Shadowmagic
By John Lenahan
4.5/5
()
About this ebook
A Lord of the Rings for the 21st century. Only a lot shorter. And funnier. And completely different.
Conor thought he was an average teenager. OK, so his father only had one hand, spoke to him in ancient languages and was a bit on the eccentric side but, other than that, life was fairly normal. Until, that is, two Celtic warriors on horseback and wearing full armour appear at his front door and try to kill him. After that, things get pretty weird.
Shadowmagic is a fantasy adventure for young adults (although grown ups will like it too). Written by one of the most popular magicians in the country it brings a fresh approach to the genre and will have a broad appeal beyond the fantasy sections.
John Lenahan
John Lenahan is a popular magician on the live circuit and has appeared numerous times on radio and television. He is a regular at Sci-Fi and Fantasy conventions both in is role as a writer of fantasy fiction and as the voice of the toaster in Red Dwarf! He is the author of two novels in the Shadowmagic series, the latest being The Prince of Hazel & Oak.
Read more from John Lenahan
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Reviews for Shadowmagic
18 ratings7 reviews
- Rating: 5 out of 5 stars5/5I really enjoyed this, despite being averse to books written in the first person. There is a delightful sense of humour throughout the enchanting lands of Tir Na Nog. Wonderful characters with lots of twists and turns, fascinating spells and the most amazing variety of trees I have ever come across. Looking forward to the next in the series.
- Rating: 5 out of 5 stars5/5Though I've listened to audio books before, this was my first "podiobook". I'm now a huge fan of the format, John Lenahan, and his book, Shadowmagic. My commute to and from school has never been more fun! I deliberately held off on listening to it until I was in my car, unless I was finishing up the last couple minutes of a chapter, which was difficult at times. I frequently had the urge to continue listening, but I told myself it was better to savor it, since it would be over all too soon. I'm already listening to the second book, Prince of Hazel and Oak, and I have a feeling I'll be just a little bit sad when it ends. I'm sure there are other great books on podiobooks.com, but finding them will likely involve a bit of trial and error. Thankfully, they're free.
I can't say for sure, but I think listening to the book, which is narrated by the author, rather than reading a print version, is what got me hooked. I felt like I was being told a story, instead of just being read to, if that makes sense? I think the difference is in the enthusiasm of the author as he narrates. In an author's note at the end of the book, he mentions that he wrote it for his son, and I'm sure that's a factor in his performance. If I had been reading the book, I might have felt that the story was a little silly, but then again, maybe not. I really don't know. I just feel that this is a story that needs to be told rather than read.
With that being said, I have to recommend the "podiobook" version. It's free, so it gives you the chance to try it out without costing anything in case you're not 100% sold on it yet. If you love Fantasy, the childlike feeling of being told a story, or Irish Celtic mythology, you can't go wrong with Shadowmagic. - Rating: 5 out of 5 stars5/5Absolutely loved this book. Couldn't put it down. Can't wait for the next one! :)
- Rating: 5 out of 5 stars5/5To be young to be old, the sociology of fantasy and what makes the heart twitter and race, and resign to the future.I loved the plot twists, the family structuring, the sociological age renditions, and the detail of what is new and old put to the test.I listened to the author while he took me on a journey to start a new, visit old habits, and rethink the way one looks at the word, the world, the meanings of the present danger, and the meanings of what is family. What is present danger, and what is really just a dream.We all enter a dream and fear it is real or hope it is real. The book takes us into the stage where we have to decide if the dream state might , or might not actually be better, as real firm earth, is still something to never be taken for granted.
- Rating: 4 out of 5 stars4/5I have to issue a warning for this Book!I would certainly not buy this book but it exercised its power over me and managed to come home with me anyway. Nevertheless, when I did buy it, I figured that it would probably be shelved for a year or so, since I have so many other books to read before it was time for this one. But every time I passed it, I glanced at it and it made me think that I could probably read just the first chapter to see what I thought about it. Then when I had started reading, I realized that I could not stop, but still I thought that I would manage to read some of the other books I was reading at the time; but alas, I could not. If I would not have had to go to work I probably would not have been able to put it away at all.So the warning is this: If you are not supposed to buy the book do not go into a bookstore that has it. If you think that it might be good enough, if you think “I’ll buy it and read it later. I do not have time right now,” do not do buy it! Wait until you have the time to read it!So what did I think about the book then? On the cover it says “A Lord of the Rings for the 21st century. Only a lot shorter. And funnier. And completely different.” Now I have not read the Lord of the Rings trilogy, so I cannot say much about that, but I do see some similarities with the Harry Potter books even if they are still very different. So if you liked Harry Potter chances are good that you might also like this book. I hope that John Lenhan writes more books in the same style and look forward to reading them if this happens.
- Rating: 3 out of 5 stars3/5When the publisher offered giveaway copies of Shadowmagic by John Lenahan I was quick to request one as I thought this older children's fantasy could be really fun; and that my daughter might enjoy it. I was really thrilled when a signed copy arrived - Thank you.Lenahan is an American magician living in England. He got thrown out of the Magic Circle for revealing a trick, and has provided the voice of the toaster on Red Dwarf, which are rather cool achievements! He's also funny - there are some great You Tube clips of him.This fast-paced novel combines the classic plot elements of the magical quest and fish out of water. Teenager Conor finds himself transported from his normal life into a magical world where he is a Prince and nearly everyone wants to kill him. This land is peopled by all the types of faery folk you can imagine, each with its own territory. Magic is controlled by gold - and he who owns all the gold will control all the magic - such is the plan of Conor's evil uncle who would destroy the Land. So we add the race against time and speed through the land to find the way to stop him.Based upon Celtic and Irish myths of Tir Na Nog, the Land of Youth, for an adult read, there was nowhere near enough background as we sped our way through the magical land. Conor and his companions meet a wide range of faery folk and again it is difficult to get a feel for their characteristics, as character is sacrificed for the speed of the plot, and our hero seems rather good at getting out of all the situations easily. I'd have liked to know a bit more about the roots of the magic with gold, and it's opposite Shadowmagic. Conor's jokey contemporary humour which always falls flat in the magical world is meant to keep us and him grounded with an attachment back to the real world, but rather irritated me.However it wasn't written for adults! I imagine that ten+ year old boys will get a lot out of this fast-moving tale; in particular they'll identify with Conor, and thus have great fun with it - and I know some who will love it.
- Rating: 3 out of 5 stars3/5I thought it was a good listen (audiobook) I enjoyed it, I didn't have to think too much while listening, yes the narrator, 18 year old Connor does seem a bit sheltered and naive at times, but overall, I liked him. What 18 year old doesn't sometimes succomb to naivety and shallowness?
It's a good car listen, as my little children weren't scared and there was no swearing and little violence, I didn't mind them hearing the story.
Book preview
Shadowmagic - John Lenahan
Chapter One
Aunt Nieve
‘How come you never told me I had an aunt?’ That was the first thing I said. I know, my first question should have been, ‘Are you alright, Dad?’ He didn’t look alright. The light was awful, but I could see blood on the side of his face. I’m amazed I didn’t say, ‘What is that smell?’ because it sure stank in there. I’m not talking about a whiffy locker room smell, but the kind of stench that can make it possible to see your breakfast a second time around. Or most obviously I guess I should have asked, ‘Where are we?’ or, ‘Why are we chained to a wall?’ But instead, the first question I asked when I regained consciousness was about genealogy.
‘Well, Conor,’ Dad croaked, not even looking at me, ‘the first time you met her, she tried to kill you.’
She had, too.
I was sitting in the living room watching crappy morning television. I was dressed, shaved and ready to go. You had to be with my father. It wasn’t unusual for me to run out of the house two minutes behind him and find that he had left without me.
‘Are you ready?’ he called from the bedroom–in almost Modern Greek.
That was a good sign. It was a simple matter to gauge my father’s moods–the older the language, the worse his frame of mind. Greek wasn’t too bad. I shouted back, in the same language, ‘Born ready!’ I had learned a long time ago that I had to speak in the language of the day, or else he would ignore me completely.
He came out of his bedroom in a white shirt with a tie hanging around his neck. ‘Could you do this for me?’
‘Sure,’ I said.
Tie tying was one of the very few things that Pop found impossible to do with just one hand. Most of the time I didn’t think of Dad as having a handicap at all–I know a lot of two-handed men much less dexterous than him, and anyway, I was happy to do him a favour. I was just about to hit him up for a bit of cash, so that tonight I could take Sally to a nice restaurant, as opposed to the usual crummy pizza joint.
‘What’s with the tie?’ I asked.
‘The dean wants me to smarten up a bit. There is some famous ancient languages professor visiting who wants to talk about my theories of pronunciation. As if I don’t have anything better to do than babysit some idiot.’
That question was a mistake on my part. He said that last sentence in Ancient Gaelic. That was the language he used when he was annoyed or really meant business–it was almost as if it was his mother tongue. I’m not talking about Gaelic, the language of the Irish, I’m talking about Ancient Gaelic, a language found only on crumbling parchments and in my house.
‘Aw c’mon, Pop,’ I said as chirpily as I could, ‘maybe this professor is a beautiful she idiot, and I can finally have a mom.’
He gave me a dirty look, but not one of his more serious ones, and tucked the bottom of his tie into his shirt.
I plopped myself down on the sofa. I could hear Dad humming some prehistoric Celtic ditty as he brushed his teeth in the bathroom. A fight broke out on the television show I was half-heartedly watching: two women were pulling each other’s hair and the studio audience was chanting the presenter’s name.
‘Turn that damn television off,’ he shouted, ‘or I’ll put a crossbow bolt through it!’
I quickly switched off the TV–coming from Dad this was not an idle threat. He owned a crossbow–as well as a quarterstaff, a mace and all sorts of archaic weaponry. If it was old, he had it. Hell, he even made me practise sword fighting with him every week before he gave me my spending money.
This gives you an idea of what life was like with my father–the mad, one-handed, ancient languages professor Olson O’Neil. People said that he lived in the past, but it was worse than that–it was like he was from the past. It was cool when I was a kid, but now that I was older, I increasingly thought it was weird–sad, even.
That Dad embarrassed me from time to time wasn’t really the problem. Now that I was starting to get a few whiskers on my chin, what really got me down was that he seemed disappointed in me all of the time and I couldn’t figure out why. I was doing well at high school. In a week I would graduate, OK, not at the top of my class, but pretty up there. I had never really been in trouble. My girlfriend didn’t have pink hair and studs through her nose, or eyebrows, or even her bellybutton. Dad liked Sally. It seemed as if he wanted me to be something–but he wouldn’t, or couldn’t, tell me what.
A knock came on the front door that was so loud, it made me jump to my feet. Now, weird is what my life is these days, but here is where all the weirdness began.
We live in a converted barn outside of town with a regular-sized front door that is cut into two huge barn doors. When my father answers a knock, he always peers through a tiny hatch to check who’s out there. I, on the other hand, like to undo the bolts and throw open the two big doors. It shocks visitors and it has the added effect of annoying Dad. I don’t do that any more.
I dramatically swung open the two doors and found myself face to face with two of the biggest, sweatiest horses I had ever seen. Riding them was a man in full King Arthur-type armour and a woman in a hooded cloak. With hindsight I wish I had said something clever like, ‘The stables are around the back,’ but to be honest, I was too gobsmacked to speak.
When the woman pulled back her hood, she took my breath away. She was astonishingly beautiful, with a wild mane of amber hair. She seemed to be about five or ten years older than me–twenty-five, twenty-seven maybe, except something about her made her seem older than that.
‘Is this the home of Oisin?’ she asked.
‘There is an Olson here, Olson O’Neil,’ I stammered.
She considered this for a second and took a step into the room–or, I should say, her horse did. I had to back away to stop from being trampled.
‘Who are you?’ I demanded.
She looked around the room and her eyes stopped on an oak fighting stick that was mounted on the wall. A look of satisfaction crossed her face. ‘I am his sister,’ she said.
I started to say, ‘Yeah, right,’ and then two things struck me. One was that she was speaking in Ancient Gaelic–I was so stunned by the appearance of those two that I hadn’t noticed it before. The second was her eyes–she had Dad’s eyes, and nobody had dark peepers like my father.
‘Dad!’ I called out. ‘There’s a woman out here who says she’s your sister.’
That is when all hell broke loose. Dad came charging out of the bathroom screaming at the top of his lungs, with toothpaste foaming out of his mouth like a rabid animal. He grabbed the war axe off the mantel, which I always assumed was there just for decoration, and hurled it at his sister. She pulled her head back just in time to avoid getting a quick nose job, but her companion wasn’t so lucky. The flat side of the axe hit him square on the shoulder and knocked him from his saddle. The rider desperately tried to stay on his mount. The horse made a horrible sound as he pulled a handful of hair out of its mane, but it was no good. He hit the ground with a crash of metal and then, as if being attacked in my living room by equestrians wasn’t surprise enough–he disappeared–he just vanished! One second I was watching the Tin Man falling through the air, arms and legs flailing in all directions, and the next second he was gone–poof! In the space where he should have been, was a pile of rusted metal in a swirl of dust.
Dad shouted, ‘Conor, watch out!’ I looked up just in time to see a spear leaving my aunt’s hand–and it was heading directly for my chest. Then everything seemed to go into slow motion. I remember looking into my aunt’s eyes and seeing what almost looked like pain in them, and I remember turning to my father and seeing the utter defeat on his face. But what I remember the most was the amazing tingling sensation that I felt all over my body. An amber glow seemed to cloud my vision, then I noticed the glow cover me from head to toe and then encircle the spear, just as it made contact with my chest. The spear hit me, I fell over from the force of it, but it didn’t hurt. For a second I thought, That’s what it must be like when you receive a mortal wound–no pain. Then I saw the spear lying next to me. I felt my chest and I was fine.
Dad sat me up. ‘Are you OK?’ he asked.
I wish I had a picture of my face at that point–I could feel the stupid grin I had pasted on it. A horn blew–Dad and I looked up in time to see my would-be assassin galloping away from the door.
‘Can you stand?’ Dad asked.
I remember answering him by saying, ‘That was very strange.’ I was kind of out of it.
‘Conor,’ he said, helping me to my feet, ‘we have to get out of here.’
But it was too late. Two more riders, this time in black armour and on black horses, burst into the room. Tables and chairs went flying in all directions. Dad grabbed my hand and we tried to run out the back, but before we could take more than a couple of steps I saw, and heard, a black leather whip wrap around my father’s neck. I tried to shout but my voice was strangled by the searing pain of another whip wrapping around my own throat.
The next thing I remembered, I was chained to a dungeon wall talking to my father about the family tree.
‘What’s her name?’
‘Nieve,’ Dad said, without looking at me.
I was about to ask, ‘Why does she want to kill us?’ when I felt something crawl across my ankle. It was a rat–no, I take that back–it was the mother of all rats. I’d seen smaller dogs. I screamed and tried to kick it away. It moved just out of reach and stared at me like it owned the place. Just what I needed, a super-rat with an attitude.
‘Where the hell are we?’ I yelled.
‘We are in The Land,’ Dad said in a faraway voice.
‘The Land? What land?’
‘The Land, Conor–Tir na Nog.’
‘Tir na Nog? What,’ I said sarcastically, ‘the place full of Pixies and Leprechauns?’
‘There are no Pixies here, but yes.’
‘Dad. Quit messing around. What is going on?’
He turned and looked me straight in the eyes, and then with his I’m only going to tell you this once voice he said, ‘We are in The Land. The place that the ancient Celts called Tir na Nog–The Land of Eternal Youth. I was born here.’
I began to get angry. I was in pain, we were definitely in trouble, and Dad was treating me like a kid, making up some cock-and-bull story to keep me happy. I was just about to tell him what I thought of him, but then I thought about the guy who fell off his horse. ‘Did you see that guy disappear?’
‘He didn’t disappear,’ Dad said, and I could tell he was struggling to make this so I could understand. ‘He just grew old–quickly’
‘Come again?’
‘When someone from The Land steps foot in the Real World, they instantly become the age that they would be there. That soldier was probably a couple of thousand years old.’
‘What!’
‘He was an immortal. Everyone from The Land is an immortal.’
I looked deep into his eyes, waiting for the twinkle that lets me know he’s messing with me. When it didn’t come, I felt my chest tighten.
‘My God, you’re not screwing around, are you?’
He shook his head–a slow no.
‘So what,’ I said half jokingly, ‘like, you’re an immortal?’
‘No,’ he said, turning away, ‘I gave that up when I came to the Real World.’
I shook my head to clear the cobwebs, which was a mistake, because I almost passed out with the pain. When my vision cleared, Dad was staring at me with a look of total sincerity.
‘So you used to be an immortal?’ I asked.
‘Yes.’
At that point I should have come to the obvious conclusion that this was all just a dream, except for the fact that dreaming isn’t something I had ever done. Famously, among my friends and classmates at least, I had never had a dream. I had an idea what they were like from TV shows and movies but it was not something I had ever experienced. People always said, ‘Oh, you must dream, you just don’t remember it,’ but I don’t think so. When I put my head down, I wake up in the same place and I don’t go anywhere in-between. And anyway, I knew this was real–there was something in the air, other than the stench, that felt more real than anything I had ever known.
I was silent for a long while and then I asked, ‘Do I have any other relatives I should know about?’
The answer came, not from my father, but from a shadowy figure standing in the doorway on the far side of the room.
‘You have an uncle,’ he said.
Chapter Two
Uncle Cialtie
The instant he emerged from the shadows, I knew he was my uncle alright. He looked like an old high-school photo of my father, before the grey hair and the extra twenty pounds. He had that evil twin appearance about him, like one of those crappy TV movies where the same actor plays the part of the nice and the wicked brother. He even had the black goatee and a sinister sneer.
Don’t get the impression that this was a comical moment. Even chained against a wall, I tried to take an involuntary step back–this guy was scary. But the person who scared me the most at that moment wasn’t my uncle, it was my father.
‘Cialtie,’ he said, with more malice than I had ever heard from anybody–let alone Dad.
‘Brother Oisin,’ Cialtie dripped, ‘you look, what is that word? Oh yes–old.’
‘Where is Finn?’
‘You mean our father? I thought he was with you. Last time I saw him he was riding into the Real World looking for you. His horse didn’t look very healthy though.’
‘You murdered him.’
‘Oh no,’ Cialtie replied with false innocence, ‘I wouldn’t hurt Father. I merely stabbed the horse,’ and then he smiled. It was my first experience of Uncle Cialtie’s smile, and it made my stomach churn.
‘I’ll kill you,’ Dad hissed.
‘No, I think you will find that that is what I am going to do to you. But first I am going to kill your boy here, and you know the best part? After that I’ll be considered a hero–a saviour even.’
‘Why would killing me make him a saviour?’ I said, finding my voice.
Cialtie addressed me directly, for the first time, instantly making me wish I hadn’t asked the question. ‘Hasn’t Daddy told you anything?’ Cialtie scolded. ‘Tsk, tsk, Oisin, you really have neglected his education. Haven’t you told him of the prophecy?’
‘What prophecy?’
‘I didn’t think this would ever happen,’ Dad said without looking at me. ‘We were never supposed to come back.’
‘What prophecy?’
‘You are the son of the one-handed prince’ quoted Cialtie, ‘a very dangerous young man. It’s true, it was foreseen by a very gifted oracle.’
‘Who,’ my father said, ‘you murdered.’
‘Water under the bridge, Oisin. You really must learn to let bygones be bygones. You see, your daddy here carelessly lost his hand–which I still have upstairs, you know, it’s one of my favourite possessions–so that meant that having a baby was a no-no, but as always Oisin thought he knew best and it looks like it’s going to take his big brother to sort things out.’
‘You are using my hand,’ Dad hissed, ‘to keep the throne.’
‘Oh yes,’ replied Cialtie, ‘I find it works just as well in the Chamber of Runes without the rest of you. Better, in fact–because your mouth isn’t attached to it. That Shadow witch you used to run around with did a really good job of preserving it.’
I could see the blood vessels in Dad’s temple stand out as he strained against his chains. My temples must have been throbbing too. I didn’t have a clue what was going on. Some oracle predicted that I had to die? Cialtie was using Dad’s hand? And what throne?
‘I would love to stand here and reminisce all day’ said Cialtie, ‘but I have a nephew to kill. Now, your father’s runehand has come in so useful these last few years, I thought I might as well have yours too. The start of a collection, maybe?’ He reached into his cloak and took out an ornate golden box. Inside was an imprint of a hand.
‘I’m going to cut off your hand,’ Cialtie continued, ‘preserve it with proper magic, not that Shadowmagic stuff she used on your dad’s mitt, and then you bleed to death and die. Your dad gets to watch and everybody is happy’
I used to think that anger was a bad thing, but now I realise that in times of extreme stress and fear, anger can be the emotion that focuses your mind and gets you through. Did I hate my uncle? You bet. And the idea of killing him was the only thing that kept me from whimpering like a damp puppy. I held on to that thought as he came at me.
Cialtie paused. ‘You know, I just had a thought. Is it not ironic that the day you become an immortal is the day you die?’
‘If I’m an immortal, how are you going to kill me?’
Cialtie laughed, a sickening laugh that deliberately went on too long. ‘Oh my. I never thought I would see the day when I would meet a son of Duir who was so thick. Immortality, my boy, may save you from illness and getting old, but it won’t save you from this.’ He drew his sword and swung at my wrist.
Then it happened again. The world seemed to slow down and a golden–no–an amber glow encircled Cialtie’s sword and me. I felt the pressure of the blade on my wrist but it didn’t hurt, and more importantly, it didn’t cut. Cialtie flew into a rage–he began hacking and stabbing at me. I didn’t even try to dodge it–the amber glow seemed to protect me. Finally he threw the sword across the room in a rage.
‘This is Shadowmagic,’ he hissed. ‘That witch’s doing, I’ll wager. Well, I have a sorceress of my own.’ He turned to leave–then looked back. ‘You have a reprieve, nephew. I suggest that you and Daddy say your goodbyes. Just don’t take too long,’ and then he was gone, leaving me shaking, half from fear and half from anger.
‘I’m sorry, Conor,’ Dad finally said.
‘How come you never told me?’
Dad laughed. ‘What was I supposed to say? "Son, you are old enough now for me to tell you that I am the heir to the throne of a magical kingdom." You think I’m loony enough as it is. I can imagine what you would have said to that.’
‘So, you’re the heir to a throne?’
Dad thought for a second, and took a deep breath that looked like it hurt. ‘My father–your grandfather–was the lord of this castle. His name was Finn and he held Duir–the Oak Rune. He was the king, if you like, of Tir na Nog.’
I was struggling to make sense of all of this. My head was spinning. ‘You’re a prince?’
‘Yes.’
‘The one-handed prince?’
He nodded
‘So why did Cialtie say I was dangerous?’
‘Ona,’ Dad said, ‘made a prediction.’
‘Who is this Ona?’
‘She was my father’s Runecaster.’ When I looked puzzled he said, ‘Like a fortune teller.’
‘And what did she say exactly?’ I could tell that the question pained him but I was angry. Some old bat throwing stones around was causing me a lot of trouble.
‘She said, "The son of the one-handed prince must die, lest he be the ruin of Tir na Nog."‘
‘That’s ridiculous! You don’t believe this crap, do you?’
Dad lowered his head, and when he spoke I could hardly hear him. ‘Ona was never wrong.’
‘So let me get this straight. You lose your hand in a gardening accident and then everybody wants me dead!’ As soon as I said it I realised how ridiculous it sounded. ‘You didn’t lose your hand in a lawnmower, did you?’
‘No.’
‘Are you going to tell me about it?’
‘That is a long story,’ I heard a woman’s voice say. It sounded as if it was coming from inside the wall to my right. ‘And if you want to get out of here,’ she said as she appeared right before my eyes, ‘we will have to save it for later.’
You could have knocked me down with a feather. If I thought my aunt was stunning, this was the most beautiful woman I had ever seen. Dark, tall, with a straight black ponytail plaited to her waist and wearing–check this out–animal skins. She seemed to just step through the wall.
She worked fast. She placed what looked like honey in the locks that shackled our wrists and Dad’s neck. Then she dropped to one knee, lowered her head, mumbled something and the irons fell away. I can’t tell you how good it felt. If you have ever taken off a thirty-pound backpack after a twenty-mile hike, you have the beginnings of an idea. Dad and I stood up.
‘Quickly!’ she said, and walked straight through the wall.
Before Dad could follow I put my hand on his