Narrative account of a Druid's struggle to save his people and the ancient wisdom from utter annihilation as the legions of Rome advance destroying everything Celtic in their path.
Ancient scrolls found within a Celtic tomb where no such tomb has a right to be, reveal hitherto unknown Druidic knowledge concealed within a brutal, sometimes profound first hand account of a Druid's bitter, despairing struggle to halt the advance of Caesar's all but invincible legions. Finally after years of unremitting warfare, the Druid abandons his people to their fate in a last desperate attempt to save the only surviving written work of the Druidic Four Fold Way. He escapes. Crossing the sea to a vast distant land once well known to early Celtic sea traders. A land, Rome does not rule or otherwise deem worthy of conquest. Alone and friendless the Druid travels deep into the heart of the vast land. Eventually meeting a tribal people who consider him to be an old one returned. He begins to meld aspects of Druidry with the spiritual earth wisdom of his new people. Only to discover a shocking prophesy that predicts his new people in generations to come, will also face the threat of ruthless extermination. With the help and consent of tribal elders he attempts to sway their fate otherwise. A Celtic Druid who became known as Touch The Clouds Running.
Excerpt
It began for me on the first day of Lugnasadh (August).
I remember it well.
It was my seventh summer of life.
The morning of my last day of childhood was a fine amber coloured morn. With a soft feel of warmth about it. A small breeze carried a pungent smell of crushed heather and fresh baked crusty bread to my nostrils. Causing the stomach to growl as I stamped and whirled, slaying imaginary enemies with consummate ease.
My father, a high born warrior of renown who always wore a torc of hammered gold around his neck and arm bands of silver and enameled bronze, had fashioned a long sword of wood for me. Being uncommonly tall and strong for my age, it was his hope that I would freely choose to follow his footsteps along the warrior's glory road.
The pattern weaved otherwise, but of course he did not then know that, nor for that matter did I. But then, the pattern weaves as the Maker wills. At least so it is the Chief Druid Cumall would have us believe. And I had yet to learn of those small, supremely arrogant men with devouring eyes who are, so I came to accept, ruled by Crom Cruach, The Bowed One Of The Mound.
For all of that the heavy wooden sword felt good in my hand. Like a true weight of honed steel as I shuffled and danced the steps of courage midst a swirling cloud of sun sparked dust boiling up from beneath my stamping feet.
Of Rome I knew nothing, absolutely nothing at all. Why should I? I was then no more than seven summers old, and the old Druid Cumall had not yet called me to the Sacred Grove. I wanted nothing more than to become a warrior like my father. I did not then know sometimes dreams have a way about them of going wrong.
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Reviews for "Celtic Sunset"
Reviewed by Peter Wilcox
5/25/2001
How did I miss this one ?. Where Was I when this book was released ?
You know that you have found a very special book when you pick it up
and open the cover the first time . . . and nine hours later when you finish
the last page of the book, realise that it's 3:45am, all you want to do is
start the book again from the beginning, just in case you missed something
the first time through.
Long Live Roy . . . may he live long and write many more on this subject.
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