The Cold Ones

By Gabriella Messina

Ireland in the Dark Ages is a land of extremes… clan versus clan, light versus dark…

Patricius is a man of God, a Christian bent on bringing a new Light of Faith to the remote land where he was once a slave. It is a harsh and primitive land, though, and he soon finds himself confronted with suspicious minds, dangerous foes, and unbelievable creatures that challenge the very heart of his Faith.

To save our world, Christian and Druid, human and fae, must unite, and wage an epic battle to drive the darkest of evils from the Emerald Isle, and from the World.

Where Old Gods meet New… a Legend is Born…

• Language: English
• Publisher: Gabriella Messina
• Release date: Mar 13, 2018
• ISBN: 9781386237280

Gabriella Messina

Always a spinner of tales, Gabriella Messina’s journey as an author began in the realm of screenwriting. Whether writing fantasy or crime fiction, short stories or full-length novels, Ms. Messina brings a fresh point of view and a snarky wisdom to her work, exploring science, justice, faith and feeling in equal measure. In addition to her creative writing, Ms. Messina helps other authors reach their goals, designing book covers and graphics, and providing proofreading and editing services.  When not writing, she enjoys indulging in her favorite “guilty pleasures”: coffee and chocolate, watching car racing with her son, and spending too much time looking at music videos online.

Book preview

... Today in this fateful hour

I place all Heaven with its power,

And the sun with its brightness,

And the snow with its whiteness,

And fire with all the strength it hath,

And lightning with its rapid wrath,

And the winds with their swiftness along their path,

And the sea with its deepness,

And the rocks with their steepness,

And the earth with its starkness

All these I place,

By God's almighty help and grace,

Between myself and the powers of darkness.

1

Little has changed in the years since I walked this path. The trees of Connacht are as lush and green as they have ever been, though the light has dimmed, its spirits gone. ‘Tis odd to think of that, the spirits gone. As a man who serves the Christian God, I have vowed to reject all things pagan and evil, for the Church equates the two. But there are some things in Heaven and Earth that one cannot explain, but must simply accept.

I slowed, my aging limbs balking at the upcoming hill, and begging for a moments’ rest before the punishing assault to the top began. A large stone just off the path beckoned to me, and I gave in to the pleadings of my muscles and decided to rest for a bit. A whoosh of air followed my sitting down upon the stone, and I grimaced painfully at the uncomfortable perch I’d chosen. Not that there was anywhere better to sit. The king had determined that care of the mounds meant the clearing of felled trees and fallen leaves that would have served to cushion my seat.

I sat very still, listening to the breeze whispering through the trees, the sparrows scolding from their nests above. The view had also changed very little, though there were decidedly more sheep in the plain below than had been there then, that fateful night when I had last stood here, and watched a great army of enemies gather to fight a common foe.

Footsteps on the path pulled me from my reverie. ‘Twas a youth of perhaps sixteen, shepherd’s crook in hand. No doubt some of his sheep were amongst those grazing below, and a trip up the hill warranted to survey the vale and locate those who had strayed. He nodded to me as he passed, his staff making a swishing sound as it swung by me, and assisted his ascent. He was passed in moments, and I was once again alone, with only my memories to occupy me as I rested. But what memories! They flowed back into my mind, the vivid colors and sounds crashing over me like rough waves on the eastern coast. Memories of my home in Britannia, of my father and mother...

My name was Patricius then, and I possessed the good family and potential to become a gentleman of quality. Though my family were Christians, and my grandfather a priest of the Faith, I was not particularly devout, and enjoyed the pastimes and foibles of youth to the fullest.  All of that changed, though, during my sixteenth year, on one fateful night...

2

The night was soft and warm, a rarity around the Abhainn Chluaidh in the Caledonian Spring, and I and my friends were making the most of it. We had decided a midnight bonfire on my family’s estate would be innocent enough to save us from scandal, and scandalous enough to make our parents shake their heads a bit harder than usual. Though we considered ourselves Christians, my father, Calpurnius, was not a man of zealous faith, preferring to enjoy the social benefits available as a decurion.

Tertius and Castor, the closest of my friends, more like brothers than schoolmates, were always eager to dare and be dared, and were my willing companions on that fateful night. I, not wanting to be accused of lacking in the proper amount of courage, was just as eager to challenge them, and to be challenged. It was during one of my challenges that it happened.

Castor had given me a bold dare... to enter my own home, and take my father’s signet ring from its nightly resting place. Unfortunately, its nightly resting place was the same as its daily resting place... my father’s finger. Twice I attempted to slip the ring from his finger, but each time he threatened to stir awake, and I was forced to retreat to the hallway and recoup myself before making another attempt. I glanced out the window and could see that the bonfire was dying down. Perhaps Tertius and Castor had already gone home, determined that I had been caught by my father, or worse, that I had not had the courage to accomplish the dare. I bristled at the thought of them thinking me weak and cowardly. I was not a haughty young man, despite my wealthy upbringing, but I had my fair share of pride, and my hackles raised high at the thought.

I ventured back into the room, and to my father’s bedside. I held my breath as I reached for the ring on his hand. Suddenly, there was a blaze of glowing light outside, the bonfire, I assumed. The ring flashed in the glow that brightened the room, as did my father’s eyes. Yes, he was looking at me, his eyes wide and questioning, then fearful as he saw the glow of golden flickering light on the wall. I wondered why he would fear the light of a bonfire this time of year, but the sounds of screaming horses, and slaves, reached our ears, and I knew his fear before he spoke it.

Raiders... brigands from across the sea in Hibernia. It was an odd time for them to come, as the bounty of harvest was not for many months. Could it be the animals they’d come for? Or gold? Or perhaps our slaves? We had very few, a rarity for a family of our standing and wealth, but my mother preferred slaves bound by loyalty rather than a collar.

My mother... she had woken now, and, like my father, did not ask why I was in the room with them instead of in my own, or with my friends. My friends... I felt a knot grow in my stomach. Had they escaped? Or hidden themselves in the wood? Were they captured, or, God forbid it, dead? My blood ran cold as the sounds of deep voices and heavy footfalls began to reach our ears, drifting to us from the atrium of the villa. Only minutes remained before they would enter the room. I watched my mother cling to my father, as he stood tall, a dagger in his hand, ready for what would come. There was little time...

Father, put away the dagger, I said, and quickly crossed the room to close the door, easing the iron latch into place before returning to them, and motioning for them to be silent. They will not harm us if we don’t threaten them. They’re here for goods, not our lives. My father looked at me a moment, then glanced at my mother, the pleading expression in her eyes doing more to persuade than my words ever could. He sighed and tucked the dagger under his bed pillow.

What do they want from us? Why are they in the villa? Father’s voice was quiet but strained. I had no answer for him, and, in truth, he more like as not knew what they wanted. A shriek from the kitchen confirmed it without doubt, and we braced ourselves as the thunder of heavy feet, and clashing armor came closer.

The latch on the door jiggled, and I very nearly exclaimed in nervous fright. I held my tongue, though, even as my mother began to not-so-quietly cry. One of the raiders spoke, lyrical words that I did not understand, followed soon after by a different voice speaking very careful Latin.

Release the door, and you shall not be harmed. I was closest to the door and looked to my parents for guidance. My mother sobbed into my father’s tunic, but father was in possession of himself. And, though his jaw was tight, he nodded decidedly. I stepped forward, steeling myself against the door swinging open and raiders barreling in, and lifted the latch.

There was no barreling, though. I stepped back as the door swung open, and the two raiders stood before us. One clad in warrior’s clothing, with leather breastplate and woad-paint on his face. The other dressed as my father, or any gentlemen, would dress. The gentleman looked at my mother and father, then turned to me and his eyebrows raised slightly. I felt a nervous twitch in my mind and wondered if it would be better to run than ill-used by the warlord. He smiled at me, then spoke.

I apologize for my poor Latin. I do not have much occasion to speak it when home. He grimaced, the slightest of glances shooting toward his brutish-looking companion. I hesitated a moment, composing my reply.

You do yourself great injustice, for you speak it very well. The gentleman beamed at that.

Thank you. His smile faded slightly as another scream floated in from the kitchen, and he turned to the other man. Go and tell them to take care... there is little selection here for me, and I want no one soiled by them. The brute nodded, and clattered out of the room, his bellow echoing through the halls of the villa as he called out in their native tongue.

The gentleman turned back to us. I have no interest in your parents, or the older slaves. I’ve taken three of the kitchen girls, and a stable hand. And I will take you. I must have flinched visibly, for his gaze softened slightly. Do not concern yourself... Your burdens will be lighter than most. He turned to my parents, and tried to give them comfort at the loss they faced. I will keep your son with me. He shall be my personal slave on the trip back, and shall remain in my house thereafter. You may say your goodbyes. And with that, he stepped back, giving us some semblance of privacy, though he looked on.

I turned to my parents, the knowledge foremost in my mind that I would likely never see them again. My mother embraced me, her tears wetting my tunic, and soon after my father’s strong arms embraced me as well.

Christ go with you, he said, as the brute returned. The gentleman exited quickly, and the brute entered, grabbing me firmly by the arm, and quickly clapping irons on me. I did not fight, and I’m not entirely sure whether it was out of cleverness, knowing that to go quietly meant a better life as a slave than to fight... Perhaps I was just in shock. I allowed myself to be led from my parents’ room, and tried to remember every dim corner and shadow of my home as I was dragged from it.

Once outside, I saw the volume of people taken. Though only a few from my home, including myself, there were many taken from the other villas in the area, and from the town itself. Days from then, I would know the raid had claimed thousands, as I watched us loaded on to the ships that would sail across the sea. Tonight, though, my eyes only saw my home. As I took a final, long look back, I was carried away into the night where the sky glowed scarlet and fearful shadows danced in the dark.

3

‘T was another kind of shadow that danced in the land of Hibernia. For six years, I had served my captors. I watched the seasons come and go as I sat with the flocks of sheep, the monotony of solitude broken only occasionally when a wolf tried to steal a lamb, or when a storm necessitated moving the flock to safety in a nearby cave. I proved to be skillful at the task, and even my gentleman master had praised my ability as a shepherd. Years, later, I looked back and laughed at the thought, for it seemed even in my youth I was destined to shepherd others.

Being outdoors so much, I grew strong as the years passed. I never reached a great height, and was smaller than the villagers, but physically I could keep pace with the best of them, and outpace many. It took me two years to learn their language, due to my solitary existence, but eventually I reached a point where I could converse in basic phrases, and understand what others were saying. The speed at which