Hob, now seeing that he had been toyed with, started to chuckle, and Nemain, who had been reddening and giving little choking gasps behind her palm, took her hand away from her face and burst into laughter. She fell back against Hob’s chest again and leaned there, her peals of laughter echoing through the glade: the laughter of pure happiness, silver as the moonlight.
GLOSSARY OF IRISH TERMS
a chuisle
pulse, heartbeat (direct address; literally: “O pulse”)
anmhas
hooligan
a rún
love, dear
Bíodh sé amhlaidh.
So be it.
bithiúnaigh
villains, scoundrels (sing. bithiúnach)
buidseach
wizard
cailleach
hag or witch (as Molly is using it; can also just mean “old woman”)
cailleach phiseogach
sorceress; charm-worker
do-dhuine
wicked/inhuman person
draíodóir
wizard
drochdhuine
evil person
gariníon
granddaughter
geis
a supernatural command or obligation to perform a certain action, or a taboo that forbids a certain action
gesadóir
enchanter, spellbinder
gruagh
giant
Mavourneen
my sweetheart (Irish mo mhuirnín)
meirligh
outlaws, bandits (sing. meirleach)
míolachán
low/mean person
mo chroí
my heart
ochone
an exclamation of sorrow; woe (Irish ochóin)
scian
knife
seanmháthair
grandmother (literally: “old mother”)
spalpeen
rascal, layabout (Irish spailpín, itinerant laborer)
stór mo chroí
treasure of my heart
uisce beatha
whiskey (literally: “water of life”)
GLOSSARY OF ARCHAISMS AND OF NORTH ENGLAND DIALECT TERMS
a’
all
ae
any
ane
one
brast
burst (archaic past tense of “burst”)
Christ-money
the thirty pieces of silver paid Judas (later modified to “criminy”)
clerk
pronounced “clark” in the English manner; one who could read and write (from “cleric,” because churchmen could read and write where most could not); Daniel’s occupational nickname, not his surname (but eventually the origin of the surname)
coney
a rabbit, but also loose woman
coom
come
cowd
cold
craic
entertainment, esp. conversation, good company
deek
to look at
didna
did not
dinna
do not
dole
pain, grief, sorrow
eldritch
strange, eerie, unearthly, weird
enow
enough
eyen
eyes
filz
Norman French, “son of”; compare French fils; gave rise to names starting with “Fitz”: Fitzgerald, Fitzroy, etc.
gaan
going
gae
go
gang
walk
gie
give
giglet
a giggling girl, but also lascivious woman
God’s hooks
the nails used to crucify Jesus (later modified to “gadzooks”)
guid
good
hinny
a term of endearment: “honey”
jarl
Norse title, comparable to “earl”
mair
more
men of their hands
men proficient with weapons
mickle
much
mort
a great deal, a great many (literally “death”; a mortal amount)
nae
no
nout beast
a member of the cattle family (var. of “neat,” as in “neat’s-foot oil”)
oot
out
pard
leopard, panther
rede
counsel, advice
sae
so
St. Cuthbert
c. 634—687; Bishop of Lindisfarne; patron saint of Northern England
sartain
certain
scran
food
sennight
a week (“seven-night”)
siccerlike
such, suchlike
sithee
“see thee”
As a question: “Do you see?” “Do you understand?” As a command: “Look.” or “Look here.” as in “Look, I’m willing to . . .”
sooth
south
spelk
a splinter; hence, a skinny person
summat
something
tae
to
tarse
medieval slang for “penis”
thae
these; those
theer
there
the noo
now
unco
strange [adj.]; very [adv.]
wean
child (“wee ain,” little one)
weel
well
whisht
be quiet (imperative)
wight
a human being; any living being
yawp
hungry
yem
home
yon
over there, yonder; but also as pronoun: that [one]
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
Here in this quiet corner at the back of our book, dear reader, I would like to pause a moment to thank those who have made the writing of The Wicked such a pleasure.
First, my editor, Emily Bestler, for her excellent comments and questions and for her unflagging enthusiasm, and the staff at Emily Bestler Books. My gratitude also to my hawkeyed and insightful copy editor, Jaime Costas. Thanks go to my agent, George Hiltzik, for his efforts on behalf of Molly and Co., and also to my special friends Patricia and Michael Sovern, for their unfailing support. Thanks as well to my mareschal, Micheline Tilton, for sharing her horse wisdom, and to those who’ve helped introduce others to Molly’s adventures, both in this book and in Something Red, including the staff of the elfin but mighty Rosendale Library, guided by director Wendy Alexander.
I must also thank those early readers whose enthusiasm for Something Red and for The Wicked heartened me through the long process of seeing these works into print, among them my longtime reader Susan Holt; my friends and neighbors Susan Blommaert and Polly Pen; the always ebullient Yvette Lee; and, for his partisanship and encouragement, the incomparable teacher, erudite author and translator, fine calligrapher, and dear friend, Ronald Christ.
And finally, for all she has done for me, my love and devotion to the Fairy Bride, Theresa Adinolfi Nicholas.
“Doulce chose est que mariage.”
—Christine de Pizan (1364–c. 1430)
DOUGLAS NICHOLAS is an award-winning poet whose work has appeared in numerous publications, among them Atlanta Review, Southern Poetry Review, Sonora Review, Circumference, A Different Drummer, and Cumberland Review, as well as the South Coast Poetry Journal, where he won a prize in that publication’s Fifth Annual Poetry Contest. Other awards include Honorable Mention in the Robinson Jeffers Tor House Foundation 2003 Prize For Poetry Awards, second place in the 2002 Allen Ginsberg Poetry Awards from PCCC, International Merit Award in Atlanta Review’s Poetry 2002 compet
ition, finalist in the 1996 Emily Dickinson Award in Poetry competition, honorable mention in the 1992 Scottish International Open Poetry Competition, first prize in the journal Lake Effect’s Sixth Annual Poetry Contest, first prize in poetry in the 1990 Roberts Writing Awards, and finalist in the Roberts short fiction division. He was also recipient of an award in the 1990 International Poetry Contest sponsored by the Arvon Foundation in Lancashire, England, and a Cecil B. Hackney Literary Award for poetry from Birmingham-Southern College. He is the author of Something Red, a fantasy novel set in the thirteenth century, as well as Iron Rose, a collection of poems inspired by and set in New York City; The Old Language, reflections on the company of animals; The Rescue Artist, poems about his wife and their long marriage; and In the Long-Cold Forges of the Earth, a wide-ranging collection of poems. He lives in New York’s Hudson Valley with his wife, Theresa, and Yorkshire terrier, Tristan.
EmilyBestlerBooks.com
MEET THE AUTHORS, WATCH VIDEOS AND MORE AT
SimonandSchuster.com
authors.simonandschuster.com/Douglas-Nicholas
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@EmilyBestler
ALSO BY DOUGLAS NICHOLAS
Something Red
Iron Rose
The Old Language
The Rescue Artist
In the Long-Cold Forges of the Earth
We hope you enjoyed reading this Atria Books eBook.
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