 |
| Arian Levanael Photography |
Copyright note: The below excerpt is copyrighted to the author and is shared here with her permission. All copy/paste has been disabled on this site to protect her rights. I'm sure you understand.
Description from Amazon: Among us walk a race older than time-called the "Travelers, Tuatha de Dannan, the Sidhe, the Fair Folk, and the Fadh, they are the magical beings who remember when forests covered much of the earth and people revered the older gods and goddesses.
"The Shining Isle" is the story of Holly Tremenhere and the small island of Inishr'm. Holly was awakened to the mysteries at a young age, but could not cope with their seemingly alien reality and turned away from them. Now, disillusioned with the senselessness of day-to-day existence, she is ripe for change. Meanwhile, Inishr'm has been targeted for takeover by those who do not understand its significance. The isle and its inhabitants harbor an ancient secret-one they will fight to the death to keep safe."
The Shining Isle
Excerpt- I'm giving you two excerpts from this book, as there is no Prologue. Can you find the link between the two?
Excerpt 1: Chapter Two- Pages 18, 19
The saddest day of all had been when the last person to speak believably of the gods of the land and the sky and the waters, and all the other places and things that mattered, was buried to the mopery of an uncaring clergyman of another faith, who managed to get the old man’s name wrong twice during the ceremony.
Nuala Tremenhere had sat dry-eyed and negligible in the back row of the claustrophobic little church building, remembering the stories her grandfather had spun of the glory days when their forebears had stood, hand-in-fist with the Welsh and other tribal resistance, against the forces of Rome that had sought to occupy their ancestral home. They had been royalty in a land of ancient mysteries, affluent with allegiances.
How had it happened? For thousands of years her family had been host to travelers from distant lands, had had held the seaports from invasion, and had worked with the traders from here and elsewhere creating a lucrative and affable territory. Their people had mined the tin for which they were legendary and had held court to merchants and mystics, dignitaries and sea-farers from throughout the known world They had joined houses with those of the Holy Isle and with clans from Eire and as far north as the tribal Picts whose appearance shaped who they were to become.
How had it happened? It just does, she mused. But it was insidious just the same. And the creeping apathy of the conquered had slowly eroded her ancestors’ identity until even the memories and legends were treated with disdain in the most amongst them.
The first wave of attacks and subordination had driven many of the indigenous people across the sea to the west where they were accepted as refugees, settled inoffensively, and were absorbed into the common dye. But the second wave- taking place in Nuala’s own time- was of a defeated and insignificant remnant. What was royalty when the Romans had won and the subsequent Church had acquired ownership of what had once been simply home territory by whatever means, including murder? What happened to the identity of a people when the barest of bones was all that remained to remember?
Her passage across the Irish Sea was booked for the spring tide; within the week. She would take the stories, the knowledge and magic of the gods into the future by way of those who came after.
She tenderly stroked her swelling belly, willing the child growing within to survive-it mattered not how cruelly it had been conceived-for this was all she had of family as far as she knew.
This does not end here, she thought as she stood and walked the length of the almost-empty church.
The clergyman spluttered in disgust as the dead man’s last remaining relative spoke a eulogy in reverence of her grandfather’s love of all things “heathen”.
Excerpt 2: Chapter 22-Pages 205, 206
“Scathach was completing the last of the makeshift roof repair-Janey yelling from below to hurry up as they were ready to light the fire-when the first of the village youth breached the hill overlooking the croft. She counted eleven of them, the tallest by far, Orlando, trilling a hello and waving like a fury, bounding down the slope ahead of the others, followed at a distance by the distinctive pale, pale hair of Mercy Reilly who appeared to be purposely remaining detached from the group.
Scathach whooped with delight, any thought of further domesticity driven from her by the task ahead. She’d trained the best amongst warriors. Always had done. And every one of the approaching teenagers bore a staff in hand.
Her intention, however, was far deeper than any of the youngsters knew. Scathach had walked the streets of their world and she had watched; she had listened. The people had no pride. At first it made no sense, and she had pondered the problem of what she was intuiting, asking Holly question upon question about history; about what happened to the clans and the magic over time.
The people had no pride.
Well, she would teach these few more than how to fight. She would teach them of the ancient gods, of the Great Mystery and all her little mysteries. She would tell them of their ancestors before the Romans came and took away their Celtic soul.
Yes. It was going to be an interesting couple of weeks.
She never once asked herself why she needed to do this. It was irrelevant. Scathach felt a deeper power press itself upon her resolve.”
Please do go visit Ly's website: LyDeAngeles.com and see what she's up to- it's always something exciting!
Tomorrow, we'll be reading an excerpt from "The Feast of Flesh and Spirit", a book of poetry and prose that is not your usual poetry, but a must-own tome. See you then!