Éire’s Captive Moon
Read Éire’s Captive Moon Online
Authors: Sandi Layne
First published by The Writer’s Coffee Shop, 2013
Copyright © Sandi Layne, 2013
The right of Sandi Layne to be identified as the author of this work has been asserted by her under the
Copyright Amendment (Moral Rights) Act 2000
This work is copyrighted. All rights are reserved. Apart from any use as permitted under the Copyright Act 1968, no part may be reproduced, copied, scanned, stored in a retrieval system, recorded or transmitted, in any form or by any means, without the prior written permission of the publisher.
This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are either a product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual people living or dead, events or locales is entirely coincidental.
The Writer’s Coffee Shop
(Australia)
PO Box 447 Cherrybrook NSW 2126
(USA)
PO Box 2116 Waxahachie TX 75168
Paperback ISBN- 978-1-61213-137-5
E-book ISBN- 978-1-61213-138-2
A CIP catalogue record for this book is available from the US Congress Library.
Cover image licensed by: ©Depositphotos.com /Algol,
© George Mayer | Dreamstime.com
Cover design by: Megan Dooley
www.thewriterscoffeeshop.com/slayne
About the Author
Having been a voracious reader all her life, Sandi never expected to want to write until the idea was presented in a backhanded manner. Once the notion occurred to her, though, she had to dive in the deep end (as is her wont) and began by writing historical fiction. She has since written more than twenty novels—most of which will never see the light of day.
Sandi has degrees in English and Ministry, has studied theology, spent years as an educator, has worked in escrow and sundry other careers, but research is her passion. She won an award for Celtic Fiction in 2003, but as well as history, she is also fascinated with contemporary research and has self-published several novels in the Inspirational Romance genre.
She has been married for twenty years to a man tolerant enough to let her go giddy when she discovers new words in Old Norse. Her two sons find her amusing and have enjoyed listening to her read aloud—especially when she uses funny voices. A woman of deep faith, she still finds a great deal to laugh at in the small moments of the everyday and hopes that she can help others find these moments, too.
Acknowledgments
Though this novel was published before, in a different format, it is now serving a new purpose as the first book in a trilogy, and has undergone some changes. I need to thank a lot of people!
Kathie Spitz, my dear friend, who enjoyed this book enough in its original form to recommend it to others and who encourages me all the time with my writing.
The editing team, led by Erin Morgan, at TWCS, who convinced me to adjust a few things, cleaned up my former novel, and polished it until it shone. Thank you! Thanks to
all
the staff at TWCS for taking this on; it’s been a joy to work with you.
Many kudos to my cover artist, Megan Dooley, with whom I have worked before. Her art is inspirational.
My thanks to Thomas Cahill for writing his book,
How the Irish Saved Civilization
. Highly informative and thought-provoking, Cahill’s work eventually led to the story you’re about to read. I also thank the
Northvegr
online community for their insights into The Northern Way and for their patience with my ignorant questions many years ago. Thanks, too, to the Writers’ Roundtable of Phoenix (2003-2004), who critiqued this novel in its first draft.
And finally, many thanks and much love to my family. My husband and sons have been hearing about these characters for a very long time; they even help me out on occasion.
Thank you to everyone who has supported me in the writing of this book and to those who have read it. Writing stories is a delight and knowing others read them, a joy.
Preface
A note to my readers who have been here before
Éire’s Captive Moon
is a new and improved version of my previously self-published novel,
Captive Irish Moon
. You will find hereafter a few changes, if you read the original work. There is a prologue, reworked from my award-winning short story,
Turn of the Wheel
. The glossary is more comprehensive and the prose much smoother as we begin Charis’s story. And since this story is no longer all alone in its eventual goal but is serving as the first book in my
É
ire’s Viking trilogy, you will find a few things are a bit different within. Small details, but they will help, I hope, as we conclude this book and move on to book two. The future books of the trilogy begin after the end of
Éire’s Captive Moon
, so do not be concerned that there will be less here than formerly.
Thank you for joining me. Again.
~Sandi Layne
Glossary
In alphabetical order:
Aesir – Norse – a god of the sea
Béar Mór – Gaelic – the constellation of the Great Bear or Big Dipper
bhaen sidhe – Gaelic – one of the
sidhe
that foretells death to they that hear it
cailín – Gaelic – young woman
cailleach – Gaelic – witch
Gaeilge – Gaelic – the Irish word for Gaelic
gaol – Gaelic – prison, place of captivity
hei – Norse – hello, a term of greeting
isea – Gaelic – affirmative, or “yes”
ja – Norse – affirmative, or “yes”
Jarl – Norse – a nobleman, like an earl
kvinn medisin – Norse – medicine woman, doctor, healer (female)
langhús - Norse - longhouse, usually a single-family dwelling
léine – Gaelic – a long tunic or dress
leman – Norse – sexual slave or bondservant
leigheasóir – Gaelic – healer (male)
lingua gente – Latin – common language, language of most men
lovsigemann – Norse – reader of the law
midvinterblót – A midwinter celebration in Nordweg
na – Gaelic – denial, or “no”
né – Norse – no
nomen tuus – Latin – What is your name?
Nordweg – Norse – Norway
Norns – Norse – goddesses of fate
Ostman – Norse – a name the Norwegian men called themselves
Oran Mór ??
rath – Gaelic – village
sidhe – faery folk of Irish folklore
skipniu – Norse – longship
Store Bjørn – Norse – the constellation of the Great Bear, or Big Dipper
trell – Norse – slave
Valhalla – Norse – the afterlife where brave warriors go when they die
vikingr – Norse – derived from the Anglo-Frank - men who raided and pillaged
völva – Norse – wise woman, “wand carrier”
wergild – Norse – the monetary value placed on a man, which would be repaid to his family in the event of the man’s death
wyrd – Norse – fated destiny
Prologue
The scream that pierces the mists, shocking my heart and sending the winter creatures scampering to their dens, does not belong to the chill tranquility of the forest.
It comes from the southwest, inland from my village. Using all the instincts my craft has bestowed upon me, I’m following the scream’s trailing echo at a run. I am old as my people count years. I have fifty winters to my tally. The mystery of my long life on the Earth plagues me, but I feel, in the faint sounds that dwell in the fog, that I am about to find my answer. So I run.
I am Achan, son of Liam, and I have been the
leigheasóir
of Ragor for thirty winters, treating ailments and healing wounds as the healers have done long before my birth. Long have I heeded the turns of the seasons and the signs of the land. Sometimes my heart tells me it is time for something—a change—and I must follow the calling laid upon my life. I notice the cycle of the seasons as I meditate upon the mysteries and wonder if it is time for the Wheel to turn once again. Have I been of any real significance on the Earth? I am the healer, but I feel that all my efforts for my people have made no difference in the world.
This has been the longest winter in my memory, and I have seen more winters than most. Is the length of this season a sign that the Earth is tired? Needing rejuvenation? Is my purpose to provide it?
But can I lay aside myself for the good of my people? Who will serve as healer if I leave them?
It is as much the winter of my life as it is the sleeping season of the Earth. I am seeking an answer, the purpose of the ache that holds my heart like a stone fist. I am like an animal in the snow, seeking that which would bring life back to myself. My footsteps are light on the frost-webbed ground. Bare, ancient trees make way for me as I pass. What animals that are up and about are old friends and are not disturbed as I move through their territories. On the surface, it is eminently peaceful.
But then another scream—weaker than the first—belies the calm. It sounds from below, and the dying echoes of a woman’s cry skirl along the misty tendrils at my feet. I scramble to find the origin of the cry as it fades completely and I find a neglected wolf den. My breath is puffing out in white gasps by now, but I dive headlong into the narrow passage—the former home of a mother wolf.
How the woman came to be in the dark, damp-smelling place I will never know. There is a radiance here—a radiance that is solely due to the woman in travail, here in the beaten earth.
Is she one of the
sidhe
? One of the
bhaen sidhe
with her screaming, sent to warn me of my own death? Is this my purpose in wandering, to have my sacrifice confirmed? I can almost feel my old bones freeze in my flesh at the thought.
A gasp, faint as the memory of a breath, comes from her when she sees me. A garble of sounds issues from her pale lips. Pale lips; the woman is pale everywhere. Her hair is the color of a moonbeam through the fog. Her skin, the white of early dawn. Her eyes are so pale that at first I think they’ve no color at all, and that frightens me so that I reach for the talisman of knotted, wrought silver circles I wear over my heart.