Creative Tiles for the Magpie Rhyme

 

Lughnasadh

 

Breathe a peculiar air of their own

 

The Fetch

 

Samhain

 

Magical inspiration

 

Anam Cara

 

Excerpt: Ilfin of Arc - Green Orb

My story with a Celtic twist, so fits in nicely for St Patrick's Day :)

ON THE THIRD day of employing Horin’s bridges, it changed.

The plateau dwellers had to fight the authorities to leave their cities and towns; they escaped slave masters, ran from raiders, coped in extreme weather conditions, and even suffered the cavalry chasing them. All this happened while they brimmed with both fear and hope. They had also seen and lived sorcery now. The latter had saved them numerous times.

Mirlin grew up accepting the talents as a natural condition, but even in the west it was not commonplace. He, too, needed to fight the authorities to leave, and walked across the plains in the hottest dry season in living memory. It nearly killed him.

Thus, everyone marching knew about hardship, wherever they originated from, and expected the unexpected, but they had overlooked something integral.

The authorities tested for talents long before Damin sprung the Porlese trap and therefore discovered many latent abilities; why else continue the program of testing? Logically, it meant those authorities, whoever they were, possessed certain talents as theirs to command. The unfortunates caught before the march to a haven did not now walk with the host; they remained as captives upon the plateau.

This fundamental oversight did not occur to Mirlin until everything changed, and by then it was too late.

On Horin’s second bridge of the day they heard what sounded like the drone of insects, possibly a swarm in flight. At first Mirlin thought of bees, perhaps even locusts, but there was nothing to be seen. Eyes darted everywhere, his and many others, only to look again at each in confusion. The wildlife inhabiting the plains, whether mammal, reptile, avian or insect, was another unknown factor; the approaching mass could be anything.

Except there was nothing to be seen.

In consternation, he halted. The Mur girl’s face captured his attention and drained him of all hope. Siri lifted her head upward and her face lost all colour. Her jaw hung slack and she could not move. With shivers of dread coursing through him, Mirlin too looked up.

Blue war shields were in the air, flying in formation, on swift approach, and atop each curved platform perched a man, bow raised, face manic, and mouth wide as if screaming challenge.

This was the effort of someone controlling the talent for utter manipulation, able to alter the normal into something extraordinary. Perhaps more than one mind achieved it, a concerted joining of power, he could not know, but it was obvious that someone had taken an ordinary war shield and created from it a flying machine.

Many flying machines.

This was something straight out of a Glonu legend.

How the soldiers were strong-armed into accepting the duty was anyone’s guess; men did not fly, after all – creatures feathered and scaled did. Perhaps those gaping mouths had more to do with fear than it did with challenge. However it came to pass, it no longer featured, for a host of trained men was about to attack from the heavens.

Cursing under his breath, Mirlin flayed himself for his lack of foresight. By the sands, not that anyone would have foreseen a situation close to it even in imagination. This event would be difficult to recover from. Many would die this day.

The first arrows flew.

“Off the path!” Damin shouted.

Fear paralysed everyone.

“MOVE!” Damin hollered, cupping his hands at his mouth. “Horin needs the bridge!”

Animation returned, and men, women and children launched into the scrub, hauling animals with them. It was a mess of limbs and gear, but it happened fast. Arrows thudded to earth and some found flesh. Gargles swiftly became screams.

Damin and Mirlin immediately formed a buffer over Horin when the boy kneeled, the men locking into a forearm grip and crouching over him. Mirlin suffered the sense of a thousand arrows smacking into his exposed back; no doubt Damin felt the same. Siri hunkered between Forest’s legs beside them, praying to Massin’s so-called benevolent stars.

“Quickly, Horin,” Damin murmured.

Mirlin marvelled at his calm.

The rain of barbs intensified, and the shields overhead blotted the sun. They squatted within a twilight of death with eternal doom but an arrowhead away. Gooseflesh assailed skin and ears twitched.

“Horin,” Mirlin urged also.

The lad shook head to toe. Fear had him. He swallowed with difficulty, eyes flitting into every direction.

“Concentrate on what you must do,” Damin said. “We deal with pain after, all right?”

“Do it,” Siri added.

Horin stared at her for a moment, and then nodded. He elevated his hand and, thank the sands, the ‘bridge’ lifted and swiftly altered both substance and shape. It became fluid, as heavy water.

Everything froze in the ensuing moment. Arrows juddered to a stop in the air. Shields halted in mid-flight and -turn. Soldiers were immobilised in various poses, while the marchers were as living statues. The green barrier did not move either.

Frowning, Mirlin wondered what the boy sought to achieve. Horin gazed at Damin. It appeared only the four of them were able to move.

“The only way to end it, Damin, is by killing all of them.”

Those words explained the frozen state surrounding them. Horin sought permission to do what he had to, or hoped for absolution before the act. Siri was pale, but remained silent, her gaze moving to her brother also.

Damin closed his eyes. His jaw worked through his inner tension. “It is us or them, Horin. This is defence, not cold murder.”

Horin nodded, his face oddly expressionless, the reaction of a mature man rather than that of a mere boy, and his fingers opened to bleed tendrils of red light. Those scarlet wisps, reminding Mirlin of blood, weaved into the pulsating jade substance, to form a lattice within the fluidity. Abruptly Horin clenched his hand into a fist and they flinched as sound and movement resumed with the next heartbeat.

It was chaos. People ran and stumbled, screamed, and groaned. Arrows caught in mid-flight smacked down. Donkeys brayed and horses neighed. Shields in the sky buckled briefly before correcting for the next pass.

Mirlin read terror in many eyes. The soldiers on those shields stared at the rising substance, and they were afraid. On the ground, silence fell as everyone gazed up. Even the animals were now quiet.

Arrows were nocked and loosed ever faster, but now none found target; the spreading green and red ‘net’ absorbed every impact. The magical device lifted ever higher and stretched wider and further, becoming almost transparent, it was that thin. It was now a veil between the marchers and the archers on their flying blue shields.

Mirlin’s heart threatened to escape its cage in his chest. Peripherally, for the spectacle overhead garnered all his attention, he noticed Horin punch the air.

The miasma exploded.

The sonic boom accompanying it felled those on the ground. They stumbled to knees, fell to all fours, but still all stared up, transfixed. Small pellets of sorcery targeted the archers. Tiny missiles smacked into flesh with popping, wet sounds that served to empty a few guts on the ground.

Siri gagged, but held on to the contents of her stomach.

Mirlin expected the archers to explode also, by the sands, but instead they became as nothing in an instant. One moment a man perched atop a shield, the next he was ether. His shield hurtled to earth, and his bow and arrow pouch joined the headlong tumble. Within two minutes the sky was cleared, and shields, bows and arrows littered the scrubby terrain.

Horin unwrapped his fingers. The miasma instantly formed anew and then contracted swiftly until a tangible green orb rushed to him, and lowered gently into his palm.

His fingers enclosed it and he stared at it in horror. “It was inside me,” he whispered, “and now it is free.”

Come, reader, join the great march today …

 According to legend, a paradise awaits across the plains, a sanctuary that has survived every impact and every battle. Known as Arc, it is a place of isolation, a place to restart civilisation.

 A fireball grows ever larger in the skies and ancient enemies wing through the spaces; the world Massin is the gathering place for every omen of disaster. Every resident soul faces a choice. Time now to march south to the sanctuary, from the eastern highlands and the western seas, there to escape apocalypse, and the renewal of the war between the Ilfin and Glonu, or stay behind, hoping for a miracle.

 An Elemental will find the sanctuary – Lyra is gifted – a Warrior will defend the dispossessed – the boy Horin will grow up fast – and a Marsh Devil will lead them – Damin spends years preparing for this epic event – but it is also true that a sanctuary is not always a haven. Has the legend lied? Will Arc protect them?

 Prepare for an adventure that will journey from ancient ways of living into high-tech environments. Ilfin of Arc is a dystopian Fantasy tale that flies into star filled spaces – strap in!

Ilfin of Arc

Ilfin of Arc Excerpt: Triskelion

 

EVER AFTER, IF there was an after for any of them, he would regard that night at the campfire as the most pivotal time in his life.

His name was Damin Mur and he was known as the Marsh Devil, but this night he would become the one who ripped masks off. Was there a name for such a creature? Unmasker? Was that a word? Soulslicer? Was he to be known as the Devil Delver?

They were silent after the meal – leftovers from the morning’s rabbit stew – and thus the crackling from the fire was louder than usual. Damin noticed it, and then realised the snapping of burning twigs did not quite cover the terrible sense of expectancy in their surrounds. It felt as if the self-contained world of Arc was waiting, was listening, and was judging. Was it judging him? Or would it use what he discovered in this silence? Was he the harbinger it needed?

Lyra lay with her head on his lap, her eyes closed. She seemed relaxed to the others, but he felt how tense she was and knew she was as aware of his inner struggle. Siri was curled up on his other side, reading a scroll from Joseph’s personal store in his saddlebags. The Messenger loved reading, and so did his sister.

Damin glanced at her briefly and understood she was the one who would gift to him the Ilfin image. Not only was she relaxed and therefore open, but she would understand why he delved her if she sensed an invasion into her thoughts.

Lowering his chin to his chest, Damin closed his eyes and concentrated. Hopefully, the others would think he was in deep thought or dozing where he sat.

Siri’s mind was made of light. The brightness she had inside initially astonished him. His sister was a Healer indeed, and she walked in goodness. He smiled, loving her even more.

Then he saw it.

The image. He knew it was the one he sought, for he had not seen the like before. A silvery-blue curved triangle, a leaf at each point and inside, a triple curl design; it shimmered before his mind’s eye as a mark of benevolence.

A triskelion.

The Ilfin image was beautiful, and it filled him with joy. It meant there was nothing anyone needed to fear from those with that genesis. Even slave masters under this sign upon the plateau were redeemable. He hoped so anyway.

His inner joy threatened to overcome his outer self. Vibrations rippled over his skin. Lyra lifting her head slightly revealed she felt it as well. Of course, she understood why it was happening, and gently squeezed his thigh in support … and warning. No one was to become aware of his reaction.

Forcing motionlessness upon himself, Damin breathed as if entering a deeper kind of sleep. The continuing silence surrounding them told him no one suspected anything. Siri ruffled the parchment as she further unfurled it; she remained unaware also.

He focused next on Lyra and saw the triskelion immediately. Lyra and Siri had now established the pattern he sought when delving for Ilfin. Shifting his attention to Horin, he saw the entire image around him. He was overtly Ilfin and made no apology for it.

Attis, markedly quiet the last few days, was asleep not far from Lyra’s feet. The two of them spent a few hours talking on the ride towards this rest site, and Damin wondered now what passed between them. All he knew was that Attis seemed to have taken on the role of Lyra’s protector.

Abruptly he was wary of what the boy’s mind would reveal and chose instead to move on to Hanna. Her image was Ilfin. Joseph? He delved there, but nothing came forth. It meant the Messenger was blocking his quest, but probably not deliberately. He might be thinking on something else intensively, which created a barrier. He would return to Joseph.

Kay was next. Already Damin suspected the westerner might be the Glonu among them, based purely on where he came from, but the Ilfin image swirled inside him. Damin inhaled another slow breath, aware that he would now fully trust the man from the west.

Lifting his head, he gazed casually around. The night was dark, and their fire was therefore a bright and flickering manipulation of the inkiness they dwelled within. Siri allowed her scroll to furl and then curled into sleep. Hanna and Joseph started a murmuring conversation. He could not hear the words, but the low rumble served to push back the expectancy of the night.

Come, reader, join the great march today …

According to legend, a paradise awaits across the plains, a sanctuary that has survived every impact and every battle. Known as Arc, it is a place of isolation, a place to restart civilisation.

 A fireball grows ever larger in the skies and ancient enemies wing through the spaces; the world Massin is the gathering place for every omen of disaster. Every resident soul faces a choice. Time now to march south to the sanctuary, from the eastern highlands and the western seas, there to escape apocalypse, and the renewal of the war between the Ilfin and Glonu, or stay behind, hoping for a miracle.

 An Elemental will find the sanctuary – Lyra is gifted – a Warrior will defend the dispossessed – the boy Horin will grow up fast – and a Marsh Devil will lead them – Damin spends years preparing for this epic event – but it is also true that a sanctuary is not always a haven. Has the legend lied? Will Arc protect them?

 Prepare for an adventure that will journey from ancient ways of living into high-tech environments. Ilfin of Arc is a dystopian Fantasy tale that flies into star filled spaces – strap in!

ILFIN OF ARC

Tree Lore

 

Celtic knots and gods/goddesses

 

What Celtic Tree are you?

To return to my trees

Celtic Pronunciation

Your eyes so deep and green

Green Man of the Wood

The Seven Wonders of Magic

Leprechauns

Cat Sidhe

Celtic Tree Zodiac