He tried out the Power, tentatively and then with exploding confidence. He could See again! He could See, he could See, he was no longer blind! He sent his Vision up to look over the land and into the future.
He saw wave after wave of humanity swarming over the seas to his island, swords rising and falling, rising and falling, rising and falling again and again as the invaders slaughtered his people and pushed them into the hills, into the sea and into the earth. They came again and again, wave after wave. They came in ships, more and more, then they filled the air and rained fire down on his people. The land was consumed with fire from end to end.
He would stop it. He would strengthen his kingdom and use the Power against its enemies, against those who would crush and slaughter. He would drive out the invaders, force them back into the sea and restore the land to his people, its rightful people. He would drive them back and feed their children to Cromm Cruaich. They would not go down into the dark. He would raise the greatest army the world had ever seen and sweep all before him, march triumphant to the gates of Rome itself, throw down its walls and take possession of its riches. Nothing would stand in the way of the Power.
He fainted in reaction to his possession, still with anger and despair coursing through his veins. They would not go down into the dark, they would not, they would not, they would not.
In the hidden glade in the hills of Strathclyde the circle carried the unconscious body of their leader back to his home. The empty husk of the child they had no more use for. Its soul had gone to feed their master. They carried it out through the hidden path and left it in the woods for the wolves to dispose of. In their arrogance they did not bother to conceal their passing.
2
Iona
My feet made no sound. The ground was covered in needles and I was surrounded by dark, silent trees that watched me with sombre, velvet awareness.
A light bounced and bounded slowly through the trees ahead. It was blue and it shrank as it approached until it landed at my feet and it was a ball of wool. I bent to pick it up but it rolled away ahead of me, just beyond my grasp. I took a step forward and tried again but once more it rolled away just as I thought I had my fingers on it.
Once more I tried and again it rolled away from my reach, picking up speed as it trundled down the hill.
The trees were gone. Instead there were people standing as still as statues, caught in frozen conversation. Some I recognised but could not name, some names came as easily to my lips as my own although the faces were unfamiliar.
The trees were there. The ball of wool was out of sight but it had left a trail of its yarn as it ran. It was important that I find it though I did not know why. I picked up the yarn as I went, rolling it over and over my hand until it got too big and then I rolled it end over end on my arm. I hadn’t realised there was so much.
A statue blocked the path and I tried to go round it but it was still in my way. I tried the other side and there it was again. Then knew I must look at the face and know it for what it was. I looked up and saw a crudely carved block of stone with slashes for eyes, pits for a nose and a gaping maw lined with teeth that had been so heavily soaked in blood that it was ingrained. I turned and tried to run but my legs would not carry me, they were glued to the ground, which was lush grass in a clearing. I had to face it again. I squared my shoulders, asked for courage and turned to find - the statue was a simple block of stone, shorter than I, with nothing to distinguish it from the others lying around the wide open field. The thread of wool was there and I followed it once more, winding as I went, wrapping it round my body now until I could see the ball again, bouncing merrily along the path through the bushes and down to the waterside where it gave one last skip and splashed into the lake. I wrapped the wool round and round myself as I followed. I could hardly move with the weight of it.
My eyes swung stiffly to my right and I saw a naked child run down to the water’s edge and into it, splashing after the bright blue ball that bobbed near the shore. The child barely got its ankles wet as it bent down and picked it up and turned to hand it to me as I approached with a smile.
The child smiled in return but it could not smile with its eyes for it had none. Just above its plump cheeks were two weeping, gaping gashes from which blood flowed like tears. The child’s face was covered in it, red as death and raw as winter, and the blood flowed all down its chest and soaked into the ground which was red, red, and flowed into the lake which was a sea of blood. I never knew there was so much blood in the whole World, so much there was in the lake that stretched as far as I could see and beyond what my mind could imagine and I jerked forward with a start and a screaming, searing headache gripped my temples and held my head like a vice.
“It’s just to your right, Anselm. I prepared it while you were away.” I groped for the small phial, downed the liquid in one swallow and, after a few moments, sighed with relief as the medicine worked its cure.
“Thank you, Padhraig, but you shouldn’t. You’re too ill to be getting up and about.” The monk lying in the simple bed tried to smile but settled for a heavy breath or two.
“It was no trouble. I know where you keep it.” There was dryness and weakness in his voice. His face was as white as bone and with an unhealthy sheen to it. I got up from my chair, rubbed my eyes and shaven forehead and ran my hand over my long, dark and slightly greying hair as I looked out at the dull steel skies of the western sea.
“What time is it?” I asked. “Has it been long?”
“I woke an hour or so ago and you were in the trance, Away, and still there when I woke again a short while since.” I allowed myself a small snort of amusement as I turned back to my friend.
“An hour at least! Maybe two! It seemed much less to me.”
“What did you See?” Padhraig asked from his bed.
“Some of it I understand, some I don’t - yet. As usual, God teases me with mysteries before showing his intent.”
“Do you want to talk about it?” Padhraig asked but then his body was shaken by a fit of coughing. It started quietly and never reached any sort of volume, but left him exhausted and breathless and with a faint trickle of thin blood at his lips. His face was covered in sweat and he breathed as deeply as he could as he tried to gain enough strength to weather the next attack. I got him a drink infused with herbs, lifted his head from the pillow and helped him to a few small sips. He lay back with a sigh.