This is the first book I have ever written. And boy! What a journey it has been. I have the pleasure of working with some wonderful writers and editors. I am still finishing up the edits because it seems to be never-ending as some of you may know. But, I wanted to give you all a preview. Enjoy!
“Whatever state of being one remembers when he quits his body, that state he will attain without fail.” (Lord Krishna – Bhagavad-Gita 8c.6v.)
“As long as a person is unsuccessful in his purpose in this world, the Holy One, blessed be He, uproots him and replants him over and over again.” (Zohar I 186 Kabbalah)
“Our body is just a vehicle for us while we’re here. It is our soul and our spirit that last forever.” Dr. Brian Weiss – Many Lives, Many Masters
Prologue
Ireland 425 AD
Finola cradles the warm bodies of her little ones beside her. Breathing in the sweet smell of their innocence, she smiles, softly kissing the tops of their heads so as not to wake them. The new life inside her stirs in its safe cocoon, it too, knows it’s the beginning of a new day. She pulls the rough wool blanket across the three of them and listens to the rain splatter on the roof. The bed is cold without Ronan’s warm body beside her, his strong arms wrapped around her and their children, protecting them, loving them. Her heart aches with longing and fear. Ronan and the other men had gone off to fight for the High King three weeks ago, and there is still no news. Finola squeezes her eyes tight, pushing back the tears that teeter on the edge of her strength.
A scream pierces the quiet dawn. Terror clenches her heart. She shoots out of bed. More screams follow, waking the babies beside her. Finola holds her children to her breast to soothe their fears, while her heart races, blood pounding in her ears. The sounds from the outside has her mind spinning. What is causing the hysteria? She whispers to her children to stay where they are while she goes to see what is happening.
Finola makes her way to the great hall, where the other women in the family are gathered. In the center, her mother-in-law is doing her best to calm the hysterical wives and mothers. Outside, the shouts of angry male voices are heard over the screams of their victims.
Pushing back the panic that is threatening to paralyze her, Finola opens the heavy wooden door and steps out into madness. Women screaming, children crying, unfamiliar warriors, swinging their deadly weapons. Are these the men that Ronan and the others are supposed to be fighting at this very moment? Why are they here? Why are they dragging innocent women and children out of their homes, slaughtering them like animals? She stands frozen in shock.
Finola feels a tug on her sleeping gown.
“Mamai’?”
Pulling her eyes away from the horror in front of her, she looks down into the faces of her babies. Their eyes wide with terror, tears streaming down their pale faces. Her first instinct is to save her children.
Finola whisks the little girl up into her arms and grabs the boy’s hand. They run down the stairs and out into the open. Frantic, she heads toward the fields behind the enclosure. Her bare feet slipping on the muddy ground, the bulk of the baby, still inside, making it difficult for her to keep her balance.
The thick stench of smoke and burning flesh fills her nostrils, while the cries of the dying pierce her ears. Her heart thumps wildly in her throat. The need to protect her babies propels her through the chaos. Clasping the little girl to her chest, she drags her son through the carnage toward safety.