Son of the Shadows

CELTIC DEITIES

This book contains many references to gods, goddesses, and heroes from Irish mythology. The reader may appreciate a brief introduction to them and a little help with the pronunciation of the Irish Gaelige, remembering that there may be several versions of the spelling and pronunciation of a certain name, all quite valid.

Tuatha De Danann too-a-ha day dann-an

(The Fair Folk)

The people of the goddess Dana or Danu, they were the last race of Otherworld beings to inhabit

Ireland. They defeated two ancient races, the Fir Bolg and the Fomhoire at the two battles of Moytirra, but were themselves relegated to hidden parts of the landscape, such as caves and barrows, with the coming of the first Gaels.

Fomhoire fo-vo-reh

(The Old Ones)

An ancient race that emerged from the sea to inhabit Ireland. Inaccurately described in later written accounts as misshapen and ugly. They were eventually defeated by the Tuatha De Danann and sent into exile.

Brighid bree-yid

A youthful spring goddess associated with fertility and nurture. In later Christian writings she became inextricably identified with Saint Brigid, foundress of a convent in Kildare.

Dana (Danu) dan-a. dan-u

Mother goddess of the Tuatha De Danann and associated with the earth.

Morrigan morri-gan

A goddess of war and death. One of her favorite forms was that of a crow or raven.

Lugh loo

Celtic sun god. Lugh bore the blood of both Tuatha De and Fomhoire. A multitalented hero.

Dagda dog-da

A respected leader and chief of the Tuatha De.

Diancecht dee-an kyecht

God of healing, and chief physician of the Tuatha De. He constructed a silver hand for the smitten hero

Nuada.

Manannan mac Lir man-un-aun mac lear

A sea god, mariner, and warrior, who also possessed powers of healing.

CELTIC FESTIVALS

Celtic deities are often associated with the major festivals that mark the turning points of the druidic year.

These days not only have a ritual significance but are closely linked to the cycle of planting, growing, harvesting, and storing crops, and are paralleled in the life cycles of man and beast.

Samhain (1 November) Sowan

Marks the beginning of the Celtic New Year. The dark months begin; seed waits for new life to germinate. It is a time to take stock and reflect; a time to honor the dead, when margins may be crossed more easily, allowing communication between human world and spirit world.

Imbolc (1 February) Imulk, Imbulk

Festival of the lactating ewes, sacred to the goddess Brighid. A day of new beginnings, when the first plowing was often undertaken.

Beltaine (1 May) Byaltena

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On this day the bright half of the year begins. A deeply significant day, related to both fertility and death.

The day on which the Tuatha De Danann first set foot in Ireland. Many customs and practices grew up around Beltaine, including maypole and spiral dances, the setting out of gifts, such as milk, eggs, and cider for otherworld folk, and, as at Imbolc, the dousing and relighting of household fires.

Lugnasad (1 August) Loonasa

A harvest festival sacred to the god Lugh, it developed from the funeral games he held in honor of his foster mother Tailtiu. The mother goddess Dana is also recognized at Lugnasad. Many practices are observed in order to ensure a good and safe harvest. These often include the ritual cutting of the last sheaf of grain. Games and competitions are also popular.

In addition to the four fire festivals outlined above, the solstices and equinoxes mark significant turning points in the year, and each has its own ritual celebration. These are: Mean Geimhridh (21 December) Mean Earraigh (21 March) Mean Samhraidh (21 June) Mean Fomhair

(21 September)

winter solstice spring equinox summer solstice autumn equinox SOME OTHER NAMES AND TERMS USED

Aengus Og

Caer Ibormeith

Cu Chulainn

Scathach

Aisling

Ciaran

Fionn Ui Neill eyn-gus ohg kyre ee-vor-may Koo khu-linn skaw-thuck ash-ling kee-ur-aun fyunn ee nay-ill

Liadan Niamh Sidhe Dubh lee-a-dan nee-av shee dove bogle

A goblinlike creature

Bran mac Feabhail bran mak fev-il

An eighth-century text describes this hero's voyage to distant and fantastic lands. On his return to Ireland, Bran discovered hundreds of years had passed in the earthly realm.

brithem

In old Irish, brehon law, a maker of judgments.

clurichaun kloo-ri-khaun

A small, mischievous spirit, something like a leprechaun.

deosil jesh-il

Sunwise; clockwise.

fianna feen-ya

Band of young hunter-warriors. One particular group of fianna was said to be led by the legendary hero

Fionn mac Cumhaill. The term was used for roaming bands of fighters who lived in the wilds and operated under their own rules.

filidh fil-lee

Ecstatic visionary poets and seers within the druid tradition.

grimoire

Sorcerer's book of spells.

nemeton

Sacred grove of the druids.

Ogham

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Secret alphabet of the druids, with twenty-five letters, each of which also indicates a particular plant, tree, or element. Ogham signs might be carved on a tree trunk or scratched on a stone, or indicated by gestures—the druids had no other written language.

riastradh ree-a-strath

Battle frenzy.

selkie

This term can be used for a seal or for one of a race of seal folk who can shed their skins and become human for a time. If the skin is stolen or lost, the selkie cannot return to the ocean.

Tir Na n'Og tear na nohg

Land of Youth. An otherworldly realm beyond the western sea.

tuath

A tribal community in early Christian Ireland, ruled by a king or lord.

My mother knew every tale that was ever told by the firesides of Erin, and more besides. Folks stood hushed around the hearth to hear her tell them after a long day's work, and marveled at the bright tapestries she wove with her words. She related the many adventures of Cu Chulainn the hero, and she told of Fionn mac Cumhaill, who was a great warrior and cunning with it. In some households, such tales were reserved for men alone. But not in ours, for my mother made a magic with her words that drew all under its spell. She told tales that had the household in stitches with laughter, and tales that made strong men grow quiet. But there was one tale she would never tell, and that was her own. My mother was the girl who had saved her brothers from a sorceress's curse, and nearly lost her own life doing it. She was the girl whose six brothers had spent three long years as creatures of the wild, and had been brought back only by her own silence and suffering. There was no need for telling and retelling of this story, for it had found a place in folks' minds. Besides, in every village there would be one or two who had seen the brother who returned, briefly, with the shining wing of a swan in place of his left arm. Even without this evidence, all knew the tale for truth; and they watched my mother pass, a slight figure with her basket of salves and potions, and nodded with deep respect in their eyes.

If I asked my father to tell a tale, he would laugh and shrug and say he had no skill with words, and besides he knew but one tale, or maybe two, and he had told them both already. Then he would glance at my mother, and she at him, in that way they had that was like talking without words, and then my father would distract me with something else. He taught me to carve with a little knife, and he taught me how to plant trees, and he taught me to fight. My uncle thought that more than a little odd. All right for my brother, Sean, but when would Niamh and I need skills with our fists and our feet, with a staff or a small dagger- Why waste time on this when there were so many other things for us to learn?

"No daughter of mine will go beyond these woods unprotected," my father had said to my Uncle Liam.

"Men cannot be trusted. I would not make warriors of my girls, but I will at least give them the means to defend themselves. I am surprised that you need ask why. Is your memory so short?"

I did not ask him what he meant. We had all discovered, early on, that it was unwise to get between him and Liam at such times.

I learned fast. I followed my mother around the villages, and was taught how to stitch a wound and fashion a splint and doctor the croup or nettle rash. I watched my father, and discovered how to make an owl and a deer and a hedgehog out of a piece of fine oak. I practiced the arts of combat with Sean, when he could be cajoled into it, and perfected a variety of tricks that worked even when your opponent was bigger and stronger. It often seemed as if everyone at Sevenwaters was bigger than me. My father made me a staff that was just the right size, and he gave me his little dagger for my own. Sean was quite put out for a day or so. But he never
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harbored grudges. Besides, he was a boy, and had his own weapons. As for my sister, Niamh, you never could tell what she was thinking.

"Remember, little one," my father told me gravely, "this dagger can kill. I hope you need never employ it for such a purpose; but if you must, use it cleanly and boldly. Here at Sevenwaters you have seen little of evil, and I hope you will never have to strike a man in your own defense. But one day you may have need of this, and you must keep it sharp and bright, and practice your skills against such a day."

It seemed to me a shadow came over his face, and his eyes went distant as they did sometimes. I nodded

silently and slipped the small, deadly weapon away in its sheath.

These things I learned from my father, whom folk called Iubdan, though his real name was different. If you knew the old tales, you recognized this name as a joke, which he accepted with good humor. For the

Iubdan of the tales was a tiny wee man, who got into strife when he fell into a bowl of porridge, though he got his own back later. My father was very tall and strongly built, and had hair the color of autumn leaves in afternoon sun.

He was a Briton, but people forgot that. When he got his new name he became part of Sevenwaters, and those who didn't use his name called him the Big Man.

I'd have liked a bit more height myself, but I was little, skinny, dark haired, the sort of girl a man wouldn't look twice at. Not that I cared. I had plenty to occupy me without thinking that far ahead. It was Niamh they followed with their eyes, for she was tall and broad shouldered, made in our father's image, and she had a long fall of bright hair and a body that curved generously in all the right places. Without even knowing it, she walked in a way that drew men's eyes.

"That one's trouble," our kitchen woman Janis would mutter over her pots and pans. As for Niamh herself, she was ever critical.

"Isn't it bad enough being half Briton," she said crossly, "without having to look the part as well?

See this?" She tugged at her thick plait, and the red-gold strands unraveled in a shining curtain.

"Who would take me for a daughter of Sevenwaters? I could be a Saxon with this head of hair!

Why couldn't I be tiny and graceful like Mother?"

I studied her for a moment or two as she began to wield the hairbrush with fierce strokes. For one so displeased with her appearance, she did spend rather a lot of time trying out new hairstyles and changing her gown and ribbons.

"Are you ashamed to be the daughter of a Briton?" I asked her.

She glared at me. "That's so like you, Liadan. Always come straight out with it, don't you? It's all very well for you; you're a small copy of Mother yourself, her little right hand. No wonder Father adores you.

For you it's simple."

I let her words wash over me. She could be like this at times, as if there were too many feelings inside her and they had to burst out somewhere. The words themselves meant nothing. I waited.

Niamh used her hairbrush like an instrument of punishment. "Sean, too," she said, glaring at herself in the mirror of polished bronze. "Did you hear what Father called him? He said, he's the son Liam never had.

What do you think of that? Sean fits in; he knows exactly where he's going. Heir to Sevenwaters, beloved son with not one but two fathers—he even looks the part. He'll do all the right things—wed

Aisling, which will make everyone happy be a leader of men, maybe even the one who wins the Islands back for us. His children will follow in his footsteps, and so on, and so on. Brighid save me, it's so tedious! It's so predictable."

"You can't have it both ways," I said. "Either you want to fit in, or you don't. Besides, we are the
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daughters of Sevenwaters, like it or not. I'm sure Eamonn will wed you gladly when it's time, golden hair or no. I've heard no objections from him."

"Eamonn? Huh!" She moved to the center of the room, where a shaft of light struck gold against the oak boards of the floor, and in this spot she began slowly to turn, so that her white gown and her brilliant shining hair moved around her like a cloud. "Don't you long for something different to happen, something