The fair boy stared at the bag, turning it over in his hands. It felt smooth to the touch; fine leather, warm and welcoming to his fingers. He continued to stare at the pouch, its faded colours telling a story, but it was a tale he could not yet read. But he knew the object,…
Category: Stories by Chris Thompson
Chris Thompson’s retellings of the old stories. All work copyright Chris Thompson.
A Causeway Over Móin Lámraige
The wind’s touch was cold. It fingered his cloak, lifting the edges, finding the fissures between folds of the wool. He shivered, but he did not move to pull the mantle further about him. He must not move. He must not be seen, hiding there among the reeds. It was full dark, a crescent moon…
A Prophecy
The afternoon sunshine silvered the water, diamond-points lighting the waves with laughter. The girls all stood in happy chattering groups, finished with their bathing, wrapping themselves in their flower-coloured mantles as they dried their wind-washed hair. Then one of them, perhaps the most beautiful, so it was said, looked up, suddenly still, peering seaward, into…
Fuamnach’s Story
I met them with mild words and open smiles; my husband and this new young wife he had bought with so much gold and even greater labour. I flattered her with gentle compliments, calling her “king’s daughter”, worthy to sit beside me in our home at Brí Leith. And she was beautiful – and young – it…
The Further Adventures of Nera ~ The Cave Between the Worlds
As Nera climbed out of the steep misted cave, into the darkness, he was met by the autumn smoke smells of damp and decay, clustering around him like a guard of arms, wakeful and watching. The cold night air caught at his throat and he shivered. And yet there was another odour, strong, green, fresh,…
The Giant in the Mead Hall
In the flickering firelight of the evening feasting, the shadow of the newcomer filled the whole hall, darkening its comforting warmth. The man himself was a giant; huge, twice the height of any other. But he was no noble hero-warrior; no, not this one. This one wore no garment striped with gold. This one had…
The Coming of the Heroes to Crúachán ~ a description
From inside the dún, It sounded like an army approaching in full battle-stance. The whole household of Crúachán stopped still, startled in their strength. “Go see who is coming,” said Medb to her daughter. So Findabair went to the high place of the house and looked out. The sight before her dazzled her vision. Two matched…
Bricriu’s feasting hall ~ a description
He would make them an invitation that they could not refuse. He would set the conceited heroes of Ireland, one against the other and then sit back and watch the fur fly. But firstly he needed a suitable setting, a theatre worthy of this fine jest. Bricriu began to plan the building of a magnificent…
Who killed Medb? ~ a poem
And Medb? That famous queen of Connacht, That virtuous virago – woman of renown, Serpent wise and venomous, How did she die? Was it Ailill, on a night of pillow talk, On a night of boasting and bragging, Was there one too many pillows plumped, To stifle her competitive tongue. Was it Ailill who brought…
The Proto-Story – A Speculation
And the Morrigan spoke at last. “The time will soon be upon us, and unrest will not pass us by. The leader of our people will be fatally blemished. Núada will be wounded in heart and hand. No longer will he hold golden prosperity within his grasp.” The Dagda grinned. “Dían Cécht will make him…