Website last updated November 2024
The Immortal Queen
Published January 2024
Apologies for calling this novel Part 2 of the trilogy, it is readable as a novel in its own right without reference to part 1 or 3
The Immortal Queen
In a land of aurochs, bears and wolves, before wheels or metal reached the British Isles, one generation embarked on a project like no other. With bare hands and ingenuity in equal measure, massive stones were carved, hauled and erected into one of the most iconic monuments in the prehistory of the world.
The Immortal Queen follows a few of the craftsmen, workers, tribal leaders and architects who, between them, lifted stones to the skies. A world that is familiar with its tales of love and power yet with few of the trappings that make modern living comfortable.
I hope you enjoy this invitation to dig deeply into a world that archaeologists have started to bring to life: the world of the stonemasters who created Stonehenge.
The author, Louis CJ Hirst, has spent a decade or more researching and writing about this part of pre-history, where the traditions of storytelling enveloped life.
Extract from the start of The Immortal Queen
The novel's printed layout is better than that enforced by the website construction tools.
"As the late morning mist cleared, the slightly acrid smell of woodsmoke, musty leather and all of the aromas of humanity, hung in the air. Drying, compacted mud, freshly sprinkled with a new layer of ground chalk, covered the village meeting place.
“Bearoc couldn’t believe his eyes, or his ears. The blow knocked him onto the sodden ground. It was like no fight he’d ever had before, but this time, his foe wasn’t human. Bearoc couldn’t protect Llortr; he couldn’t protect himself; Taranis had immobilised Bearoc. Another deafeningly almighty crash hit them both; the bolt felled a nearby tree, taking another with it as it fell, narrowly missing Bearoc’s prone body. The barrage faded but Llortr was by now helpless; his henchman neutered. He felt like King Dork – naked and humiliated by his ineptitude as he leant over Bearoc; his tears hidden by the downpour.” Arkull was practicing his new sagetale with a group of young villagers in Ayvbry.
“Was Llortr really naked? Asked Hafgan who was still just young enough to be awaiting the awakening of puberty. Her eyes sparkling with awe.
“Haha, Hafgan, no, he was wearing some of the finery of royalty. History wasn’t easy to make but a life of eternal mocking felt unreasonably close for Llortr. There was no defence in his mind against the disgrace of allowing such a young man to die in his arms. His haughty status was useless against the gods. Title was no substitute for medical nous. The gods had stamped on his friend like a man may stand on an earwig; no defence apart from luck.” Like most Elders, Arkull had some talent at storytelling, but unlike most, his saga was based on real-life experience.
“What happened? Asked Hafgan, oblivious to the fact that her dark, unkempt hair showed no sign of being groomed any time recently.
“For now, the young prince could only lick his metaphorical wounds and pray to the other gods that Bearoc would survive the onslaught that he’d experienced. Taranis was a fickle yet powerful god. In fairness, it was no disgrace to be beaten by the gods, it was just that Llortr was suddenly face to face with death and the knowledge that his youthful feeling of immortality and indestructability were a folly. No prayer he uttered could resurrect Bearoc; the thunderstorm had won, Taranis had won,” said Arkull to his young audience.
Hafgan opened her mouth to speak but Arkull raised his arm, and with a show of his huge crinkly palm, silenced her before continuing in an exuberant voice; “Sham to the rescue; he was the only other person there who had seen the lightning strike the earth within paces of Bearoc, apart, of course, from Prince Llortr and me.”
The young sham’s magic modus was .........."