Emily's House (The Akasha Chronicles) (22 page)

“You ask that question? Why, when you already know answer. Annoying habit of yours asking questions to which you know the answer. Are you ready to answer your teacher’s question now? Who are you?”

“Annoying habit of yours,” I said, “asking questions to which you know the answer.”

Madame Wong smiled a bemused smile, one of the few smiles I had seen on her face. I knew though not to push it. It was important for me to answer this question aloud for my own ears to hear.

“I am Akasha,” I said.

Madame Wong bowed her head gently, and I followed her as she walked out of the darkest woods.

PART THREE

The Rise of Dughall

“The best way out is always through.”

—Robert Frost

38.
Umbra Nihili

“. . . to arise and live once more, flesh reunited with spirit, to walk again as a man, back from the Umbra Nihili, arise when all has been aligned to achieve your deepest desire.”

These were the last words Dughall heard spoken before his thousand-year sleep. Cian uttered them as he completed his dark spell, forbidden magic, at the end of Dughall’s life.

Dughall and his army had wandered all over Ireland and the whole of Europe searching for the chalice. Over time, the legend grew and many came to believe that the chalice was the Holy Grail, the cup used by Christ at the last supper. But Dughall knew better. He knew the real power of the chalice. He didn’t care if they had it wrong. The fools. All the better for him.

Little by little his army dwindled as his men tired of chasing a dream. They returned to their homes and families. Dughall had only the quest – and Cian and Macha.

For many years he wandered, searched and fought battles. Eventually he grew old and knew his time to part this earth was near. But such was his desire for power and to achieve his lifelong goal that he was not content to go quietly into history.

Dughall knew that Cian still had dark magic up his sleeve. As his last breaths drew near, he summoned the old wizard to his bedside to inquire of a particular ritual that he knew could help him achieve his deepest desire. Macha, ever faithful, brought Cian to his side.

“Cian, old friend,” Dughall croaked. “I call upon you once again, as I did in the Grove those many years ago, to help me now with your dark arts.”

Cian winced at the word friend. He couldn’t explain why he had allowed himself to remain with Dughall all these years, but it surely wasn’t friendship.

“I have no charms or elixirs that will prevent your death, Dughall. You are a mortal, like all of us, and it appears that you will soon draw your last breath,” replied Cian.

The façade of charm was gone from Dughall’s voice as he tried to raise himself up to confront Cian. “I know that, you old fool,” he growled.

Macha flew to Dughall’s side and urged him to lie himself down once again. “What Dughall means to say,” interjected Macha, “is that he hopes that you have dark arts to help him direct his soul to that place that he longs to be.”

“To Heaven?!” Cian said incredulously. “Oh, malevolent one, there is no magic in this world or the next powerful enough to send your immortal soul to anyplace good,” laughed Cian.

“I’m not interested in Heaven or Hell,” snarled Dughall. “Don’t toy with me Cian. You know that I’m talking about the Umbra Nihili.”

Cian immediately went silent. The mere mention of the name brought chills to his spine.

“You don’t want to go there,” Cian replied.

“I do, and I know that you know how to make it happen, Cian, so don’t try to hold back on me. Your skill and knowledge of the dark arts is unmatched old wizard.”

“Dughall, as much as I dislike you, and I truly do detest you to my core, I wouldn’t send my worst enemy to the Umbra Nihili. You don’t fully understand what you are asking,” Cian replied.

“I understand that it is the only way,” Dughall choked out. With desperation in his eyes and his voice, he pled with Cian.

“I’m not done here,” he said. “You know that I’m not finished. It is all that I’ve dreamed of; all that I’ve hoped for. And I can feel that it is close – closer now than ever before. I will achieve my dream, Cian, even if I have to sever my soul and wait a hundred years in the Umbra Nihili, it is a small price to pay.”

Cian had never seen such desperation in Dughall’s eyes. There was something more there, more than just a quest for power. This man was on a mission for something even deeper.

“You don’t know what you ask,” said Cian gently. “If you do this, you have no control you see. I don’t know when – or if – you’ll ever be able to come back. According to oral accounts, your soul will be reunited, and you’ll be thrust back into creation when all has been aligned for you to achieve your deepest desire. But that may never happen, you see. If you do this, you may have a fractured soul for all eternity, stuck in a place of nothing.”

“I don’t believe that will happen, Cian. I know that my quest will be achieved, I just know it. I need your help though, old man. You must perform the ritual so I can go to the Umbra Nihili.”

“But you don’t understand Dughall,” replied Cian. “It’s not like going off to heaven or even hell where you’ll be with other souls. You will be in the ‘Shadow of Nothingness’, in a place of no place. And you will be there all alone.”

“Well that suits me fine since I detest every living creature anyway,” snorted Dughall.

“That may be true, but there is more that you need to know. You will not only be alone, but you will not have a body or ability to create – a disembodied mind – your thoughts only – to torture you, perhaps, for all eternity.”

“You may be tortured by your own thoughts Cian, but I am not tortured by mine, only by the endless prattling of others. My mind is set Cian, and I know what I’m doing. Now will you help me willingly or will I have to use my last breath to coax this favor from you,” said Dughall as he grabbed his dagger from under his pillow.

“You are in no condition to test your strength against mine anymore,” said Cian. “Put that thing away before you hurt yourself. I will do this for you, against my better judgment. It’s probably what you deserve anyway.”

With that Cian turned to leave. “Where are you going?” Dughall shouted out.

“To make preparations. You have used a fair bit of your remaining strength to threaten me so I reckon your time draws near. Rest and I will return to perform the ritual tonight,” said Cian.

Dughall flopped himself back down on his pallet to rest. His heart beat rapidly with excitement.
Soon
I will make the final journey to all that I desire
, Dughall thought.

39. Macha’s Promise

Cian returned to Dughall’s cottage that night with a basket full of linen strips, vials of potions and herbs and other plants. It was just a few hours after dusk and Cian found Dughall sleeping fitfully. He was still alive, but his breath was shallow.

Macha was there by Dughall’s side. Her wings, always reflective of her mood, were a muted blue and grey. As Cian walked in Macha brightened a little.

“Do you have all that you need to do my master’s bidding?” she asked.

“Yes, Macha, it’s all here. Why you stand by his side all these years is beyond me,” Cian replied.

“I would ask the same of you, antediluvian one,” Macha retorted.

Cian ignored her taunt and moved quickly about his work. He took a stick of sage that had been wound tightly, lit it in the fire, and then walked slowly around the room in a sunwise direction three times, swirling the smoke above his head as he walked and muttered incantations.

Once he had purified the air of the cottage, he pulled out fine linen cloth and dipped it into a bowl that had been filled with water that he had blessed and prepared with purifying herbs. He took the cloth and wiped Dughall’s face and body with it, doing his best to purify Dughall’s body before it drew its last breath.

He could see that Dughall undoubtedly was near his end, as he did not protest being touched and bathed by Cian. Here in his fragile state, Cian thought Dughall looked much like any other man about to die. There was no trace upon his face of the sadness and fear he had inflicted on others. There was no evidence of the battles he had waged and the lives he had taken. There was only an aged man, skin greying and sallow, overtaken by the illness that raged in his body.

Cian knew that he had to wake Dughall so that he could get him to drink the tonic he had prepared. He was hesitant to do so.
Perhaps I should just let him die.
It would be best for the fellow anyway – to pass to whatever realm best befit a man who had lived the life Dughall had chosen.
That fate would be better for him than the
Umbra Nihili
, would it not?

But Macha was right. Cian had a strange allegiance to this wretched man lying before him. He didn’t know the reason a brilliant former Druid and dark wizard spent so many of his precious years in the company of Dughall and his deceitful, ever-present companion Macha. Perhaps the allegiance was forged out of a shared quest to achieve the domination and power each sought.

Cian had no time for philosophy. He had to make a choice, and he knew he’d honor the request of his longtime companion.

“Macha,” he said, “the time has come. Wake your master and have him drink this tonic – all of it.”

Macha did as he requested and the small vial of bitter tonic seemed large in her small faerie hands. She woke Dughall and ordered him to drink the tonic down. In his weakened state, he did not protest.

As soon as he had swallowed the last bit his head fell back against the pillow. “Trying to poison me again, hey Cian?” he asked.

“The tonic will prepare your body to more easily allow a portion of your soul to depart to the Umbra Nihili,” replied Cian. “Rest now.”

Dughall kept his eyes open. He was tired but felt a warmth coursing through his veins. His body started to feel as though every fiber was tingling. There was certain aliveness in him.

“Cian this tonic is healing me. Now I’m not ready to die, old man. Perhaps this ritual may wait another day,” Dughall said with a strength in his voice he hadn’t had for a long time.

“Yes, the tonic is working then. You feel alive and tingly now, but it is just the tonic preparing your body for its long rest. You are not healed man,” said Cian.

Cian worked quickly mixing another potion for Dughall to drink right before his last breath. “You will drink this right before you take your last breath,” he said as he handed the cup to Dughall. The liquid looked vile – thick and viscous. Dughall couldn’t help but wrinkle his nose at the smell.

“Now this is most important,” Cian instructed. “As you feel yourself fading, begin to recite these words over and over again. As you drink that draught of potion, repeat these words in your head. Repeat them as you take your last breath. Repeat them with every fiber of your being – believe these words and repeat them as a part of you moves to the beyond.”

“What are the words, Cian?” Dughall asked.

“I sever my soul,

I sever my self.

Go to the Umbra Nihili,

Oh part of me that is lost,

So that I may gain

All that the whole of me desires.”

“That’s it?” Dughall asked.

“Yes, that’s it. But you must say it with conviction. And it helps if you picture in your mind your deepest desire. Picture that end in your mind as you say these words.”

“Cian, my body – what will happen to it?”

“After you have stopped breathing, Macha and I will anoint your body, wrap it in medicated linens, and enshrine it in a stone box. Then we will travel north with your body, as far north as we can to the place where the gods cover the earth in white all the year. There we will bury it deep in the earth.”

“Cian how will I come back, when all is prepared for me to achieve my deepest desire, how will I be able to come back to a long-dead body buried deep in the frozen ground?” asked Dughall.

“You will not be fully dead, you see, but frozen. Your body will be well preserved. In the moment that all conditions are met, that severed part of yourself will find its way back to its body and be reunited with the rest of you. You will be whole again and ready to wake.”

“But how will he get out of the ground?” asked Macha.

“Yes, how will I escape my stony tomb?”

“Well, yes, that is a challenge, isn’t it,” said Cian. “I will be long dead by then and unable to help you.”

A silence surrounded them, broken by Macha’s tinny pixie voice.

“I can help him.”

“How? Even though you faeries are almost eternal beings Macha, you will not be able to know when your master has arisen.”

“I will if I’m buried with him,” she replied.

This thought was too gruesome, even for Cian. Buried alive with Dughall’s cold, lifeless body. He could think of nothing more horrible.

“You know how it is Cian,” Macha said. “In that cold, my body too will go to sleep – a long, quiet sleep. I can put a spell on myself to awake at the first stirrings of his body. I will be weak, but with my magic, I will be able to lift the stony lid and burrow us out.”

“Macha, my dear little Macha,” Dughall interrupted. “I knew that I could count on you. You will be rewarded well for your loyalty. When I achieve all that I desire, yes, you will be rewarded well,” he said as he reached out his hand and lightly touched Macha’s cheek. Her wings blushed pink and crimson at this touch.

“If you choose to spend an eternity frozen with this vile man, that is your choice,” said Cian. “All is prepared then.”

They waited by Dughall’s side for a few more hours. When the moon was high in the sky, Cian saw that Dughall’s breaths grew shallow again. Cian lifted Dughall’s wrist and could hardly feel a pulse.

“It is time,” he said.

Dughall began repeating the incantation, murmuring it aloud over and over again. “I sever my soul. I sever my self. Go to the Umbra Nihili, oh part of me that is lost, so that I may gain all that the whole of me desires.” He said it over and over again while picturing in his mind the vision of his deepest desire. He pictured himself entering the portal. He pictured himself victorious and powerful. He pictured himself with many subjects, all bowing before him.