There was an inn, an hostelry and place of rest for travellers, at the fording of the Red River known to all as the Gael Ford, which king Concubar maintained for hospitality, as is proper for a king.  The lord and master of this house was a man named Wil MacCullen, and he had a daughter named Emer.

Now Emer was skilled in needle-work more than any other maid and so at the great meet that came with the funerary games of Macha for three years she went up to Emain Macha to sell some of the fine work she had worked the previous year.  Her father Wil, being prideful, but also thrifty, found it pleasing that she had such renown that brought great credit on him and worth to his family so that he allowed it.  And not for that one reason did Wil of Gael Ford send this daughter before the kings of tuaths and the cattle lords and the princes of Ulster for Emer was fair and well spoken and wise so that Wil knew well that some high lord would pay a surpassing bride price for his daughter.

Emer for her part was not pleased that her father should parade her like a prize heifer, but she enjoyed the freedom she found at the fair.  Emer, though she would not have boasted of it, knew she was possessed of the six womanly gifts.  Though many were taller, and many fairer, and a few brighter of eye, still Emer, no one would deny, possessed the gift of beauty, Some sang sweeter, some spoke stronger, but none could fault her for she possessed the gift of voice, of all other women she was kind in word and generous as a king with her gift of sweet speech, renowned was her gift of needle-work, in spite of her father or by witnessing his faults she possessed the gift of wisdom, and because she knew her own great worth her discretion followed her wisdom and she was known for the womanly gift of chastity.

That day Emer and some other maidens had watched the hurling championship and had seen CuRuada lead the boys troop.  At least for Emer the game had been exciting and she was very impressed by CuRuada’s skill and also by his form.  For many of the other girls, some of the men who were defeated by the troop were even more interesting as were some of the taller boys among the red branch warriors’ sons.

Emer walked with her hangers-on in such a manner that she came up to a group of the boys who were congratulating Cu.  CuRuada was in high spirits from his win and enjoying the attention of his fellows, but when he saw the group of girls he became awkward, blushing slightly, and casting his eyes away from the other girls, but always looking up through long eyelashes to Emer herself.

The boys and the girls soon sorted themselves out, some leaving in a huff, some running off laughing, and some strolling arm in arm until none remained but Emer and CuRuada.

“What do you see, boy?” asked Emer of CuRuada.

“I see a fair country,” he said, though he couldn’t look her in the eye, “And I’m no boy.”

Emer laughed, “mmm, it would take a man to rest in my country.” Saying this she tugged her shawl to cover where his eyes had rested. “I don’t think you are that man, you’ve no beard at all.”

“I’m no boy,” he said stubbornly, “Is it really a beard you need?  I would lay my weapon there.”

“What do you know of weapons?  I’ll grant, you are marvelous with a cam, but it takes more than that to please me.”

Curuada met her gaze and he reached out and tugged lightly at her shawl, “What would please you?  I would lay my weapon there.”

There eyes rested in each other’s gaze and both knew that they were beautiful one to the other.  It was Emer who looked away first, mindful of her chastity, for it seemed impossible that this young man could please her father.  It made her sad in a way she had never been before, “It is no use, my father demands a very high bride price for me.”

“Why should he not?  You are beautiful, you are lovely in voice, in speech,” Cu pulled her closer, caressing her shoulders, “And if you wear your own needle-work then it is exceedingly fine. . .”

Emer shrugged away, and placing her hands on his chest, gently pushed him away, “mmmm, yes, and chaste and above all, wise.  So you see. . .”

“I see the woman I would marry.”  CuRuada smiled so brightly that Emer found her spirits buoyed as well.  “See you, I will get the cows your father demands, but my dear-heart, what would please you?”

He carried himself like a prince, it almost made Emer hope, but he hadn’t even the beginnings of a beard, “If you would please me, then you must know me.”

CuRuada laughed, delighted, “You are indeed wise, there can be no other for me, you are the most virtuous woman in all of Ulster.”

Emer smiled with pleasure, because she knew it to be true. “Who are you?  What is your name, bold stranger?”

“My name is Son. . .” He blushed for shame having broken his gesa, but he quickly corrected, ”They call me CuRuada.  I live here with King Concubar and I train with the boys troop.”

“Hound of the red hair, are you well named CuRuada?  I thought you said you were a man, but you are of the boys troop of the Red Branch Warriors.”

“That is a matter of a day only.”  CuRuada scoffed with supreme confidence, “Today is the day that the best of the boys take up arms and I am the very best of the best of them.  Today I will take up my arms and I will be a man in truth, a warrior of the Red Branch.”

A group of warriors and boys from the boys troop were hurrying toward the event field.  Several of the boys called for CuRuada, hailing him and urging him to come show his skill at the spear.  Emer shoved him away toward the men and boys, “Go play your games. . .” She said.

“I will win the competition.  No one can match my skill with the spear.  Come see if I don’t.”

Emer stepped away smiling, “Be careful you don’t swear a boast you can’t fulfill.” She teased.

CuRuada stopped dead, his face hardened  and his eyes grew fiery, “It is no boast, not this of the competition, nor that I will make you my wife.  These things must be.”

He was so serious that she almost believed that he could, but such was the stuff of legend and not truly wise to contemplate, “I meant no slander she said kindly.  I will come watch you win at the spear.  I promise.”

He nodded, relieved by her words and Curuada turned to go to the competition.  Before he could step away he turned suddenly back, he cleared his throat and was the blushing boy again, “I swear, I will marry you my lady, and no other, but I will find you much easier if I know your name.”

She laughed with joy to see him both boy and man and, she realized, beloved, “I am called Emer and my father’s name is Wil of Gael Ford.  I warn you, he is a hard man and not likely to want to hear that a beardless youth seeks my hand.”

He only smiled and repeated her name, “Emer”

For her own part Emer felt he said her name better than anyone else ever did.  She watched him go with his friends and wondered if it was wise to hope.

She was asleep on the ground.  Around her were arrayed bags and travois, bales of hide and smaller lumps, like a play fort you might make.  At first it seemed she slept there alone.  I only had eyes for my friend.  I knew her face, but there was something quite different about it, longer and with sharper angles.  “Jella?”

She gasped and sat up, “Dream-walker?”  A couple of the lumps around her stirred and one sat up.  Oddly, this one looked almost as much like the Jella I remembered as did the one I had first identified as my friend.  Eerily this younger Jella pointed at me and laughed.  The little one spoke her strange tongue and was answered by my friend and yet not my friend. 

Jella threw back her covering of sleeping skins and rose.  I was not so young that I couldn’t tell that this was now not the girl I had first seen, but a woman.  She quickly covered the shift she slept in with buckskin and colorful woolens.

She looked me in the eye, and a smile twitched the corner of her mouth. Her generous lips did not move more than that, but I heard in my head, “You haven’t changed in all these years, I wasn’t sure I’d see you again.”

I’m fairly certain I frowned, because I saw one reflected on her smooth adult face, “Ah, are you still in the sidhe?  But I left you the lamp and the flint. . .” I suspect my frown turned to a blush, because her smile returned and she said, “did you forget?”  She tsked, and I was uncomfortably reminded of my own mother, ” It should be right there at the beginning of the souterrain.”

“The tunnel thing?  I forgot that too.” I felt heat on my face and neck and was sure now that if I wasn’t blushing before I was now.  “It is so dark.”

“Well, the sun should be rising.  It may not light your way much, but it should help you find the center.  At mid-day the light should point you toward the souterrain as it is due north.”

I mumbled thanks.  She smiled.  Her hair was much longer than before.  It was braided in thick ropes with bits of bright bead and bright cloth or leather, I wasn’t sure.  I thought her very lovely.

“Dream-walker, meet my children.”  She reached over and roused the lump on the other side from the little Jella who stared at me with big blue eyes.  A tossle-haired boy sat up.  “My children, Oren and Joy.”

“How is it that you have lived your life and I am still in this hole?” I thought to her.

“I can’t say,” She looked puzzled, “Perhaps you can walk through time as well as through. . .” She shrugged.  “. . .You would know better than I.  Mostly I see the dead, you were the first living spirit I ever saw.  And until now the last as well.”

“You see the spirits of the dead?” I asked her as if I had not just heard her say so.  I blushed again.

She nodded, but otherwise took no notice of the question, “If you were outside of your time when first we met I wonder what time you are in now?  We have not lived in a sidhe in a six-year and more.  I think that one has been sealed for eleven years since I saw you that night.  There may have been another clan that took refuge, but we have avoided the old secret places, riding with the deer, to keep them safe and ourselves free.”

“To keep yourself free?  What threatens you?”

Her face was pale from sleep, but she paled still more, “Could you possibly have not met the foul ones, the devourers?” Jella frowned not in anger but with concern.  “Why are you alone in the sidhe, why haven’t your people come for you Dream-Walker?”

“I’m a scout, a searcher, I seek out new places for my people.  We have been at a great river to the south.”

“Are you saying that your people are not in the secret place?  They are still at the River?  In the open?”

“My people always live in the open. . .”

“No no, they must not.  The hordes of foul ones will kill and feed.  You should not have come into the north.  It has not been safe since before the giants came, and they are the worst of all.

“I can see you live on the land.  Why can you do it but my folk can not?”

“You do not know.  We track them, we watch.  We herd the deer away to the far north.  Dream-Walker, your folk must be warned.  There is a great gathering of the foul ones.  They are on the march.  It is all we can do to keep the herds from them, to stay alive and free from them.  If they find you they will gather and kill you all.  They are made to destroy man, we are food to them.”

“I don’t know what you are talking about.”

“We have gone into the far north.  That as much as any reason is why we left the sidhe that sheltered us during the long winters.  This new plague of monsters and giants is worse than that of ice.  You must warn your people, Dream-walker, you must warn everyone that the dark hordes will come and they must flee or die.” Jella’s face hardened, “Go to your people Dream-Walker.  It may be too late already. . .”

And as if her words had the power I was snatched away.  My friend and her family shrunk to a tan blotch among the smaller blotches of the herd and then they were gone. As I rose I saw the great whiteness of the frozen wastes beyond.  I flew across mountains, watching the white, ice-locked peaks dwindle.  I saw below me the stony knob and the hidden place in the bramble wood with its sidhe where I guessed I lay, but I did not stop nor slow though I drew near the ground. 

Along the river I saw a man.  He strode along the banks and suddenly I saw that he was immense.  He dwarfed the trees.  The giant man had hair of red and he looked at me as if he saw me.  I rushed along the river, there were creatures among the trees.  I saw an army of them, armored, and armed for battle. 

Then I was in our camp.  The creatures, foul ones Jella had called them, were all throughout it.  The morning sun cast evil glints off their cruel looking weapons dazzling my eyes.  My people were gone.  I looked to the sun.

What do you mean by Free Celtic Fiction?

Ah, I’m glad you asked.  Is this fiction from Ireland or Scotland or Wales?  No.  The title of my pages, this “blog”, was L. Stephen O’Neill.  Sadly, not so many folks were searching for me by name, so being advised to be more descriptive I came up with descriptive words that I felt would be popular searches as well as descriptive. 

Being at least partly Scots I am personally drawn to the word FREE.  I consider myself a celt, live in Oregon, like bagpipes, tartan, woolens, potatos, I’m CELTIC.  and I’m constructing a FICTIONal, Roman Empire Free, world to let the Celts have another go at world domination.  I think its high time, read about that below.

I am trying to focus my efforts on a few primary storylines.  Because the posts are not always in order I’ve started to organize the storylines on which I’m working on a novel progress page for the Abbott and the Djinn, and a Current Primary Storylines page for Child of Moss, the Deer Riders, and the Red Son of Concubar.

Philosophy of Fiction

Fiction can be truer than real life.  The lives of mere characters, literary constructs, can clarify and instruct a reader, helping them to gain perspective, inspiration, and fortitude for their real life situations.  Their own problems and opportunities are much more complex to be sure, but sometimes the perspective of fiction is a perfect catalyst for positive change. . .

. . . or just a very entertaining read!

These are the stories that I have begun to commit to ones and zeroes to this point:

The Abbott and the Djinn my first draft online novel.

The Red Son of Concubar is an attempt to tell a truely Celtic story, drawing elements from some of the most loved Irish legends.

I’ve found a fragment of a planned novel (actually trilogy) That introduces the point of view character of the UiUilsen Saga.  Meet Hunter Wilde.  I had not planned on sharing things I actually planned to one day publish, but I wanted to introduce you to Hunter.

An Anuniaq Tale about an Inuit who meets the mysterious Others, folk of the Ui Uilsen.

The Deer Riders in the far North of the Gaellic plain

Information regarding the Losterlies is background material for the setting of a planned novel, The Man Who Forgot Himself.

Kitsuniko Awakes in the land of the Sinoese, but among these people she is a mystery, even to her self.

the Red Hand of Courage

 The Annals of the Tuatha de Dana

Tir na Nua

I have several stories, novels, that I am in the process of writing.  Most if not all are set in the world of Tir na Nua.  This new world is a world apart from the Earth that we know and has been, there are names and situations that may seem familiar, but though they echo the world we know they are not from that world at all.  For stories specific to Tir na Nua but not included elsewhere you could explore that blog topic: Tir na Nua

Here I plan to gather research material, scene drafts, character development studies, back stories and perhaps short stories that contribute to each of them or at least flesh out this new land, Tir na Nua.

Currently I am focusing on a novel set in a island archipelago, the Losterlies, that is effectively on the opposite side of the world from where humanity was first established and from where it diffused. The working title for this novel is “The Man Who Forgot Himself.”

On the Losterlies are a people known as wanderers or gypsies who are decendants of a particular Inuit by the name of Anuniaq.  “Anuniaq Goes to Sea… …Again” is a tale from his life as is Anuniaq and the Storm Tossed Sea.

People groups converge on the Losterlies and one of the cultures that has great impact are the Inuit peoples, known by the Rus as the Icefolk,  who leave with the Russians and are later enslaved by them.  I want to develop a tale about one of these people, a whale talker, who’s people are annihilated by the iron Rus and who in turn gets revenge and then must rebuild a life afterward.  The working title for this novel is “The Poet and the Ice Princess”.

I have a few stories developing in an area of the world, Northern Umircea, that involves or evolved the Ribbon Wood Elves or UiUilsen as they are known. “the Lost Prince”, “Sasha and Faolan”, and a trilogy of stories, “the UiUilsen Cycle” will develop and expand both the peoples of this part of Umircea, the land beyond the Western Mountains of the Gaelish Central Plain.

I love the movie “a Knights Tale” and would like to write my take on the idea of nobility. I also like the idea of warfare as sport presented in that story (I’m an American Football fan) and think it has application, especially in the gaming community of today, but also to the Celtic lifestyle or my perception of what the Gaelic people were about.  I want to set my knights tale in Umircea, but I may move the setting to the cities of the Disputed Lands though nobility is much less a factor in that wild land.

An important part of the development of my fantasy world are figures who make a huge impact by virtue of their many talents and even more because of their longevity. The children of Dana Bailey are intended by Dana herself to be a Celtic Pantheon. These genetically altered super Celts make contributions both by virtue of their leadership, and also in just being a tie and a memory to a technological past that is being lost and replaced by new progress informed by the past but not dependant on it.  Among the characters stories will touch on: Balor, originally Llyr, who was first born and most willing to serve Dana Baily’s purposes, but came to work hardest against those goals as the leader of the Fomorians; Lugh of the long reach, a wanderer and a philanderer at first, godlike in his self-absorption, his many talents are at last turned to good when he learns responsibility; Bridget, maternal in truth and in temperament, she must learn how to be good at her role; Epona, but more her most impressive daughter, Scythia, who’s leadership gives the freedom loving horse folk of the Gaellic plain a name, an identity, and a mother; Loki the miner and technical genius who’s folk live under the mountains, and many more.

In the Disputed Lands life is cheap.  Warlords carve out kingdoms among the fortified city states of the broken and war torn landscape in a section of the northern continent east of the Safron River that drains much of the Great Gaellic plain, north of Scotia and the fortified wall that splits off the Scots Highlands from the rest, west of the Great Sea that has become dominated by the Fomor, and South of the lands of the Sinoese and most notably the Darklings.  Several stories will be set or will touch this volitile region.  Among them are “Icarus Flight”, “Kitsuniko“, “Led from the Dark or the Blind Deaf Mute and the Idiot” (a story about overcoming disability, frustrated revenge, and simple peace), “Fitch in His Majesties Service”

Stay tuned.  I have been adding material as quickly as I can.

Enjoy,

LSO

Free CELTIC Fiction

My hope is to create fiction that speaks to the Celtic Heart.  So, warts and all here is a new story that I rip from Celtic legend and set in my new world, Tir na Nua, the Red Son of Concubar.

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Here is the novel beginnings: Intro to and Beginning of The Abbot and the Djinn.  Follow my progress HERE.

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Using a sort of “just start writing and see where it goes” technique I’ve completed the first draft of a short story.  In the end, Concerning The Deer Riders wandered a bit farther than I had anticipated.  Legendary wanderings?  You can read Concerning the Deer Riders yourself and see what you think.

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My Polished Stones

Since this is my process, a good deal of it is rough here as I begin.  My hope is to get better and better at writing Celtic Fiction so that reading it free will become a bargain and not a chore.  I plan to work on a few of my stories to make works of fiction closer to my potential.  That is, I plan to polish them by rewriting them for your reading pleasure and in particular the reading pleasure of those who might come across this sight and have little patience for my early fumblings unfiltered from my imagination?

Recently I’ve realized that I should not.  My first goal was to get something, anything here, secondly I NEEDED to write because it had been a long time since I had.  I have courted your opinion to no effect, but then why should I expect it?  Do I read other’s work and offer up my opinion, my help?  Not recently and can I help? 

So, I intend to polish up a few of the stories that have accumulated.  The raw novelization of the Abbott and the Djinn will continue, undoubtedly I’ll put up more unfiltered imaginings like the Deer Riders and Child of Moss.  Then, in a section before those unpolished stones, I will begin to offer some that have had my attention and effort so that you can judge me or at least have a better chance of being reliably entertained.  Some may read on to the raw.  HERE is the page that will list the more polished work. (it is currently empty <sigh>)

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Other Stuff

I am in the process of writing several novels, but on the way to that I offer these thoughts, insights, resources, and diversions of interest to me and, I hope, to you.  Here I hope to gather legends and lore, notes on antiquity, and present day reality.  Have a look HERE

For now, welcome, and please tell me what you like or you don’t.  I value your insights.

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LSO

PS. HERE are some authors I have read and admire by way of giving you hints about where I’m aiming