Southend

19.

by MistThing, published on January 24, 2001

...Someone tore his blindfold away and Gabriel stared into the darkness, his eyes gradually adjusting to the dim moonlight. Grace and him were taken first by boat and then by foot, dragged blind and stumbling through the rocky landscape, only to reach this bloody place again... Talking about deja-vu. His wrists, tied behind his back, felt numb from the rope cutting maliciously into his flesh. He was surrounded by the cult members' shadowy hooded figures... he couldn't tell their number in the dark. Where is Grace?

- "Move!" - the closest man on his right shoved him offensively ahead. Gabriel cursed, but allowed himself to be pushed around for now.

The Mull of Kintyre Lighthouse was perched on the edge of the cliff, right before the rock slanted steeply down. On a clear day, you could see Ireland in the distance... The lighthouse was a squat rectangular build, topped by a domed, now unlit beacon. A high steel-framework antenna towered a short distance behind it, spreading its fishbone-like tentacles to the air.

The group gathered in front of the lighthouse with an unnerving silence. Torches were now being passed from hand to hand and set alight in a manner that seemed well rehearsed. An uncontrollable shudder shot through Gabriel's spine. Damn. I feel like the main course of a Cannibal's feast.

There was Grace...she was being held not far from him; one of the cult men reached and sharply snapped the blindfold from her face. That movement made Gabriel's blood boil... You f*cking freaks, he thought as he stared helplessly at the scene.

The lines separated as Morgan came through and took her place upfront. Her hood was rolled backwards, her red hair ablaze in the torches glow. Gabriel noticed that the ankle-long robe that dropped from her shoulders was a mixture of red, white and black; looking at the cult members again, about third of them wore red, a third wore white, and a third black... He caught Grace's terrified expression and his heart sank. At least she has the talisman, a not too-comforting reflection went through his mind. Morgan raised widely spread arms, and the silence deepened.

- "Ciamar a tha sibh?" she called.

An excited hum rose like a wave around Gabriel and Grace.

- "Tha mi a' bruidhinn Beurla," - she said - "I will speak English now, for our two foreign keepers!"

Keepers? What the hell? Gabriel searched for Grace's eyes but the eager crowd now blocked her from view.

Morgan smiled an elated smile. "We waited for so long... We counted and waited for the blackness to swallow the moon above the opening, but SHE has spoken to us earlier through the stones, and HER time is ripe NOW... The Stones are aligned. The lines are converged and flow to HER gateway."

The crowd's hum intensified, and Gabriel and Grace felt the mass pushing closer around them.

Morgan lowered her arms. Her burning gaze wandered around the believers. "The three Keepers are here to deliver HER pure colors... What once had been broken, will now be whole again!"

The mass roared, reaching for Gabriel and Grace with numerous hands. Grace emitted a scream, and Gabriel jerked wildly against the arms that held him.

- "Be still!" - cried Morgan, and the outburst instantly cooled down. "Feel HER energies... The gateway's power is peaking!" Morgan turned and faced the sea. "Bring the Keepers to the edge!" She commanded.

Gabriel and Grace were carried struggling and pushed down to their knees at each of Morgan's sides. Gabriel was absorbed by a familiar sensation... it was similar to what he experienced when his body intersected with Bellachroy's ley-lines, only it was ten times stronger now, and still peaking... And judging by the look on Grace's face, she felt it too.

Morgan stood erect with her eyes closed, her robes floating in the wind around her slim body. She pulled out of her cloak a crooked dagger and a black feather, and held them over the abyss with outstretched arms. "Mor Rioghan! You gave your sacred words to the First Bard, and now I am giving them back to you!" She cried the Prediction in Celtic over the voice of the wind, ecstatic with its power, and then cited again, for Gabriel and Grace:

- "The lines will flow to her,

- The Keepers will gather,

- Red essence of war

- You guide our swords,

- White knight of shadows

- You guide our spirits,

- Black grace of the earth

- You guide our wombs,

- The three will be one again,

- To give back to the sea,

- The water will rise,

- Her gate will open,