Inish Clare

by Jennifer Rose McMahon

The burial mound in the O’Malley cemetery held secrets beyond my imagination. Had Grace been moved there, to be with the rest of her family?

  I was sure the tomb key glowed in the darkness of my pack, just from my thoughts alone.

  “So, chieftain to chieftain…,” Rory interrupted my thoughts, “I think we need to hash out a few details. Not to be a downer or anything,” he mumbled as he stepped closer to the rail with me.

  “What sort of details?” I looked at him from the corner of my eye.

  “You know. Territory stuff. This entire region—Clare Island, the land surrounding Rockfleet Castle and all of Clew Bay, basically. It’s MacMahon land, Maeve. The O’Malleys have been making trouble about it for generations and I need you, as O’Malley chieftain, to put an end to it.” He returned my glance through the corner of his eye.

  I pondered his words and felt my temperature rise, likely from boiling blood.

  “Actually, it’s my understanding this is O’Malley land. Always has been.” I turned my body to face him directly.

  “Was. That’s the word yer looking fer.” He nodded his head for emphasis. “Then the English came. Shook things up for Grace and her clan. She had an enemy in Sir Bingham. The MacMahons moved in then.” He pressed his lips together in finality.

  Visions of the MacMahon leader slaughtering Hugh filled my mind with loathing. I pushed the anger aside and unleashed my feelings all over Rory.

  “The MacMahons didn’t move in! They stole the land. Stole it after Grace was gone. And only through Brehon Law have they been able to keep their hands on it. Temporarily. Until proven otherwise.”

  My hands balled into fists, thinking of generations of O’Malleys struggling to find the proof of their rights to the territory.

  “And I can prove the land is O’Malley land,” I added. “A deed! Signed and sealed by Queen Elizabeth herself!”

  The words left my lips without proper censorship. My hand flew to my mouth to stop it.

  Should I have said that? Should I have held that information close to my vest for longer?

  “What are you talkin’ about?” Rory’s voice pierced into me through his squinted eyes.

  “I have the deed to the land, Rory. It’s the signed document I told you about before. The one with the map. I just need to present it to the clan council in a few days and all will be settled, once and for all.”

  “Show me.” He stuck his palm out.

  “I already told you. I don’t have it with me.” My eyes darted to the floor.

  He reached for my pack and I pulled away.

  “I know ya have it, Maeve.”

  “Get outta here,” I commanded, as I squirmed my pack out of his reach.

  He stepped closer, pressing me against the rail of the ferry.

  “Maeve. Show me the deed.” His steady monotone sent chills through me. “It’s not a game anymore. I have a duty to my clan.”

  Fear coursed through my veins as the certainty of my big mouth became clear. I’d said too much. With no escape and no protection.

  The old burn on my chest awakened and my ring from Gráinne pulsed with energy.

  Danger was near. And this time, it was Rory.

  “When we get back. We can….”

  My words were cut short as I was knocked off balance by the shifting ferry, hit by an angry wave.

  I fell forward, right into Rory.

  He caught me and held tight, with his arms around my backpack. He smiled a wicked grin into my face as he yanked on the pack.

  I squared my shoulders and pushed him off me with a force I didn’t know I had in me. He stumbled back several steps and looked at me in shock.

  The strength that surged through me was incredible. Like I’d been bitten by a radioactive spider and the tingling energy ran through me, building my muscles from within. I stood taller.

  “Rory MacMahon. Don’t you betray the laws of the clans. Ancient Brehon Law dictates our every move. Who are you to break that sanctity?” My finger pointed straight at him as I imagined smoke swirling from my nostrils. “Chieftain of the MacMahons, you will keep your distance. You will respect the laws of the governance. If you tread near me again, I will view it as a hostile threat, a call to war, and you will regret it.”

  My voice pierced through him and he slumped like he’d been shot.

  My words weren’t my own. I’d never spoken like that in my life.

  This was bigger than me. Bigger than him. And his eyes revealed knowledge of the same.

  Rory stepped back, standing strong once again. He nodded and backed away.

  “Rory. You need to start doing what’s right. Not just right for your own clan. But right for Gaelic Ireland. Its history is sacred. It is your responsibility to honor that.”

  Accusation of misguided leadership rang true in my voice and caused Rory to flinch.

  He turned and I watched his back as he sauntered into the cabin.

  My eyes closed as I felt the sting of sadness hit my chest.

  Rory may have duty to his clan, but so did I. The O’Malley clan was my priority. But letting Rory walk away from me felt like a huge sacrifice for it.

  And there he goes again! Distracting me from my duty and weakening my fight.

  That was the final straw. I would build a high wall against him for now on. Keep him out. It was the only way to move forward and succeed. If he refused to work together with me, with our clans, then we had nothing.

  We would be at odds forever.

  A tear rolled down my cheek as a small sob escaped my throat. My lips pressed into a frown as I fought my feelings for Rory.

  I gathered the tear on my palm and with a snap of my wrist, flicked it out to sea.

  ***

  Time was immeasurable as the ferry slowed and settled at the docks of the mainland. I stepped away from the planks onto dry land and watched Rory pull away, without looking back. His tires spit up pebbles and dust as he left the scene without delay.

  So that was it.

  That was how things were going to be left between us.

  A twang of guilt filled my gut—a sour sadness.

  I stood as my eyes followed the road he took until he was out of sight.

  My exhale left my lips and blew out my cheeks. I pursed my mouth to the side and thought about my next issue—how to get home. A taxi or bus would be ideal. But what would I do at home? There was still so much more to do here in Mayo.

  Like visit the O’Malley cemetery.

  The thought pulled a wicked smile across my face like the Grinch.

  I checked the time on my phone. Four hours on Clare Island felt like a full day, but it was only two in the afternoon.

  I had the information I needed for my next moves— Gráinne’s final final resting place at the O’Malley boneyard. Paul and I had always wondered if the tomb could be hers, but the cryptic engravings left us unsure. We leaned more toward its being Hugh’s grave. And every history book led us to Clare Island instead.

  But all along it was right under our noses.

  I had the tomb key. And was certain it would be a match for the burial mound. I would finally have the chance to bring peace to my pirate queen’s soul. Centuries of torment settled through reuniting her with her lost love.

  And I had the deed to the O’Malley territory. Vast amounts of land and hidden secrets.

  Now I just needed to finish this by pulling all the pieces together and presenting them to Clan Council before it was too late.

  Chapter Seventeen

  Boneyard

  The taxi pulled away before the driver even checked to see where I was going.

  I stood alone at the crossroad, inhaling fermented silage and fresh air into my lungs to generate a fresh perspective on the already-insane day. I turned down the long, narrow lane toward the O’Malley cemetery and gave in to the draw that pulled me to it.

  Hazy cloud cover stretched across the sky, filtering the afternoon sun into heavenly rays across the fields on either side. I kept my
head down and passed Ol’ Man Rooney’s place without detection from Jack the Bitch, the unfriendly terrier who’d nipped at my heels my first trip here.

  A few moments later, the ruins of the O’Malley family cottage came into my view. I shuddered from the memory of when I first saw it, expecting a warm family reunion and finding a caved-in, rotted ruin. Its carcass fought a brave fight against the elements but its injuries were prevalent and fatal.

  Beyond the O’Malley ruin lay the thick gathering of spruce—the shroud of boughs that insulated and protected the O’Malley boneyard.

  My phone chimed in my pocket.

  Paul: Where are you?

  My heart rate spiked to high gear, nearly flattening me.

  What the hell? Now he’s texting me?

  My head spun like a top.

  Forget it. Too late.

  I stared at the letters on my phone and didn’t know where to begin typing. My fingers shook like rustling leaves. I’d show him.

  Me: boneyard

  I thought for a second and typed more.

  Me: alone

  That’d freak him out, for sure. He deserved it.

  His response would be something like, What! That’s too dangerous. Get out of there. Or maybe something like, Maeve, don’t do this. I didn’t mean to cut you off.

  Whatever. Let him suffer.

  I stopped walking and watched my phone. Waiting for the dialog dots to appear as he typed his crazed reply.

  Nothing.

  I refreshed, closed out previous screens, and opened my text messages again.

  Still nothing.

  That asshole! My temper raged.

  Now he’s mad. So, silence. I hated that! Grrrrr!

  I squeezed my phone as if it were his head and quickened my pace into the cemetery.

  My teeth unclenched and my shoulders slackened as I entered the solemn space. I glanced around the perimeter, looking for brown cloaks, and assured myself all was clear. No one knew I was coming. Well, except Paul now. But he was almost an hour away in Galway, so whatever.

  I kicked my feet through the ivy to double-check for the sword. Fergal had his grimy hands on it last time, but I checked anyway.

  A sickening pain shot through me as I thought of Fergal with Gráinne’s sword. It wasn’t right. I had to wonder if he would have the ability to draw her power from it, much like I was hoping to do.

  I moved closer to the burial mound, careful to not step on fallen gravestones or markers, and dropped to my knees at the front of the chamber.

  The solid stone door was sealed tight by a wall of smaller, intricately set stones all around it. The plaque at the top was still visible after Paul had pulled the weeds and moss away from it. It read, “G R A,” and numbers, a date likely, starting with 15 and then fading out. 1500-something. I rubbed the letters and numbers with my palm.

  I ran my fingers around the stone slab door, along its edges and felt for any obstacles or locks—anything that might seal it from time or intruders.

  I crawled to the side of the tomb and pulled carpets of moss away from the edge, feeling the stonework for indentations or keyholes, hoping with every ounce of my being that the tomb key would be a match.

  I sprang to the other side and pushed the ivy and moss away from the outer wall of the doorway to the tomb. I gathered the loose ivy into a clump and brushed the stonework with it. It swept small bits of debris and dirt away from divots in the stone.

  My eyes widened as I revealed two identical square holes.

  I dug my fingers into the dirt-filled holes and picked the earth out with my nails. The two openings were stacked, one above the other, about the size of a square matchbook each. My breath stopped as I stared at the keyholes.

  I whipped off my backpack and spilled its contents around me, digging for the leather satchel that protected the ancient tomb key. My heart rate soared and burned my ears with excess blood. My hand pushed past the tube with the scrolls that held value beyond my original thoughts, and grabbed the leather package.

  If I could open this tomb, and confirm Grace was safe in there, I would be able to take steps to reunite her with Hugh and hopefully find out what I was supposed to do next. If she wasn’t in there, well, I’d be back to square one. Again.

  The weight of the contents of the leather pouch made me pause and sit back. It wasn’t heavy in actual weight, but in the centuries of truths that it held. It was the key to Gráinne and everything she had been. And everything she was.

  The leather string resisted with stiffness as I untied it from the folds of cracked, aged leather. The string fell and I slowly unrolled the wrapping in my lap. The final turn revealed the long metal handle with four prongs on the end. The corroded key resembled the shape of an old toothbrush, but bent at the midsection.

  When Paul first examined it, he explained to me the prongs would line up with stone pins inside the keyhole and move them upward, out of their locked position. The pins could be put back when the key was moved to the top hole and pressed downward.

  My eyes widened at the hope of it working after all this time.

  Scrambling onto my knees, I shimmied right up to the edge of the tomb. I blew into the bottom hole to remove any residual dirt and picked away the loose bits.

  As I adjusted my positioning of the key, and readied to place it in, my head shot around at the sound of a snapping twig.

  My body froze, listening.

  I turned my head in the opposite direction and held still.

  Blackbirds flew high above in the tree branches, creating movement I had ignored, lost in my sleuthing. I exhaled my nervous tension and looked back at the hole and lifted the key again.

  “Maeve!”

  I shook my head in disbelief as Paul’s voice shattered the sanctity of the grounds and made me question my sanity.

  There was no way he could be here.

  “Maeve!”

  His voice scratched out of him with excessive effort and weakness, but still commanded my attention, causing me to jump.

  He was here? But how?

  I flew to my feet, alarmed by the sound of his broken voice and panicked by the impossibility of his being there. My eyes followed the sound and focused on him at the edge of the graveyard by the heavy line of spruce.

  “Run, Maeve!”

  His voice trailed off as Fergal pounded him to the ground.

  Oh my god! Fergal was here too!

  I went blind for a second as terror consumed my every sense.

  Paul’s body crumbled from Fergal’s blow and he fell like a weakened rag doll. Red and blue marks on his face revealed bruising and blood as he struggled to see me through swollen eyes.

  “Don’t bother, Maeve. Running won’t get ya far. And will only cost this poor sod more pain, maybe his life.”

  Fergal’s voice was steady with arrogance as he sauntered over to me, dragging Gráinne’s sword unceremoniously through the weeds behind him.

  He stood by the tomb and observed the contents of my bag on the ground and then the key in my hand, as he rubbed his chin.

  I stood, motionless, without blinking as despair rose in me.

  Scenes from my alley flooded me as I relived his rancid hand crushing my breath and his blank stare stealing my life.

  “Yer text message was very helpful, Maeve. Told me exactly where to find yeh.” He laughed at my foolishness. “And luckily, or you might say smartly, I never stray too far from here.”

  He circled my items on the ground, eyeballing them like quarry.

  “Seems you have a few things I want.”

  He kicked at my backpack and nodded at the tomb key still in my hand.

  “All these... bits and pieces, you might say.” He wiped his nose with the back of his hand and sniffed. “You thought it was all yers, didn’t cha?”

  Fergal’s seedy smile and blackened teeth made my skin crawl.

  Paul’s shoulders moved in the grass as he pushed himself up. I locked my eyes back on Fergal to keep him from lo
oking Paul’s way, a millisecond too late.

  “Yeah, my prisoner, you see. I needed him. As collateral. Basically him… for all of this.” He waved his hand at my possessions. “Is he worth it to ya?”

  His decadent words whirled through my skull and stuck in hidden crevices in my brain, stored for future use. He was threatening to take everything. Threatening my very existence. But all I could focus on was Paul.

  He hadn’t left me.

  Fergal had held him against his will this whole time.

  My knees nearly went out from under me as I yearned to run to him.

  “Gimme that!” Fergal swiped the key from my hand while pointing the sword up at my throat.

  I pressed back through the ivy out of his reach and watched him fumble with the orientation of the key to the holes I’d uncovered.

  Brushing his grimy hair out of his eyes, the greasy strands blocked his view with precision. Curses spewed from his lips as he slipped on the incline of dirt at the side of the burial mound and missed the key hole with every attempt.

  Through his distracted efforts, I crept further back through the ivy and snuck away. Hunched over, I raced to Paul and helped him to stand.

  “My god! What happened to you?” My voice cracked and choked me as the words squeezed out. I pushed his hair away from his face. “Why did he do this?”

  With a hoarse, low whisper, Paul said, “To get to you,” He winced as he held his side. “To use me against you.”

  My eyes widened.

  “Well it worked!” I brushed the twigs off him and put his arm over my shoulders. “Can you walk?”

  Paul limped a few paces and then hurried along with me.

  “You can’t leave Grace to his evil mitts.” Paul looked back. “He plans to take everything for his clan. Her territory, her treasures. He’ll erase her existence from history by stripping her of everything she built and fought for.” He hesitated. “We need to fight him.”

  I pulled him along, out of the shelter of the cemetery and onto the dirt lane.

  “We’re in no shape to fight him right now. Look at us! We need to hide.” I looked back to be sure Fergal wasn’t following.