I’ve wrestled a long time with the idea of telling my story. My name is Lugh, just Lugh. I don’t have a middle name or a last name. Over the years I have had so many names that I have found the need to adopt because of who I am.

I am an immortal. Well, immortal in a strange kind of way. I could die, but I would soon be reincarnated. That doesn’t sound too difficult to believe if only it was that simple. I could only die if my head was separated from my body. And that is where the biggest of my problems lies. I mean, just how often does one die by decapitation?

I last died in 1049 as far as the modern calendar marks the years. It was just two years after Guillaume had visited the sacred grove as a youth of thirteen, as his grandfather had visited the sacred grove in 938, and his father, Pierre, had visited when it was his turn to learn about the family compact with Brighid and me. I died in what was yet another fight with my old enemies. Suffice to say, I have made many enemies in the world of the immortals.

Of course, as in the past, I found myself back in the land of mortals. The best place to hide is in plain sight, but not so obvious as to draw too much attention. Even though I am immortal in one sense, the actual process of dying and coming back to life is not all that pleasant.

Now one of the problems that comes with having a long life, so far, I am closing in on a thousand years, is the fact that everyone around me dies. Humans have such short lifespans that it becomes harder and harder for me to connect with them. I find myself needing to reinvent myself, too often relocating to another place where there is little chance that someone would notice the fact that I am still alive.

How do you explain to others that you are perpetually about thirty-five years old, at least in physical appearance? How do you explain not dying when you are apparently killed in a conflict? Lately, that has become even more of a problem. The modern world has invented many more ways to commit murder, ways that don’t depend on one-on-one combat.

~

Now, there is a long story to be told, or should I say “continue” to be told.

I began telling this story beginning in the 650s in the land of the Picts along the River Ugie in book one. Now that I have traced the origins of what I can only say is my adopted family, it is time to be honest as the tale goes forward.

In the story I am about to tell you, I will appear on occasion. However, rather than being the main character I will be more of a guide which was, and still is, my fate with regards to the family about whom I will be telling this story. You will see me as Laurent, Lucien, Luke, and Hugh, as the story unfolds over the centuries that follow.

Though I am present throughout the story of this family, I often go unnoticed in the background, the safest place for an immortal. We all know what happens when a god goes public. Humans aren’t happy when gods become too real. Humans are only too happy to murder and crucify. For them, gods belong in books and in churches, safely kept locked up and out of the way of life.

A final word, this is a story, my story, not a history book. And as such, I am free to tell the truth rather than spout the official lies that are documented as truths by whomever happens to have the power at a particular time and place. And now with that said, I begin the story.