Land of Eternal Winter (Tales of Eiru Book 3)

Where Myth Ends, Something Far Older Begins

The age of myth and magic is dying. As kingdoms fracture in their pursuit of power and Christianity spreads across Eiru, Queen Medb Uí Briúin is prepared to risk everything to reclaim what has been taken from her. Guided north to the forbidden Iron Mountain, she discovers a buried civilisation, ancient forces mistaken for magic, and forgotten beings known as the Primals.

But the Primals were never gods. They were prisoners.

As something long buried awakens beneath the mountain, war threatens to consume the land and the boundary between myth and truth begins to collapse. Medb, Oisín, and those bound to the fading old ways must decide what they are willing to sacrifice for their people, their legacy, and the future of Eiru.

Land of Eternal Winter is the third novel in Lance Kerrigan’s Tales of Eiru series, an epic dark fantasy inspired by Irish mythology, folklore, and ancient history.

Discover the final chapter of the mythological cycle and journey beneath the legends of Eiru.

Excerpt from the book

At barely dawn, Medb emerges from Cadair na Sí and stares across a dim landscape. Her head is still clouded from the night before. That thing staring down at her. Nothing like the leprechauns from fireside tales.

No sunlight pierces the dense trees along the horizon.

‘East-facing, isn’t it?’ she wonders, trying to recall the sun’s position when she arrived.

“Of course it’s east,” she mutters to herself. “It’s always east with these damned sites.”

Hesitantly, she sets off, hoping her guess at north-east is correct. Slung across her shoulder is a carrier bundle containing the essentials: furs to warm her flesh, flint to spark life into flame, a dagger seldom dulled, a sword often drawn, and a leather flask of water. The first need. The last truth. No matter the steel we forge or the fires we tame, we are still beasts bound to the stream.

Her thoughts circle endlessly. It wasn’t just the long white hair or the slick, pale skin like the belly of a salmon. It was how the creature always remained just beyond her reach. ‘I’m not really here.’ Its voice echoes at the back of her mind. ‘I’m in your head.’ Doubt gnaws at her constantly now, a symptom of a mind dragged low by recent failures. But she reminds herself of those sisters’ words: ‘Much about this world’ she did not understand. How ‘Our ancestors made certain to keep such things from you.’ What was it about the world she did not understand? The world reminds her too often that her life is slipping into its autumn years.

Frustrated, she storms towards a lonely oak standing almost naked among the trees. If she can climb high enough, perhaps she will catch a glimpse of the horizon.

Dropping her bundle, she grips the trunk and begins to climb. The idea proves easier than the execution. The bark is frozen and slick beneath her hands. The cold bites through her fingers while the air stiffens every strand of hair on her body. Her joints throb and swell in protest.

Still she climbs. Spite alone drives her upwards. Branch by branch, she forces her body higher, ignoring the creaks of age and the tightening of her muscles. Her breath thickens into white clouds that fog her sight.

Must be near the top, she hopes. The climb feels endless.

Then—

A branch snaps.

Her weight drops suddenly, crashing through the branches below. Her back strikes wood, then her arms, then her face. She curses with each impact until, finally, she manages to grab another branch and cling to it.

A frustrated groan escapes her lips. Her eyes sting with unshed tears. Steadying her breath, she looks down.

Felt farther. Grimacing, she begins climbing again.

‘Power unlike anything you’ve ever known…’ Calatin said. The creature was eager to give something, but things are never given for nothing. ‘All I ask… is that, when the time is ripe, you wield it in my favour.’ Calatin’s price.