This week, we’re welcoming author Mary Gilgannon whose title THE SILVER WHEEL is set in ancient Celtic Britain. Join us Sunday, when Mary will be here to talk about the novel and offer a paperback copy to a lucky winner in the US or Canada only. Here's the blurb:
Visions
of secret sacrifices, desperate battles and magical transformations haunt
Sirona, a young seeress struggling to save her people from the ravages of the
Roman invaders. Driven from her beloved home, she shares her destiny with
Cruthin, a childhood friend obsessed with seeking out the mysteries of the
Otherworld, and Bryn, a warrior graced with unexpected wisdom who loves her
with all his generous heart.
Sirona’s
journey takes her through forested glens and treacherous bogs to the land of
the northern tribes and the court of the warrior queen Boudica. As she risks
her life and her immortal spirit to change the course of history, Sirona
discovers it is not warfare that will defeat the invaders, but magic and the intense
connection of her people to the mystical forces of their homeland.
Blending
history, romance, magic and mysticism, The Silver Wheel tells the story
of the Celtic Britons and the triumph of the eternal forces that guide all our
destinies.
**An Excerpt from THE SILVER WHEEL**
Instead
of putting on his clothing, Cruthin climbed down the side of the mound and
began to twirl around. "I can make
the Goddess come to me," he said.
He lifted his arms to the heavens and sang:
"Arianhrodd, Cerridwen, Rhiannon,
Blodeuwedd, Modran, Don,
Branwen, Cyhiraeth, Morrigan.
I invoke you—maiden, mother, crone
Lady of the moon,
Keeper of the cauldron,
Great queen,
Maiden of summer,
Livegiver,
Grain goddess,
Lady of love and desire,
Keeper of pools and springs,
Raven of death.
Enfold me in your warm, soft flesh.
Fill me with your light.
Quench my thirst with your gleaming
rivers and streams.
Feed me from your supple breasts.
Make me strong.
Make me powerful.
Make me invincible."
Sirona realized she had never heard him
sing before. He had a bard's voice,
beguiling and honey sweet, yet edged with power. He continued his dance, his movements wild
and unrestrained. Flailing arms. Twirling body. Jumps and leaps. Pure, instinctive movements. As if he heard music. Suddenly, Sirona heard
it, too. A wild, keening melody, sad and
lovely.
She stared at Cruthin, in awe of the
beauty of his movements. He reminded her
of an otter cavorting beside a stream. A
salmon leaping the rapids. A deer
bounding through the forest. Lithe and
graceful. The moonlight flashed over his
spinning body, black, then silver, then black again. Light and shadow. Life and death.
Abruptly, he leapt over the circle of
stones and continued his mad dance in the open meadow nearby. As he jumped and twirled in the tall grass
among the bracken and heather, people came out of the shadows to join him. Slender and naked, they danced around him,
moving in a slow, rhythmic pattern. They
began to chant in a language Sirona had never heard before. And yet, it seemed familiar, as if the
meaning of the words was buried in her mind somewhere.
When
she returned her gaze to Cruthin, he had turned into Cernunnos again. On his head were the antlers of a stag,
while his body remained that of a man.
She could not see his face. But she
knew now that he was the god of the animals, of the hunt, of death. This time she was not afraid. She was watching from a distance, not
feeling the hot breath of the beast looming over her. Faster and faster he whirled, until he was a
blur. The moonlight shone down, turning
him into a vivid, bright light. The
light grew in intensity, blazing, brilliant, the brightest thing she had ever
seen. Then it vanished.
For
more information about her books, visit Mary’s website . She can also
be found on Twitter and Facebook.
