My vulnerability remained palpable making me a target now that I was alone. My family had passed and I yearned for them in every empty breath and every vacant heartbeat. The aching void of being left alone in this world crushed me with heavy darkness in each of my days.
I dropped my face into my hands and rubbed my eyes.
The weight of the ring of my ancestor, the pirate queen, pulled my hand down into my lap. Its ancient mystical designs danced in my eyes against the modern backdrop of my black yoga pants. I moved my finger along the hinge at the side of the ring. I'd heard of poison rings before, used to hide cyanide for quick death in desperate times, but had no clue what could be hiding in this one.
I picked at the tiny ball on the side opposite the hinge and held my breath as it creaked open. I'd been too afraid to open it before, for fear of breaking it—or worse, finding something that might hurt me. But sitting here by the O'Maille chieftain's burial mound somehow seemed like the right time. It was as if the pirate queen waited for it.
With delicate prodding, I lifted the top of the ring just enough to see inside. My eyes squinted to focus into the darkness within and caught a glimpse of subtle blue. I reached into the ivy patch beneath me and pulled a leaf loose. With its stem, I poked into the cavity within the ring and tugged on the blue threads.
Once the string stuck out a bit, I pinched the end with my fingers and gently extracted it further. Behind it trailed a lock of brown hair, and I placed it in the palm of my hand as I stared at it. The ends of my own hair hung by my wrist and matched the golden chestnut shade to perfection. My eyes lifted and stared directly at the burial mound with more bursting questions that might never be answered.
My own loose hairs tickled across my face as a gentle breeze lifted the graveyard mist into ghostly swirls and rustled the boughs of the surrounding spruce. My eyes darted in every direction as my heart rate accelerated, and I pushed the lock of hair back into the tiny chamber.
The wind was always the first sign. Then the terror that filled my soul, followed by the visions. Visions of the pirate queen stalked me my entire life back in Boston and now pursued me here in Ireland.
I wouldn't easily forget the haunting events that occurred in this exact place not so long ago. But I still came back. Back to the tomb of the pirate queen.
She would guide me. And protect me now.
I hoped.
Thick mist lifted in a slow-motion funnel around the O'Maille family stones, creating an eerie, familiar sensation that I wasn't alone.
I jumped up to standing and looked all around me, searching every inch of the decrepit boneyard. Images of Fergal's rotting body, pierced by her sword, haunted me every time I closed my eyes. And being here, right where it had all happened, kept the images alive even with my eyes open.
His murderous intent that day led to his own demise, though. His life’s mission was to stop me from connecting with the pirate queen—to end all hope of saving my clan. Though he failed, his unwavering efforts proved to me the significance of my quest.
But he was gone now. My head twitched toward a rustle in the ivy. I hoped.
I stared at the pirate queen's tomb hoping for a connection to her. Grainne Ni Maille. Grace O'Malley. Clan chieftain from the 1500s. She was my ancestor, my guide now. And I needed her help now, or some form of direction anyway.
I concentrated while gazing on the stone-slab door that sealed her silent resting place. Maybe if I focused hard enough she would come to me in a vision. My eyebrows pulled together in annoyance at my inability to conjure her at my discretion. My head shook at my foolhardy attempt.
With clenched molars, I stepped away, walking between the gravestones of my ancestors. They'd placed their faith in me to pull the clan together again and my lips pressed to the side at the absurdity. The task was too great. I fought to keep down the nagging feeling that it was just too late.
So much time had passed, allowing everything to crumble beyond repair. I gazed at the tilted Celtic crosses, covered in moss and faded from centuries gone by, and shuddered at the crushing power of time.
Then my face lifted into the air and shot my senses to full attention. The salty breeze carried more than fresh air. It delivered acute awareness of another place. Another time. Smells of iron, leather, and the sea. Sounds of bells tolling, hooves thumping, and tin whistles lacing the space around me.
A shiver coursed through my body, opening my eyes wide as my breath stopped.
I wasn't alone.
Ever.
#
My eyes darted all around me, terrified of what I might see, but more frightened of seeing nothing at all. Swirls of mist settled among the moss-covered gravestones like a heavy blanket, settling my rising angst from the wind.
But I still felt a presence around me. One that followed me throughout my life, and I kept a watchful eye for any sign of it materializing in some form.
I moved back to the burial mound and stared at the stone entrance to the crypt, tracing the line of the tight seal with my eyes, remembering every detail of the day we opened it.
Like tomb raiders, we gained access to the five-hundred-year-old crypt. Although our intent was to restore, rather than take.
We'd reunited the lost pirate queen with her eternal love and they rested together now within the stony tomb. But I would never allow myself to forget those who tried to stop us.
Images of the warrior haunted my sleep, and his murderous minion, Fergal, hid in the slump of strangers or the limping gait of random passersby. They lingered in my head, reminding me of their power and ominous presence all around me.
A shudder quaked through my bones, and I squeezed my eyes shut, wishing away any possibility of a future encounter with the rival MacMahon clan and their undead.
I shook my head to clear it and focused back on the door of the crypt. Following a long exhale, my shoulders relaxed and my eyes fell in and out of focus gazing at the tomb.
I wanted answers. I needed to know what my role was. What I needed to do as a modern-day chieftain that could actually make an impact on my lost clan. It rested all on me, but I was still just a pawn being led through my life by these terrifying visions. I needed to turn it around somehow. Take back control before it consumed me.
Why was I even bothering with all of this anyway?
My eyes fell in shame.
I knew exactly why. For my grandparents. For Gram and Joey. I would do anything for them. And they had done everything for me. And I owed it to them. To find a resolution to the curse that plagued them and those they loved for centuries.
I had to rebuild the family. And everything they worked so hard to preserve. Tradition. Culture. Clan. And deep within me, I wanted it too. I didn’t want to spend my precious time on this earth alone. It felt much more natural to be a part of something bigger. I yearned for it.
Damn it!
I had to focus.
I inhaled deeply and let my air out through tight lips. My eyes closed allowing myself to escape the tedious details of the fight at the solicitor’s office with Rory and the fears that welled up in me whenever I thought of my clan obligations. I cleared my mind enough to think—to be the most natural form of myself.
A vibrating hum generated in my skull from the back of my throat creating a deep tone that calmed me. The lulling sound soothed my racing thoughts and brought me to a single point of clarity, opening my mind to the ability to see.
Tranquility washed over me to the point where a field of white filled my mind. I breathed into the serenity of the void.
A salty breeze awoke my senses again blowing my hair behind me, tingling my awareness back to the present. But the gentle wind carried more than circulating air. It danced around me with strange smells and sounds of far away, and then filled me with an aching sense of longing and loss that tore at my heart. It whirled about, taunting me with its ancient knowledge and its power to frighten me.
In an instant, my spine grew rigid in the time that I recognized th
e onset of my haunting visions—the awake dreams that plagued my entire life. The insidious wind was always first, followed by unnerving fear and blasting chaos. Warriors and demons.
My eyes shot open, expecting the worst—the terror of the warrior, screams and blood in the air, plumes of red mist filled with clanging iron and rotting stench.
I looked all around, anticipating the attack from every direction as my breath fell out of me with a huff, leaving my lungs empty and still.
The graveyard remained calm and unaffected by my worst expectations. Gentle swirls of air moved throughout the stones, exploring the names and epitaphs of the O'Malley clan members of the past. My eyes followed the dancing fingers of mist wrapping around each grave marker in the act of visiting old friends.
I chuckled at myself for being so paranoid, traumatized really, expecting horror in such a peaceful place. But it made sense, considering the unbelievable events that had gone down in the not so distant past. I could do without any more ghostly warriors and undead minions for a lifetime.
I bit my nail and pulled a strip off in my teeth. I ground on it, annoyed now, not only by the rough edge left behind on the nail catching in the fabric of my pants, but also at my incessant nervous twitch.
In my idle distraction, I paid no attention to the return of the wind, rustling at first in the ivy but then rising with intensity, carrying piercing sounds of jolting alarm that awakened my senses to high alert.
And then, it was too late.
It whirled all around in a blur of dizzying color, intent on disorienting me. As I lifted my arms to protect my face, I pressed my eyes shut, wishing I had brought Michelle with me. I was stupid to have come so impulsively without telling anyone. She would have been able to pull me out of here with no question, no judgment. Her instincts would have been pure flight with a good few screams mixed in. But I was somehow trapped here, again, fighting my will to stay, even though it meant certain danger.
Ivy shivered across the ground in vibrating waves as my long hair lifted up and swatted at my face. I stood rigid, eyes darting in every direction. After a moment, I gasped for air, realizing I'd stopped breathing through the alarm. I bent over and propped myself on my knees, panting.
Searching for my assailant, regret for coming filled me with vile sickness. Eyes bulging, I pushed through the panic to find the source of my terror. With no sign of danger, I swallowed against the rising lump in my throat and took a deep breath.
The wind settled to a steady stream and continued its exploration of the graveyard. Its mellow movements allowed my shoulders to fall from my ears while smirking to myself in relief. But before I had the chance for reassurance of my safety, it moved up around me again in the act of searching for something.
It whirled around me in a gentle vortex filled with whispers of lost voices surrounding me from every direction. Questioning me. Prodding me.
Movement at the edge of the cemetery caught my eye and I locked on it. My heart rate accelerated, pounding in my ears, deafening me from the eerie sound of the ancient language of the whispering voices.
With dampened senses, my eyes were the only thing with full operation and they homed in on the unusual movement. At first, only a blur of color, but moving closer it took on distinctive clarity, enough to stop my heart.
In a steady, synchronized flow, three figures moved toward me with sharp focus in their eyes set directly on me.
My eyes widened as a gasp escaped my mouth. I remained outnumbered by a long shot and had no one to turn to for instruction. My mind exploded with questions of who they were and what they wanted. More murderous minions of the warrior?
A primal urge to flee filled my muscles with adrenaline. Just as my twitching nerves readied themselves to extract me from the danger, I focused on their calm, familiar faces in the process of their moving closer. Their eyes met mine with similar recognition.
My head tipped in confusion shifting from my heightened defensive position to one of intrigued curiosity. I had seen these odd people before and recalled their dated, formal clothing and the steady warmth in their gazes.
They were the Original Three from Ballynahinch Castle.
#
The Original Three.
That was what I had called them, anyway, after my first ghostly encounter with them. They'd been following me for months now. Or over centuries and lifetimes. They called me the lost daughter—the same girl as the one in the portrait hanging in Ballynahinch. The five-hundred-year-old portrait.
They were certain I was her.
And I was certain I was not.
Tears of fear threatened my composure as my gut reminded me to never be so certain. Of anything.
My mouth went dry forcing a swallow that stuck in my neck.
They were strange. Or they were crazy. It was the only explanation I could live with. But deep in my soul, I knew that explanation was too simple for them. They held deep knowledge that connected to me. An understanding of things I knew nothing about.
"Maibh."
The sound of my ancient name filled my skull and awakened every untapped part of my brain.
"Maeve." My name resonated in my ears.
The Original Three moved effortlessly across the hallowed ground as I stood entranced. They entered the space in front of the burial mound and I backed up by pure instinct.
"Maibh." The woman's voice brushed across me first. "It is time."
I looked into her familiar, warm eyes. She was a housekeeper, or a caregiver of sorts. It was like I'd known her from somewhere in my deepest memories, before Ballynahinch, and I strained to remember.
"You must go back now, Maibh." The man in a dated brown suit held my eyes without blinking. A scar split his brow and ran down his cheek, startling me at first but then endearing him to me.
I broke from his gaze and looked at the third. A large, brawny man who held a protective, wide stance, as if on guard or forever frozen in defense.
I took another step back in surprise.
I'd seen them all before. Not only at Ballynahinch Castle. There was something more, nagging at me from deep within, and I couldn’t put my finger on it.
"You have the power now, Maibh, to change the course of events for the Umhaille clan. Make things right."
My chin pulled back as my eyebrows scrunched together. What the hell were they talking about? And they used the most ancient form of the O’Malley name—Umhaille.
The woman spoke again.
"Go back, Maibh. Help Grania in her battle against the MacMahuna." Her eyes pierced through mine.
"I don't know what you mean." My voice squeaked out of me while my head shook.
"Finish what was begun. You are the only one now who can." The scarred man spoke with a determined tone.
"Go back where?" My eyes squinted.
"To Rockfleet. To the battle of the Umhailles and the MacMahuna," the burly man commanded, like I was daft. "You've business to finish, lass."
My mind raced into a scrambled mess of confusion and fear. I had no idea what they were asking me to do, but somewhere in the depths of my soul, I did.
Considering their words, cold terror rose up my neck.
"But how?" I choked on the sounds.
"The visions, Maibh. They are your gift. Use them," the woman said.
My head tipped. "Use them? I can't control them," I stated, shaking my head in defiance. "They just happen to me. It doesn't work the other way around."
My thoughts jumped back to my best friend, Michelle. She once asked me if I could create my own awake dreams. Conjure my own visions. I nearly punched her in the face for even considering it. But here I was now, considering it.
Maybe it was possible.
Being asked to create my own vision jarred me.
Why would I possibly choose to do such a thing? My visions were terrifying. I could barely handle them. Filled with fear, vengeance, and chaos. And what if I could never return to normal after creating one? What if I got trapped in the voi
d, never to come back?
Like my mother.
"No. It's not possible." The words came out without yield. "It can't be done. And it's too dangerous." My head shook in slow, concise motion to confirm my decision. "Not happening."
"It must be done, Maibh. It’s the only way to restore balance to the clan and fulfill your destiny. It's meant to be." The three voices mixed into one.
My head fell and I stared into the ivy at my feet.
There was no way. I couldn't do it.
I wouldn't.
Jesus! Were they crazy?
My eyes trailed along the ivy and up to the door of the pirate queen’s tomb.
I stared beyond the stone barrier and into the crypt. It held the lovers safe, together. Amidst their treasures and secrets. Though there was still unrest.
They were together, finally, in eternity. But their fight remained unfinished. Everything they gave their hearts and souls to—and Hugh gave his life—it was all unfinished. The clan continued to be broken. Forgotten and lost. And this was the part that persisted as my duty to restore, or all their sacrifices would be for naught.
I swallowed and stood taller allowing confident resignation to take the place of insecure uncertainty.
Maybe it was possible.
I lifted my gaze back to the Original Three. Questions filled my eyes and consumed my thoughts.
But they were gone. Vanished.
I searched for them while desperation rose in me. I needed their guidance. Their wisdom.
My feet tore out from under me racing through the cemetery calling for them.
"Wait!" I cried out. "Wait!"
A lonesome feeling of loss and grief washed through me breaking my heart. I wanted them to stay with me. They were my…friends. Or more. My clansmen.
I ran to the outskirts of the graveyard, searching amidst the spruce. Looking for any sign of where they could have gone. A guttural moan echoed in my throat. One of deep sorrow.
While turning back and scanning across the gravestones a blast of agitated air struck me in a full-scale assault.
I pressed forward into the blinding, pounding gusts, squinting to see around me. I pushed through the squalls and moved deeper into the graveyard, praying to find the comfort of the companionship of the Original Three.
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