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- Herausgeber: BookRix
- Kategorie: Gesellschafts- und Liebesromane
- Sprache: Englisch
It is 290 AD. The Islands of Orkney are Pictish and pagan and ruled by rival Cènels or clans grouped in certain ancient sites.
One clan seeks dominance and tries to use their powerful sorceress to take control leaving the weaker clan reeling, with their queen in mortal danger.
Can they break the almost impossible spell set upon them. Will the hero Gallan overcome the forces set against him?
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Veröffentlichungsjahr: 2015
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To the Tomb of the Eagles and to Ann Brundle who lived and felt the magic in the islands.BookRix GmbH & Co. KG81371 MunichWaters of Life
It is 290 AD. The Islands of Orkney are Pictish and pagan and ruled by rival Cènels or clans grouped in certain ancient sites.
It was at the time of the last air burial. The hunters had prepared the body, dismembering it skillfully as they would a deer.
Then the procession had wound its way up along the cliff path to the flat area before the mounded tomb, right on the cliff edge.
Here the wind tugged at the cloaks of the people, the druids in white, the people in grey. Skuas patrolled above the gathering; the eagles themselves circled high above on the updraft.
Dignitaries from other clans had come to honour the passing of the Chief of the Eagle Cènel. By inter marriage Liave had many kin throughout the islands even with their rivals for power, the Dog Cènel.
They had sent, not a direct relative, but Sorcha, their red headed sorceress.
A tall haughty woman who spoke as if giving orders not to equals. But the Law of Strangers meant that she was received well with respect and given bed space.
Liave’s queen, Bethoc had taken a dislike to her when Sorcha had complained the coverings on her bed were too plain, unfitting for a sorceress of her rank. Bethoc marked her red hair and coveted it.
As the funeral party wended its way back from the cliff to the Eagle Cènel, the great birds swooped on the corpse. In a day their work would be done and the druids could return and salvage the bones, washing them anointing them and placing them in the tomb.
In the chief’s boat shaped hut Bethoc summoned the elders and they debated whether to accede to the request from Sorcha. For Sorcha had requested some of the sacred eagle bones from within the tomb.
“She is known for her spells,” said Nechtan a hoary elder.
“She is said to have struck dead many sheep of the Salmon Cènel when they refused her the sacred salmon bones. What I want to know is why is she collecting all these sacred totems from the Cènels?”
Allcallor spoke.
“It is said that Drost her husband wishes to control us all. Through her magic and through our sacred totems she will eventually gather us all into his grasp.”
“What of our own sorceress, Eithne, can she not resist the interloper?” queried Cano, an older warrior.
“Eithne,” said Bethoc “has told me Sorcha is too powerful to overcome, so we shall have to give her the eagle bones.”
“Then it seems so,” said Nechtan looking down.
The elders retired.
But that night, after a sleeping draught, Sorcha slept under a robe of exceptional weave. Bethoc crept into her bed alcove and, using the shearing shears, cut off the flaming red hair of Sorcha.
