Overcomer - The Journey by Judy Colella (top 10 non fiction books of all time txt) 📕

“Are you all right, son?”

Dr. Bowden – good. I like him. Cian turned to face the doctors, and smiled. Not his usual uncertain half-smile. This felt different. Familiar from a past life. Genuine, friendly, unencumbered. Even his eyes participated. “I’m fine. Sorry if I frightened you, Dr. Murphy. I had to deal with... with everything you told me, but in my own way. And now I have, and I’m fine.”

He’d spoken slowly, no trace of a stutter.

“Cian, did – did you hear yourself?” the psychologist asked, her voice hushed.

“Well, since my mouth isn’t all that far from my ears, yes. Why?”

She exchanged a glance with Dr. Bowden. “Cian, you’ve stopped stammering. No stutter, no hesitancy. How – ”

“If I take my time, think about what I’m going to say, the words don’t get the chance to trip all over each other. I can do that now because I don’t have other thoughts shoving themselves in between the sounds and words.”

She sat on the chair opposite the bed, gaping. “Is that what was happening?”

Cian nodded. “It was like a soundless voice telling me to be careful, ’cause with the next word I spoke, someone might hit me, or scream in my ears and tell me to kill myself, but since I couldn’t hear that voice, I didn’t know why I was stumbling so badly over every syllable.” He shrugged. “Now I do.”

“Whose voice was it?” asked Dr. Bowden.

Moloch’s. He wasn’t about to tell them that, or that he wasn’t sure how he knew this, or who this Moloch was, yet he knew it with utter certainty. “Probably my former foster mother’s.” Not a lie – I said “probably.”

Dr. Murphy nodded. “I believe you. In addition to taking control of your stammering, you used the word ‘former’ to describe your foster mother, something you’d never done before. I think, Cian, that you’ve crossed the chasm separating what was from what is, and can now concentrate on re-entering life in a relatively normal way.”

Optimism – something Cian liked about Dr. Murphy. So much more needed fixing, but he could rest, knowing his mentor and friend, the Croghan, had found him.

Another recollection – his first moments in that basement. Telling himself that no one would be coming to rescue him – ever. He’d been wrong. Thank the gods, old and new. Optimism shared.

Some Time In the Past

Except for the gentle notes flitting out from under Celesta’s long, tapered fingers, the Hub was silent, its usual state, but every once in a while a disturbance would occur as the forces of darkness tried harder to make inroads through one of the nearly infinite time portals or deeper along a pathway. When that happened, Celesta would feel it like a tiny short-circuit someplace within her being, and would adjust her music in order to block their progress; if the attempted incursion was stronger than normal, she would sing. They hated that. The power of her voice was far too great for even the worst of the dark creatures to resist. In fact, they preferred dealing with the Keeper, if for no other reason than that they knew it took more effort on his part to stop them.

But at the moment – that eternal moment that never changed, measured only by the thoughts of whoever was keeping peace at the Hub – things were restful, quiet. The angel allowed her mind to drift along the pathways that led to other places, other minds, and the minds of those with whom she was permitted to communicate. She touched briefly the mind of the girl named Celeste, gave her a quick image of the place in Ireland where the Kelly family originated, then left her alone again.

Once in a while, she would feel the girl’s thoughts connect to her own through a note of music, or the sound of the Keeper’s native tongue, and at such times would ask her beloved Lord if she might speak with the sweet-faced mortal. This was not one of those once-in-a-whiles, however, so she rested back against the air and continued stroking the glittering strings.

Then something stirred. Nothing evil or dark – ah, the Keeper was returning. How long this time? He’d been going off a lot of late, not that she minded. Celesta was eternal, and therefore had no reason to miss being elsewhere.

She gave him a brilliant smile as he crested the hill and approached. He went down on one knee before her in greeting.

“How are things in the world, Keeper?” Laying aside the harp she stroked his dark hair with a finger.

“Well in some places, and not so well in others,” he replied, looking up into her eyes. “As always, your touch soothes the spots in my heart that have been scratched raw by the realities of mortal life.” He smiled.

“And what of the boy?”

The smile vanished. He looked down for a few seconds, brows drawing inward. When he raised his face, she pitied him for the look in his eyes. “He is lost. I cannot find him anywhere.”

Celesta rose to her majestic twelve-foot height. “Stand and tell me how such a thing could have happened.” She felt no anger, only disappointment.

The Keeper got to his feet. “I went to the exact time and place where he was supposed to be, only to find that the one pursuing his family had discovered his whereabouts, and by interfering with nature, made sure that it knew where the boy went, while we did not.”

“And did this evil one harm any of those associated with the boy?”

“Yes, Celesta. It must have spoken into the mind of someone who was weak to begin with, so that he killed our Servant Helpers. It managed to influence someone else after that, one who was naïve about evil, to take the boy away; then it manipulated nature to kill this poor woman.” He shook his head. “I should have expected something like this and been more diligent.”

“Yes, you should have. But nothing you’ve done wrong is unforgivable, my Croghan.” She favored him with a gentle smile. “And did you come back to ask me what to do?”

“I did.”

“Then I will tell you.” She sat again, indicating with a graceful wave of her hand that he should do the same.

He settled himself on the grass at her feet. “Whatever you tell me, I will do.”

“Good.” She closed her eyes and began to hum, a gentle, sleepy sound that resonated upward. She stopped a little while later by turning the final note into a sigh, and opened her eyes. “This is what you must do. Become an official in the time in which the boy is living, and take charge of the agency that is responsible for him there. Open a full investigation – I think you will discover several others who have also disappeared and are in need of finding, whose lives are, in their own way, as important as his. You will be appointed to a position recently vacated by the man who should have taken care of these children, but failed. This is how you will be able to search for them all.” She stood and turned away for a moment, then breathed over her shoulder, “Find him!”

The Keeper got up and went down the hill.

He hadn’t mentioned how long the boy had been missing, but Celesta knew. By human accounting, it had been nearly six years. Had the Keeper not allowed himself to get so distracted with other matters, other times and individuals, he would have known what was going on. Which was no excuse at all. Between each note of the melody she had hummed, she’d learned these things, the urgency of finding the boy imparted with her final sigh.

Cian MacDara was needed for a final battle with the one seeking vengeance against his family. In the process of Moloch’s search for descendants of the priest of Crom-Cruach, many people had been hurt, many lives disrupted, and the flow of time within its appointed channels almost compromised. So Cian had to be found, especially now that he was finally of age to carry out his purpose, and he had to be brought to the place where the girl lived, a young lady with a heart more golden than the strings of the Harp, the one Celesta had told Croghan to “plant” in a place and time where the right people would discover it.

Things were coming together nicely, like the beautifully woven fabrics of Tír Conaill, but the most important thread of the tapestry had disappeared. Without it, all else would unravel.

And all could be lost.

*******

“And here we are.” Croghan got to his feet and went to the fireplace once more. “But before we put a period at the end of this long sentence, I feel I must add a few things, some of which I know Cian has been wondering about, and which will fill in the gaps so you finally have the whole story.”

The flames were beginning to die down again, painting everyone with the same orange brush. As cozy as the firelight was, Katie realized it was the only light, and turned to look at the bank of windows behind them. “Wait a minute – what time is it?”

Donal looked at his watch, was unable to read it, and leaned closer to the flames, twisting his arm to catch the drowsy glow. “Lord, it’s almost five-thirty! Have we been sitting here for four and a half hours?”

“Apparently so.” Eileen jumped to her feet. “That’s way too long. I’m going to start supper – Celeste, please switch on some lights in here. The rest of you can go clean up and watch TV or something until the meal is ready.”

“That,” said Katie, “is the first normal thing anyone’s said today.”

Niall cleared his throat, staring at the Croghan.

“Yes, Niall?”

“I don’t suppose I might be allowed to go home to me wife? I’m sure she’s missin’ the bucket by now.”

The other man chuckled. “Only the bucket, old man?”

Niall regarded him through narrowed eyes. “Aye, the very one you’ll be wearin’ if I’m not sent back soon.”

Katie stood up from the love seat and looked down at the Breslin. “You might want to wait until after we eat.”

“And why’s that, child?”

“You’ve never tasted Mrs. Kelly’s cooking – I’m pretty sure you’ll agree it was worth the wait if you stay.”

“She’s right,” the Croghan agreed. “And besides, I could always send the bucket back by itself – ?”

Niall stuffed the end of his beard in his mouth and started to chew; he spat it out a moment later and got to his feet. “Ye’re a funny man, now, aren’t ye, Croghan.” He sounded aggrieved, but his eyes twinkled.

Eileen, who had been watching all this, grinned. “Can I assume you’re staying, then, Niall?”

“I am, dear lady, and thank ye for allowin’ me to stay.”

“Not at all.”

“Come on – let’s get some air.” Croghan headed for the front door.

“I would suggest the back yard, gentlemen... and coats.” Donal raised an eyebrow at Croghan. “The last thing I want to explain to my neighbors is a man in a shabby brown robe, animal pelts wrapped around his legs with leather strapping, and a wild beard reaching almost to his knees.”

Laughing,