Celtic Legends: The Heart of Nature

By Z.G. Blake

Struggling with the loss of his brother, Liam wants nothing but to go back to a normal life with his family. Plagued with anxiety, He learns of the death of his parents and is to live with his aunt, who he's barely met. But Liam soon discovers the history of his family and the dark plot of his cousin, Issac. With Aunt Josie and his uncle Varon, Liam must learn the ancient magic of the Celts to stop his cousin from releasing a dark evil.

• Language: English
• Publisher: AuthorHouse
• Release date: Nov 27, 2019
• ISBN: 9781728337524

Z.G. Blake

Aspiring author Z.G. Blake sheds light on mythology not known or read much about. Bringing an exciting adventure and thrill through a story of struggle, recovery, and newfound strength.

Book preview

1

L ife and the world around you are never what they seem. We must have the ability to change and adapt to survive, no matter the circumstance. Your entire sense of reality could change in almost an instant. What you do after, determines whether you live, or become swallowed by the inevitable. When all occurs to be fine, it can change drastically.

I wake to the sound of my alarm buzzing on my phone. I roll over, grab my phone next to me, and unplug it from the charger. I swipe the screen to dismiss the annoying ring of the alarm. I sit up and shake my head around, trying to wake myself up. Still groggy, I flip on my lamp, and reach for my glasses, but they are no longer in the spot I left them. I look down to the ground next to my nightstand. I fumble through the numerous clothes sprawled around the floor. I brush against the frame and grab them. As I bring the frame to my face, I notice one of the lenses has popped out again. I must have accidently bumped them off in the middle of the night. Frustrated, I climb out of bed and onto the floor. The cold air from the vent chills my skin as I look around for the missing lens. Squinting to focus my sight better, I fumble through more clothes and wrappers from late night snacks. I move aside one of the shirts and find the lens beneath. I pick it up and try to fit it back into its spot, but the small screw holding it together had popped out too. It is too small to see while blind, so I accept the fact it is lost in the mess of my room. I climb back onto my bed and grab my phone. Only took ten minutes to find the damn lens. I throw on my black jeans and a Thundercats shirt that I left next to my bed the night before. I scramble around the mess out of my room. I keep my eyes squinted as I walk, putting my hands out in front. I use the hand rail to guide me down the stairs, and follow the wall to the kitchen. I pull open the tiny junk drawer and push aside the random pens, markers, and unopened batteries to find some tape. I tape around the frame to attach it back together temporarily. I pop the lens back into the frame. I place them back onto my face, and adjust them around to focus. Finally I can see again. I turn to the fridge and see a small yellow sticky note stuck to the door.

Son, Sorry we had to leave early again. Something urgent has come up and we are needed, immediately. Here is some money for the bus. See you tonight. Love, Mom and Dad.

My parents are very busy. They leave early and usually get home late. Occasionally, they come home on time, but they are always talking business. They talk about the clients that they help, but never go into detail about their actual job. I assume they work for the government on top secret missions. It makes them sound cool.

I take the money, ten dollars, off the fridge, and put it in my pocket. My cat, Chloe, wanders under my feet and meows loudly.

Guess no one fed you this morning. I say to her. Kneeling down to stroke her soft gray fur. I grab some cat food from the pantry and dump some into her bowl on a small table by the fish tank. She loves watching the fish while she eats. She must imagine eating them while eating her food.

I clamber back up the stairs. I walk down the short hallway towards my bathroom. I stare at the photos the walls. I shut my eyes tight as I walk past a specific photo. My little brother and I. The last photo we took together. We were camping together and took a picture by the lake we love to visit every time we go. Looking at the picture sends me into a panic. Even the thought of him makes my head ache. I feel along the wall to the end of the hall, and I stop and look at my favorite photo. We were in South Dakota out in front of Mount Rushmore. It had just poured rain and we were soaked, but my mother was determined to get a photo before we left. My mom’s long blonde hair draped sloppily over her shoulders. Her blue eyes bright as ever. She had simple facial features that made her elegant and beautiful. My father’s once combed brown hair now lay flat and wet. He had strong cheekbones with a very clean beard that barely left his face. He wasn’t in his usual suit and tie attire I’m used to seeing him in. My mother no longer in her long stylish dress she wore for work. She wore a pink sundress and he wore a striped brown shirt with khaki shorts. That was the best trip of my life. The last trip we took together, two years ago. They are so busy with work now they never have time to go anywhere anymore.

The bathroom door creaks as I push it open. I kick aside the white towel on the floor from my shower the night before. I glare into the mirror at my entangled curly blonde hair. My glasses sit slightly lopsided over my dull blue eyes. I try to adjust them, but to no avail. I sigh and pick up a brush. I attempt to comb down my hair, but it never stays flat. I try the best I can to make it look as if I didn’t wake up fifteen minutes ago. I drop the brush back on to the counter and stare into the mirror. Red stains the whites of my eyes. They usually get like that if I didn’t sleep well the night before. Which is fairly often. I flip the light switch as I turn and walk out into the hall.

I brush my hand along the rough walls as I walk down the hallway. I stop and turn to the door on my left. I hold my breath as I pass my hand over the doorknob. A piece of paper sticks to the door with a single piece of tape. Timmy’s room. Do not enter. My heart pounds behind my chest. I lick my dry chapped lips as my hand shakes around the door handle. I release the handle and run down the stairs. I lean against the wall and slide to the floor. I shut my eyes tight and take long deep breaths, trying to slow my heart rate back down. I open my eyes and see Chloe rubbing against my legs. My parents got her for me to help deal with my anxiety attacks, so she knows when I am upset. I stroke her back gently while she purrs.

I slip my phone out of my pocket and check the time. I have ten minutes to get to the bus before i miss it. I have to take the public bus, so I have to be there, or be late to class.

I push myself back onto my feet and head back into the kitchen. I toss some frozen waffles from the freezer into the toaster. I look at the unfinished math homework I gave up on the night before, before tossing it in with the rest of the papers. I unzip the small front pocket and feel around inside. A small pill bottle rattles as my hand moves it around. I zip the pocket back up and pat it softly. I slip my shoes on and tie them tight. They are falling apart on the sides. I use walking as therapy, so my shoes tend to wear out quickly.

When the waffles pop, I grab them from the toaster. I toss my bag over my shoulder and head out the door. I run as fast as I can to the bus stop. It is down the street, so I cut through the apartments close by. Other kids and their parents are getting into cars and vans for school too. I stop, nearly falling over, when a car backs up into me. I slam my hand onto the trunk to brace myself. The driver looks back, shocked. I wave and half smile and continue running.

The bus pulls up and starts letting everyone on. I have just enough time to jump on board. I hand the money to the driver and he shuts the door. He begins driving before i have time to sit. I grab onto the railing above me so i do not fall on someone. All the seats in the front are taken, so i scramble to the back. I sit on the very back bench near the window. I pull out my phone, grab my headphones from my bag, and start listening to music. Metal in the morning really wakes you up. I take little bites from my first waffle and stare out the window. I watch the birds chase each other through snow covered tree branches. I nod my head up and down to the beat of the music.

The bus comes to a stop to allow others on, and I nearly drop my phone on the ground. I fumble with it in my lap before gripping it tight. My jaw clenches tight. I take a deep breath. It didn’t fall. I caught it. I relax back into the chair, but hold a firm grip on my phone.

I glance to the front to see an old homeless looking man get on. Matted grey hair covers most of his face, and his beard stretches down to below his chest. The bus driver points out the door, and tells the man to get off. The old man says nothing and hands the bus driver his money. The driver quiets down, and the old man grips the railing above him and uses a wooden cane to slink down the length of the bus. The other passengers slide purses and suitcases to the seats next to them, avoiding any eye contact with the man as he passes by. I reach for my bag to place on the spot next to me, but the old man has already sat down. The rancid odor of trash and wet dog lingers off of his body. I turn my head back towards the window to escape the musky smell.

You going eat that there? He asks, his voice touched with an Irish accent. I turn to him again, holding my breath. He points to the waffle in my hand. I reach out with the waffle and hand it to him. He places his wooden cane between us and takes the waffle. Carvings of different animals and symbols wrap around the wood and down the length. Each one a different color. Near the top of the cane, a grape-sized emerald gem sits embedded into the wood. I hear the old man chuckling. I break the trance and look up at him as he swallows the last bite.

That thing is older than me. he says. Carved from the branch of a very old tree. The one who had it before me said it had magical powers. I ain’t seen no magic from it yet. But i carry it in hopes of one day seeing something amazing. His voice is not as hoarse as I would have imagined. Pale green eyes stare back at me from the matted hair shrouding over him. He picks the cane back up. The little green gem starts to glow as his hands wrap around it. The glow startles me a bit. He looks over at me and winks. Is he just messing with me?

What kind of magic? I ask, humoring him. He puts his hand on top of the cane.

Just magic. There is only one kind.

But magic isn’t real. He shrugs, leaning back into the chair. It’s real if you want it to be. The magic you see on TV is fake. I say. It’s all illusions. I used to practice slight of hand tricks when I was younger. My parent’s used to find it amusing, but after awhile it became boring. After middle school, everyone stopped enjoying my little side show tricks i would show off.

Yes. he says. That is for entertainment. But if you look around, you can see real magic everywhere. He reaches over and points out the window to the trees.

What do you see? he asks. I look out at where he is pointing.

A tree? How is that magic?

Is life not magical? I shrug. I guess it is. He laughs, putting his hand back on the cane. The small gem flickers a green light again.

The world around you is filled with magic. You have to look in the right places.

The bus comes to a halt on the opposite street of the school.

This is my stop. I say. The old man looks around.

School, eh? Good on ya, son. Education is important. he says, standing up. I slide by him and he reaches his hand out.

The name’s Varon. I reluctantly put my hand in his rough palm.

Liam.

Nice to have met you, Liam. He smiles. I smile back awkwardly and walk off the bus.

I turn to the window where the old man and I had sat by. He glances out of the window, and points down. I look down, expecting my pants to be around my ankles. Something pushes against my leg in my pocket. I reach down and pull out a small emerald. I look up to see the man, but he has disappeared. The bus rolls away, leaving behind a cloud of smoke. I roll the emerald between my fingers. A feint glow flickers inside. What looks like moss blooms out inside of the gem. Warmth radiates onto my fingertips and into my skin. Wind ripples through the leaves on the ground, causing a swirl of brown and gold to wrap around me. Leaves from the trees fall around me and join the swirling mass. I take a few steps forward, but the leaf tornado follows, circling around me. I shove the small gem into my pocket, and the leaves drift back to the ground.

2

W e all must learn to adapt to change, no matter how hard it may seem. Our friends and family notice when we are different and have not learned to change. Accepting reality is scary and hard, but living in the past is dangerous.

I sit in my math class in the back of the room with my bag tossed over the top of the table. I rummage through and pull out the incomplete papers from last week’s homework assignment. My friend, Richard, walks in to the room. With a surprised look on his face, he waves at me from the front of the classroom.

Liam! He exclaims. It’s good to see you. Where did you go? We haven’t seen you since last week.

I wasn’t feeling good. Richard takes the seat next to me and looks over the papers I have sitting on the table.

Couldn’t figure it out? He asked. I shrug again.

I couldn’t concentrate. Richard places his hand on my shoulder. Don’t stress, I’m sure Frig will understand.

Mr. Frig, an older gentleman, with wiry grey hair and a heavy English accent, steps into the room as the bell rings.

Good morning, everyone. I hope your weekends were well. He says, as he crosses the room to his desk. He glances in my direction with a smug look. Some a longer one than others. I slide down the back of my chair.

Mr. Frig turns to the board, and begins writing out an annoyingly lengthy algebra problem, and begins explaining how to solve it. I stare down and watch Richard write down the problem on a piece of paper and follow along to solve it. He asks me if I need help figuring it out, and I shake my head.

Algebra is useless, anyways. I say.

I can not shake the thought of that old man on the bus and the gem embedded in his cane, now in my possession. I put my hand in my pocket and pull it out slowly. I trace my fingers over the smooth edges. A bright flash lights up my palm in a deep green. I clasp my hands around it to cover the light. I look around to see if anyone noticed. I unclench my hand and look over the gem, the light fading to a mere flicker of green center. I turn the gem over and over.

What you got there? Richard whispers.

I’m not sure. I say. I bring the gem up above the table. I move my bag in front so Mr. Frig can’t see it. It looks like an emerald. Richard says. His parents are geologists, so he knows a lot about rocks and precious minerals. But why would a random stranger hand me such a valuable and expensive gem?

Where did you get it? he asks.

Some old guy on the bus had it in his cane. He gave it to me. I am not sure why.

Liam. Richard. The teacher cuts in. Have you anything to add to my lesson? We both shake our heads. Then quiet down. he goes back to writing down numbers and letters on the board. Richard slides over closer to me to examine the gem.

So cool. he whispers. Can I hold it? I put it back in my pocket.

Maybe later.

Time drags on as I try to do just one math problem on our assignment. Richard is trying to help the best he can, but I never get the concepts. He rambles on about letters and numbers, but none of it sinks in. I drop my pen on the desk and put my head down.

Do you want me to explain it? Richard asks.

I don’t understand this nonsense! I say, banging my head against the table.

Stop that racket this minute, Liam! Mr. Frig shouts. If you are only going to cause distractions in my classroom, then leave. I shove my papers in my bag and sling it over my shoulder.

Liam, don’t. Richard says, grabbing my arm. I yank my arm away and storm out of the room.

I