The Druid

Prologue

Alasdair Carlisle saw the green door in his dream.

His first thought was destiny. The second, a hollow sadness for the certain catastrophe that would soon be the human world. The third was perhaps glory but he interpreted it as responsibility. And so, he packed his bags in the middle of the night, having no choice, and took the midnight train to Glasgow, leaving his wife and newborn son behind.

Alasdair sat on the last row of the nearly-empty train. There was a woman who intermittently cried in her lap and there was another woman who seemed indifferent to the world, as well as to the man with wondering eyes who sat adjacent to her.

Remarkably, Alasdair never lost his calmness. Duty was an anchor in the worst of storms, and so he anchored himself on saving the world from the foulest evil to ever blight the world.

The Fomorians.

Who and what they were was undisclosed to the world, although thousands of stories about the ancient race of fog monsters have taken root in popular Celtic mythology. Centuries ago they were, by the Celtic people of Scotland and Ireland, considered very real. They were the monsters in the night responsible for every famine, plague, failed child birth, and sickness to ever occur. They possessed sinister magic, capable of only conjuring evil. And since nature demands balance, they had a natural enemy. The Tuathe Dé Danann, commonly known as the Celtic Gods.

It was they who called Alasdair Carlisle in his dreams. Balance is and has always been an inherently illogical need of nature and because of that, they were forced to lock themselves away in their realm, the world that exists behind the green door, the Otherworld.

If the Tuathe Dé Danann requested his aid, then the Fomorians were stirring. War between the most powerful beings would be brought to the human world. But it was not the war between the two magical races Alasdair feared. It was not by chance that the Tuathe Dé Danann dream called Alasdair Carlise. They needed his help specifically, for he, as far as he knew, was the only one to understand the real consequence of the return of the Fomorians and the Tuathe Dé Danann.

The Trinity.

And at that thought, he closed his eyes and prayed as his father had taught him.

When the train halted to a stop, the screeching of dry, weathered wheels made his stomach turn with unease. He made sure both the crying woman and the man with wandering eyes left the train before he made his exit. Glasgow, it had to be here. Alasdair attended college at the University of Glasgow and when he graduated, he was rewarded with an intern professorship for three years. He knew Glasgow well. Even if he didn't, as perhaps the most knowledgeable man in the world of the true Celtic history, he knew it would have to be here.

This is where it all started, the true genesis of The Trilogy. The new age genesis had to be here, and so it was.

Alasdair Carlise, with only his briefcase, wallet, and the clothes he wore, began his descent to the Overtoun Bridge. Many quick transportation options were available, but he chose to walk because the next twenty miles, the next three hours, could be his last stroll--his last opportunity to admire the Yew and Ash trees, the stone cathedrals, the cobblestone path, the burnings hearths of the sleepy inns. This could be it, and yet, he was more afraid for his son, then he was for him. His son, Alan Alasdair Carlisle, who was sleeping peacefully in his cradle one-hundred miles away. Because, what Alasdair feared more than anything since his son's birth, had finally come true.

It was no coincidence that his son was born on the Spring Equinox.

What Alasdair was about to do, did not mean certain death. All the same, Alasdair knew he would not be alive to see the day the Tuathe Dé Danann called upon his son. It wasn't his destiny. His destiny was to be the catalyst. His son was to be the harbinger. The third--the gods always demanded a third--would bring the end.