The Bloodline Inheritance

By Brad A. LaMar and Igor Adasikov

“The Celtic Mythos series has a group of characters that I just adore and a story that is beyond amazing.”– Because Reading is Better than Real Life Blog

Magicks and humans, friends and enemies, ally themselves in a battle to save all realms in Book Four of the Celtic Mythos series…

In his quest to become an Immortal, Elathan seeks the Emerald Crown of the World, which holds a magic so ancient and powerful that its been hidden from all realms. As Earth’s rightful Protector, only Brendan stands a chance to stop the golden god, to save the Earth and her inhabitants.

But when Brendan falls under a curse that poisons his mind, Lizzie, Dorian, Frank, and their friends must band together to save him while Elathan grows in power.

“ Award-winning author LaMar skillfully brings out the Irish in all of us.” – Dave Edlund, USA Today Bestselling Author

“Brad LaMar has a flowing style of writing that really puts you in the story and helps you to connect with the characters.” – Nights, Goodreads

“Great story telling and so many wonderful characters.” – Milton, Goodreads

Don't miss the shocking conclusion of the Celtic Mythos series!

The Celtic Mythos

1. The Obsidian Dagger
2. The Megalith Union
3. The Dominion Pulse
4. The Bloodright Inheritance

• Language: English
• Publisher: Torchflame Books
• Release date: Jan 24, 2017
• ISBN: 9781611531442

Book preview

Title Page

Celtic Mythos

The Bloodline  Inheritance

a fantasy novel

Brad A. LaMar

Copyright

Copyright © 2016, by Brad LaMar

The Bloodline Inheritance (Celtic Mythos, Book 4)

Brad A. LaMar

[e-mail]

Igor Adasikov, Illustrator

[e-mail]

Durham, NC 27713 USA

SAN: 920-9298

Paperback ISBN: 978-1-61153-145-9

Ebook ISBN: 978-1-61153-144-2

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 as permitted under Section 107 or 108 of the 1976 International Copyright Act, without the prior written permission except in brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews.

Dedication

Celtic Mythos is dedicated in loving memory

of my father John A. LaMar.

Prologue

Changes

Sabd had not expected to return to an empty cave. He had left his brother, Maddox, in charge of the clan not more than three days before so that he could answer Nuada’s summons in Tir na nOg, the Realm of the Gods. All of the clans that Nuada trusted were represented there, including Arawn the Celtic warrior, Argona the war goddess, Verin of the Ossorians, and a few others that Sabd had never met before. Nuada had made it a special affair with high-class music, dining, and performers. It was a productive time, but life carried on back in the Danti Mountains, so Sabd said goodbye to return to life as usual.

The bareness of his cave was shocking. There were plenty of reasons that his Sidhes could be away from their home, but it was unheard of to have every last one of them gone at the same time.

The Sidhe flitted his wings and slowly scoured the cave for any clues of where his people could have gone, but there seemed to be no sign of them. There were bits of rubble scattered about but other than that, everything seemed in order. Even the crystal clear lake was still. How peculiar.

He continued to fly around the cave and finally noticed something that was different. Where did this come from?

Sabd landed on a very smooth and very cold, black obsidian throne. It looked entirely out of place among the modest stones of the cave. Sidhes were simple folk, choosing to live their lives in peace and away from the opulence of a place like Sarvaloo, the capital city of Tir na nOg. Sidhes didn’t need a great deal of material possessions, only kinship and community mattered to them. Sabd found himself feeling extremely lonesome in the depths of the cavern without his fellow Sidhes.

Confused? a deep voice echoed throughout the cave.

Sabd turned quickly and his jaw dropped open in total shock. Elathan? What are you doing here?

Elathan didn’t respond; instead he casually strolled across the cave, stepping over and around the small smudges of charred goo that were scattered about the floor.

Why weren’t you there with Nuada? He called your name several times. Sabd stood waiting for some reply, but there was none. The golden god—a nickname given to Elathan due to his golden hair and bronze skin tone—didn’t seem to hear him, that, or he chose to ignore the question. Do you know where my clansmen are? Sabd asked.

Elathan continued to walk towards the Sidhe leader. Finally, he stopped and stood before Sabd and the throne. They’re gone.

Where did they go? Sabd asked nervously.

Elathan smirked at the question and laughed a little. I killed them.

The look of horror on Sabd’s face was a delicious reward for Elathan. He could feel the shock and sadness of the Sidhe and it brought him great pleasure. His mask of allegiance to Nuada was finally over and he could breath free air again. It had felt so good using his powers on the annoying Sidhes. It was exhilarating to be the god that he knew himself to be.

You are in my chair, the golden god said flatly. He moved quickly and swatted Sabd away from his throne onto the floor where he bounced before skidding into a rock. Elathan reached out his foot and stepped on the Sidhe’s wing to hold him in place.

They begged and pleaded for mercy, and to my credit I granted them a swift death, Elathan bragged. Every one of them with the exception of your brother, of course.

Get off me! Sabd demanded to no avail.

I just let him beg like the coward he was, Elathan continued. He was the leader, Sabd, and he was on his hands and knees begging like a child. No, he needed to be taught a lesson about leadership.

Elathan raked his boot hard across Sabd’s prone wing and ripped it from his back. The Sidhe screamed in agony and began to crawl away, no longer able to fly.

You are going to learn the same lesson, Sabd. Elathan stalked forward and kicked the Sidhe across the cave where he hit the wall and fell to the floor harshly, his other wing torn and tattered. Only, you get to live.

Elathan’s eyes flared and he whispered a soft incantation. Sabd’s body began to glow slightly as an intense amount of pain left him senseless. He flipped over onto his back and his muscles all contracted at the same time, stretching the limit of his joints and tendons.

What are you doing to me? Sabd moaned, his voice deepening and changing as he spoke.

The Sidhe’s body started to grow larger and larger, skin and muscle bloating at an alarming rate. He pulled his body back down and put his chest on the cave floor. Sabd watched his hands and fingers pull together and harden until proteins knitted to form hooves. His neck lengthened and his skull bones broke themselves into small chips and then worked to reform their shape. Two points of searing pain bore into his head making his skull feel heavy and awkward.

Elathan stumbled over and grabbed the throne’s arm to steady himself. It was the first time he tried to use what Caoranach had taught him all those years ago about transmutation. It wasn’t a pleasant experience, but Elathan allowed himself a rare grin and pointed toward the cave lake. Sabd tried to stand on his feet but his body had changed so much that it felt more natural and easier to crawl. He struggled to make it the distance from the wall to the water, but somehow he managed it. He stopped at the edge and then bravely looked down at his new reflection. Staring back at him was a wild deer with a rack of silver antlers protruding from its head.

That can’t be me!

Elathan appeared next to the deer in the reflection. Do you see my mercy, Sabd? Elathan spat. Do you see my kindness? I let you have silver antlers to remind you of the wonderful gifts that Nuada has given you.

Sabd’s eyes were large and sad. No more Sidhes. No more Maddox. No more Sabd. What had changed in the friend he once knew in Elathan?

Go, Elathan directed. Go live out your days Sabd and be a witness to my greatness and mercy.

Sabd turned and sprinted clumsily from Elathan’s presence and his former home, not really knowing where to go.

On and on he ran.

…

Melville hated when the change came, but every month during the full moon it ravaged his body anyhow. The transformation was excruciating with the trauma his body had to endure. His body mass increased three fold as hair grew; his fingers became deadly weapons capped with claws sharp enough to match the knife-like teeth in his wolf-like maw. The physical change could have been so much easier to accept if he didn’t lose his human mind and consciousness each and every time. The memories were spotty at best, but images of unspeakable violence crossed his thoughts when he slept. He knew that most of the murders and maiming that happened in his dreams had already occurred in his weaker moments as the wolf.

The sun was nearly down. The change was going to happen soon. He could feel it gurgling in the pit of his stomach, making him want to vomit. He could feel it in his joints as they tinged with the aches and pains of the metamorphosis.

He wasn’t the only one on the Earth to have to experience the torturous curse from the demon woman. She had marked Melville’s entire village. He regretted the events of that horrible night. He regretted what followed even more.

Lower and lower the sun dipped towards the horizon inching Melville closer and closer to the monster. The pain in his body was growing as the pores on his skin began to widen. The cracking of his vertebra and every other bone in his body told him the moon was rising earlier than he expected, even before it was going to be visible in the night sky.

I traveled to the mountains, he thought absently. This time no one will get hurt.

His hair grew by the inch, his bones and muscles made their adjustments and just before his mind belonged to the monster he heard the laughter of a family near the stream around the bend.

…

Airmid was so relieved to be back home. Traveling was not something she enjoyed, but when Nuada or the Morrigan called for her, she always went, even if she refused at first. She preferred to anywhere in Otherworld the sanctity of her beautiful home in Tir na nOg situated far away from the hustle and bustle of Sarvaloo next to her Springs of Purity.

Stepping close to the waters refreshed her soul and lent her strength, reminding her that this was where she belonged. Anyone who looked around her estate would easily agree: babbling streams, lush vegetation, all the shade she wanted from her willow home, and the cleansing waters of the Springs of Purity in the heart of the land.

The only thing that Airmid sometimes missed was the company of others, but she had her books and her hobbies and that was usually enough for her. She had brought some of her books and trinkets with her on this last trip but she really didn’t have time to enjoy them. The trip turned out to be more of a stressful mess than the Morrigan had told her it was going to be, but it had worked out in the end.

Airmid placed her bag on a stump of an ash tree that had given its lumber up long ago to provide her with shelter from the occasional storm of Tir na nOg, and began to unpack her modest traveling goods. She pulled out two books written by Bel about the theory of magical transfer and magical lineage genetics in non-magical species. A few dresses and slippers came out next and then her materials for crafting her bracelets were removed, presumably leaving only her flask in the bag.

I know it’s in here, she mumbled, putting her entire arm into the bag. Where is the blasted thing?

She started to search around on the ground and near the spring and even in her house, though she knew that it wasn’t there. Airmid threw her bag down in a huff and plopped on the stomp crossing her arms across her chest in frustration.

Thanks, Morrigan, she said aloud, though the Morrigan was nowhere near Tir na nOg. You had to request me to bring a flask of the spring water, didn’t you? Now its ruddy gone, isn’t it?

Airmid put her hands on her face and began to cry. This was just one more reason why she hated traveling.

Chapter 1

Forging Ahead

This walk is taking forever, O’Neal, Detective Simmons grunted. We need that giant talking bull back. He paused and shook his head. Giant talking bull? I’m beginning to sound nuts like the rest of you."

Brendan waved his hand over his shoulder to acknowledge that the complaint had been noted. The dirt and stone path of the Chamber seemingly went on without end. When they had left the Morrigan’s place on Don’s back he never would have anticipated the return trip taking so long. He really wanted to rest on a big cushy sofa and watch a little T.V. with Dorian, but that kind of moment was impossibly far off.

She was right next to him, holding his hand, which was more than a consolation. Lizzie and Frank were a little ahead of him carrying on a conversation with Garnash and Brendan’s father, Oscar. How amazing it was to have his father back. It hadn’t been an easy task retrieving him, either. Brendan had taken another beating at the hands of Elathan and nearly lost Lizzie and Dorian in the process.

Even though Elathan’s power had clearly expanded exponentially, Brendan was cautiously optimistic about the future. He had not only managed to save both his sister and his girlfriend from being blown to bits by the terrible god, but he also had a chance to see how his own powers stacked up against the ultimate ultragod: He was still breathing and that gave them all a fighting chance.

The Smith sisters began laughing at something that Rohl the Púca had said and they started flying a little erratically, bumping into one another. The noise brought Brendan out of his thoughts. He looked back at Ken and Simmons and saw that the long walk and the battle they just lived through was taking a toll on everyone. He noticed that some of the trees up ahead had been chopped down, leaving several stumps that would be perfect for sitting and resting weary legs.

Brendan pointed at the area. Everyone, let’s just stop up there at those stumps and rest for a few minutes.

No one objected.

So what happens now? Rohl asked, sitting right on the stone of the path with legs stretched out in front of him as he leaned back on his hands.

We’re heading back to that weird pub, Dorian answered. Brendan’s going to introduce us to a legend.

Brendan shrugged. That’s if the Morrigan is still there. She could be anywhere by this point.

How’s this Morrigan lady going to help us anyway? Simmons asked. How can anybody help us after the lunacy we just saw?

That’s why we’re here, Simmons, Lizzie replied. It’s up to us to fight those sorts of weird things. No offence, she offered to Rohl.

None taken, he said with a wave.

So the fate of the world rests on the shoulders of a bunch of kids? Earth’s going to hell in a hand basket.

Have faith in us, Detective, Oscar said. My family has been doing this a long time and the world hasn’t exploded yet.

By the way, speaking of death or at least presumed death— Simmons said, turning towards Brendan and casting a sideways glance at Ken. "What did happen back at Syracuse? Where are all of those people who came up missing? Obviously, you have some sort of powers so it’s pretty conceivable that you did something with them."

Now, just a minute, Oscar said getting to his feet and prompting Simmons to do the same. How dare you accuse my son of anything heinous when all he’s trying to do is save the world!

Easy, Dad, Brendan said, stepping between them. I can explain and now that Simmons knows the real deal it won’t sound all that crazy.

I’m waiting, Simmons said, crossing his arms across his chest.

Okay, so you saw how all of those creatures back there became mutated into something different? Well that’s what Conchar did to those people on campus.

Conchar? Simmons asked.

The guy Dorian tore a hole through, Garnash answered.

So you’re telling me that he could change people into… what?

Ruas, or a sort of living zombie, Frank answered. It’s not a good feeling—I can tell you that.

Let’s say I believe you…

Let me stop you right there, Brendan said, beginning to lose patience with the man. Right at this moment I don’t particularly care what you believe. Once this is all over, and if by some slim chance we come out on top, then you can ask me about it again and my answer will still be the same.

You think I’m dropping it? That’s funny. Now, you’re gonna… Simmons started, but he fell silent when he saw Brendan’s eyes beginning to glow silver.

Enough rest, Brendan declared as he held his hands and arms out to shoulder height and his body was overtaken in silver. He reached out and lifted everyone up into the air, including himself, encasing them all in his power. The entire group began moving down the path at his direction traveling as fast as they would have in a racecar.

Look! There’s that little village, Lizzie observed after a few minutes.

And a light is on, like before, added Ken.

Brendan slowed the group to a stop and lowered them back to the ground. He turned to Simmons as the others started to walk towards the pub. What you need to grasp, Simmons, is that if I can’t stop Elathan then everyone in the world will be either mutated by Caoranach or destroyed by him. So, get your mind in the present and contribute something to the group that is useful, or so help me I will leave you here.

Brendan stared hard at the detective but only for a moment before he stalked away to join the others. Simmons kicked a loose stone and then reluctantly followed Brendan towards the pub.

This conversation isn’t over.

…

Are you close to ready, dear? Biddy called to the back of the cottage.

Rory walked into the bedroom from the front of the small residence holding ten vials of orange and blue magic. One can never have enough of these, he said, clanging the small glass vials as he placed them into a satchel.

What do you think we’re going to find up there?

Rory shrugged. Could be anything; could be nothing. Worst case, we run into Elathan or one of his goons.

And with no Brendan… Biddy said while shaking her head. What would we be able to do against him?

I’m afraid that we’d end up in the ‘die trying’ part of that old saying, Rory said with a small laugh.

That’s not funny, Rory. Biddy said, turning away from him to fold one last shirt.

Rory crossed the room and put a gentle hand on his wife’s wrist. She put the shirt down and looked into his eyes, worry sitting deep in her own.

Hey, now, Bid. We will do what we can, you know, hold the fort down until Brendan, Dorian, and the others get back.

We don’t know if they are even alive, Rory. We may be it, Biddy pointed out.

If that’s true, then we’ll go down swinging—together.

Hello? Sinead called from the kitchen in the front of the house. You guys here?

Rory and Biddy walked into the front room and greeted Sinead, Sierra, and Fynn. We were just finishing up our packing for the trip north. Are you about ready?

Well, that’s what we came to talk about, the beautiful Dryad said. I’ve been speaking with the tree spirits and they are talking in circles about what’s happening up north, clamoring on about this Emerald Crown of the World, wherever that is, and some disturbance.

Didn’t we already know that? Biddy asked, recalling their first conversation about the mysterious situation. Word came to them that trouble was brewing surrounding some place called the Emerald Crown of the World. The timing was frightening to Biddy since she had no idea if that meant that Dorian and Brendan and the rest had already been vanquished or if there was some other tormentor on the loose.

One moment they’re crying for help, claiming that they can’t hold out much longer—from what I can’t say—and then the next they are silent, Sinead said.

Hold on, Rory said, raising his hand. I’m confused. I know I should have asked earlier, but how is it that you can communicate with them exactly? I know you are a Dryad and all, but how does it work?

Sinead thought for a minute. Well, you see all things in nature have a spirit, some sort of life energy that connects us, and my people were able to tap into this long ago on Otherworld from what my mum would tell me, and we can become privy to their thoughts when they have them, their feelings, and their health.

And how exactly do you do that? Rory asked.

Sinead shook her head and said, I just can and right now we don’t have time for this.

Fynn stepped forward. We feel it’s best that Sinead and I go north ahead of any others. Being a small group we’ll be able to move around more quickly.

What? You want us to sit this one out? Biddy asked.

You’re needed here, Biddy, Sinead said. These people are scared and need your leadership.

How are you going to get north? Rory asked.

Sierra said she would take us, Fynn replied.

Let’s say you find the Crown, but then something bad finds you. How is that going to help us? Rory wanted to know.

Sierra cleared her throat. I’m going to help with that, too. I have the ability to do magic, though not quite the same way as Garnash. She closed her fist and brought it up to her mouth where she whispered softly in between the spaces of her fingers. When she opened her palm a small shimmering butterfly was revealed. Go, she whispered.

The butterfly bounced into the air flying a somewhat scattered pattern until it settled in on Rory’s shoulder and flapped its wings hard. Rory and Biddy strained their ears, and in the quiet of the strokes they heard Sierra’s voice saying, "No matter how far apart we are my message will get to you, and you will know what we know."

We’re going to leave Tevis and Fergus in your capable care since this particular task requires stealth. Fynn smiled appreciatively. Thank you for taking us into your village.

Rory nodded, and just like that Sinead, Fynn, and Sierra walked away into the obsidian megaliths—oddly placed in the center of Corways—and in a flash they were out of sight.

Biddy hugged into Rory and squeezed him tightly. And what if something happens to them before she sends us a message? What then?

I don’t know, Bid. I just don’t know.

…

Pain. That’s all Arawn felt.

His body was lying prone on a cold, hard floor with his head throbbing and his lip split. He tried to move his arm to push himself up, or at least raise his head, but his skull felt like it weighed a metric ton. Arawn forced his eyes to open, but they couldn’t open farther than a slit. The world was fuzzy around him like he was trying to look through mist.

Is this what death feels like?

He blinked a few times, if it could be called that. Finally, his vision was clearing and he realized he was back in the familiar confines of his trilithon prison in Elathan’s mountain castle.

Arawn’s body was in shock from the trauma it had received at the hands of Elathan and Camulos. Once Lir had captured the Celtic warrior, he had been subjected to mind and body-numbing torture in the same cell with the goal of beating Caoranach’s location out of him. If he would have given that up then he knew that the Earth and all of her people would die. He had held out through all of the pain. He even held out when his one true love was being electrified. It killed him to watch Argona suffer—even if she had left him all those years ago to side with Elathan. The good in her would always stay in his heart.

After a few conscious moments Arawn was finally able to push off the ground and roll over onto his back. That’s when he saw her lying next to him. Argona was bruised and bloodied, but she was breathing. He painstakingly reached his hand over and touched his fingers to hers.

Argona, are you conscious? he asked.

She moaned and stirred for a moment before she lay still, her chest still rising and falling with each shallow breath. Arawn wrapped his pinky finger around hers and closed his eyes again. For the first time in a long while, he was happy.

…

I should have killed him, mumbled a tall, slender, gray-skinned being as he used his mechanized right arm to knock a thick tree trunk out of his way. The wood cracked and snapped under the being’s powerful blow and crashed to the ground nearly crushing a helpless squirrel-like creature that just managed to scamper away. He stepped over the remaining stump and tromped on a small patch of orchids that were unfortunate enough to be in his path.

Bodach stood on a hillside after emerging from the forest in the western side of Tech Duinn, the Realm of the Dead, and looked out at the field of overgrown grass that danced lightly on the warm breeze. The sight of the field, though a beautiful image to many, infuriated the Bogle to no end. His plans to unleash the Sloughs—the unforgiven human dead back on Earth—had been undone by what he came to understand as a multitude of factors. Oscar O’Neal had been able to blast Bodach’s arm away from his body and his dog had sacrificed itself to send him to Tech Duinn, but there were other players in the cataclysm. O’Neal had only been an instrument in a much grander scheme, and in hindsight so was Bodach.