Prologue

Prologue


Out on the bog the Sun’s intense, yellow eye was staring down on the moist, brown bog of Allen, the ancient remains of a thousand-year old forest. It was the Saturday of a May Bank Holiday. The light was so clear and so warm everything appeared to glow with colour. A flash of black flickered in the undergrowth.


A glossy, feathered blackbird hopped here and there, jabbing its bright yellow beak into the ooze, tugging out worms and lifting its head to swallow them whole. From time to time it would stop and give a soft trilling whistle and look around carefully. All of a sudden, a shadow shot across the surface and zeroed in on its position. The blackbird tensed as a large red kite landed in front of it, all talons and sharp raptor’s beak. The blackbird eyed the kite and the kite stared back before giving its characteristic, high-treble screech.


Then, at one and the same time, both birds stretched and transformed into two very different men. The red kite was now an aged man dressed in a russet, woolen robe, embroidered with gold thread and tied at the waist by a broad brown, leather belt. Attached to the belt was a leather scabbard sheathing a sword with a bright, gold handle and its hilt dressed with dark polished wood. He was a tall and stiff man with a long white beard and in his grey hair sat a circlet of silver set with a large clear diamond at its centre. Thrown over his shoulders was a dark brown cloak with a hood.


His companion was younger looking, as if in the prime of his life, with long, golden ringlets fringing his noble face. His eyes were green but his face was narrow and clean shaven. He was dressed all in black; from leather riding boots to black leather trousers, a black jerkin over a dark woolen collarless shirt. Over his shoulders he also wore a hood and cloak, again of deepest black. His one concession to colour was a gold torc around his neck with three emeralds set in it: one on the left, one on the right and one in the centre. He carried no weapon but held a hazel wand in his hand.


“Hail to you Lord,” said the older man, “alas our time is brief for she has broken through. Even now her creatures range by land and by air abroad. We are not safe.” “ And peace unto you and all your subjects my King,” replied the younger man “Why is it a concern of mine ? I hold no side in the truce and do not fear her powers. She is not one of us. Her spells are no match for you, let alone for my deep magic.” The old man sighed and replied,

“ A warrior of the light has arisen and a weapon of power is calling to him. She has seen it and strains to have him free her from her bonds.” “I would very much like to see this warrior so,” replied the younger man “for fear he might upset the balance under the sun.”

The older man held up his palm in a sign of disagreement.

“Beware my Lord, the warrior carries danger even for the likes of you or I. Mistake not his youth as we did before,” warned the old man. Then throwing his hood over his head, he retransformed into the kite and took to the wing eastwards. The young man touched his head with the wand and lo, became as a blackbird again and also flew away to the west.
Soft warming breezes drifted across the bog caressing the delicate sedges like kind spirits from a hidden world inviting into an invisible dimension. Gentle sighs from the rushes and bracken promised to whisper tales of magic and secrets known only to the most ancient storytellers. Every now and then a lull would fall on the surroundings, a shimmer of moisture or mist would appear in the air as if to ask “is it time? Has the Warrior of Light arisen? Is the day of destiny at hand ?