Keeper of Stones, a novel by Ger Moane

Keeper of Stones is a novel set in ancient Ireland, in the year 3026 BCE – 5,000 years ago. Briona, a young woman from a small village in the Wicklow Mountains, sets out with her childhood friend on a journey to Newgrange, where she will lay her birthstone on the mound and enter the great Chamber on the morning of Winter Solstice.

Voyagers arrive and warn of threats to her culture from climate change and warfare. When she falls in love with one of the Voyagers she must choose between love and destiny. Ancient myths and legends are woven alongside astrology, dream-sharing, prophecy and healing in this otherworldly and visionary novel. Briona tells her story in the first person, and as she learns more about her own culture over the course of the novel we develop our own understanding.

Claire Hennessy, critic for the Irish Times, describes the book as “An evocative, intriguing journey through ancient Ireland, exploring coming-of-age in an era far less obsessed with individualism, and far more attuned to nature and community, than our own. This immersive, thoughtful novel is a pleasure to read.”

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Dreaming at Imbolc

The sound of drums beating low and soft wafts through the forest. It’s the call of the Dreamhouse. My eyes open. Hazel poles woven with reed and bark curve above my head. Layers of fur and Dori's warmth beside me keep me snug. Embers in the fire smoulder, sending wisps of smoke snaking through a small hole in the roof. Dori squeezes my hand, and we smile at each other. Today is the new moon of early Spring and the start of Turas, my passage to becoming an adult. It will take me on a journey to place my birthstone on Newgrange, the great mound at Brú.

I jump up and pull on a tunic and two layers of wool. I put twigs on the fire, wrap deer fur around my body and step outside, pouch and boots in my hands. The soft throb of the dreamstone in my pouch tells me that there are dreams to share this morning. The earth pulses beneath my feet with the beat of early Spring and the crisp morning air chills my face. Leaves and twigs rustle on the ground and buds peep from branches. Two doves sit side by side on the branch of an oak tree, heads bent towards each other, ready to start the work of spring, flying back and forth, building their nest. Shivers run through my body. Brú is a long way from home.

“Briona!” Shula calls me over as she steps out of a nearby hut, pulling fur across her shoulders. I put my boots on and hurry over for a big hug. I touch her necklace of polished bone and the soft leather band around her red hair. We fall in step and walk shoulder to shoulder in tune with the drumbeat.

“It starts today!” Shula exclaims, her eyes glistening. This is her year for Turas too - we were born the same year, and this year the Bright Star returns to the place in the sky where it was at the time of our birth.

“The dreamers are calling us,” I say as we quicken our pace. “They may have news about our journey,” Shula adds.

We often talk of our journey to Brú - we love to hear about the glistening mound that lights up with golden sunbeams at Winter Sun Standstill, the shortest day of the year. Our great wish is to be inside the chamber with our birthstones when sunlight glides up the passageway, filling everywhere with light.

The Dreamhouse appears, a tall circle of tree posts set side by side with a woven roof. It is tucked into the forest at the edge of our settlement and is the place we go to share our dreams. A small group waits to go inside. We stand together and face the rising sun. We raise our arms as we look towards the Fast Star which glows low in the sky. My breath stops as its light shines into my eyes. I wonder what it tells me about Turas - of places we may visit, who we may meet, how the stars move and what they say about our destiny. The door opens and Mona, Keeper of Charts, appears, an indigo band around her long grey hair.

“Welcome,” she says, smiling as she waves us inside.

It is quiet, though some people talk in low voices. A small fire burns in the centre of the room. The reds, yellows and blues of rugs on the walls around us glimmer in the flickering light. The Dreamers lie on their backs, covered with furs. A gong rings out. We lie down and pull rugs over our bodies. Gentle drumbeats give the signal to settle and start the slow breath that connects us to the dreamers. Eyes close, bodies relax, and heads drift as we match our breath to the beat. The drums pause and a gong sounds three times. I see the vision that the Dreamers share.

A small boat arrives on the seashore. Six figures in dark cloaks jump out and pull the boat on to the beach. They move quickly up the shoreline, gather hand-sized stones and place them in a circle around the boat. One of the figures removes a cauldron from the boat and sets the boat on fire. They stand in a circle and watch flames rise as black smoke billows into the sky.

Longing fills my chest - I want to be there on that shore and find out who they are and why they come here. Will we meet them on our journey to Brú? Gongs sound again. The dream fades and we slowly open our eyes and ears to the colours and sounds in the room. Mona moves to sit on a big chair near the door. Her bright blue robe sparkles as lights dance on tiny crystals sewn into its front.

“Our Dreamers see that Voyagers may come to our island later this year.” Mona raises her hand as she speaks, and the room falls silent.

“They come from across the ocean as the prophecies foretell. This year Stargazers say there will be a Grand Cross of stars that brings big changes.”

My heart quickens at these words, a mixture of excitement and fear stirring within me.

“We must all stay clear and balanced,” Mona continues in a grave voice.

The room goes silent. She often reminds us to keep our bodies clear and balanced, so that the life force, Beo, can flow through us. We attune every day to the stars so that we know when Beo is strong and look for stones that hold the strength of Beo.

Mona rises from the chair.

“There is more to tell at the Imbolc celebration tonight.”

We need stillness for Imbolc, when every year we celebrate the rise of energy at the start of Spring, but I’m unsure how we can stay calm with this news.

We leave the Dreamhouse and stand in a group, eyes bright and full of wonder. Currents ripple between us - excitement, joy, questions. We wonder where the Voyagers are from, who they are and if they can block our energy. The picture of the six, with their boat on fire, black cloaks, and rising smoke, stays in my head.

“Where are they from?” Someone asks.

“Mona said they come from across the ocean,” I remind the group.

“Black cloaks and smoke rising - not a good sign,” murmurs someone.

Some people lower their eyebrows and their shoulders sink. Others move away.

“When will we meet them?” I ask Shula.

“Wait for the celebration,” Shula replies, her hands spreading wide as she gestures toward the path leading to the Cistin. “Mona will tell us more later when we go to the stone circle for the lighting of the new fire.”

Shula's eyes glaze over, and she stares at the river.

“I see a journey,” she says, her voice distant. “Downriver… boats… people…”

Shula has the gift of second sight and often has visions of what is to come.

“Where? What river?” I turn my head quickly, eager to hear more.

She raises her arms.

“Rivers wind, twist and turn,” she murmurs, her voice soft. She pauses. The rising sun glistens through her hair. Then she turns and grasps my arm. “Someone is missing at Brú.”

Hairs rise on the back of my neck. Her eyes widen.

“Energy like lightning. Sun goes dark.” Shula shakes her head, then puts her hands to her head, breathing heavily.

“Are we there in the chamber?” I press, my voice barely above a whisper, my fear growing.

“I didn't see inside.”

“What can stop us from being there?” I ask, my heart racing.

“Blocks in our energy, these Voyagers, an accident, someone who…”

“We must be in the chamber,” I interrupt. “It's our passage to become an adult.”

We turn to walk towards the Cistin but Shula hesitates.

“What if the Voyagers take our place in the chamber? Brú is so far away. Are we ready? Are we strong enough?” she asks.

“We are,” I say in a firm voice. “We have our first blood flow. We're old enough!”

“But who knows what challenges we may face?” Shula mutters. “Every year people travel to Brú for Turas. We can do that too.” I assure her. Her breath slows and her steps steady. “Let's go, I'm hungry.”

I pull Shula's arm. I want to stop these questions, but as we walk back through the forest unease ripples between us.

When we arrive at the Cistin people are excited, they already know of the dream and the Voyagers. We help ourselves to big slices of bread and handfuls of dried apples and hazelnuts and mix them in bowls with juice. There is still enough food in our stores, but soon we may have fresh food from the big farmland downriver. I look for Murta, my father, he can calm us. He touches my shoulder, his blue eyes and curly black hair just like mine. We go to sit by the fire.

“Mona spoke of a Grand Cross. What is it?” Shula asks Murta, full of curiosity.

“It's when many stars line up,” Murta replies, his voice calm and clear.

He is a stargazer - he often stays awake at night to go out on the river and watch the sky.

“Sun, Moon, Fast Star, Bright Star, Red Star...” Shula lists the stars and makes the sign for each.

“And Seven Stars and Swan Stars and Three Stars.” Murta imitates her breathless words, his voice teasing.

Shula laughs, her eyes sparkling.

“But what's a Grand Cross?” she asks.

He holds up two fingers, crossed over each other.

“It's when the stars line up and make a cross with big energy.”

“Oh? But a cross means stars are against each other,” I say.

“Yes, it's harder for the stars to work together,” Murta agrees, turning to me.

“Does this mean hard times for us on Turas?”

Murta twirls a piece of my hair between his fingers.

“Briona, you see hard times too often, trust the stars, they can guide you.”

“I hope I learn to be a healer with stones or even a Keeper of Stones,” I say, a wish of mine for a long time drifting through my head.

“Yes, you loved stones even when you were very young,” he remembers, and his eyes soften. An image of us looking for stones by the river comes into my head.

Shula leans in and touches Murta's arm.

“Winter Standstill is so far away. I had a vision of twisting rivers and flashes of lightning,” she says, her voice low.

“Ah, this year brings strong energy for you both. Turas brings many lessons; it tells you of your destiny.”

“Lessons?” Shula says playfully as she tosses her hair.

“This dream of Voyagers… can they stop us?” I ask slowly.

“On Turas, you'll learn what you need.” Murta smiles gently, not answering my question.

I glance at Shula, but she is looking into the distance as she slowly eats her food.

Dori comes to sit beside us. I grew up with Dori and Shula. Gara, their mother, is like a mother to me. Dori, Shula and I always have fun together in the forest, in the longhouses, on the river. We collect stones and twigs and bring berries and nuts and eggs to the Cistin, where Gara shows us how to make bread. Dori carves wood and I make signs on stones. Shula makes jewellery and we all look for plants to make dye. We have a special hut that we go to where we light a fire and sometimes stay the night. We talk about sparks we see between people, where energy between them draws them together and they go to the forest to share pleasure. Sometimes Dori and I have soft kisses.

We talk about the visit to the Dreamhouse and the dream of the Voyagers that we shared until Gara comes to the fire and Shula goes to sit beside her.

“Shula thinks Turas may be a hard journey,” I turn to Dori, concerned.

“A lot can happen during Turas,” Dori responds thoughtfully.

“She had a vision. She saw rivers with twists and turns, and someone missing.”

“Briona, there are long rivers and different paths to Brú, you don't know what Shula sees, or what may happen,” replies Dori.

“What if I don't get to Brú?”

“Everyone can go to Brú in the year of their Bright Star Return,” Dori reminds me softly.

“This year isn't like other years,” I say. “Who knows where Turas may take me.” But then my eyes brighten, and my words speed up as I talk more about the Voyagers and the Grand Cross.

“You want to journey to Brú,” Dori says, leaning in.

“Yes, like everyone with their Bright Star Return,” I respond with a smile.

“You'll go, and you'll forget us,” Dori says with a frown.

The words sting, sharper than I expect.

“I'll be back here after Turas,” I say, feeling sure.

“Not everyone comes back.” Dori’s voice is gentler.

Tears prick my eyes as the name of my mother, Bríd, comes into my head. I close my eyes and take a deep breath. When I was very young, she went to the Summer festival and never came back. She slipped and hit her head on a rocky bank as she was getting into a boat to return to Carraig. Healers worked for days and nights, but Beo, her life force, left her body and she went to the Otherworld. Mona, her mother, wrapped me in my mother's fur and rocked me to sleep for many nights. As time passed my heart was not so sore, and I love to hear stories of my mother. It is hard to lose somebody - maybe that is why Dori fears I may go and not come back.

“I want to live here,” I say, as my love for Mona and Murta, for Dori and Shula, for Gara and the clan in Carraig surges.

“You don't know what will happen on Turas. You may meet someone new.”

“No, I'm sure to come back.” I say, though in my mind doubt lingers. I want to see what the stars bring. I love Dori, but sometimes I wish for more sparks and to meet new people.

“I know you,” Dori says, voice quieter now, eyes darkening. “When you travel, you'll change.”

“Dori you're family,” I affirm, but I can feel the tension between us.

“This year is different,” Dori says, face reddening.

People beside us stand up and we turn to see movement at the river. We walk to where boats arrive on the riverbank and a group of people get out. Excitement rises as they pull their boats onto the shore. Their sheepskin coats show they come from the big farmland further downriver on the plain of Cill Dara. They are here for the Imbolc celebration with news and gifts of food. The air charges as people crowd around, eager to hear their news.

“Come! We should finish the preparations for the gathering!” Shula calls as she steps forward and raises her arms to the group. She has a special way of knowing when to speak so that everyone listens.

The group moves away from the river, and I lose sight of Dori. The visitors carry baskets of food for the festival, and they talk and laugh with the people around. We still have supplies of wheat, some dried fruit and nuts, and people are out fishing and trapping for more. The visitors bring dried meat and cheese from the farmland. My eyes are drawn to one of them, strong, with a lovely face, bright blue eyes, a ready smile and brown hair tied back with a red headband. A tingle rises in my body, my cheeks glow, and as I look and listen intently, I hear a name - Gormley. I move over to be closer, but someone pulls my arm.

“I see there is already someone new,” Dori states, standing there with a flushed face.

“What?” I ask, surprised.

“You're looking at someone else,” Dori asserts and nods towards Gormley.

“No, no,” I protest. But there is a spark between Gormley and me.

“You want someone new,” Dori repeats.

Maybe it is true. I sigh and shake my head. Dori turns and walks away. I don't follow - we can talk later. I stand and press my feet into the ground. Mona wants us to stay tuned to the low slow beat of Imbolc, but it is difficult with all this happening.

Further downriver people collect reeds to weave the wheel of the year. The rhythm of weaving can keep me calm. I go to help - take some reeds, cut them to arm's length, bend them over and wind them around until four arms rise out of a central web. Around me people sing songs of Imbolc, but I stay quiet. Spring is different this year, with little time for long easy stretches, talks with friends and walks in the forest looking for first buds and the beginnings of nests. Bright Star Return is a time to clear the energies that we are born with and to take our birthstone to Brú, to learn our destiny. It may also be a time to find love. Is that why my heart quickens at this visitor, Gormley?

The light fades by the river as the time for the Imbolc celebration nears. I gather my reed wheels. We walk up to the settlement where the hearth is cleared out and set with new wood from the forest. Benches are laid out around the central firepit. The Cistin is like a hive as groups prepare food for the feast. I go to a longhouse - its thick walls and strong thatched roof are built to keep us warm. A fire burns in the centre, candles are lit. Groups sit preparing clothes, passing around jewellery, stones, shells, feathers, barks and weaves in different colours. A pipe plays a slow tune, and someone beats gently on a drum.

“Briona, you bring wheels!” Shula calls, waving me over.

“Let's hope they bring good energy! Even sparks!” I say and everyone laughs.

“And fun and food!”

“These visitors bring sparks, especially the one with the red band,” someone says, and I take a quick breath. They are talking about Gormley.

“The tall one is older; he looks like he already has a mate,” another voice chimes in.

“Maybe the one with beautiful green eyes,” someone else adds.

There is much laughter all around. Some years we are reluctant to leave the darkness of winter and go out for the Imbolc celebration when it is still cold and wet, but not this year. Already we can sense that this is a special year. I weave feathers into my wheel and wish for strength for Turas.