Free BENDING THE BOYNE: A novel of ancient Ireland by J.S. Dunn

present, and future.”
    He pointed his mace at stars fading in the east. “We shall see a new constellation signaling each of the four seasons, the solstices and equinoxes. Our entire calendar of constellations will shift from its current sequence. That much we know from the ancestors’ chants. These chants tell us to choose the next star pattern to mark each season.” He paused. “We must not treat this cosmic shift with panic.” All knew that star sightings had been compared at the marker stones, hundreds of times, exactly on the equinoxes and according to the ancestors’ chants. Over their generations the line on the standing stones appeared to lose accuracy. Worse still, the sky dome’s shift appeared to move backward to the sun and moon.
    “It is clear that our stones do not move,” the Dagda said. “The Northshift is one of many riddles that make our work interesting.” He urged them to figure out precisely how much the stars moved in a given time frame and obviously, to confirm the direction of the shift. “We have only so many equinox observances until the shift is complete. We must choose a new equinox constellation and choose a new North Star. Each equinox observation is essential.
    “We will succeed. Wise people will voyage to the Boyne from great distances—using new boats or old—to learn from us and share with us just as those daring few have done for generations. They will help us persuade these Invaders to leave.”
    The time of heat arrived, when they expected to see cereal grains ripening and calves fattening. One midsun when the golden-rayed orb climbed to its peak angle, Boann ventured out to gather herbs in the north meadow. Deep in thought, she quite forgot she had passed by the Starwatcher sentry some time ago at the weeping birch trees leading to the stream.
    Her eyes swept the tall grasses and flowers. She could not see their scout but all appeared quiet around her. She lay down in the meadow, a sprig of mint on her tongue. A tiny butterfly with orange striped wings settled nearby. It vibrant wings opened and closed atop the bloom that it probed. The warm sun stroked her face, the bees’ humming around her faded, and soon Boann dreamed pleasantly among the scented stalks.
    At a distance, men scuffled. A horse’s hooves drummed the hot clay in crossing the meadow toward her bower. The noises failed to wake her, but the butterfly darted up and away.
    The abrupt cool of a shadow covered her face. She drifted back to waking, then with a start she saw above her the face of the tall intruder, the man with eyes the color of dark honey. She had not allowed herself to think of him after she was held captive in the camp. He let his horse eat the grass and held its reins loosely across his right arm, his other arm cocked with hand on his hip as he peered down upon her. Still half in a dream, Boann heard the small shiny pendants tinkling on his horse’s gear. The smell of his horse was very strong. She heard the heavy beat of hooves, more horses coming with more warriors.
    She jumped up to run away, but in her tongue he ordered, “No!” She stood before him uneasily, locked in his searching gaze. He shifted the reins and drew his long knife with a motion as fluid as running water and lifted it above his head. The light glinted on the blade as he waved it high and she saw fresh blood smeared down the blade.
    She waited for that foul blade to descend on her. Ancient one, Shining One, witness my death and may it be swift .
    Instead the horse riders arrived, among them Cian. The Invader turned and exchanged terse phrases in his language, then all the men looked at her. The riders had their bodies bared to the hot sun but Boann met their eyes with a steady gaze.
    The amber-eyed Invader grabbed at her, throwing the reins around her neck, his arm across her shoulders. Cian swung off his horse toward her but the tall Invader’s knife grazed his abdomen. Beads of red formed in a thin line on Cian’s