Part Three
The smell of fried onions and garlic hung heavily in the air. The steak Kate had cooked was melt-in-the-mouth, and she’d made a superb sauce which he’d poured all over the steak and chips. He’d even eaten the boiled cabbage. After a bottle of red wine, they’d sat in the comfy chairs, and shared a bar of chocolate, conversing like they’d known each other for a long time; glancing occasionally at the damaged, ancient artefact which lay portentously between them. An atmosphere saturated the air; Jack wondered what kind of magic was involved here—in more ways than one.
Some time passed before he’d had the courage to actually touch the object. He picked up the half-cross and felt a jolt of shock, which almost caused him to drop the damaged, cross. He was uneasy to ‘feel’ something straight away. These things normally took a bit of time, and it had often been trickier to ‘read’ items when his father was so religiously against it. A gift from God, his mother told him though, and that’s what he preferred to believe. Kate believed in his ability, hence her present odd request for him to help her. He supposed it was no different to the party tricks he’d been made perform for his mates back in Caerphilly.
‘Tell us where I’ve left me keys for the van, Jacko.’
‘Probably in the pub lovely.’ The others would answer first.
Most times he was correct. Once he’d even found a missing toddler for a mother in the supermarket, though the mother would have been uneasy had she realised he’d had to touch the little girl’s coat to do it. He’d tried to get the courage to speak with Father Doolan about it all but he knew there’d be two schools of thought; either it was a curse from the devil, or a gift from God. He knew it was the latter – there was just something inside him that knew, but how could he explain this to the Parish Priest? There were times in his life when he knew also that there was a sort of purpose to his strange gift, a kind of deep yet inexplicable sense that defied all modern day logic. Perhaps that day was closer than he thought. He absently blessed himself.
Watching caress the ancient, black Irish wood gave Kate a strange shiver. Black Irish...what a curious notion. Her imagination suddenly conjured images of those broad fingers sliding over her own body...Jayz...get a grip! She wasn’t some virginal school girl in the throes of her first crush for goodness sake! She was light-headed; giddy with anticipation. Anticipation of what? His eyes seemed to glaze over; his mind deep in thought and she wondered what he was thinking about, and moved closer—ignoring the crowd of youths passing noisily outside in the corridor. He unconsciously made the sign of the cross which she copied. What did he see? What was he feeling? She was afraid to speak.
Jack’s fingers roamed tenderly over the damaged object. Kate had supposedly found the artefact on a visit to Clonmacnoise, but hadn’t told the lady in the gift shop, because she knew they would have taken it from her. It belonged to her, she’d stated passionately, of that she was adamant; she said she was meant to find it. Perhaps it had found her, he thought.
The matching half had been kept in Kate’s family; passed down for many, many generations and landed in her keeping. It was said originally to be from the years following the death of St. Patrick, but couldn’t be verified, and the family scoffed its origins, though none were so brave or stupid to get rid of it.
Half a cross split asunder by lightning or some other darker, unknown force. It was almost perfectly symmetrical...straight down the centre. Kate wanted Jack to touch it. And here was the other half. He had a gift, and she needed to understand the longing in her heart that connected her and him to this thing, and the dark thing that now swelled around them.
Kate knew when she met Jack that it had been no accident, though she hadn’t known up until that point that she’d actually been seeking him out. People said you knew when you’d met your soul mate, though it seemed like more than that with Jack. An exquisite need for him surged from deep inside her heart and mind, and which felt like she’d been reunited with him. Was she insane? Or was this just the kind of love that people sang about?
The room was cold now...and different, yet the same. The difference was that something palpable had arrived. Something ancient had crossed the threshold. She’d felt something similar when she’d found the other half of the cross. She watched Jack, who suddenly turned pale, though his cheeks were ruddy...as though freezing cold. His features seemed...stronger...fuller somehow, and his whole body was… ‘Jaysus yer shaking like a leaf!’ she cried.
Jack heard nothing but the raging winds, which howled around him, baying as though Judgement Day had arrived, and for his sacrifice, a legend was being born which would alter his future, his family and those who came after him.
The words came unbidden and he shouted defiantly into the baying winds and raised the huge sword above his head. The wind cruelly whipped his hair into his face, and he knew beyond doubt this would be his final day on earth. Lightning rent the air and the tang of ozone bit his nostrils briefly before the wind carried it away to where the mountains held secrets of that which has past and that of which was to come. All this he knew in that precious moment.
The young woman ran behind him, and he protected her as he always had. With one hand, he lifted the cross from around his neck and shoved it at her. ‘This will protect ye until we can be together again,’ he yelled throughout he squall.
Nodding mutely with wide eyes she lowered her head as he placed the necklace around her neck; taking care to lift her dark hair from around it. She pulled her cloak more tightly around her, wondering if he felt her tears. The lips that crushed hers were warm but filled with pain, and regret which saddened her.
They would both die here.
Pushing her toward the cave opening, he cried, ‘Go in quickly, my wee faery, for a foul thing passes through here unbridled. Tis another time I fear we must meet.’ He left her then, and stepped into the storm that was evil.
Later as he lay with his lifeblood seeping into the cold earth from whence he came, he thought of her, and of what had been finally accomplished
*
Black Irish Page 3
