Inish Clare

by Jennifer Rose McMahon

  The tube was like a paper towel roll, only rusty, and made of a thick, heavy metal. One end of the tube was sealed with a welded metal cap but the other end was packed with a waxy fabric cork.

  I pressed the tube into my lap as I looked back out from my hiding place into the great room.

  The writhing gusts had died down to mellow swirls of mist and fog.

  Now was my chance.

  I crept out of the fireplace, clutching the metal tube, and crouched down, scurrying toward the door to the spiral staircase. The stinging tingle in my toes forced me to look back over my shoulder one last time, and there, standing in the middle of the room, commanding all attention through her battle-ready stance and eye-locking glare, was the Pirate Queen, Gráinne Ní Mháille.

  My heart dropped into my shoes as my spirit leapt out of my body in panic.

  Grace’s thick black hair flew in the gusts as her dark cloak flowed all around her, framing a brazen stare of pure intent and defense, like an avenging angel come to protect what was rightfully hers.

  At first, she was a hazy apparition a million miles away, but then clear lines formed making her fully present in the room.

  Her wild eyes homed in on mine and locked on me like a missile.

  My heart jumped into my throat as my hand tightened on the tube.

  Her steely gaze moved to my hand and onto the cylinder, then back to my eyes.

  It must be hers. Oh my god. I was a robber. In her castle. Shit!

  My hair swirled around my face and her haunting voice filled my skull as she commanded me.

  “Troid leo. Ghabháil ar ais a bhfuil linne. Fight them! Take back what is ours!”

  Jesus! My legs buckled under me and I stumbled back toward the steps.

  I understood her language. Ancient words that spoke to me from deep in my soul.

  “Is é seo ár n-dtalamh ár farraige ár bhaile. This is our land! Our home!”

  Her commanding voice blasted in my head, generating enough energy to make it explode.

  The rage in her eyes sent terror through me and I stumbled to the stairs and flew down them, nearly falling the entire way.

  Looking back up the stairs, certain she was following with more commands or assaults, I moved down the ladders and pushed my body through a narrow opening of the black door. I shoved it closed behind me with the force of my entire weight and sucked in my first full breath since the wind began.

  I leaned against the wooden door, panting, gathering my wits. Within seconds, I yearned to go back in. To ask questions. To communicate.

  My teeth ground on themselves, as I resented my cowardice and fear. My head fell back as I resisted pulling my hair out.

  But I had the tube.

  My fingers clamped around it like a vice. I wiggled them loose, one at a time, and balanced it in my open palm. My eyes glued themselves to it, staring at the unbelievable relic from the ancient past.

  A time capsule.

  ***

  Michelle and Moira studied a rock circle in the sand as Moira used animated gestures to entertain Michelle with her prophecies. Michelle looked up at me and tipped her head. She left Moira, mid-arms-expounding, and walked toward me without breaking eye contact.

  “You didn’t go in there, did you?” she called over.

  I pressed my back harder against the door to be sure it was sealed shut and held the metal tube behind me.

  “Nah.” I shook my head. “I’ve already seen inside before. I’m good.”

  I shoved the tube down the back of my pants and covered the top with my shirt.

  The vessel was sacred. For my eyes only.

  And what happened in Grace’s chamber, that was private too. If Michelle or, god, Moira, found out I went inside, they would probably race in there too. It was my duty to protect Grace from that kind of onslaught.

  I blinked in hesitation, noticing my position on protecting Grace, instead of my friends. I blew breath from my lips, realizing where my allegiance lay. My eyebrows scrunched together as a headache throbbed behind my eyes.

  “Moira’s rocks say there’s an angry spirit here. Unsettled.”

  Michelle pointed back to Moira’s rock circle. Moira was still crouched over it, twisting to see new perspectives.

  “Come on. I don’t want to stay here.” I moved back toward the car.

  “What do you mean? We just got here,” Michelle whined. “And Moira said she would try to contact Grace. She’s certain she’s already here. It’s only a matter of conjuring….”

  “No.” My tone stopped Michelle in her tracks. “It’s not safe. Seriously. We need to leave.”

  Michelle pouted and walked back over to Moira to share the bad news.

  I sat in the car waiting for them as they proved to be in no hurry, still crouching around the stones, waiting for a ghost to appear or a rock to flip on its own.

  I reached back for my tube and examined it closely for the first time.

  The rough, rusted exterior was covered in worn carvings—Celtic swirls and intricate knots. It was more beautiful than I had anticipated and made me wonder if the possible contents were anywhere near as interesting.

  I shook it.

  Silence. Nothing rattled. Nothing bounced about.

  I turned it around and upside down, examining all features. The waxy seal begged for my attention. Opening it would probably break every archaeological rule in the book but there was no way I was passing up on the opportunity.

  I picked at the wax and small crumbled bits fell onto my lap.

  I considered waiting for Paul. He’d know how to handle it.

  Maybe it should be left in its original condition. Maybe it belonged in a museum.

  I chewed my lip and looked back toward the girls. Moira was squatting on her knees and moved around the stones like a troll. Michelle’s jaw fell as her eyes glued themselves on her every movement, mesmerized, and I chuckled, shaking my head.

  I picked at the wax again. And then some more. A small piece of fabric wiggled free from its waxy hold and I tugged on it. The entire stopper shook loose, so I pulled harder. I pressed my nail along the sealed rim and pulled again. The entire wad moved and then popped out.

  My eyes widened as I peered into the dark void and focused on the muted light of yellowed, rolled paper—like a scroll.

  I reached in and grabbed an edge of the parchment and gently pulled while tapping the other end of the tube. It came loose and the end revealed itself.

  The brown edges of the aged paper were thick and rough, almost like hide. The outer corner of the roll opened up, exposing intricate designs with faded colors of purple and orange.

  As I yanked a little more, the doors of the car flew open, making me jump in my seat, nearly bashing my head off the roof.

  Michelle and Moira hopped in, giddy with chatter and stories. I stuffed the tube down between my legs and wadded the wax stopper in my fist.

  “Maeve, you should’ve seen it! Moira saw stories in the rocks. Like ancient Druid rituals and tribal stuff.” Michelle’s eyes bulged.

  “That’s cool,” I lied.

  My cynicism hadn’t faded in regards to Moira’s “gift.” Although, I had to admit, she was spot-on with feeling Grace’s presence right before I entered the castle. I hesitated and stole a quick glance at Moira’s face, wondering what she was truly capable of, if anything.

  “Seriously, though,” Michelle continued, forcing my undivided attention, as she pulled the car away from the castle. “She picked up vibes on Grace. As if she were around the castle.”

  I swallowed hard, knowing it to be true, and looked at the tube peeking out from behind my backpack.

  “Really?” I turned to Moira in the back and shuffled around to look at her better.

  I reeled back in fright when I saw the harrowing look in her eyes. She stared right through me, frozen in terror. Her chin trembled as if she was trying to speak.

  “She’s… she’s in you.” Moira’s words hardly came out of her mouth, lik
e they were struggling to stay in where it was safe.

  Her hands went to her chest and then to her mouth as she stared at me as if I were a ghost.

  “What?” I pulled back from her harsh, glaring judgment.

  Her voice rose as her tone became shrill.

  “She’s in you!” she shouted. “She’s all around you!” Her lips pulled back and her eyes watered as they darted around the car like her safety was in jeopardy and something cataclysmic was about to happen. “Who are you?”

  Michelle tightened her grip on the wheel and the car slowed. “Calm down Moira. What’s going on? Are you okay?”

  “Let me out!” she shrieked. “Stop the car! Let me out!”

  “Are you nuts? We’re in the middle of nowhere.” Michelle’s voice shook.

  “Jesus Christ. Stop the fucking car! Let me out!” Moira screeched.

  Michelle jammed on the brakes in the middle of the road and turned back to see Moira.

  She was already getting out of the car and slammed the door. Her body quaked and twitched. Tears rolled down her cheeks.

  “Go! Go! Leave me, please!” She stepped back from the car and looked at me one final time. Her arm rose as her finger pointed at me, moving up and down as she spoke. “Sure, my work is mostly bullshit. But you, I see her in you. All over you. You’re cursed! By the Pirate Queen.”

  She moved back away from the car, as if she might become a victim to the curse. Her head shook as her hands moved through her hair and she spun around. She broke into a sprint in the opposite direction without looking back and we watched her blend into the darkness of the street.

  Michelle stared in the direction Moira ran, then turned back to me. Tears laced the corners of her eyes as she looked at me, as if I were a stranger.

  My stomach twisted.

  “It’s me, Michelle.” My eyebrows scrunched at her. “Moira’s nuts.”

  But the way Michelle looked at me wasn’t nuts. It was pure fear.

  “I don’t know, Maeve.”

  A tear streamed down from her eye without even a blink. The heavy pull of the tear brought it down her cheek to her chin and then it dropped onto her lap.

  My hand pressed onto my chest and my chin tucked in, like I was choking. Short breaths wheezed into me as my world collapsed inward.

  Michelle too? It was too much for her too?

  “Please, Michelle. It’s just me.” I begged her to come back to me, but the crushing blow of being left alone held no prisoners. It flattened me.

  My jaw clamped in resolve. I could be alone in all of this.

  Moira knew exactly what she was talking about. And Michelle bought every word of it.

  Funny thing though, I was pretty sure it was the first time Moira realized her “gift” was actually real. But Michelle, she always knew my visions to be real. This was nothing new for her.

  So I just needed to win Michelle back. Help her move from “freaked out” to “I got this.”

  Either way though, it was another sick reminder that I had to be prepared to do this on my own, whether I like it or not.

  I looked back at the scroll, hidden from Michelle’s sight, and my mind raced with the possibilities. My heart rate jumped to high gear as I bit my bottom lip.

  This was it. What I’d been waiting for.

  Chapter Seven

  Ballynahinch

  “Jazus!” Paul placed the tube on his desk, like it might disintegrate from over-handling. “It’s a flippin’ ancient artifact.” He recoiled from it, then leaned in for a closer look. “We need to share it with the archaeology department. They’ll create a committee to evaluate it, preserve it, send it to a museum, who knows?”

  He bent and stretched, examining it from every angle, lost in its timeless hold.

  Propped on his wrists, he hovered over the relic, then blinked, turning his attention to me.

  “What the hell were you thinking? Going there without me! Maeve!”

  His cross glare made me shrink. But then I took a long, slow inhale.

  “No. What the hell were you thinking? You’re the one who walked away from all of this. Leaving me to do it alone. What’s your problem?” My eyes bored into his, searching for an explanation.

  His lips moved then stopped. Then they moved again. “You shouldn’t have gone back there without me. It wasn’t safe.”

  “Well, you left me no choice. And seeing you with Patricia didn’t help matters. What the hell? What was I supposed to do?” I was sure my eyes were burning red, blazing into his.

  He moved closer to me. “It wasn’t safe.”

  He looked to the ground.

  “Whatever.” I focused back on the tube and exhaled through my nose in exasperation.

  “Please.” He brought his face close to mine and reached for my cheek. “I’m scared, Maeve. Like I can’t move. I’m scared something will happen to you.” He rubbed his temples. “And if it was my fault….” He ran his hands over his face and looked to the ceiling. “I couldn’t bear it.”

  A flutter in my stomach told me my butterflies were awakening. I couldn’t stay mad at him for long. Not with that scruffy, fresh-air look tucked neatly inside his starched white oxford. But I resisted and kept my eyes on the relic, with a stoic gaze.

  “I can’t stand that you’re holding back from me, Maeve. It’s killing me.” He stepped closer, exposing the despair deep in his eyes. “Let me back in,” he whispered.

  His words shattered my guard and it fell to pieces at my feet, but I shook my head in resistance. “I just….”

  He closed his eyes at my words and reached for me. He pulled my body close to his and dropped his head onto my shoulder.

  “Please,” he said as he brushed his lips on my neck and inhaled deeply.

  Passion rose in me and burned my cheeks. I imagined popping the buttons off his perfectly pressed shirt.

  But I pushed him away.

  “Let’s look at this thing.” I leaned over his desk and put my focus on the tube.

  Paul’s shoulders slumped and he looked to the ground.

  “I’m sorry,” he said. “I shouldn’t have pulled away from you.” He stepped back putting more space between us. “You’re right. It was weak of me.”

  He moved around to the side of the desk and looked at the relic.

  “I can’t believe you went and got this.” He huffed. “Jesus.”

  “What about Patricia?” I cut the air with her name.

  “I told you everything. I’m not sure why she came to the college that day.” He frowned. “But, she seemed unstable, like she wasn’t as together as she used to be.” He looked at the ground. “She had questions about you, so… I figured she was still struggling with it all.” He scratched some glue off the surface of his desk. “I just think she’s having a hard time. If there were some way I could help her, I would.” He licked his bottom lip and looked at me. “You have nothing to worry about though, Maeve. I can assure ya.”

  “She had questions about me?” I prodded.

  His lips pressed together.

  “General stuff, you know. Like how long you were staying. Why you came back.” He ran his hand through his hair. “She’s just trying to get her head around it all.”

  My shoulders hitched up as my lips pursed to the side, before I could stop them. My childish response was embarrassing.

  “Maeve. You have complete power over me. You have to know that.” He reached for my hand. “I would do anything for you.”

  I smiled a half-smile.

  “Well, let’s look at this thing then and tell me what you think.”

  My words were a verbal push away. Difficult to deliver, but necessary. I was still wounded from the distance he had created. And Patricia was, by far, the last person I ever wanted to see him with.

  His lips pressed together in resignation. The space between us had closed considerably, but it still had holes.

  I needed more proof of his renewed commitment. For now, focusing on my archaeological find was
the priority.

  Inspecting the tube again, Paul looked up from his desk with wide eyes. The shocking depths of blue caused my breath to suck in. I bit my lip as my chest heaved.

  “Show me how you opened it before.” His eyebrows rose in anticipation.

  I loosened the waxy cloth from the side of the aged metal tube as Paul’s eyes widened like a child catching a glimpse of Santa on Christmas Eve. I tapped on the end to get the contents to slide out and Paul winced as if in pain.

  “Gently,” he spoke through clenched teeth.

  “Sorry.”

  The inner scroll moved toward the opening and stuck out. Paul pulled latex gloves out of his top drawer and grabbed a tweezer-like tool with rubber ends.

  He reached in with the tool and gently coaxed the contents out. As the parchment came out of its secure hold, it popped open in its freedom and invited us to unroll it farther.

  A tingle tickled my chest and I scratched it. The tingle turned from a slight sensation to a burning one.

  The scar on my chest still held faint designs from Grace’s ring, burned into my skin when she embraced me last winter. It sizzled back to life. I rubbed at it and stepped back from the scroll.

  “What is it?” Paul looked up and noticed my hand at my chest. “Is it burning?”

  “Yeah, but it’s okay.” I rubbed more. “Let’s keep going.”

  I stepped closer to his desk.

  “Okay. Stop me if it gets worse.”

  I nodded, watching him more than scroll. His focus and precision were that of a true historian. And his lashes and square jaw framed his concentration perfectly.

  Paul held the edge of the parchment and slowly unrolled it. Two or three rolls and it was fully open. Two sheets, stacked on each other with the edges remaining curled. Paul placed a pencil cup, cell phone, and two stones on the four corners to hold them down.

  Our eyes widened together as we stared at the lines and shapes of an ancient map. Hand drawn with a faded red stamp on the upper corner—the crest of the O’Malley Clan.

  The map was cryptic, lacking modern detail, but a definite representation of the west coast of Ireland. Family names were written in territories and lines delineated sections of rule. The map wasn’t marked by cities or villages, but by clans.