Camp NaNoWriMo: Day Twenty-Five

Read Day Twenty-Four

I have good news and bad news. The bad news is that there’s only five days left of Camp NaNoWriMo and I’ve easily got another 10,000+ words to write before this book is actually finished. The good news is I’m going to keep posting excepts until I’m done. Today wraps up chapter seventeen in the manuscript and I had planned on 25/26 total, so there’ still a ways to go. I hope you’ll still stick around. 🙂

Prince Arthur and the Fairy Queen. (c. 1788) By Henry Fuseli.
Image from

With a sigh, Hob stares off into the distance as if he can see the past playing out before his eyes. “In the beginning, we were gods. At least, that’s how we saw ourselves and how the humans came to see us for a time. We were the Tuatha De Dunnan, worshipers of the goddess Danu for the power she gave us.

“No one’s sure how we came by our power. Some say we lived far to the north and the goddess saw how strong hearted our leaders were and bestowed magic onto us. Others think we were once a people in the Grecian islands who made contract with the goddess through druid practices and other ancient religious arts. Others still think a particularly devoted chieftain died and wished to look after his people after death and the goddess granted him that wish, which is why faeries are so cold and can’t touch iron, the metal of humans. There are more stories out there I don’t know, I’d bet.

“Where ever we were and however we came to be, we began to search out the world for a new place to call our own. One of our smaller tribes, whom the humans call the Fir Bolg, happened upon the island humans now call Ireland. They sent word of the new place we could call home and spoke of preparing it for the rest of our people, but soon the messages stopped. For a while, we waited, but seasons passed and still no word came from the Fir Bolg. The bravest of the Tuatha De Dunnan went looking for them and found them enslaved by the fomorians, forced the farm and gather for them. The worst part was, our brothers the Fir Bolg knew no better. The fomorians had enslaved their minds as well as their bodies with a dark magic we did not understand. Attempts to free the Fir Bolg were met with violence. So convinced they were that we were the enemy that they organized battle against us. They even burned our boats so we couldn’t flee.

“In the end, the Tuatha De Dunnan wiped their brothers out to save themselves. They would never have stopped otherwise. Every last Fir Bolg defended their fomorian masters until their last breath.

“Then we turned our gaze to the north of the island, were the fomorians lived, led by the terrible king, Balor. Legends say he only had one eye on his face with another on the back of his head that would destroy any army that feel under his gaze. I have my doubts, magic or no magic, but there is no denying the dark magic he channeled was strong and fierce, for the Tuatha De Dunnan and the fomorians were at a standstill for centuries.

“Then came Lugh, son of Ceirn, a member of the Tuatha De Dunnan, and Ethne, Balor’s daughter herself, born in a secret affair and prophesised to destroy his grandfather. When he had grown and took his place in the king’s court, he did destroy Balor, causing the fomorians to flee into the sea, leaving Ireland to the Tuatha De Dunnan.

“For a while, we knew peace and flourished. All of what is now the British Isles became ours, we changed and new forms of magic were explored. New families, tribes, and alliances formed. Across the sea, the Faerie Realm came into existence with our own kings and queens. The Tuatha De Dunnan became the aos si, who still linger in Ireland and call America home alike, just like us.

“But, like all peoples before us and all those who are still to come, we grew weak as time went by. The more of us, the thinner magic was spread and the weaker it became. So, when humans finally came to our shores and we made the mistake of killing one of their ambassadors, the war that followed nearly wiped us out and sent us into hiding, both aos si and faerie alike.”

Hob sits back up and massages his temple as the end of the Faerie’s glory days is as tragic now as it was a thousand years ago. “No one imagined the fomorians would return. We thought we had run them off for good and they had just died out, but it looks like we were wrong.”


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