The air was rippled with watery sunshine.But through one small round window shone a bright brave sunbeam, clear and golden, cutting its way into the dim glow of the room.And in its cutting sat Ethlinn. She sat still, facing the window, facing the clear light, the fresh air; and a tear flowed down one cheek.For…
Category: Stories by Chris Thompson
Chris Thompson’s retellings of the old stories. All work copyright Chris Thompson.
The Story Of Macha ~ revisited
Three and a half years on from our first examinationof Macha, I am still happy with my re-telling even though it id a touch fanciful.Near Armagh is the green mound of mysterious Emain Macha. This is the story of its naming. In my mind I still hear the rhythmic drumming of many hooves, the thrumming…
The Story of Sinann
In the days of dreaming, when the Ever-Living Ones still walked freely among the misty mountains and green valleys of Ireland, when the soft light of enchantment still shone from every hill of the síd, there was a well.
A Description of the Sid of Labraid
Paraphrased from Laerg’s poem in Serglige Con Chulainn, “The Love-Sickness of Cú Chulainn” from “Serglige Con Chulainn“, ed. Myles Dillon from Lebor na hUidre; lines 486 – 513 Poetic rendering by Chris Thompson Colba do lepthaib crónda, úatne finna forórda, is sí caindell ardustá in lía lógmar lainerdá. Soft crimson beds there are Emblazoned gold…
Colmcille and the Youth at Carn Eolairg
The Colloquy of Colmcille and the Youth at Carn Eolairg As it might have been reported by the most insignificant and junior of the sainted man’s monks Some say it was Mongán, son of Fiachna, who spoke to Colmcille that Thursday morning. They had conversed all day, they had – and all night too. Some of…
The Humiliation of Eochu Rígéigeas
Eochu, chief poet of Ireland seethed furiously, shame diffusing his face into red rage. To make a fool of him, to humiliate him in public – it was an unforgivable insult to a man of his status. But for a young man, hardly more than a child, to be the cause, the origin of his discomfiture;…
Manannán’s Prophecy of Mongán
From the poem of Manannán Mac Lír in Immrám Bran: Manannán speaks: You see me here. I stand before you As I approach the mortal world. I will come to the woman who waits in Moy-linney; I will come, at last, to her own home. For I, Manannán of the line of Lír, Will take…
The Island of Sheep
They had been two weeks away from land now, fourteen days and fourteen nights on the undulating, heaving, breathing waves. They were here together, in a vessel that had appeared so strong and stalwart on the good earth. It now seemed no more than a fragile cockle shell adrift on the lucid illimitable sea. Tadhg smiled wryly…
The Monk who was late
The young monk stood in the boat staring out across the silver grey sea. There was something out there. He had been set to watch but he was not willing to alert his companions until he was sure. Yes, it was an island. He could make out the distant shape of it, the bare ragged…
The Isle of Intoxicating Berries
Slowly, oh, so slowly, Máel Dúin became aware of his surroundings. He could sense the sun’s warm brightness on the other side of his eyelids, but he did not want to open his eyes. He felt relaxed, his limbs heavy, almost languorous, and very comfortable. He had no desire to move a muscle. But why…