Tears Of Gold

By Redmond Knowles

Tears of Gold is a thrilling tale of magic, action, fear, and danger. Four young boys set out on a camping trip in the west of Ireland in the 1960s, unknowingly pursued by an ancient evil that seeks the spirit of one of them. As they sit around their campfire, an old storyteller arrives and regales them with a tale of a magical land called Tir, filled with monsters, demons, heroes, and dragons.

One man’s desperate search for redemption. As the old man tells his tale, the darkness around their camp seems to tighten, waiting for the opportunity to strike. The boys soon realize that not only are their own souls at risk, but the very soul of the world itself hangs in the balance.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Austin Macauley Publishers
• Release date: Dec 8, 2023
• ISBN: 9781398457522

Redmond Knowles

Being born and bred in Dublin in the 1970s taught Redmond to start each day with a smile, as it improved the odds of going to bed with one. His mother’s deep sense of spiritualism combined with his father’s military discipline gave him a level head, which has served him well over the last thirty years in both the security and healthcare sectors. It was his maternal grandmother, however, who fed his imagination, as the fire she read and let him play with for endless hours was the birthplace of what would become Tears of Gold.

Book preview

About the Author

Being born and bred in Dublin in the 1970s taught Redmond to start each day with a smile, as it improved the odds of going to bed with one. His mother’s deep sense of spiritualism combined with his father’s military discipline gave him a level head, which has served him well over the last thirty years in both the security and healthcare sectors. It was his maternal grandmother, however, who fed his imagination, as the fire she read and let him play with for endless hours was the birthplace of what would become Tears of Gold.

Dedication

To Mam and Dad, Phyllis and Dessie, and John and Mary who were the best in-laws I could have ever hoped to have. You shaped my world and I truly miss you all.

Copyright Information ©

Redmond Knowles 2023

The right of Redmond Knowles to be identified as author of this work has been asserted by the author in accordance with sections 77 and 78 of the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988.

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, or otherwise, without the prior permission of the publishers.

Any person who commits any unauthorised act in relation to this publication may be liable to criminal prosecution and civil claims for damages.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events, locales, and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.

A CIP catalogue record for this title is available from the British Library.

ISBN 9781398457515 (Paperback)

ISBN 9781398457522 (ePub e-book)

www.austinmacauley.com

First Published 2023

Austin Macauley Publishers Ltd®

1 Canada Square

Canary Wharf

London

E14 5AA

Acknowledgment

I would like to thank my wonderful Angela, son, Sean, family and friends – Terry, Teresa H, Vanessa and Anthony – who had more faith in me than I did myself and without whom I would never have finished Tears of Gold.

Chapter 1

With exhaustion nearly overwhelming him, he ran as fast as he could up along the small pothole-ridden boreen. Wiping rain from his eyes, he saw three familiar shapes in the distance and relief washed over him with the knowledge that at last he had caught up with them.

Wait, wait, he cried desperately.

Momentarily, the small group ahead of him seemed to pause, raising his hopes, which were dashed in the next instance as the group continued on.

Taking a deep breath, he shouted as loudly as he could, STOP, WAIT!

This time the three boys ahead of him stopped, looked around; now they could clearly see him charging towards them in the teeming rain.

Who is it? asked one of the boys who was carrying a long green canvas bag and who was weighed down by the large brown haversack he was wearing.

Don’t know, added one of the other two, who between them were carrying a much larger and heavier looking green sack.

Finally, seeing the figure splashing his way towards them along the tree-lined country lane, the tallest of the three said, Ah, it’s okay, it’s only Dessie!

Where some may have cursed the pouring rain that day, Dessie Mangan was grateful for the way it masked his tears. Drawing closer to the boys, Dessie darted a fearful look back over his left shoulder as if to see if there was anyone following.

What are you up to? asked Dominic Burke, the tallest and oldest of the boys, upon Dessie’s unanticipated arrival.

What does it look like? I’m going along with ye! answered a bedraggled Dessie, slightly taken aback by the question.

But your mam and dad said you couldn’t come camping with us, said a young Robbie Fagan who was the youngest and smallest of the group.

They changed their minds. Come on, let’s get going, we’re getting soaked here! said Dessie, keen to move on as his eyes continuously drifted back to the way he had just come.

Great, someone else can have a go at carrying this, mumbled Robbie dropping his end of the large sack, which contained the tent they were going to sleep in. Since they had left home the previous day, poor Robbie had been lumbered with carrying the heavy bag, while the other two had regularly taken turns at carrying the much lighter one that John Joe Geraghty now held. The only break he had been granted by the other pair from this laborious task was when they had pitched the tent the previous night and all three had been asleep inside it.

Yeah, he’s right! If we don’t get a move on, we won’t get to Ryan’s before nightfall, said John Joe, either ignoring or not hearing what the youngest of their group had just said.

Why not head over to the Witching Field? suggested Dessie as he picked up the end Robbie had just dropped.

Because that’s not where we told everyone we were going and anyhow, it’s miles away! said Dominic, annoyed that Dessie had just arrived and as usual was trying to take over.

Come on, Dominic, let’s go to the Witching Field, said Robbie excitedly.

No! boomed Dominic adamantly.

You don’t believe the stories, do you? asked Dessie as mockingly as he could, while grinning at his friends.

That years and years ago a witch was killed there and haunts it to this day? No, of course not! Dominic said rather unconvincingly.

Chicken! said Robbie hoping against hope that they’d be going to a place most other kids would only go to as a dare.

I said no and that’s that! We’re going to Ryan’s! said Dominic just a little too forcefully for everyone’s liking.

Let’s go to the Witching Field, said John Joe, not prepared to be bossed around by the likes of Dominic.

Dessie’s grin turned into a broad smile knowing that the tide had turned and the boys were on his side now, leaving Dominic all on his own.

Well, I’m going to Ryan’s, said Dominic stubbornly, not prepared to give in that easily.

Then you can carry this, we’re going to the Witching Field, said John Joe dropping the green canvas bag containing the tent poles onto the ground.

Seeing a small stream of rainwater running around the bag and realising that this was one battle he wasn’t going to win, Dominic said weakly, Okay, but it’s miles away!

Not if we take the River Road, said a relieved Dessie, increasingly keen to get going with every passing second.

That’s it then, let’s be on our way! said John Joe, picking up the bag of poles, just wanting to put up the tent and get out of this godforsaken rain.

It was just as the four boys set off that the rain started to ease and isolated rays of sunshine started to dart through small breaks in the blanket of cloud above them. It was 1969 on a soft summer’s day on the west coast of Ireland and four young friends were on the cusp of an adventure that would change their lives forever.

While the little bedraggled group continued on down the small boreen, a number of shapeless shadows seemed just about to follow, but abruptly stopped as they turned to face the unexpected arrival of an ancient enemy. For these spectres, his reputation went before him and it sent a shiver of unified fear down their spineless backs. Obscured by the foliage, all they could see was a glint of light reflecting off metal as he slowly drew his sword. For a moment he paused, searching the faceless monstrosities for the features of the one he had pursued all these years.

Seeing that these were merely fragments of the fiend’s master, his grip slightly tightened on the hilt of his sword. With a hint of sadness, he braced himself for what needed to be done. He had hunted that foul creature for so long, ever since he had helped to incarcerate its master, and somehow it had always avoided his blade. Not to worry though; for the moment these obscene creatures would suffice. The only solace he would take from the impending confrontation was that he would give the human hosts that these phantoms now chose to inhabit a heavenly release.

Raising his sword high above his head, he growled, When you get back to Hell, tell your master I’m coming for his pretty boy Astatine.

As one, those creatures born of the dark opened their hosts mouths in a silent howl of defiance and only then was a battle of unbelievable savagery joined.

With the boys making their way to the Witching Field and the unknown stranger battling his monstrous opponents in a furious battle, the one called Astatine communed nearby with his imprisoned master.

My Lord, we have one of the children!

And the other? asked a voice older than time itself.

Astatine paused for the briefest of moments before saying, He has slipped through our fingers. But soon my Lord, very soon, my brothers and I should have him.

Do not leave me waiting any longer than is absolutely necessary. I have rotted long enough in this stale hole and I need to stretch. Make sure no harm comes to either child; only when you have both bring them to me. Remember, only when you have both!

Just before Astatine could acknowledge his master’s order, a cold breeze seemed to shoot through the darkness causing Astatine’s master to take a sudden intake of air, disturbing his train of thought.

My Lord? asked Astatine, concerned that something may have befallen his master.

You face a setback. The Destroyer has arrived seeking you out and in the process he has sent back to me some of those I had sent out to help you!

With the arrival of this news, a feeling of dread welled up within Astatine. This man, The Destroyer as his master chose to call him, was like no other man that he had ever come across, in that he was as relentless as he was terrifying. If it had not been for his master’s protection, Astatine knew that death would have come for him a long time ago. Only when he had freed his master would he be in a position to face this adversary.

A thrill of excitement raced through him thinking of how he would kill the Destroyer. Freed of this inconvenience, he would then help his master liberate all those souls from their foolish morality and dour lives. Then and only then would true freedom reign and he could swim in the sweet, vivid chaos that would follow. For now though, he would finish the immediate task at hand.

His master, sensing his lack of concentration, barked, Secure the child immediately and send him and his sibling to me with all haste!

Yes, my Lord! said Astatine obediently before opening his eyes, breaking the link between him and his master.

Gathered around him in the gloom was a sea of emotionless faces, each one a host to creatures born of an ageless evil consumed with a fury to destroy all living beings born of the light. Soon, others would arrive and only then, when the time was right, would they strike.

Chapter 2

The rain had stopped as the clouds parted and left the sky, leaving the sun to slowly head towards the horizon. In the twilight Dessie, Dominic, John Joe and Robbie had found just the right place to pitch their tent, not far from the Witching Field. Initially, when the four of them had sauntered out onto the Witching Field, a cold breeze had struck them, just as a strange eerie whistling sound rose up from out of nowhere. The combination of these two events had nearly caused all of them to lose control of their combined bladders and hurriedly they agreed that they needed to find somewhere else to camp for the night. Before leaving however, the boys looked at the numerous monoliths of various heights that littered the plain and in the dying daylight recounted the legends of the boulders and how each one, it was said, contained the soul of one of the Witch’s victims, whose cries for help could be heard till this day.

In truth though, the source of the whistling resulted from the wind racing through the boulders, nothing more; or at least that’s what Mr Kinsella, their form teacher, had told them. Dessie smiled as he remembered how, when he had asked Mr Kinsella if the old myths were true, the old man had scowled telling him to go to Father Flanagan and confess his sins, before launching into a geography lesson dealing with all the various forms of natural erosion.

Come on, let’s get going! said Dessie with everyone nodding in agreement, just glad to be getting away from the place.

Looking amongst the surrounding trees, they had found a small clearing and decided that it was the perfect place to camp and they had done exactly that. Now with the darkness rushing in, Dessie and Robbie set about pitching the tent, while Dominic and John Joe started on making the fire that would give them some warmth on this cool summer’s night.

With the tent partially erected, both Dessie and Robbie started to hammer the pegs into the ground for the guy ropes. Just as Dessie was finishing pounding in the last peg, Robbie peeked around to see how his friend was getting on. The young boy’s face seemed to drop just before he charged around to confront Dessie.

Stop, stop, cried Robbie very dramatically, nearly causing Dessie to hit his hand with the mallet.

What, what’s wrong? asked Dessie more than slightly taken aback by Robbie’s outburst.

The pegs, the pegs have to be evenly spaced and in a straight line! shouted Robbie placing his hands on his hips, which Dessie found rather comical.

Seeing a smirk come across Dessie’s face, Robbie spat, You won’t be laughing if the wind blows the tent down during the night!

Where did he get all this from? laughed a bemused Dessie over to Dominic and John Joe.

His Da, it’s his tent. He showed us how to put it up and take it down, said Dominic.

Fifteen times! added John Joe.

Yeah and look what we’re doing now, said Dominic, happy enough to have weaselled his way with John Joe out of putting up the tent to do the fire.

And who showed you how to make a fire? said Robbie defensively.

Your Da, said John Joe jadedly as Dominic struck a match, lighting some kindling wood.

We’re not having a go, Robbie, it’s just that he’s a little intense, if you know what I mean? Dominic said feeling a little guilty that he might have upset Robbie.

Both Robbie and Dominic’s farms were side by side and neither of them had any siblings, so over the years Robbie had grown to look on Dominic as an older brother in the same way that Dominic looked upon him as his younger one.

Robbie paused and held his breath for a moment, leaving the others to hold theirs in the expectations that there was going to be tears. Instead, he laughed a little and said, Yeah I suppose you’re right!

Then without another word, young Robbie took the mallet off Dessie telling him to help the other two with the fire and that he’d finish the tent.

Dessie didn’t have to be told twice, so while Robbie was finishing the tent, the lads gathered as much wood as they could to feed the fire for the night ahead. Soon the small group of friends were sitting down enjoying the warmth of the fire.

All four laughed and joking until finally Dessie coughed gently and rather hesitantly said, I have something to tell you!

Hearing the seriousness in his tone, the conversation died and John Joe asked bluntly, What is it?

A deafening silence followed, which seemed to drown out all the woodland noise until Dessie said, I’ve run away from home!

Not sure if he had heard Dessie correctly, Dominic asked, You what?

Looking at the ground unable to look his friends in their eyes, he repeated, I’ve run away!

So, your mam and dad didn’t say you could come along? asked a gobsmacked Robbie.

No, was all Dessie could bring himself to say.

But why? asked John Joe, immediately followed by Dominic saying

Doesn’t matter; he’s going home and that’s that! I’m not going back! Dessie said adamantly.

I don’t care what you want. Everyone’s probably out looking for you, even the Guards. So if they find us with you, they’ll think we’re involved in whatever you’ve done! snapped Dominic.

The Guards? I don’t want to go to prison! whimpered Robbie.

I’m not going back, if you try to make me, I’ll run off and you’ll never find me, said Dessie bursting out in tears.

Nobody’s forcing you to go home, said John Joe glaring over at Dominic, raising a hand to kill the words he could see the other lad was just about to utter. Sniffling, all Dessie could bring himself to say was, Thanks.

No problem, smiled John Joe as he got up before making way his way over to the tent.

From just beyond the light of the campfire, dark figures started to gather. A thrill of cruel excitement shot through them as Astatine’s promise came closer and closer to being realised.

Before they had set out, he had gathered them to himself and he had said, Once you bring me the boy, you can do what you want with the others!

It had been many years since they had been given such freedom. For so long they had been forced to conceal themselves amongst the humans. Occasionally, one of their number would succumb to the temptation and go berserk, killing all around them. After the event, all evidence of their presence would be removed and the wider world would be left to believe it was nothing more than the actions of a madman. Now, if the truth be told, they were all finding it hard to contain themselves. However, with the recent reappearance of the Destroyer, this had slightly quelled their thirst for blood and added a level of caution they resented. Then suddenly came the signal, their time had come; but just before they were about to descend on the camp, a jolt of fear shot through the mass of shapeless evil like an electric shock. He, the Destroyer, had arrived after all.

Furiously, they realised that they would either have to find another way or wait for enough reinforcements to arrive before they could try to overpower their ancient foe. Even with this setback, their resolve was not weakened. One way or another, tonight they would be taking what they had been sent for.

Back amongst the boys, it had taken a bit of time for a semblance of normality to return after Dessie’s admission, but return it had. Dessie had suggested telling stories and the others had happily, if not a bit uneasily, agreed. Just as he started his story, the wind seemed to gust, as the leaves in the trees around them went into a frenzy as they rustled madly. For the briefest of moments, the boys thought their fire was going to be blown out, but then the wind died down and the fire blazed intensely for a moment and in the next instant, a tall stranger strode confidently into the centre of their campsite.

Chapter 3

Glaring down on them, standing silently in their camp, the man towered over them like some terrifying spectre. Their uninvited guest was tall, standing over six feet and wore a long black leather coat with a wide brimmed hat that partially concealed his face. From what they could see of it in the flickering light of their fire, the man was old and heavily scarred. More frightening, though, were his eyes, as these were the eyes of someone who had seen far too much and hadn’t the desire to see much more.

Do you think he’s a Guard looking for Dessie? a terrified Robbie whispered to John Joe.

Just look at him, he’s not a Guard, answered John Joe quietly.

Looking at the stranger was like looking at someone out of a Western, thought Dessie, prompting him to wonder if the mysterious figure had a six shooter under his leather coat, just like in the movies.

Can I sit down? grunted the man in a thick Dublin accent.

All the boys were too frightened to say no, so as one they nodded their heads. Without another word, the old man picked up a log from the edge of the clearing and dragged it over to where the boys sat. Effortlessly, the man dropped the log with a loud thud, close enough to enjoy the fire’s heat, but far too close for the comfort of any of the boys.

Ghost stories, eh? the old man said suddenly taking an interest in the fire in front of him. As each word left his mouth, the fire seemed to respond by momentarily burning just that bit brighter.

The old man nodded his head as if in response to some silent conversation between him and some unseen companion as the firelight glinted off his eyes.

Purposefully, he stretched out his arms and cracked a smile into which he promptly slipped his clay pipe.

Hesitantly, the boys nodded to his question regarding the ghost stories, while fighting the urge to run.

Seeing the fear in their faces, the old man laughed gently as he ignited the tobacco he had just stuffed into the bowl of his pipe, saying, Don’t worry boys, I’m just looking for heat on a cold night; nothing more. But I could tell you stories, ghost stories if you like, some that would turn your hair white or others that would make you laugh or cry, but they’d be just made up. The best stories are the ones that have a little bit of everything in them. You see, they’re the real ones, cause believe me, boys, that’s what life is; a little bit of everything.

The old man paused for a moment looking at the four young campers, as though weighing each of them up. He smiled to himself, seeing them start to relax, the realisation starting to sink in that he wasn’t some sort of crazy person who was stalking unsuspecting travellers.

So, would you like a story? the old man asked.

Are you a shanachie? asked Robbie timidly.

A shanachie, a storyteller? Well, I suppose you could say that, as well as a whole lot of other things. Now where was I? Ah yeah, would you like a story, then? asked their newly appointed shanachie.

As though on cue, the four nodded once again; no longer scared, but with every passing second becoming more captivated by this mysterious old man.

Quiet bunch, aren’t ye? he said grinning, pushing up the brim of his hat fully revealing a craggy old face with a multitude of scars.

Wistfully, he looked off into the distance over the tree tops to the peaks of the Maamturk Mountains, which were spectacularly lit up by the stars that shone so brightly that night. Memories of the past came rushing in as he looked at those massive peaks which seemed so far away and so foreboding. For a moment, the old man paused pulling his pipe from his mouth as he shot a look into the darkness of the surrounding trees. Unconsciously, all of the four boys found themselves following his gaze, looking into the shadows unsure of what they might find