Fingin had no drive in his life until he finds a half-drowned dog who becomes his best friend. That friend leads him to a cottage where a powerful woman sends him on a quest to find his grandmother. With his dog, Bran, and a donkey, Sean, they embark upon their journey. The problem is, his grandmother no longer seems to exist in this world.
Between falling in with a band of Fianna, nearly drowning in a river, and climbing to the rocky top of Skellig Michael, Fingin had just about had enough of this quest when some magical creatures sent him in the correct direction.
Once he finds his grandmother, he realizes nothing works out as it should have. She is far from what he remembers and even further from what he’d expected. And she entangled in a power struggle of her own and has little time to attend her wayward grandson.
Soon, a battle ensues, and Fingin is caught in the middle. He decisions will have long-term consequences for himself and those he loves.
AGE OF SECRETS
Druid’s Brooch Series, #8
Christy Nicholas
Published by Tirgearr Publishing
Author Copyright 2019 Christy Nicholas
Cover Art: Cora Graphics (www.coragraphics.it)
Editor: Sharon Pickrel
Proofreader: Lucy Felthouse
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This story is a work of fiction. The names, characters, places, incidents are products of the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to actual events, locales or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
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DEDICATION
We get to choose our friends, but not our family. Sometimes you have to remove yourself from those you are related to for your own well-being. I dedicate this to all those people who must choose between their health and their relations.
ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS
As always, I want to thank my husband, Jason, and my author group for all their help, support, and friendship. My beta readers, Ian Erik Morris and Mattea Orr, your feedback was invaluable.
PRONUNCIATIONS AND DEFINITIONS
People
Adhna — Eye-na
Aebh — Ayv
Airiu — AY-ru
Bodach — Bud-ukh
Bres — Bresh
Caicher — KAY-kher
Cailleach — CAL-yukh: The hag goddess
Creidne Cerd — KRED-ne KURD
Elatha — eh-LA-tha
Fionn ma Cumhaill — FINN mack cool: Legendary leader of the Fianna
Goibniu — GOB-noo
Grian — GREE-ahn
Guaire — GAY-reh
Luchta — LUKH-tah
Manannán — Ma-na-NAAN
Míl — Meel: Leader of the Celts who came to Ireland from Spain
Onchú — AHN-khu
Pádraig — PAD-rig
Rúadán — ROO-dan
Tuireann — TOO-reen
Places
An Ruirthech — an ROOR-thekh: The River Liffey
Hy Brasil — Hee Brass-el: A mystical land to the west of Ireland
Imleach — IM-leekh
Tír na nÓg — Cheer nah Nohg: Land of the Ever Young
Other
Dearbhfhine — jarv-INAH: Related by having a shared grandparent
Fomoire — Foe-MORE-eh: Ancient race in Ireland before the Túatha Dé Danaan
Géis — gesh: A curse or requirement
Léine/Léinte — Lay-na (singular)/Layn-tah(plural): A long belted tunic
Murdúchann — MUR-doo-khan: mermaid or merrow
Túath — Twah: Medieval extended household
Túatha Dé Danaan — TWAH-ha day DAH-nan: Fairies or people in Ireland before the Sons of Mil
AGE OF SECRETS
Druid’s Brooch Series, #8
Christy Nicholas
Chapter One
Fingin flung the fishing net with all his might. The circular sieve spun wide and nestled onto the surface of the gently flowing An Ruirthech River. Slowly, the weights on the edge sank to the rocky floor. With gentle tugs, Fingin pulled the handline and tightened his snare. A few times the net caught on stones, but a slight twitch freed the twine. He frowned when he hauled the whole thing to shore; only three small salmon and a young pike.
Typically, he did much better at this time of the evening, as the sun kissed the edge of the dusky horizon. Still, he had plenty to eat and more for the market in the morning. Since he left home seven winters before, he’d learned to balance his work and his needs pretty well.
Perhaps just one more cast would be wise. He cleaned his catch, sniffed the fresh wind for a hint of rain, and finding none, waded back into the river.
The river narrowed here at the sharp bend, making the current run swift and strong. It also corralled the fish into a smaller area. Fingin whispered, urging the fish to come closer. His voice flowed out through the air and into the water.
Sometimes they listened. More often, they fled. Fish grew naturally wary of any fisherman, despite his unique ability to talk to them. Just because they understood him didn’t mean he had command over their actions.
He avoided speaking with fish, especially since his voice, even with magic, got distorted through the water. He preferred talking with larger animals, as they had more grasp of conversation. But sometimes he persuaded the fish to swim closer toward his net.
A ripple upriver caught his eye, glinting in the setting sun. Fingin squinted as the disturbance grew closer. Something large swam beneath the surface, something he wouldn’t want in his net. Hastily, he tried to pull the net in, but it caught on a
