Book 2 - The Sons of Kerry
unTamed
PROLOGUE
“A chuisle mo chroi.”
The pulse of my heart.
Her voice was so frail but even at its frailest it was still much stronger than her body. She hadn’t given up on life but it
seemed life had given up on her. The five sons of Diarmuid and Grainne sat at the side of their mother’s bed, smoothing her hands and her mind. And even as they consoled her, she consoled them. It had been many years since their father had been taken from them and still they fought for justice against a man who would rather see them all, including the rest of the world, damned.
“Mathair,”each of the son’s spoke to their mother and she in turn spoke to them.
“Kieran, my eldest, my heart. Eoin, my wisdom. Ronan, Rory, my sun and my moon, Yasan, my joy. This is only my end and your beginning. I am with you always, as your father is with us now. He waits for me and I yearn to see him again. But you must not give up our cause, my sons. If we leave the smallest of an opening, the insect Fionn will find a way to enslave us all. His mask is slowly pulling away and soon there will be nothing to hold him at his boundary. We must be strong. We must fight.”
Her pleas to her son were followed with incessant coughing and even when it brought tears to her eyes and whisps of fire in her breathing she did not give up.
For days on days, the five sons watched their mother’s body give way to the nature of the world and return to the ground from which all were born from. But in those days they were strong. They did fight.
The armies of Fionn kept vigil on the land surrounding Kerry. As it was given to Diarmuid as a token of faith and love from Fionn, he could not take it back nor could he step foot there without pain assaulting his heart and squeezing until his life nearly left him. This was a curse upon him by the Gods, his penance for his freely given soul to the darkness that led him.
“Does she live?” Fionn asked the Fenian warrior kneeling before him.
“From all observations, she does,” he answered him.
“I did not ask for a supposed observation,” he roared and the lights of the lanterns flickered as the flames went out then shot towards the tall ceilings of the castle. The flames returned to normal but Fionn’s anger remained. “Does she live?” he asked again.
“Yes, she lives. Her sons train day in and day out. They are preparing to meet us in battle.”
Fionn laughed though there was no humor infused into the sound. “They prepare to meet us in battle? How will five boys meet an
entire army and expect to win? They prepare for naught. They prepare to join their cursed mother and father in their graves.” An
age spotted hand rubbed at the long white stretch of beard at his chin as he imagined the quick work of discarding of the ambitious boys and finally bidding farewell to the thorns in his side. “Lure them out,” he instructed. “They will meet their fate on neutral
ground.”
He was left in silence with nothing but the empty walls and the furious thoughts in his mind. His army would prepare for a victory and they would feast in seven day’s time while the bodies of the spawn of Diarmuid and Grainne were feasted upon by the worms
of the battle field. His laughter, this time, was filled with pure mirth and a touch of insanity.
The five sons each held a weapon and they each breathed heavily, the exertion of training and the weight of the world on each of their
shoulders. They took turns, each wanting to give up then fight again. The loss of their father had taken their world from normal afternoons of catching frogs to days spent with one waking thought – avenge their father.
Kieran had been the one on that fateful day to see the evil of Fionn mac Cumhaill on his own. He saw the darkness that surrounded the man and drained all color from him. He knew when introduced to the famed man that he would do nothing if not for his own gain.
The smile he offered that day was the same smile he offered all those he reigned upon. He would fool many but not all. For all of his days Kieran would never forget the happiness he saw in Fionn’s eyes as water ran through his fingers, the water that could have saved his father’s life, and fall upon the ground in a nearly soundless puddle. He would not let his brothers forget it either.
“Fionn will plague this world,” he told them. “Our father is only one of the many which he has forsaken. We, my brothers, are all that stand between him and destruction on a level that no battle has ever seen. He took our blood, brothers. We cannot allow him to take more.”
They all agreed. They all wanted justice as much for their father as they did for their mother. Even as the small children they were, they remembered the love between their mother and their father and they remembered the stories he would tell them before putting them to bed each night. They remembered the longing in their mother’s eyes when she watched their father walk out of the door for
the last time. They saw the look of longing that remained there every day since.
The brothers all nodded, extending their hands and fisting them over their hearts. Their blood would not be forsaken.
A crack of blue lightning shot across the sky and with it came the whiz of an arrow as it landed at their feet. Attached to the arrow was a rolled parchment with words emblazoned in bright blue ink.
Kieran read the words and handed them to his brothers. Each looked to the other and none of them were ready to give up any longer.
None spoke until a soft voice broke through.
“It begins.” Grainne stood in the doorway of their home, her body swaying in the shadow cast before her. Five sons of Kerry faced her in agreement,“It begins.”
“A chuisle mo chroi.”
The pulse of my heart.
Her voice was so frail but even at its frailest it was still much stronger than her body. She hadn’t given up on life but it
seemed life had given up on her. The five sons of Diarmuid and Grainne sat at the side of their mother’s bed, smoothing her hands and her mind. And even as they consoled her, she consoled them. It had been many years since their father had been taken from them and still they fought for justice against a man who would rather see them all, including the rest of the world, damned.
“Mathair,”each of the son’s spoke to their mother and she in turn spoke to them.
“Kieran, my eldest, my heart. Eoin, my wisdom. Ronan, Rory, my sun and my moon, Yasan, my joy. This is only my end and your beginning. I am with you always, as your father is with us now. He waits for me and I yearn to see him again. But you must not give up our cause, my sons. If we leave the smallest of an opening, the insect Fionn will find a way to enslave us all. His mask is slowly pulling away and soon there will be nothing to hold him at his boundary. We must be strong. We must fight.”
Her pleas to her son were followed with incessant coughing and even when it brought tears to her eyes and whisps of fire in her breathing she did not give up.
For days on days, the five sons watched their mother’s body give way to the nature of the world and return to the ground from which all were born from. But in those days they were strong. They did fight.
The armies of Fionn kept vigil on the land surrounding Kerry. As it was given to Diarmuid as a token of faith and love from Fionn, he could not take it back nor could he step foot there without pain assaulting his heart and squeezing until his life nearly left him. This was a curse upon him by the Gods, his penance for his freely given soul to the darkness that led him.
“Does she live?” Fionn asked the Fenian warrior kneeling before him.
“From all observations, she does,” he answered him.
“I did not ask for a supposed observation,” he roared and the lights of the lanterns flickered as the flames went out then shot towards the tall ceilings of the castle. The flames returned to normal but Fionn’s anger remained. “Does she live?” he asked again.
“Yes, she lives. Her sons train day in and day out. They are preparing to meet us in battle.”
Fionn laughed though there was no humor infused into the sound. “They prepare to meet us in battle? How will five boys meet an
entire army and expect to win? They prepare for naught. They prepare to join their cursed mother and father in their graves.” An
age spotted hand rubbed at the long white stretch of beard at his chin as he imagined the quick work of discarding of the ambitious boys and finally bidding farewell to the thorns in his side. “Lure them out,” he instructed. “They will meet their fate on neutral
ground.”
He was left in silence with nothing but the empty walls and the furious thoughts in his mind. His army would prepare for a victory and they would feast in seven day’s time while the bodies of the spawn of Diarmuid and Grainne were feasted upon by the worms
of the battle field. His laughter, this time, was filled with pure mirth and a touch of insanity.
The five sons each held a weapon and they each breathed heavily, the exertion of training and the weight of the world on each of their
shoulders. They took turns, each wanting to give up then fight again. The loss of their father had taken their world from normal afternoons of catching frogs to days spent with one waking thought – avenge their father.
Kieran had been the one on that fateful day to see the evil of Fionn mac Cumhaill on his own. He saw the darkness that surrounded the man and drained all color from him. He knew when introduced to the famed man that he would do nothing if not for his own gain.
The smile he offered that day was the same smile he offered all those he reigned upon. He would fool many but not all. For all of his days Kieran would never forget the happiness he saw in Fionn’s eyes as water ran through his fingers, the water that could have saved his father’s life, and fall upon the ground in a nearly soundless puddle. He would not let his brothers forget it either.
“Fionn will plague this world,” he told them. “Our father is only one of the many which he has forsaken. We, my brothers, are all that stand between him and destruction on a level that no battle has ever seen. He took our blood, brothers. We cannot allow him to take more.”
They all agreed. They all wanted justice as much for their father as they did for their mother. Even as the small children they were, they remembered the love between their mother and their father and they remembered the stories he would tell them before putting them to bed each night. They remembered the longing in their mother’s eyes when she watched their father walk out of the door for
the last time. They saw the look of longing that remained there every day since.
The brothers all nodded, extending their hands and fisting them over their hearts. Their blood would not be forsaken.
A crack of blue lightning shot across the sky and with it came the whiz of an arrow as it landed at their feet. Attached to the arrow was a rolled parchment with words emblazoned in bright blue ink.
Kieran read the words and handed them to his brothers. Each looked to the other and none of them were ready to give up any longer.
None spoke until a soft voice broke through.
“It begins.” Grainne stood in the doorway of their home, her body swaying in the shadow cast before her. Five sons of Kerry faced her in agreement,“It begins.”