As Albus staggers out of the groaning ICW headquarters onto the concourse Elder Sakima walks forward and helps him to his feet. All along the concourse that runs around the building comes cries of dismay as each of the doors shrinks as they are trying to summon as many people from the corridors as they can.
As he looks up he shakes his head before sweeping his wand along the visible length of the concourse, and softening the stone slabs as administrative staff all the way up the building squeeze through the shrinking windows.
When he sags in exhaustion Sakima leads him to a stone bench with the elders from his neighbouring nations. "Mr Dumbledore, I am glad that you were able to get away safely."
Albus shakes his head, "But at what cost?"
"What cost are you speaking of?"
Albus gestures at the tower in front of them with it's mutating frescoes, "What of the innocent people that are trapped in there? Those who were only doing their jobs?"
"In who's eyes are they innocent? They denied my people representation, unless we were willing to allow the majority of my nation to be exposed to the white man's rule. They destroyed our schools and demanded we be taught at an ICW registered school, and they tried to deny our magic. What of those in India who are ruled by the British? Or the isolated magical nations deep inside India? The aboriginals of Australia who's gods were slaughtered by the advancing ICW. Tell me Mr Dumbledore, Defeater of Grindlewald, who in there is innocent in their eyes?"
Albus shakes his head, "They were just doing their jobs."
One of the Elders sitting next to Albus chuckles, "The mundane already have an answer to that statement. It's called the Nuremberg Defence, and it is not considered a valid defence in a court of law. You may also wish to extend your love of the mundane world to their philosophers and lawyers, as one Adam Smith wrote, 'Mercy to the guilty is cruelty to the innocent.'"
Over the top of the main doors appears a phrase written in Ogham script, below it flows an English translation, 'This is a monument to hubris and serves as a living tomb to those who would condemn others for helping people. Beware your own hubris lest you meet the same fate'.
Albus' eyes widen as he reads the text, "What does she mean by living tomb?"
Sakima claps his hand on Albus' shoulder before helping an Elder to their feet, "Now that you are free of your oaths to the ICW, maybe you can pray to her and ask."
Albus shakes his head, "She is not a goddess."
As the group walk away to the portkey point, Sakima calls back, "What you believe means nothing in the face of reality."
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As Daphne steps out of the mist into her new domain her face falls at the sight of the large open quarry that's surrounded by partially built buildings or buildings that have fallen to ruin. Scattered around are the tools of the builders trade, both ancient and modern.
When Morgana places her hand on Daphne's shoulder, the last 30 minutes finally takes its tole, and Daphne spins around and buries her head in Morgana's chest as she bursts into tears. "Why?"
As Morgana starts to stroke Daphne's hair, she asks, "Why what?"
Daphne waves a hand blindly behind her, "This," then waves at the mist, "that, everything that's just happened."
Beside her The Dagda nods, "It's because you care. You could not stand by and allow people to suffer when you could do something to help. The monsters we just left could only see the threat to their power and their way of life, and those who believe in you can only see the results of your actions. You are still a new Danann, and you can shape the way that people see you at the same time you change the nature of your domain. But do not leave it too long, as, as much as you can shape their belief in you, they will also shape you with their belief if you do not speak up for yourself."
Daphne gives The Dagda a watery smile, "Thank you for the advice my king."
The Dagda laughs, "I am no king. I am just a foolish old man with too many regrets."
Morgana looks at her husband sharply, "You, foolish?"
The Dagda nods, "It may surprise you wife, but I have not been idle these past years since you presented your child. I have many names I used in the past, and I have walked the earth these many years. Especially in the land called America, in search of Boann."
As Morgana continues to stroke Daphne's hair she says, "Why didn't you say anything?"
Just before he walks into the mist he asks, "Would you have listened?"
Morgana sighs as she holds Daphne, "No, probably not."
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After a week of exploring the Isle of Skye Amelia stands on the shore at Camasunary looking out at the natural cove that has four lines of hills leading away from it, as though they were raised by a massive explosion pushing the earth away.
Taking a deep breath, she pulls the mist around her, to hide her from mundane sight, and steps out onto the choppy sea, the water falling calm beneath her feet. As she gets closer some effect strips her clothes of their enchantments, and tries to do the same to the mist.
Under her breath she whispers, "I thought so. Question is, is it something, or just the remains of something."
Experimentally, Amelia draws her wand and casts a bluebell charm. As she watches, the flames form for a brief moment before disappearing as if blown away by a strong wind. A few more casts allows her to work out which way the magical wind is blowing. After every 30 paces or so, she repeats her experiment until finally, the flames are being blown in the opposite direction.
Turning around, she takes half a step into the mist of the other side, and immediately has to brace herself as a vast wind threatens to dash her off the narrow cliff path she finds herself on. Bracing herself against the cliff she quickly glances behind her at the path, which ends in a black granite archway with the tattered remains of a gate flickering in and out of existence.
"Fuck, well at least I know where the veil of death came from now."
Another howling gust of wind scours along the cliff path as it tries to prise her away from the wall and into the jagged rock strewn canyon below her. Gritting her teeth, Amelia tries to pull the mist into a shield against the wind, only for it to be pulled away in streamers the flow through the archway.
Grimly, she puts one foot in front of the other as she starts to climb the path ahead of her, moving steadily away from the broken portal towards the top of the cliff.
After several minutes of climbing, she pauses as she passes the top of the other side of the canyon. Across from her is an inhospitable landscape barely visible in the twilight that shrouds the domain. Massive shards of rock spear out of the ground, as though forced out in some titanic battle.
Amelia's inspection of the landscape is interrupted once more by a vastly stronger gust of wind that is almost visible as it hurtles across the blasted landscape towards her. It's only her constant practice against Mac Lir that allows her to use the mist to remain rooted to the ground, and not go flying.
As she climbs further, the landscape on the other side of the canyon provides less and less protection from the wind. Until, near the top, it is a constant howling gale with occasional gusts that remind Amelia of the inner wall of the hurricane Mac Lir summoned.
Taking her shrunken trunk from her pocket, Amelia attempts to activate the enchantment that would allow it to grow and stick to the stone path. Instead, all of the magic she tries to use is blown away by the unrelenting wind. Reluctantly she puts the trunk back in her pocket and looks back at the path she came consideringly.
"No, I don't suppose that would work, would it."
She grimaces as the wind steals her words before she can even hear them. Pushing forward, she grabs at the top of the cliff as she pokes her head above the top of the path and is almost bowled over as a counter gust catches her head in the opposite direction to the way she's braced.
As she carefully puts her head above the top of the cliff again, she can barely make out the fact that she's reached the top of a ridge that's barely two paces wide, with a narrow path, just wide enough for one person, worn through the scree on either side. In the distance, barely silhouetted against the sky, is a castle. Occasional gusts of wind lift the scree from either side as dust devils before laying down briefly across the path before another gust pushes them clear.
Grimly, Amelia puts one foot on the path, and braces herself against the wind as she calls up a lumos to make her hand glow in front of her. After 100 yards the skies darken with clouds racing in with the wind, sending the twilight into true darkness, lit only by the anemic glow of her magical light. After another 100 yards, the heavens open and rain starts to sleet down in wind driven sheets.
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In tattered clothing, and leaning on her sword for support, Amelia looks at a rope bridge that sways erratically in the driving rain. A sheet of lightning briefly lights the sky and reveals the castle a mere 100 paces across a pitch black chasm.
Briefly, she considers cursing the fact her scabbard got shredded a couple of hours ago. Instead she braces herself against one of the stone posts that support the bridge, and uses her sword to hack enough fabric from the remains of her clothes to make a sling for blade, and a pouch for her shrunken chest.
After securing the sling over her shoulder, Amelia grabs one of the supporting ropes in a grip strengthened by months of sword work as she steps onto the rain slickened wood.
With each step she takes, she ensures that three of her limbs are securely planted before she moves the forth. A precaution that pays off multiple times as she crosses the bridge, as the wind gusts back and forth, sending the bridge swaying, twisting, and bouncing on its moorings.
After what feels like hours of climbing across the bridge, Amelia shoves her way through the iron bound door to the castle before forcing it closed again, one inch at a time.
As the door booms closed, the howling wind drops to a faint whistle barely audible through the door, though the patter of the driving rain is still loud against the wood. Tiredly, she reaches into the pouch and withdraws her chest, before placing it against the door and unshrinking it.
Somewhat surprisingly, there are no gusts of wind to steal the magic away and the chest returns to it's full size.
Exhausted and with ungainly movements, she clambers into the portable home and quenches her thirst before collapsing on the soft carpet.
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After a dreamless sleep of exhaustion, Amelia pushes herself to her feet and staggers to the bathroom before stripping off her rags and doing her ablutions.
After a brief meal, and now dressed in clean and dry clothes, Amelia climbs out of her chest and makes her way through the enclosed courtyard as the wind whistles across the walls overhead. A faint spray of rain drifting down showing just how hard the wind is blowing outside the walls.
It only takes her a minute to cross the courtyard and enter the castle proper, the way lit by her own magical light. Empty sconces and old tapestries line the walls of the chamber inside the double doors. To either side are small, single person doorways, while in front of her is another pair of double doors. Walking through the double doors leads her into a large banqueting hall with a throne at the far end.
Amelia's footsteps click loudly on the stone floor as she walks between two trestle tables that are laid out as if waiting for the castles occupants to arrive and take their seats.
As she gets closer to the throne she pauses as her light illuminates a woman wearing a fine woolen plaid over a linen dress. In her hand she holds a staff with some sort of gem set into the top of it.
When the woman doesn't stir, Amelia cautiously continues to make her way forward until she freezes once more as her light banishes the shadows around the womans face to reveal the empty sockets of a skeleton.
As she looks closer, it is clear that the woman has been long dead, and it is only some remnant of magic that has prevented the skeleton from falling into a pile.
Softly, Amelia says, "The Morrigian walks the world again and the church's power is broken for the moment. I don't know if I wanted to find you alive or gone. I certainly didn't expect you to be dead, I'm not sure why. Honestly, I wasn't even sure if you were actually a goddess, but this is definitely a domain."
Taking a deep breath, Amelia lightly cuts her palm before reaching out to grasp the staff. As she does, she's driven to her knees as if struck by a lightning bolt as memories and magic assault her. However she died, Scathach didn't withdraw herself from her domain first.
Drawing on her training in resisting obliviation and other brainwashing tactics that have been used against DMLE directors in the past, Amelia grits her teeth as she weathers the storm of emotionally charged memories coming from the staff. Everything from giving birth multiple times, to eating a crab apple gifted to her by Cû Chulainn as part of his payment for training and growing as a sorceress. To finding her way into the mists of the otherside by following the wisps that used to populate this island and training hundreds of young warriors, only to have to collect their bodies and, eventually, their souls, as they spent themselves in futile skirmishes against their own people. Of losing touch with the other gods in her pantheon until she's the only one left as she never really had followers. She wouldn't even be a goddess if it wasn't for Cû Chulainn, and so she was tied more to the other side than the likes of Nimue and Culhwch.
Finally, the church challenged her in her own place of power, and they lost and won at the same time as they stole the entrance to her domain. Here she stayed for centuries until the last of the souls she'd collected had moved on. Then she used her… No! Then Scathach used her magic to separate her soul from her body and follow her people into death.
She is not Scathach, she is Amelia Bones, and she is not defeated.
As she stands up from her knee, the skeleton in front of her seems to sigh as it collapses in on itself. With eyes as dark as night, Amelia looks at something that is hovering above the remains.
"Your duty is now finished. Find your rest now."
With a wry smile she turns around as the last occupant of the shadowlands leaves into the otherside. As she turns to face the front of the castle, the sconces around the hall fill with torches and bring warmth and light to the hall for the first time in nearly 1,000 years.
Staff tapping on the floor, Amelia makes her way out of the castle into the courtyard. There she raises the staff into the air once, before striking the shod end on the floor with a thunderous crash.
As the sound echoes around her, the ever present storm dies away to reveal a starlit sky. A second strike sees the mystical wind cease as a false moon rises in the sky to illuminate the world in an eerie silvery light.
Casually she makes her way back along the path towards the portal. As she passes the landscape smooths out the scars of war as night flowers bloom across the old battlefield.
Once she arrives at the portal, Amelia smiles gently, "I don't think we need this anymore, do you? I know you kept yourself separate from the Tuatha Dé Danann, but I'm engaged to Mac Lir, and Susan will probably have her own domain soon. Besides, having theoretically easy access to mortals just seems wrong. Even if the other half of the portal is nowhere near here. That doesn't mean I'm not going to make a new gate, just not as a death trap."
Diving into Scathach's memories, Amelia struggles against the shear weight of personality and lived experiences as she looks for the ritual that Scathach used to separate her castle from the mortal world and create the bridge to allow hopefuls to find her. After nearly a hour of wrestling to keep herself, she starts to chant in Pictish as her staff weaves intricate gestures in the air.
As she's chanting, Amelia spares a thought for how Scathach's magic cribs a lot from the Romans and their wands, while still having traces of Irish magic in how it pulls on the mist of the otherside.
After hours of chanting, the capstone of the arch finally crumbles, and Amelia knows that it's mate has just done the same when a solid wall of mist boils out of what used to be an archway before spreading around the borders of her domain.
With a faint smile she steps out into the mist towards Dunblane.