Read The Defiler for Free Online

world has changed. We have the book."
    "The book, yes, the book. Yes, yes, yes. The book. The book of Feg. It changes nothing. You are reviled by your king. You are unworthy of your people." He only needed to look in her eyes to see she was serious. "They revere the Goddess, the divine feminine. You are unworthy of her, you worship whores, you cuckold good men and treat women as though they are little more than chattels. You rut blindly like an animal. You are callous and callow. And yet she favours you which means you have it in you to be great. To be her champion. But not if you remain the youth you were. It is time for you to shed the skin of childhood and emerge from the imago the man my sister-aspect deserves. Cast off these lecherous ways, be not some sot, devote yourself to the Goddess, walk the path and earn the right to return home a champion of the Celts. Become a man. Your destiny awaits through the archway. Are you man enough to claim it?"
    "A promise from me and in return you will take us to the Skinless Man?" Sláine said. Her words stung in a way he had not expected. She was right. He thought back to Niamh, to Bedelia and Brianna, even Brighid the Daughter of Danu. He had treated them all like possessions, like dirt, taking from them what he wanted, not caring about the cost of his selfishness. There was no beauty in the taking. No kindness in the owning. It was, if anything, a parallel to the souring of the land at Feg's hand. He used things of beauty, took from them what he needed, and discarded them when they were used up. In his case it wasn't land, or the surge of the Earth Serpent, it was the company of women. In his way he was as much of a defiler as the enemy he sought to pull down. The realisation was both humbling and horrifying. He did not want to believe her accusations, but even as he tried to deny them he remembered more and more moments of so-called worship that were little more than drunken rutting and loud-mouthed buffoonery.
    He made a silent vow - he was young, there was time yet - he would change his ways.
    "I see you understand, warrior," the Crone smiled, curiosity on her crow-face. "I will open the way for you," she waved her hand; the movement formed a curious pattern in the air, the gestures coming together to dispel the lost souls. Their spirit forms lost all consistency, drifting away like smoke to reveal a white marble altar and arch on the plain in front of them.
    Sláine licked his parched lips. He had not seen the archway, though now it towered over them all and it was obvious that there was no way the wraiths of the half-dead could have hidden it. It was an amazing construction, standing a full four times their height and three paces deep. The keystone was decorated with elaborate carvings of the creatures representing the wild hunt. The icons were bound together by serpentine knotwork and spirals that simultaneously drew the eye and somehow repelled its focus. It was an impossible arch. The sight of it churned Sláine's stomach.
    "Your eye perceives the doorway in the manner your mind most readily understands," the Crone said. "That is the nature of the arch of time. While it requires no physicality, we do. We make of it what we need to see, and no two people see the same thing."
    "Neat trick," Ukko said, coming up behind them. He rummaged around in his pockets and pulled out a lump of cornbread - covered in lint - out and began munching on it. "All this travelling works up an appetite. I'm ravenous. Then again, it's probably months since I last had anything to eat."
    "Through the arch lies Purgadair," the Morrigan said, ignoring Ukko. "A city on the edge of Nàimhdiel, a harsh and utterly barren desert. The Skinless Man you seek resides there, but beware child of Danu, this is a cruel place, this city."
    "I am not afraid," Sláine said, squaring his jaw stubbornly.
    "Of course you aren't, axe of the Goddess. You know all the evils of mankind, do you not? You have walked the