Today we have an excerpt from Christy Nicholas book,
Legacy of Truth, coming July 6, 2016 from Tirgearr Publishing
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Ardara, County Donegal, Ireland
March, 1787
Éamonn Doherty eased onto the old rocking chair beside the crackling fire. As soon
as he settled, he was bombarded with children, clamoring eagerly for a story from Grandfa.
Well, it was his fault. Whenever he returned from his wanderings around the
country, he would give them a story, a tale of Ireland’s past or his own.
The bairns settled onto the ground at his feet. There were Esme and Eithne, the
twins, looking stark and thin with shocks of wild red hair and too many freckles to count.
“That's my spot! I always sit there, Eithne, and you know it!”
Eithne looked at her sister and sniffed, saying nothing. She turned to Éamonn and
blinked as if innocent.
Esme pushed at her sister, but Eithne was braced for it. She resisted the shove and
looked back over her shoulder with disdain.
Fuming, Esme crossed her arms.
In the far corner, with her arms wrapped firmly around her knees, sat the youngest
sister, wee Brighid. Everyone called her Bridey. Her solemn green eyes peered at him,
owl-like. She must be about ten years old by now. And little Níaṁ wasn’t a sister, but a
cousin, her parents having died of a fever. A brown wren, she was plump and sweet,
still a toddler.
Éamonn would have preferred some grandsons to pass his stories to, but his son
and daughter-in- law, Brian and Shona, had given him only granddaughters thus far.
Still, he loved them dearly. His two other children were both dedicated to the church, so
Brian was his last hope for grandsons. Éamonn looked at the girls and decided perhaps
a story of a manly hero might do them for the night.
He fixed his eyes on wee Níaṁ until she giggled nervously. He tousled up his thick
white hair until it looked like a lion and she laughed. Smiling, he began.
“Tonight our tale will begin with a hero of great fame, for who has never heard of
Fionn Mac Cumhaill, leader of the Fianna, Warriors of Ireland?”
Timidly, Bridey raised her hand.
Interrupted, Éamonn cocked his head. “Yes, child? What is it, my dear?”
“I haven’t heard of him, Grandfa.”
Éamonn closed his eyes, reaching for patience. The children weren’t to know what
a rhetorical question was.
“That’s all right, mo chuisle. I will be telling you now, so?”
The girl nodded and wrapped her hands more tightly around her knees until she
was just a pair of feet, arms and a curly mass of red hair sparkling in the firelight. For a
moment, Éamonn went back in time, to the memory of his dear, long-dead wife, Katie.
She had hair such as that, wild and bright. The windows rattled as the wind outside
picked up. The children all shifted uncomfortably.
“The Fianna were a band of warriors, pledged to protect the shores of Ireland from
foreigners. Fionn’s father was the leader of the Fianna, so he had his son raised by a
warrior woman. Have you ever seen a warrior woman, Eithne?”
“I have!” The girl was the boldest of the lot. “There is a woman who hunts up in
Bunbeg. I heard Alan say she came into his dad’s bakery one day!”
“I heard that first! He told me first.” Esme said.
“Girls, that’s enough. Would you like to know about this warrior woman?”
It did the trick. All four children looked up at him, expectant.
He grinned and got back into the rhythm of his tale.
“This great woman was called Liath Luachra, and she was tall, with long muscles
and longer hair. Her brown hair she kept in thin braids, which went all the way down to
her knees. She was a fierce warrior, always clad in skins and furs, and she taught Fionn
all her arts. When he had learned all he could from her, he left to join the Fianna.
“But the Fianna knew him for his father’s son and worried for his youth and safety.
They told him he must leave, and they could not protect him from harm. This angered
Fionn, so he left in a temper. After his temper had cooled, he sought out a Druid to learn
wisdom. The Druid he found was named Finnegas. Finnegas spent seven years trying
to catch the Salmon of Knowledge, and he had just caught the fish before Fionn found
him. It roasted on the fire, and Finnegas told Fionn to watch it while he got more
firewood.
“Fionn watched the fish, watched it bubble and pop, sizzle and squeak.”
Níaṁ let out a squeak of her own to help with the sound effects.
“He saw a great blister form on the skin of the salmon, growing larger and larger,
about to pop. He pressed his thumb to it to push it back down so the skin wouldn’t be
blemished. As he did so, his skin burned, so he stuck his thumb in his mouth.” Éamonn
demonstrated with his finger and looked around until each child did the same.
“But he had done a terrible thing, now.”
“What was so horrible, Grandfa?” Bridey asked with wide eyes. “All he did was
touch the fish!” She replaced the thumb in her mouth absent-mindedly.
“Ah, that is true. But, you see, Fionn was the first to taste of the flesh of the Salmon
of Knowledge, and it meant he now had all the Salmon’s great wisdom. Finnegas was
furious and chased him out with a club, but Fionn now had the knowledge and wisdom
he needed to lead the Fianna fairly.”
All the girls watched him for the end of the tale.
“In the end, he controlled his own fate, and therefore could make himself happy.
That's all that any one of us can do, aye?”
When Níaṁ realized the tale was over, she belatedly removed her thumbs from her
mouth. As she did, he picked her up into his lap and rocked in front of the fire with her.
She was a solid, warm little child. Brian might not be able to make his farm work well,
but he at least kept his children fed.
He sang a sad, low song of lost love and broken promises until each child fell asleep on the soft, white wings of fantasy.
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If you pre-order a copy before the release you'll receive a special sale price of $0.99.
Legacy of Truth: Tirgearr Publishing
In a small town in northwest Ireland around 1800, Esme must grow up quickly. Her parents are leaving for America, abandoning her and her groom-to-be, Seán, to fend for their own. As she struggles to find her place among strangers in a new, isolated town, she finds it difficult to keep hold of what is precious to her.
Her one friend, Aisling, helps her through depression and illness as Seán stays away longer and longer on trading missions. Her sister tries to steal a mystical brooch from her, a brooch with which her grandfather entrusted her, to use for her own selfish ends.
While she has some comfort in her small family, she must discover comfort in her own company to hold back the growing despair and battle against her sister's treachery.
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Christy Nicholas, also known as Green Dragon, has her hands in many crafts, including writing, digital art, beaded jewelry, writing, and photography. In real life, she;s a CPA, but having grown up with art all around her (her mother, grandmother and great-grandmother are/were all artists), it sort of infected her, as it were. She loves to draw and to create things. She says it's more of an obsession than a hobby. She likes looking up into the sky and seeing a beautiful sunset, or seeing a fragrant blossom or a dramatic seaside. She takes a picture or creates a piece of jewelry as her way of sharing this serenity, this joy, this beauty with others. Sometimes this sharing requires explanation - and thus she writes. Combine this love of beauty with a bit of financial sense and you get an art business. She does local art and craft shows, as well as sending her art to various science fiction conventions throughout the country and abroad.
Facebook:
www.facebook.com/greendragonauthor
Homepage:
www.greendragonartist.com
Blog:
www.greendragonartist.net
