An ancient Irish goddess appears to thirteen-year-old Colin Caulfield and delivers a fateful warning. Later that night, his sister is almost kidnapped by goblins. Colinâs world is rocked even further when his mother and a family friend reveal he is the reincarnation of Irelandâs greatest hero, CuChulainn, and destined to help the Irish gods return to their seat of power.
First, he needs to be properly trained, and there is no one better for that job than Scathach, the woman who trained the original CuChulainn. Colin arrives on her island, Alba, in the Otherworld, and joins her host of trainees.
He faces a number of threats and challenges while on Alba, some of which are tied to a dark force that wants to stop him from fulfilling his destiny.
Unfortunately, Colinâs greatest enemy just might be himself as he suffers from warp-spasms, a type of berserker rage that the original CuChulainn suffered from as well. With the help of some new friends, Colin must learn to control the warp-spasms if he is to become the hero both Earth and the Otherworld need him to be.
An ancient Irish goddess appears to thirteen-year-old Colin Caulfield and delivers a fateful warning. Later that night, his sister is almost kidnapped by goblins. Colinâs world is rocked even further when his mother and a family friend reveal he is the reincarnation of Irelandâs greatest hero, CuChulainn, and destined to help the Irish gods return to their seat of power.
First, he needs to be properly trained, and there is no one better for that job than Scathach, the woman who trained the original CuChulainn. Colin arrives on her island, Alba, in the Otherworld, and joins her host of trainees.
He faces a number of threats and challenges while on Alba, some of which are tied to a dark force that wants to stop him from fulfilling his destiny.
Unfortunately, Colinâs greatest enemy just might be himself as he suffers from warp-spasms, a type of berserker rage that the original CuChulainn suffered from as well. With the help of some new friends, Colin must learn to control the warp-spasms if he is to become the hero both Earth and the Otherworld need him to be.
      It was that night, during my last hurling match, when all that destiny-nonsense started catching up to me.
Whatâs hurling? Only the greatest sport ever. No, itâs not that game where they sweep the ice with brushes. Thatâs curling. Hurling is an Irish sport thatâs been around for over three thousand years. Back in the day, it was how warriors trained for battle. There were two teams, and each person carried a big olâ stick with a club-end called a hurley that you used to whack the ball â the sliotar â up and down the field.
 Speaking of goals, I was only one away from breaking the record for most points scored in a match. Nothing was going to stop me. I ran flat-out down the field, balancing the sliotar on the end of my hurley the whole time.Â
Ma and Jenny were on the sidelines as usual, along with a bunch of the regulars from the pub Ma ran. They were all going mental, holding up signs and chanting, âGo Colin, go! Go Colin, go!â
The only quiet person in that crowd was Jenny, my little sister. Not that she wasnât enjoying herself. Throughout the whole match, I caught her big blue eyes watching me run up and down the field, standing as still as a stone and just as quiet. She was like that. Never overemotional. Always calm. Sometimes sheâd giggle and grin for what looked like no reason at all â like she was in on some secret joke the rest of us didnât even have a clue about.
Two of the other team came rushing at me. I spotted a teammate of mine, Ricky. He was open and begging for the pass. I smirked. Nope. Not quite. I had a record to break. I bounced and smacked the sliotar almost straight up into the air. The two on the other team took their eyes off me to see where it might go. I dashed past them, leapt and caught the sliotar in my left hand. A quick bounce off the grass. Then I caught it on the end of my hurley and kept running.
The crowd went nuts. The goal was up ahead. I could already see the fear in the goalieâs eyes. Something snatched my foot. Someone had tripped me with their hurley. I landed face first and almost got trampled by some guys from both my team and the other team as they scrambled for the sliothar.Â
A big, ginger-haired kid on the other team laughed at me. It had to be him. It suddenly felt like everyone was looking at me and laughing. My face grew hot. A familiar switch flipped in my head. Next thing I knew I was sprinting for the big, ginger-haired kid.         Â
Iâd promised Coach Finlay, Ma â everyone â I wouldnât fight any more. And I meant it. Iâd really been trying. But when that switch I mentioned gets flipped, when someone does something to embarrass or disrespect me, all I could think about was making them pay for it.
The ginger-haired kid had a few inches and a few more pounds on me, but I still just about speared him out of his cleats. I drove him to the ground. My fists moved like they had minds of their own. I landed two shots before the ginger-haired kid got his arms up to protect himself.
I kept wailing on him. Our teammates were too afraid to come near us to break it up. But someone else wasnât. A pair of arms snagged me and dragged me off the ginger-haired kid. Whoever had me, I broke free from them, turned, and shoved him as hard as I could.Â
 Turned out to be the ref.Â
 And Iâd shoved him harder than Iâd meant to.
 A lot harder.
 He flew through the air, hit the ground, and tumbled backward. Everyone went dead silent. Me, the kids on both teams, our coaches, even all the spectators. The ref sprang back to his feet, blew his whistle furiously, and shoved a red card in my face.
 I didnât even try to argue. I knew Iâd blown it big time. I spent the rest of the match riding the bench, staring at my cleats as I kicked at the ground.Â
 I stopped feeling sorry for myself when it felt like someone was watching me. A chill took hold. I turned toward the spectators on the sidelines. My eyes landed on three people. Something about them just seemed off. Maybe it was the fact they werenât watching the action on the field. Their attention was all on me instead.
They were normal-looking enough. I probably wouldnât have paid them the slightest bit of attention if they werenât staring at me so intensely. It reminded me of how our cat, Donovan, would watch birds. I reached for my hurley and gripped it tight. I glanced their way again. Only now they were gone.
The ref blew the whistle. From the looks on my teammatesâ faces, I could tell weâd lost. None of them said a word to me or even looked at me as they headed back to the bench. I didnât blame them. I searched for Coach Finlay. He was talking to a couple of the league officials â no doubt about me shoving that ref and getting in another fight.
I knew things were getting bad when it looked like Coach Finlay was almost begging in front of the officials, which was so not like him, but it didnât look like they were going to budge. One shook his head, and the other made a âthatâs itâ sign with his hands before they both walked away.Â
Coach Finlay just stood there for a moment then let out a big sigh and started walking toward me.Â
âWell, whatâd they say?â I asked, even though I already had a pretty good idea.
âYouâre out for the rest of the season,â said Coach.
âWhat? Câmon! Playoffs are coming up.â
âYou donât have to remind me.âÂ
âYouâll try talking to them again. Right?â
Coachâs face reddened. âTheyâve had enough of your behavior, Colin. Frankly, so have I. Iâve stuck up for you so many times itâs not even funny. I was barely able to talk that boyâs parents out of pressing charges against you.â
 âBut he tripped me!âÂ
 âThatâs no excuse. And you know this wouldnât have happened if youâd just passed the ball when you had a chance.â
  âBut I ââÂ
  âWeâve talked about this before, Colin.â Coach took a breath, like he was trying to calm down. âYour temper. The fights. How many times have you promised me youâre going to do better?â
  Too many times, I had to admit.Â
  âOn top of all that, your selfishness, your showboating,â Coach reminded me. âI hope youâve finally learned a lesson.â
  The look of disappointment on Coachâs face was too much to bear. I turned away, only to catch my teammates glaring at me. My throat ached. I wanted to cry but forced myself not to. Instead, I started packing my gear. Ma and Jenny came to get me. The look of disappointment on Maâs face was even harder to take than Coachâs.
  âSorry,â I muttered.Â
  Iâd always had a temper. Only lately, it had gotten a lot worse. I was getting in a lot of fights, not just during hurling matches but at school too. Iâd been trying really hard to get it under control. I even saw a therapist for a while. For some reason, nothing worked.Â
  âI talked to Coach Finlay,â she said. Seven years in the States, and she still held on to her brogue, her Irish accent. âSounds like he said pretty much everything I wanted to. No sense belaboring the point.â She stared at me for a moment, eyes full of worry.Â
  âWhatâs wrong with me, Ma?â I asked.
  Ma suddenly looked like she was trying to hold back tears herself.Â
  âItâs just the age youâre at, Colin,â she said.
  âPatricia.â
  Ma and I turned toward Sean, whoâd been watching the match with some of the others. He was a regular at the pub and the head librarian at the Irish Heritage Foundation, which was the center of the Irish community here in Phoenix. Heâd been looking after me, Ma, and Jenny since we first arrived from Ireland. I was only six at the time. Ma was still pregnant with Jenny.
  Sean looked at Ma with his we-need-to-talk face. Ma sighed. She excused herself and told me to meet her at the car. She and Sean started walking toward the parking lot ahead of us, already talking. About me, no doubt.
  Jenny waited with me. I stared down at my little sisâ, with her red hair in pigtails and her big blue eyes. Those eyes. I swear, they could look right through me, and donât get me started on her mysterious, little grin. Sometimes, it was easy to forget she was only seven years old and not some little old lady in disguise.
  âI suppose youâve got something to say to me too,â I told her.
  Jenny just smiled then stepped up and gave me a hug. I hugged her back and smiled. My little sisâ, she didnât say much, probably because she didnât have to. With just a look or an action, she could always make her point.Â
  Technically Jennyâs my half-sister, even though I loved her with my whole heart. Her daâs name was Casey. He was a great guy. He died in some sort of accident. Ma didnât go into any details, but we left Ireland for the States soon after that. Iâve never known my own da. Ma never talked about him and didnât have any pictures of him either. I didnât know if he was alive or dead. To be honest, at this point, I didnât care anymore.
  Jenny helped me pack up the rest of my gear. I held her hand as we walked to the parking lot. My hold tightened a little as I felt like I was being watched again, just like Iâd been on the bench during the match. That same chill took hold. I started walking faster, but that feeling didnât go away. It was like we were being followed. I thought back to the three people whoâd been watching me in the crowd. Was this them?Â
  My heart sped up a little. I glanced at Jenny then at my gear bag. I wasnât sure what to do. Either I was going to grab Jennyâs hand and run, or Iâd tell her to run while I fought off whoever this was with my hurley. Whatever I was going to do I needed to decide fast.Â
  I heard whispering. But could only make out a few words.Â
   âNo. Not here. Not now.â
   And just like that, it felt like whatever had been following us was gone. I stood there, searching the park for â I didnât know what. I glanced down at Jenny when she squeezed my hand. She gave me her little gap-toothed smile.
   âThat was close,â she said.
Dan O'Mahoney's The Fifth Cycle immediately grabbed my attention when I saw its incredible cover. As I began a journey through Irish mythology alongside the hero of the tale, Colin Caulfield, the story continued to hold my interest until the final page. Beset by monsters, and with a power within that he does not understand, Colin must begin a new adventure as the web of destiny draws him into a conflict that is larger than life. Along the way, Colin will meet many memorable characters, including Scathach, the legendary trainer of heroes. Colin also meets the warrior princess Alaynna, the quiet and gentle Breccan, Niall, the king of mixed messages, and Gannon, the mysterious druid. As Colin faces many challenges, he soon finds that the key to victory rests in the connections he has made, and the true nature of the power within.
I thoroughly enjoyed this book. O'Mahoney's expert telling of Irish mythology, which finally finds its long-overdo place in the spotlight, lends an air of mystery and power to this novel. With any book that includes this much about world culture, I tend double-check the facts included in the story. This time, I found that the Irish mythology included in The Fifth Cycle was absolutely flawless. I have read thousands of books, and I have seldom found any that come close to having research this polished. The story moves quickly, and keeps the action going until the final act.
There are a few minor detractions to the book, such as the lack of a pronunciation guide for the numerous Gaelic words, which are often pronounced quite differently than one would think. Since this is a book for the middle-grades, a guide to the language would be a good addition to the text. Unfortunately, Colin's propensity to complain is consistent throughout the book. Due to the nature of the battles and the romantic themes, I would prefer the main character to be just a little older, about fifteen rather than thirteen. However, the core message of the book, a story about finding your own strength in the world, more than overcomes these minor issues.
I would recommend this book for ages 12 and up. There are fatalities in this book, as well as some explanation of the heroes' origins, particularly Alaynna's, which may not be suitable for younger readers. Perfect for any lover of world culture, this action-packed fantasy tale is sure to be the beginning of the adventure of a lifetime.