The megalith union, p.1
The Megalith Union, page 1
Celtic Mythos
The Megalith Union
a fantasy novel
Brad A. LaMar
Copyright © 2013, by Brad A. LaMar
Brad A. LaMar, Author
balamar.lightmessages.com
Igor Adasikov, Illustrator
taimystudio@gmail.com
Published by Light Messages
Durham, NC 27713
Printed in the United States of America
ISBN: 978-1-61153-071-1
ALL RIGHTS RESERVED
No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, scanning or otherwise, except for brief quotations in printed reviews or as permitted under Section 107 or 108 of the 1976 International Copyright Act, without the prior permission of the publisher.
Dedicated to Lori, Evan, & Paige.
To my family, my friends, & my students.
And in loving memory of my cousin Brett, my friend Kenny, & my father John.
Acknowledgments
There are so many people to thank for helping to make The Megalith Union come to life as the second book in the best selling YA fantasy series, Celtic Mythos. First off, I need to thank my wife, Lori, for being an amazing manager at all of the author events that I have attended. She has been über supportive through all of the traveling and with all of the set up once we arrive at the great places that allow me to visit.
Secondly, I would like to thank my kids, Evan and Paige, for being so excited about me being published and for always loving my stories. I would like to thank Mom for being my advocate and for being proud of me (even if I wasn’t published). I want to say thanks to my brother and his family and my in-laws (mother, father, sisters, brothers & family) for being excited and supportive as well. This is a good spot to add my school family into the list of incredibly supportive people, and I want to show them my appreciation as well. Go Hornets!
Thank you to the booksellers, especially around the state of Indiana, for inviting me into your stores and accepting me into the community of literature. It is so awesome to be a part of the process! Thanks to Igor Adasikov for illustrating the Celtic Mythos series so beautifully and to Laura Brown for her proof reading and work to make The Megalith Union a stronger story.
I need to thank my publishing family at Light Messages Publishing. They have been amazing to work with and I feel very blessed to have the opportunity to collaborate with them on the Celtic Mythos series. Betty and the others on the team are awesome. I work with Elizabeth Turnbull most closely and want to publicly thank her for her honest critiques, stimulating conversations, and unwavering support of me as a writer and storyteller. I look forward to many more adventures with Light Messages Publishing.
Lastly, I need to thank the readers. You all have given me tremendous confidence as an author, and I look forward to being able to write more for you in the near future. Thanks for coming along with me on this adventure.
-Brad A. LaMar
Contents
Title Page
Copyright
Dedication
Acknowledgments
Prologue - The First Wave
Chapter One - Too Late
Chapter Two - Chance Encounters
Chapter Three - Celebrations
Chapter Four - Druid Secrets
Chapter Five - Anxiety
Chapter Six - Allies Among Foes
Chapter Seven - Keynote
Chapter Eight - Descendants
Chapter Nine - Links
Chapter Ten - Reunited
Chapter Eleven - Taken
Chapter Twelve - In Between Moments
Chapter Thirteen - Retrieval
Chapter Fourteen - Voyeur
Chapter Fifteen - Getting Your Bearings
Chapter Sixteen - Setting Plans
Chapter Seventeen - Stolen
Chapter Eighteen - War Cometh
Chapter Nineteen - The Battle of Corways
Chapter Twenty - Pomp and Circumstance
Chapter Twenty-One - Along the Stream
Chapter Twenty-Two - The Three Sisters of Death
Epilogue - Setting the Stage
This book has ended, but the adventure doesn’t have to...
The Dominion Pulse
Prologue - Chess
This book has ended, but the adventure doesn’t have to...
About The Author
Prologue
The First Wave
The Cobb – 1721
“How many people are with us, Da?”
His daughter’s voice pulled Toren O’Neal from his thoughts as he tilted his head in her direction. He smiled an old man’s smile though he was only five-and-forty years.
“I don’t know, Sorcha.” He stroked his young daughter’s hair and held her closer. “So many want what we want.”
“A better life?” Sorcha replied.
“Aye, a better life in America.”
Toren had found a small place for himself and his daughter in the hold of the large British ship, The Cobb. They were joined by families that numbered in the hundreds: Scots, Irish, and Brits alike, all destined for the Americas. Many believed that the young British colony across the expansive ocean was their best chance at having a life they could call their own, perhaps a life that was joyous even.
That was not why Toren O’Neal had joined the voyage, however. That was not why he had uprooted his precious Sorcha from his family’s land in Ireland. He glanced down at his daughter and was comforted that she had fallen asleep, her breath in sync with the rhythmic motion of the ship on the water. He closed his own eyes and fell back into his memory.
…
How many weeks had it been since he had last left Corways? As much as he loved the town and her people, leaving had not been a difficult decision. However, as it always is where close communities are concerned, he felt guilty for leaving. Queen Finna had tried her best to convince him to stay.
“I still don’t understand why you think you need to leave, Toren,” stated the miniature queen, looking agitated and exasperated.
Toren had known Queen Finna and her clan for his entire life. Generations had passed and their lands had sat side by side with nary an argument to be had. The O’Neal clan and the village of Corways lived as true neighbors, always looking out for one another.
“I know it is hard to understand, but it is in everyone’s best interest that I take Sorcha and go.”
Queen Finna was matriarch of the Leprechauns and was known as a good and fair leader by everyone, as far as Toren had known. She had shimmering silver hair that was tied neatly in a bun that sat just below her crown. Her blue dress casually danced on the breeze. Her Leprechaun clan, as they referred to themselves, had thrived for thousands of years with very little contact with humans. The O’Neal clan was the exception.
“There’s nothing that can be done about it, Finna,” Toren continued. “Fate has forced my decision and I have no choice.”
“Why don’t you have a choice?” Queen Finna willed herself to take full human size. Normally, this would have fascinated a person, but Toren had already seen it happen dozens of times. She stepped closer and reached for his hand in a grandmotherly manner. “Your family has been as close to our village as any family of Leprechauns. I don’t see why you would need to go.”
Toren patted Finna’s hand and sighed. “My father made me promise to do all that’s within my power to protect Corways and her people. This is something I have to do.”
Finna was quiet and he recognized her silence for trust. She trusted that he was making the right decision, but as he sat in the hold of The Cobb gliding to an uncertain future, he wasn’t sure if he trusted his own judgment.
He shook off the doubt as he looked at Sorcha’s innocent face and was reminded of the oath that he had inherited from his father. He knew he was doing the right thing. His family lineage had a destiny and a burden to bear on the promise of an ancient Celtic god.
…
“Conchar,” whispered a voice in the wizard’s head.
Conchar had grown used to the voice and by all accounts wanted to ignore it, but it was persistent and unshakable. He had reluctantly begun following the voice’s commands and fulfilled its requests. The current request was more like a demand. The voice had thrown him from his horse and then compelled him to stand on a little plot of land adjacent to Corways. This was a dangerous place to stand considering that the War of the Magicks was ongoing. The necromancer knew he would have to tread carefully in the backyard of his enemies. The Leprechauns and the Sidhes had chosen to stand against his kind and the Merrows when it came to the human problem. The blasted humans had grown and advanced much more quickly than he would have thought possible, and when the tension became unbearable the dam burst and the magical clans were thrust into a war. Both sides had severe casualties and the Leprechauns were fearsome fighters. If Conchar could avoid engaging them on this day then all the better.
“Why have you brought me here?” Conchar demanded.
The voice remained silent. Conchar knew from experience that the voice would continue speaking when it chose to, so he began to walk the grounds. Being a wizard, he already had acute senses when it came to the arcane, but since the voice had joined him no more than eleven months prior, his senses had become exponentially better. This enhanced sensory perception easily picked up the powerful, latent energy that permeated the land. There was power here. Conchar c
He walked the lush, green acreage pressing his boot heals into the ground with each step, taking his time as he carefully searched the landscape for whatever it was the voice might be hunting. He was a keen observer, but noticed little that was out of the ordinary. Trees, acres of crops, a shed, and a modest cottage were all there was. He halted his stride when he reached the threshold of the cottage.
“Go in,” commanded the voice.
Conchar eyed the home cautiously, half expecting some sort of trap to be sprung upon his arrival. He reached out his hand and waved it over the door attempting to sniff out any ambush, but when nothing surfaced he obeyed and pushed the door open. It swung inwards without resistance and he stepped inside. His eyes were overcome by the darkness, but he willed his vision to compensate, and the entirety of the room soon came into view. There was nothing fancy about the amenities in this home, unlike his castle in the Black Forest of Scotland. The family that lived here was not poor by Irish standards, but they were not affluent either. The house was made up of three main rooms and a loft.
“Who lived here?” he asked the voice.
No reply.
Conchar took note of the haphazard surroundings and deduced that the family left in haste. Why they ran, he was not sure; only the voice and the family knew.
“It is not here,” sighed the voice.
“What is not here?”
The voice paused. “Something that we seek.” The voice remained silent. Conchar assumed it to be thinking. “Come. We have much to do in preparation of my return.”
This statement took Conchar by surprise. “Your return? Who says that I would allow that?”
The voice actually chuckled. “It is incredible that you think you have a choice. To be clear, you are marked as mine and to be in my favor will hold great rewards, but defy me and I will bring you great suffering.”
Greed was deep within Conchar’s heart, and he could not conceal his pleasure. He chose to ignore the threat.
“Come,” repeated the voice. “Your master commands it.”
Conchar strode to the door and into the night air. He whistled and his horse surged to him. He leapt onto its back and rode away. “And what name does my master answer to?”
“You may address me as Elathan.”
Conchar smirked with satisfaction as the clouds burst open and showered the earth with rain. Black lightning flashed across the sky, and Conchar knew that he was in the favor of a god.
Chapter One
Too Late
Brendan sighed. He had finally reached the moment he had long been awaiting. His boxes and bags were packed, the car was loaded, and his father and sister were waiting to say good-bye. It was such a strange feeling to finally be leaving.
He took one last look around his room. It was a small room in a small brownstone in Kingston, an outer neighborhood of the greater metropolis of New York City, but it had been his sanctuary ever since his family moved in nine years ago. So much had happened in those nine years and a flood of memories swept over his mind. He recalled family dinners and ballgames, traveling upstate to visit grandparents, laughing with his friends over some dumb videos on the Internet, and a whole lot of other everyday things that anyone could relate to. But there were some things that were uniquely his.
What would his mother think of him now? It wasn’t every day that a young man earned a soccer and academic scholarship to Syracuse University, pre-med. He had been thirteen when she died in a car crash. He missed her laugh and her carefree nature. That hurt him more than he ever cared to reveal to anyone. Her death really changed him. It even caused him to resent his father for a time. Maybe it was the normal angst teens felt towards their parents, but his father seemed to understand.
Of course, his father became even more understanding when he took Brendan and his sister, Lizzie, to Ireland last summer. Now that was an experience that none of them could forget. His father really didn’t get to see all of the things that Lizzie and Brendan endured on the Emerald Isle, but that was probably for the best. Most fathers probably wouldn’t want to know that their children had actually battled the creatures of myths and legends, although Brendan knew that Oscar must have had some idea.
So many things in the house reminded Brendan of that experience. There were ragged clothes and still-healing scars that he and Lizzie brought back home. There were nightmares and strange visions on occasion, but they had lessened over the past few months. He and Lizzie would strike up quiet conversations and talk about seeing the Leprechauns for the first time and travelling with Sean on his ship under the water. Lizzie didn’t like talking about the possessed Sidhes or Merrows, or the Kelpies or Ruas. It was hard for her to wrap her mind around such life-threatening encounters, like so many others who had faced-off against horrific experiences. Brendan, on the other hand, knew they had accomplished something great, and he was feeling stronger every day. He hoped that nothing else was going to happen like that again, but if it did, then he’d be there to deal with it.
Brendan grabbed his backpack and entered the hallway. The walls were a mosaic of family pictures and Irish relics. All of it was homey enough, except for the odd box sitting at an angle on a corner table. His father had picked up the old stone box in Gilshery—it was ornately decorated with Celtic symbols, most of which were faded and almost indecipherable. Brendan examined the box for about the thousandth time, and it always brought on the same feeling of dread. It was like the box was alive or something.
Wow! That still sounded crazy to think about. Brendan and Lizzie knew that if they told anyone about their Irish adventure they would either be called liars or nut-jobs. Was it really that hard to believe that they hooked up with a group of Leprechauns and a half-spirit/half-man and hunted down a crazy, powerful witch before she tried to destroy all humanity with a magically crafted obsidian dagger? Okay, when he thought about it like that maybe it was a little crazy, but doesn’t crazy happen all the time in this world?
He gave the box one last look, half expecting something mysterious to happen, but when it just sat there like any other box, he moved down the stairs and found his family in the kitchen eating breakfast. He decided the box was only ominous in his mind.
“There he is,” announced his father proudly. “The big college man.”
“Look, Dad. He looks as surprised about it as we do,” jabbed Lizzie with a grin as Brendan pretended to laugh.
“Maybe one day you’ll make it into college, too. I doubt as a student, but maybe you could work in the cafeteria,” Brendan retorted.
He poured a bowl of Fruity Pebbles, added some milk, and leaned against the counter to eat it.
“Is that what all the grown-ups are going to eat at Syracuse?” Lizzie asked.
Brendan took a big spoonful and grinned. His teeth were colorful and ridiculous to look at. They all laughed together as a family. How many more moments would they have like that, Brendan couldn’t say.
…
Corways was bustling with the usual Leprechaun activity as they prepared for the Midsummer Celebration. All Leprechauns were anticipating the three-day festival where singing and dancing, food and drink, and the renewal of commitments to family and friends commenced. This year’s celebration was going to be bittersweet for the fine folks of Corways because it would be the first any of them could remember without King Duncan. Having lost Duncan at the hands of the mad witch, Morna, it was left to his daughter Queen Dorian to fill the void.
Dorian had formed a committee to plan and prepare the joyous occasion and they were having a pretty productive meeting. She glanced around the table at the few volunteers that comprised the committee. Rory and Biddy sat on Dorian’s right. That seemed fitting. The three of them had been friends since they could remember, and Dorian tended to lean on them a great deal. Who could blame her? When her father was stolen by the griffin last summer, Rory and Biddy volunteered without hesitation, and on the adventure they proved themselves to be brave, selfless, and loyal. They sat on her right side as a token of her loyalty to them, that and the fact they were dating. They would have moved to sit by each other anyway. The other members of the committee were Thomas, a wise old veteran of the Magicks War, Elsum the seamstress, and Darby the artist.
