He remembered this feeling. It was the same as the other day in the hut! Then it was that Shaitain came to claim him for his own.

I see you Veda, hiding in the legions of Rome. I see into your very soul, and hear your dark thoughts. I see your hatred of all women, who refuse you their love. I see your deep longing for a mother’s love. Only I know just how much you wish to show your women how powerful you are. Come Lossius, if you will bow down to me, see before you all that I can offer you, and so much more. Bow down to me and I will grant you a life full of riches and dominion over all the women you desire. Do you 24 wish to have all this that I offer you? Will you serve me as your lord and master, will you serve the one true god, Arawn?

It was then that Lossius Veda knew that he had found his true desires to have dominion over all the women who had derided his small miss–formed penis. He would live forever and serve the dark master, who could save him from their pity.

“Yes master, I see this and it is my desire to serve you. I will do anything you ask of me.

Yes, I will bow down before you and serve the dark for such a reward.”

Therefore do I claim your immortal soul and name you a Seeker of the Amulet of Power. I am Shaitain. Therefore shall you choose those to serve with you. I give you this blood oath and pledge that will bind you and them to my will. Behold, and hear my words, and obey, Lossius Gaius Veda of the Ninth Legion of Rome.

Then Fucus was shouting in his ear.

“Come away Veda, we must get out of this place. I fear we have angered their gods. Do you not feel it too?”

Indeed he did, so they ran. However, once outside in the sunshine, they felt better, and could re-gather their courage. At first they avoided looking at each other, fearful of the way they had been unmanned inside the shrine. Fucus was the first to speak.

“What did you see? I felt a hand grab at my heart and twist it then walk over my gravestone. Did you find anything worth the taking, Lossius?”

“Nothing Fucus, there is nothing here of worth, blast it. We will need oxen to shift that altar slab! You are a stupid fool Fucus, why did you start the killing? I think we should have made them tell us where they hide their treasure box, before you ripped them open. There is nothing of value besides these blood–stained silver threaded blankets. At least they are decorated with gold and silver. I fear that there was nothing else there for us, that I could see.”

“I…? It was not me. You started the blood bath. I was only following your lead, Lossius. I had enough trouble with their women — the bitch bit me. They were as strong as a 25 mule. One wench would have split me open if I had been slower. If you ask me, some of these Caltae women fight better than their men!”

“Indeed they do” and they laughed at that poor joke, which was enough to relieve the tension. It seemed that they had come up short again, however. Lossius was still angry at

running from the shrine. Fucus reminding him of his rage had not helped any. Veda kicked the corpse of one of the warriors he had left dead outside their long house, then, bending down, wiped the blood on the woollen robe of this man who had been willing to give his life for whatever this place held. Now that his temper was cooling, he felt ashamed for fleeing the shrine.

They did not waste any more time thinking, for Lossius knew that they had precious little time left, if they were to seek out more of the druids’ treasures or relics. It seemed possible that the noise of the women’s screams would wake the dead, and it might soon attract the attention of some other warriors, either the Keltoi or the legionnaires. As some semblance of reason returned to his mind, Lossius knew they must report back to his commander, Optio Lucius, and well before he came looking for them and saw the bodies.

For Lossius knew they would be punished if they were caught looting a shrine. Whilst druids were fair game, the desecration of the holy temples was forbidden, and they would not escape lightly should they be caught there. Lucius was sure to report it, then they would be paraded before the legions and whipped as an example, or whatever further punishments were thought suitable for these desecrations. General Aulus had ordered that the religious shrines of the gods must be venerated and left undisturbed, for the Romans worshiped their own similar deities.

All Lossius knew was that he must leave this place, but first he had another task to do.

He must make sure that Marcellus Fucus became one of his trusted followers.

Marcus was a giant of a man, and Lossius’s wrestling champion. None would dare to bother him.

“Look, Fucus, if you ask me, these Trinovantes and Catuvellauni are a waste of time. This place is another waste of our good gladius thrusts. If what I hear is only half true, those 26 bloody Iceni have hoarded a great pile of gold and silver in their lands in the east. Only this morning, I overheard the immune Antonius Fucillis saying that the new procurator Catus is recruiting for his bodyguard from the ranks of the legion. I believe he is looking for people just like us. If I know Decianus Catus, he will know where the profit is to be made. I suggest we see if we can volunteer for his guard, for I still intend to get my share before we return to Rome. Will you come with me? There will be rich pickings, and I have good reason to believe that the procurator will look after us. If you will give me your holy oath, I will make you rich.”

“You know I am not very bright Lossius, but something tells me that I should believe you.

What is this oath of yours?”

“It is a simple thing, a blood oath between brothers in arms. Surely you have heard of such?”

“I see. Well I have taken so many oaths, another cannot hurt any. And what must I do?”

Lossius cut his thumb and made a similar cut in that of Fucus Marcellus.

“As we are joined in blood, so shall we be brothers, the seekers of Arawn, and agree to serve and obey. So shall we give up all hope of redemption and our immortal soul, if we fail to do the bidding of the master. So it is said, so shall it be done.”

“Who is this master you speak off Lossius?”

But then Shaitain came and laid his hand on their hearts, and they knew terror and fear as never before.

Therefore did Shaitain seek more of those who would hear his master’s voice in this land of the Britons, those minds and souls who would hear the call of the dark blood and fulfil their destiny as his Seekers of the Talismans of Power.

Those like Lossius Veda, whose greed and lust for power would bring destruction to the Redeemer, and those who would listen to his message.

27 Those at the heart of Rome, that so love power and lust after wealth or the sins of their flesh. Like Nero, who was one to do incredible things. And his cousin Caligula. And many more in the distant lands of this earth — so many who will obey the power of the Dark Lord and the amulet, and serve in the legions of Arawn.

Those he uses to destroy the futile spirits that seek enlightenment and the salvation promised by the Redeemer newly born into this world.

Those who were so easy to reach, like this Roman soldier Lossius Veda, whose soul Shaitain had tasted today and who would now serve his master.

Then there is Nemain, a dark sister and descendant of Du Chille, and the druid Damien of the line of Fer Doirich.

Who else? — Shaitain needed a Keltoi warrior of power, someone who would be able to regain the amulet from the Shrine of Camulos, and give it to a follower who could harness its power.

So there also is Aesunos. Therefore will Shaitain creep into the dreams of this chieftain of the Keltoi tribes and speak words that he wants to hear.

He sees your hatred of the chieftains Antedios and Saenuvax. He will use them to spread war and destruction. He sees how you despise King Antedios for his acceptance of the yoke of Rome, and how thoughts of killing him eat at your black heart. Yes, you shall serve, as will your bastard grandson, Esupa Astus. Soon, soon the Amulet of Arawn will be free and the Destroyer will rule this world of humans once more.

And, once the Deep Magic of Durantia is destroyed, chaos will reign. Lord Arawn will regain his place in this world and claim it for his own, allowing evil and greed to rule the hearts of humanity.

To achieve all this, a way must be found to destroy the Talisman of Life — therefore Shaitain will use the Dark Seekers to find the Chair of Danu, and its keeper.

28

Chapter 3 On the Tor of Araflon

As Barach and Dracus are held fast locked in the mind meld that Barach is performing on Gybi, so will he bring forth the origional memories of their time spent on the Tor. Therfore shall the Tapestry of Danu be altered by the Deep Magic of this wizard druid, and Myriddin shall alter his weavings.

“What’s your name, ferryman?”

“Dracus–Yer–Brassic.”

“Well young man, I see that your father is sick. I am afraid that is ill news for me, as I must get to the top of the great tor before nightfall. Can you possibly take his place boy?”

“He be ill with the fen fever, as is my Ma. I’m sorry master, I cannot leave them, for I must stay here and tend to their needs.”

“Curse my bad luck. Is there no other ferrymen I can approach this day?”

“None that will come until the fen waters subside. I thought we were cut off. I cannot think how you and your donkey found your way here, and not at all wet, or at all muddy.”

“Do not trouble yourself asking questions on how this is possible. You should realise I have my ways and means. To a wizard druid of Caer Gybi, such things are indeed possible. Nevertheless, I was expecting to meet my student Frema here. Have you seen

him?”

“Frema, who be he master? There have been no strangers hereabouts for three moons past.”

“Curse his lazy hide. It seems that I shall have to go alone. I have urgent business at the tor this very night. You boy, you look strong and healthy. Are you sure you will not row me across to the island? Or are you afraid the fairies and fen sprites will get you?”

29 “Afraid of the fens, me? Well perhaps I am master, and with good cause. Who would not be, if they wished to keep their wits about them, good sir? Venturing on the waters when the mists are rising is madness. They will gobble you up before ’e knows it.”

Dracus was looking at the pile of goods loaded onto the back of the donkey. Its large brown eyes held his as if they were trying to bore into his head. Moreover, he would swear that it seemed to be listening to their conversation. As Dracus tried to wrench his attention back to the man, he feared by his clothes and silver belt that he might well be a high status druid.

“Come lad, will you help me? I assure you it will be safe. There is no need to worry about your family. I will see what can be done for them, but only if you agree to help me.

Besides, you need fear for nothing, if you have a wizard druid to guard your back. I assure you that you need not fear the fen sprites or will–o’–the–wisps with a druid in your coracle, and I will make it worth your while lad.”

The druid held out his hand and Dracus saw the glint of silver.

As a ‘dyn hysbys’, such a powerful wizard could well have the healing, Dracus thought, and he decided to risk angering this stranger with a request of his own.

“Indeed Master, I might consider it for some silver, but only if you keep your promise to help my Ma and Pa. I fear that they are both terrible sick. I will need your druid’s promise before I agree to lift a finger to help you. No offence, good druid, but a ferryman is worthy of his hire. An’ that tor do be a place none will set foot on in the fog or after nightfall.”

Dracus trembled at his temerity in trying to make a bargain with a druid, and in truth he was truly ready to flee from his wrath. However, the druid’s own need seemed to overcome his obvious anger at the doubting of his word.

“You try to make demands of me boy, a druid of the High Council? You will do as I order or else.”

With these words, he seemed to become larger and taller, and as Dracus shied away he broke the spell that had held him rooted to the spot. Twisting from his grip, Dracus 30 began running to the woods behind his hut. However, try as he might, his feet would not obey his will. With a strange tingle in his mind, he was back beside the wizard, shivering with fear. Dracus could see the druid already unpacking his equipment from the donkey.

He was looking at him expectantly and then he knew that this man was never going to accept his refusal of help.

He knew that wizard druids have all sorts of powers, and finding the tor in the mists would not be hard with someone who possessed the Deep Magic. And even he had heard of the fabled Holy Island where the druids come from.

His Grandfather Drac had spoken softly about this Gaer Gybi, the Holy Isle of Mona, where the High Council of Druids reside and are taken to be trained. Wizards were said to be the most powerful and treacherous druids if you crossed them, and this one was no exception it seemed.

Dracus did not dare to ask why the druid had come here at this time and alone. Despite

having so much magical equipment with him, and it was obvious even to him, a lowly fen man, that the druid and his donkey were never going to get up to the top of the tor unaided. Not unless he could fly. Dracus made the warding sign at this thought, that touched on the druid’s powers and their use of their Deep Magic. But if he could fly, he would not need his help, would he?

The druid was looking at the equipment piled high on his donkey, and seemed to change tack in an attempt to regain some good will.

“I see you Dracus. My name is Barach. You see now that you cannot think to escape me, lad. Just accept my offer, and get on with loading your coracles. We will need both. You can tow my goods behind. Look, lad, I did not mean to frighten you. Will you help me get to the tor? I will agree to help your parents before we leave. Besides, if you promise to do all I say when we get there, I will set them at ease for now and see to them on our return. And I will give you silver. How is that for a bargain?”

The donkey had come around behind them slowly munching some grass. At the druid’s words, she actually stopped eating, to nudge Dracus in the back. Dracus jumped away in his surprise…

31 “By the entire gods master Barach, this is a strange donkey, if ever I see one. It is a bargain, but will you keep it master?”

“You still doubt me boy? I should box your ears and turn you into the toad you are, but I will let you have my druid’s promise….”

He spat into his palm and held it out as a handshake. Dracus was trying to stop his hands from shaking, and words would not come, so he nodded his reluctant agreement.

“Good, then we must leave immediately. Bring the other coracle for my equipment and let us be off before these mists get any deeper.”

Barach went into the small hut and spoke magic words, mumbling some sort of incantation over the sleeping forms lying there.

Once the goods were loaded, Dracus went to check on his parents, and looked across to the skins to see them sleeping soundly for the first time in many moons.

The fen mists seemed to be uncommonly thick for the time of day, and the druid was impatient to be off. Dracus had to be content, hoping that they would be back in half a morning, which is all it should take to get there and back. As soon as the equipment was stowed and tied, they set out for the Tor of Araflon. Due to the gathering mists, only the distant summit can be seen. If the lad felt that this was indeed madness, he was also convinced that this druid would steal his soul if he were to refuse to help him, now that the bargain was struck.

Dracus–Yer–Brassic had grown up with the tales of the early heroes of the Keltoi tribes, and he never tired of hearing about the servants of the wheel and their exploits. As he grew older, he began to believe that these legends were fables and folklore, told to frighten little children so that they should behave well. As for the tor, his father had warned him never to go there whenever the druids came to perform their magic on its summit.

Hearken to my words Dracus, for if you fall asleep on any of these great hills or Tors like Ynys–Witrin, you will never be seen again. You would not awaken until hundreds of 32 years have passed. It is not safe. All must give it a wide birth, except at festival times when a druid is there to give his protection.

All the Drac family were aware that they lived in the shadow of perhaps the greatest and most holy tor of them all, Ynys Witrin, here in the vale of Araflon. The tor is a magical

place, which some say is not of this world and holds one of the gateways to the underworld. The family stayed because of the fishing and the ferry that brought them a meagre living. Moreover, Dracus could not quite see how there could be any truth in the fables. As far as he knew, he had never met anyone who claimed to be a hundred years old. Grandfather Drac had scuffed his ear at this lack of respect concerning the Deep Magic, chiding him something cruel for any disbelief concerning the fireside tales he loved to tell at the fireside.

As for anyone living past thirty summers, that was rare enough, but a hundred, well that was near impossible and plainly daft. Even old Drac had eventually admitted that he had not met anyone of that age, other than the druids of course, who were rumoured to be ancient. Of course, they would never normally risk the wrath of the gods by getting involved with priests or druids, except as ferrymen. They would go to the great tor for their ritual feasts and festivals, and at other times when they needed to use the henge at its summit. Whilst visits to these solstice festivals were quite normal, this latest visit was wholly unexpected.

Punting the coracle through the fen waters, Dracus kept a careful eye out for the secret markers, and pondered why this druid, Barach, had come here for the very first time and alone. The tiny craft were full to the brim and difficult to skull through the reeds, and Dracus soon began to regret his rashness in agreeing to this trip. As for the druid, he seemed ever more disturbed. He kept glancing at the firmament above and mumbling something under his beard. Finally, gathering up what was left of his courage, the lad risked taking a proper look at him. He was not at all like those who usually came here for the rituals. He did not wear his white robes. This chap was plainly dressed in a short kilt over long woollen leggings that ended in a pair of hide boots tied with thongs at the knee. He could just make out a plaited woollen undershirt and a large fur cape that fell from one shoulder. Its chain and fastenings seemed to gleam gold in the gloom. Dracus judged he was a man of about fifty summers, but who could tell with druids? Some said 33 the use of the Deep Magic aged them prematurely, whilst others said they lived hundreds of years. He had a good head of hair and a full dark beard, which showed no sign of greying. However, those prodigious eyebrows and dark brown gimlet eyes‌so knowing, so wise. Dracus had seen how they could see down into his soul and he certainly did not want him wrinkling that large nose at him. And he did not want to do anything to earn his displeasure.

The druid was still mumbling to himself about the portents and some light in the sky.

Whatever this was, Dracus did not want to know, and as he felt the cold fog seeping into his limbs, he tried to straighten his own angler’s smock across his shoulders. It was bad enough that the weight was causing the coracle to lay so low in the water, and that his moleskin trews were getting soaked with spray. He tried to turn them up to avoid getting his linen shirt wet. Ma had saved all year to buy proper linen for his small clothes. At least his body was warm and dry thanks to his large beaver cloak, which was waterproof in the fens, and kept out the wind that was whipping off the marshes. Dracus tucked the smock into the top of his breeches. Pulling its hood up across his blond hair, he saw the druid do likewise, but his own plain hood bore no comparison to that of this high status druid.

He was reckoned a strong lad, now standing three hands above his father, with his wide shoulders and unruly yellow flaxen hair, which was a gift from his mother. These days he had grown into a strong and healthy lad, and he did not have to take any ribbing from the others at the goose fair about his golden locks, so rare in the fens. Now he had grown

to maturity, none of them would risk a rough and tumble or pick a fight any more.

‘What if his ears did stick out from his head, as if he had wings? And so what that he had father’s hooknose? Let anyone call him out on it, and he could give them what for.’

As the sounds of the wind changed, the druid interrupted this reverie by starting his mumblings again.

“From the east they said, in the eastern sky — but how could that be?” and then again, “The druid Balam has foreseen a great King is to be born. But where? That is what I must find out.”

34 If Dracus was scared before, with these strange words that spoke of kings all he wanted to do was turn back for home. To make matters worse, the dense fen fog was beginning to whip around something cruel.

‘If these were the first whispers that marked the coming of the fen sprites, we are in deep trouble.’

He tried to fix a bearing from the last marker, a gash on a stake driven into the mud, but soon all was nothing but white mist. How was he ever to find their way back? Offering up a silent prayer to the god Bran, Dracus asked for his protection, and with that prayer, his wishes were answered, and they bumped into the muddy bank of the tor. However, the druid showed no signs of getting out of the coracle. Instead, he turned to address his fellow passenger, to fix him with a stare that could strip hides.

“What is your name again boy?”

“Dracus, as I told you master.”

“Dracus it is then. As you see, certain circumstances outside my control have forced me to come here alone. I fear I need another small service from you my lad. Do you suppose you could carry that sighting tube to the top of the tor for me this night?”

He must have seen the frightened face lose what was left of its colour, as the boy’s heart leapt into his mouth.

As for Dracus, all he could do was to try to croak out his fear and stammer his refusal, but the druid was not listening.

“You see boy, I fear my old bones will make me drop it, and I need the sight tube for my observations. I will pay you double the sum we agreed, if you will assist an old man fulfil the work of Durantia, our Earth Mother.”

The mention of such holy words unfroze Dracus’s limbs and he began to throw the rest of the druid’s goods out of the spare coracle as quickly as he could.

35 “Dracus, you really should not be so alarmed my boy. I see from that frightened look that you have been listening to those old wives tales about fairy rings and the like. I gave you my druid’s promise we would come to no harm. All will be well, but only if you do as I tell you. I have already said that if you help I will cure your family, and I will keep to our bargain. But I need to get you to make another. Come now, is it so hard? Will you help an old man?”

Dracus was about to refuse but the druid’s eyes seemed to make his world slip away like an eel escaping from one of his traps. He thought he heard the druid mumble a few deep–throated words, and by some magic trick once again there was that tingle in his mind. And then before he knew why, he was standing on firm ground holding the long tube, and he heard himself saying that he would go to the top with the wizard!

Besides, on looking at the impenetrable fog swirling about the shoreline, with a sinking fear in his heart, he realised he had no choice, for he could not risk returning alone, not until the fen mists dissipated.

It was too late now to ponder on spilt milk. If he was here, he might as well earn the good fortune he had been promised. To speak the truth of it, now they were safe on dry land, he was excited to see what was to be found at the top of the Tor of Araflon.

Heaving the white tube onto his shoulder, it seemed much lighter than it looked. It was made of an enormous hollowed out bone, and covered with carvings and magical runes.

These strange symbols seemed to represent the sun and the night–lights of darkness. At last, with the implements of magic shared between them, they set out up the steep pathway to the top of the tor.

The Tor of Araflon was always something a mystery, for when it was viewed from the hills of Ynys Gutin, it did not seem so high. Nevertheless, when the waters receded and the mists came, it became a tor of mystery and legend. Only once before had Dracus managed to gather up enough courage to try to find the path to the top, but it had just gone around in circles and he had given up, fearing to stay longer. Now, the pathway was clear and it shone with a strange luminescence, something he had seen on the water of the marsh.

36 ‘By the gods, we are going up and up — I had not realised the tor was this high.’

He expected to find his head poking above the clouds at any moment. After what seemed an age, Barach made a stop to consult a chart. Just as well, for Dracus was close to dropping the tube, as it had become heavier with every step, and its leather straps were biting into his shoulders. However, after only a brief respite, Barach once again became anxious at the delay. Taking his arm, he was satisfied that they were on the correct path, his voice urging them upwards and onwards.

“Hurry Boy, do not dawdle so. We must get there before the moon rises.”

‘Hurry? It was easy for him. He only had his sack and instruments. I carry the rest of the baggage and it is beginning weigh like ten stones.’

Then his words hit home.

‘Did he say the moon? Surely, he did not expect me to stay on the tor after nightfall?’

As Dracus shuddered to a stop, the importance of these words pierced his tired mind, and the silver disc of Lunesca came out from behind a cloud.

‘Surely it cannot rise so soon. How was that possible? Lunesca was not due to rise for hours yet!’

“Dracus, why do you stop? Come on lad, we are nearly there.”

Dracus had decided that he was not going any further. However, whenever he tried to stop, he was pushed forward by that strange tickle in his mind. So onwards they went until they reached the top. There the mists cleared and the sun was setting in the west, with Lunesca shining her silver beams across the grassland. Too late he remembered Gramp's warning: ‘Never be on the tor at night, for time does not ring true there.’

The top was quite flat, with only wind–blown low meadow grass growing everywhere, except for a white circle of chalk or sand at its middle, about twice Dracus’s height in girth. Placing the large bone on the ground, the druid seemed more preoccupied than ever. Then to Dracus’s horror, the tube’s hide cap flipped open to reveal a strange 37 distorted eye looking at him! A face was staring back — it was his! So small and distorted, but there was no mistaking it. The druid had captured his soul after all and it was even now imprisoned within this device.

Throwing the tube to the grass, Dracus leapt back at this demonstration of the Deep Magic.

“Blood and hellfire,” he shouted. “Druid, how did you do this thing? By what dark magic

have you tricked me? Why have you captured my very being in this tube? Master, speak to me. Am I doomed to spend the rest of my life trapped and forever lost? Am I to be the sacrifice for whatever evil is to be performed here this night?”

The druid was not listening; he was intent on looking at the night sky. Terrified and frantic, like a frightened rabbit, Dracus began to search for a way out. All he knew was that he had to flee this evil place.

Gathering what was left of his tattered courage, he fled back towards the way they had come. However, to his dismay, there was no sign of the pathway. Then his gaze was drawn to the circle of stones with its large blood–stained sacrificial stone at the centre, and he realised just how badly he had been tricked and that he was doomed. Then his anger overcame his fear and, cursing his stupidity and never–ending curiosity, he got ready to fight for his life. Knowing that he should have listened to Da…. No matter what was to happen now, he should have kept his promise never to set foot upon this cursed place.

Then another thought hit him and he turned to see if his shadow was still attached.

Seeing the long dark shape, his heart lifted. At least that was there. Then perhaps he still had a little hope. If he was strong and brave he still had a chance to escape the clutches of this false wizard. Determined to flee back down the hill, Dracus was prepared to throw himself over the edge, rather than submit to this evil druid. Even if it meant tumbling down the hillside to his death. At least he would go to Emania if the fall killed him. Anything would be better than becoming a sacrifice and losing his spirit to the Destroyer of Souls.

38 However, try as he could, he could no longer find the edge. Then it was all too late. The familiar tickle in his mind was there again and he found himself standing beside Barach.

As the druid took his arm in a fierce grip, he had missed his best chance of escaping this fate.

“Well good Dracus, you are indeed a frightened rabbit. Do not look so alarmed. All is well, I assure you. Just hand me that vision tube.”

“A vision tube…. Which one is that?” he spluttered, trying to get a grip on his courage and swallow the fear that gripped at his heart and limbs.

“There it is, the bone tube lying over there. Place it on this stand for me. Come now, it will not bite you. Look lad, despite all that you hear about our rituals, I do not intend a human sacrifice this night. I have a live hare in my sack. It is this animal whose warm blood I intend to use for my vision quest. See how he wriggles. He will be sufficient for the magic spells I need to perform. Look Dracus, if I am to succeed in reading the sky, I need you to assist me to set up my apparatus. I will give you another druid’s promise — that you will not be harmed by the magic.”

With that, Barach placed a small white fruit of mistle on his palm and, spitting on it, grasped Dracus’s hand to his own, clapping the boy on his back and once again looking into his eyes. Dracus felt a shock flow through his whole body as if he had been doused in cold water.

“Dracus, I am afraid you will make a poor assistant, if you are frozen with fright. Come now, you are feeling much better are you not? I thought I saw the magic take you, for one brief moment.”

Indeed, Dracus was feeling much better and no longer tired, and as he looked up his face was no longer angry and frightened.

“You see, I told you so. With this handshake of the fruit of mistle, I give you courage, fortitude, and the wisdom to do what you must this night. My acolyte, Smite, was to have

come here as we had arranged. I have sent Dorsa to find him. However, I fear that she will never do so now. You see, I felt his passing as we came upon the henge. It would 39 seem a party of Roman soldiers found his camp. A sad and terrible loss indeed. Thank the gods Dorsa was spared. But enough of these delays. If it helps you to overcome your fears, I will try to explain what I am about to attempt to do this night.”

Once again, Dracus could not speak, so he just nodded, feeling a strange compulsion to please him.

“Look up to the night sky, Dracus. See up there. No, not like that. Come here and lay on your back. Look up into the darkness — yes that is right. Now tell me what you see, boy.”

“Lights, Lord Barach, lots of twinkling lights. My father calls them the lights of Arianrhod.”

“Yes, well, that’s not quite it. Do you not see anything else?”

“Yes master, I have noticed it for a few evenings now. A very bright light. It has risen in the east for many nights now. By all the gods, it moved, it winked at me. How is that possible?”

“Well done Dracus. Very few have ever seen as much. Well done indeed. I did not think I would find a fey spirit here in the Gutrin levels. What you have seen is a holy sign, one that I have been following for many moons now. I was surprised to find that it comes to rest above Ynys–yer–Witrin. What I hope to do this night is some simple magic that will allow me to listen to its message. To do this, I will need to go into a trance and experience a spirit dream. Then I hope to speak with the spirit of Tiachtga and the ancestors held on her Tor of Tara that is in the first lands. All I wish you to do is hold my equipment in position and keep my back safe whilst I am in this trance. I need you to keep a good watch, as I will be vulnerable to any of the Dark Seekers who may come to steal my soul during this trance. I will also need some special protection. Therefore you must keep the fire burning brightly. Will you aid me in this task my lad?”

Dracus’s heart had gone cold with fear at the druid’s words.

“No master, I want nothing to do with the Deep Magic. It is full of all sorts of horrors and goblins. I keep well away from the spirits that swallow your soul.”

40 At that, the druid seemed to grow larger and the compulsion to please him grew unstoppable in his heart and mind.

“You must keep your end of our bargain boy. You will do as I ask if you know what’s good for you Dracus–Yer–Brassic, for the Deep Magic has settled on your soul, and will not be denied.”

As Dracus dropped to his knees at the fierce light he saw in the wizard’s eyes, he tried to remember the warding prayer. ‘Good Spirits protect me. Keep me from evil this day.’

With that, the wizard seemed to become even more alarmed and the light in his eyes changed and went out. Perhaps Barach saw he had gone too far. He put his hand onto the boy’s head and once again Dracus felt his warmth and compassion wash over him.

“Look Dracus, all I need is for you to hold this vision tube and direct its light to the centre of the circle of this stone henge. Just keep the fires burning bright until I can speak to you again. Do you suppose you can do this for me lad? Think of what it means for your mother and father.”

Dracus knew then that he had little option but to do as he was asked, especially if he ever wanted to return to the real world. Reluctantly, he again nodded and croaked out his words of agreement. With that, the wizard took his face in his hands, and again his dark black eyes were like the gimlet his father uses to pierce leather.

“Dracus, whilst I am in this vision quest, you must also promise me that whatever you do you must not move or drop the tube. Do not move from within the confines of this stone ring whilst I am in this trance. Take great heed of what I say, for if you break the spell, we will both be lost forever. You see, for a moment in time, we will be lost in a spell within this henge–ring. Should you see any evil spirits or dark shadows that try to come within the stone circle, you must throw this white mixture into the flames of our fire. It will produce a light so bright that no dark spirit will dare to come against its magic.”

Seeing the boy’s apprehension return and grow with each word, Barach changed his mind and relented a little.

41 “No, never mind that. I see I cannot ask that of you. I am sure we will be safe in this henge. It is just that I thought I caught a glimpse of something in your mind that spoke of the Deep Magic. For a moment, as you looked at the heavens, I thought you could be a fey spirit. I see I have frightened you again Dracus. Just stand still with this tube like this until I awake, and all will be fine. Look sharp lad, the moon is about to rise and we have no more time.”

With that, the wizard Barach slit the throat of the hare and mixed the blood in a small earthenware dish with some blue runes carved into its sides. He added some of the white powder, mixing this with some other dark poppy grains, making a liquid. Drinking the contents, he placed himself in the centre of the ring with the light from the tube shining onto his face. Almost immediately, the druid's face went deathly white as the silver rays of Arianrhod cast its aura, encompassing his body. It seemed that his soul had passed out of this land.

Dracus could hear an ethereal voice in his mind, and with that the druid’s face became serene with an expression of pure delight and devotion. Then these celestial words seemed to echo all around them.

Alleluia. A holy child is born, unto this world has come a divine spirit that will lead all humankind to eternal life. Alleluia. Follow the star to the east where a saviour has been born. He is to bring everlasting joy to the whole world. All shall give praise to this new King Redeemer. Alleluia. Alleluia.

With these words ringing his mind, Dracus turned away from the wizard. Fearing to drop the vision tube, he shifted his body and knocked a foot against a stone — and as it moved slightly, the echo was lost from in his mind.

After what seemed an age, but could have been moments, the druid stood up and shouted to the night sky. He cast his arms akimbo as if he was announcing a great wonder, and cried out to the whole world.

“A great King is born this night. The prophecy is fulfilled, and I know now that it is my destiny to seek him out.”

42 With that, the druid turned to his assistant with a quizzical look in his eye.

“Dracus–Yer–Brassic, who are you really boy? I felt your presence in my mind. Did you hear it, and did you see this vision dream? I feel I was right to bring you here. I just knew that you had the spark of the Deep Magic. I see now that you are indeed a fey child of Durantia. If you can hold her Deep Magic, this will mean you have the potential to seek out her wondrous gifts. Dracus my boy, if you are found worthy to learn the Deep Magic, from this day on, you will no longer be considered a weaver of weeds, or an angler of eels. Henceforth you must be a trained to become a Druid of Gybi. Therefore, do I now rename you as Dracus–Hu–Araflon, for that is our name for your valley. Therefore do I mark you for the Gaia, so that you may yet be of a great service to the druids of Gaer

Cybi.”

Dracus was so stunned at his pronouncement that he did not protest when the druid placed his finger on the top on his forehead. Once again, there was a buzzing in his mind.

It was as if a shock of cold water and fire had flowed through his body. Dracus the Acolyte had been born, to be counted among the Chosen of the gods.

“As it is said, so shall it be done,” whispered the wizard.

But when they came down from the tor, all was not well.

All Barach had ever known was in ruins. The roof of the hut had fallen in and the wooden door hung open on its hinges. A deep anger was building in his body, a rage such that he had never experienced before, a rage that had to be let out. The wizard had tricked him with lies. Without thinking of the terrible power he could unleash against him, Dracus hit the wizard with a mighty blow that sent him and his instruments flying to the ground. Barach was tending to the blood flowing from his mouth as Dracus stood over him, ready to do murder.

“By all that I hold holy, what druid trick is this Barach? Is this all your doing? What has happened to us? Summer has come, and gone. Where are my parents, my home?”

Barach seemed as stunned as Dracus was, for he was also staring at the flowers and the leaves on the trees in evident concern and disbelief.

43 “Dracus, I am so sorry. I did not expect this. I took the correct precautions. This should not have happened. I could not guess how this has come about without a time distortion.

I am as mystified as you are. I will have to contact my fellow druids to find out what has transpired here my boy. I will far–speak them and learn what I can of this change in the seasons.”

With that, the druid took a draught from his kitbag and, sitting against a tree, started some sort of mumbling. In a rush of giddiness, Dracus felt his mind try to reach out for the Holy Isle. He realised it must be a spell or enchantment, as he fell to the ground in exhaustion and fear.

When he came to, the druid was missing, and he cursed him for this perfidy. ‘Where was his family, his Ma and Da?’ In utter despair, tears sprang into his eyes and once again he sunk to his knees, pummelling the ground. Eventually, as the silence enveloped his grief, he tried to stop his sobbing and set about seeking what remained of the disused hovel that had once been a home.

That night he set about trying to make a camp in the ruins of home, which was now full of the leaves of at least one summer and winter. In the morning the mists had returned and he lit a fire to get warm. As he rummaged for kindling, it was then that he realised he could never live there again. Finding his father’s broken pipe and leather pouch still on the mantle stone over the hearth, he had to fear what had caused him to leave them behind. Then there were mother’s pots, and the remains of one of her brooms. It was then he feared the worst for them. Da’ would never have left his pipe behind.

As his anger returned, he flung down the broken pipe to hear a loud shouting and cursing outside, and hurried to find Barach returning from the woods, accompanied by a laden donkey.

“Dracus, Dracus, are you there boy? Come out you stupid fool. It is your fault boy.

Dracus!”

Barach seemed in a mighty rage, his eyes were full of anger and not a little fear. He pointed a long finger at the ruins, pulling the donkey Dorsa behind him.

44 As Dracus came out of the ruins he held a staff ready to defend himself, but Barach

waved a hand and it fell to the ground, as it had suddenly seemed to become a twisting snake in his hand. Barach came to stop beside him and let the donkey graze. He pointed a long finger at his chest and a hot prod seemed to flow from it, making his knees knock.

He was as weak and helpless as a kitten.

“Dracus, it is your fault. You must have caused this time distortion. Think boy, what happened during my trance? Did you change anything, anything at all? You must have done something on the tor to cause this rift in time.”

“No, I was too terrified to move a muscle. You must know that.”

“Think Dracus, your own life may rest on it. I have learnt that fifteen summers have passed here whilst we spent a single night on the tor. Your family has indeed been lost to you. I am sorry, but without you to care for them, they perished of the fen fevers.”

“Dead you say? Noooooooo.”

Dracus fell to his knees and Barach came to put his hand on his shoulder. The feeling of utter dejection eased somewhat as he was once again comforted by the druid’s healing touch. As they both stood in silence and the druid delved his mind, Dracus had a few moments to grieve. Then the wizard asked his question again, as soon as he felt the young man able to answer, and Dracus had tried to remember the time on the tor.

“No sir, I did… well, not really anything bad. I just got so tired holding the tube and got a cramp. That is all, I promise you.”

“There must be something else. Come here. I will seek deeper into your memories.”

With that, the druid placed his thumbs on the boy’s forehead and intoned some strange enchantments.

“From your mind into my mind, come speak to me of what you will. Ah, I see it now.”

As the druid came out of the mind meld, his eyes were full of compassion, and Dracus could sense something of his incredible powers.

45 “Dracus, I am so sorry. It was you after all, and I see now that it was not intended by your will, but you moved your foot and disturbed a henge stone set in the ring. It was when your foot broke the ring of stones — that caused a rift in which the time difference occurred. I fear your carelessness has cost us both very dearly. Fifteen lost years. Blast your carelessness boy. I cannot hope to find the King Redeemer now. For he is born all these years since. There is no knowing what has occurred to him or where he is to be found now.”

At these harsh words, the tiredness came back. Dracus remembered his family as if it were only yesterday. He was overcome with grief and despair at the realisation that he had lost all his family and home.

‘Fifteen years gone in a night? Was that possible? No, never!’

Barach went to stand beside the donkey, speaking quietly to her, leaving Dracus to grieve alone. Tears fell from his cheeks also. Taking some items from the donkey’s back, the druid set up a small cooking campfire. Eventually, the smells of a hare stew pervaded the air, and Dracus realised that he had not eaten for two days now. He went to stand by the campfire and Barach handed him a mug filled with stew and some bread. He also offered him a morsel of flesh, which Dracus was more than grateful to accept. Soon after they had had their fill, Barach took out a pipe and seemed to withdraw into himself, possibly thinking of what to do next. Eventually the emotion became too much for Dracus. The warm sun lulled him to sleep and they both bunked down to rest awhile. *** Back in the druid’s hut on Gybi, Barach and Dracus were still locked in the mind meld that had returned these dark memories to his old apprentice. As Barach let go of his

head, these memories came flooding back into Dracus’s mind. Nevertheless, the mind meld was not broken, and the hut seemed to swirl around them. The last thing Dracus remembered was Barach’s face staring down at him in some alarm as their memories were locked together, lost to the blackness of the night, in his fevered nightmares, to dream of those first days spent as an apprentice, learning what he could of the Deep Magic of Durantia, and those who could use it.