“Show me,” he muttered to them as he passed.
They swiveled around and walked no more than six yards away.
That’s bad. This close to the dog altar can’t be good.
John snatched up a stick from the ground and flicked away a small pile of leaves, then dropped the stick and backed away. Mike knelt in the dirt and his heart sank as he saw the small clavicle still attached to the ball socket of a humerus. Unmistakably human. He picked up John’s stick and pushed more leaves and dirt away to find what looked like finger and foot bones. He realized that if he kept digging he might find the skull and that he didn’t want to uncover with Mickey just twenty feet behind him.
He stood up and dusted off his knees as Declan emerged from the clearing with the altar.
“Mike?” Declan said, looking around. “Find something else?”
“Where’s Mickey?” Mike said.
“He’s puking over by the pasture,” Declan said. “He’s seen enough.” Mike watched Declan look past him to the leaves on the ground. He hadn’t had time to cover up the bones and was sure they were gleaming bright white in the late morning sun.
“More dogs?” Declan said as he moved to where Mike stood.
“Not dogs,” Mike said. “ A child, it looks like. I’d just as soon Mickey not know.”
“A child?” Declan stared at the bones on the ground, his eyes wide with horror.
“Now, Dec, we don’t know they’re related.’
“Is it a coincidence you’re telling me?” Declan said, his eyes going from Mike’s face to the bones on the ground. “You’d have me believe it’s a fecking coincidence?”
“I don’t know what it is, Declan,” Mike said hotly. “And neither do you and until we do I’ll thank you not to panic the entire camp. Can you do that much for me?” Mike reached for Declan’s arm but the gypsy wrenched his arm away.
“It’s human sacrifice, Mike, as plain as the eyes in your head and if you’re telling me it’s not, then you’re a fool.”
Mike was aware of the boys standing nearby, shifting from foot to foot. He could hear the sound of Mickey’s approach.
“What’s the matter with you?” Mike said. “You think the Wicker Man is coming for us? Should I get someone to police the place who doesn’t believe in fairies?”
Declan licked his lips. He was still staring at the bones. “This whole area’s been disrupted.”
Mike turned to see what he meant. Even with the fading light, it was clear the holes had been dug and refilled in an attempt at camouflaging. His stomach tightened.
Jesus. Did that mean more bodies?
“Let me bring two more men back,” Declan said. “With shovels.”
“Mike? Declan? Where did everyone go?” Mickey called out in a shaky voice.
Mike nodded at the boys to go to Mickey. He turned to Declan.
“Nobody needs to know about this, Dec. Come back tomorrow early—just yourself and a shovel.”
Declan nodded and turned away.
*****
Sarah gazed at the ancient gravestones. They looked like they’d been dipped in acid. The lettering had long dissolved into indecipherable hieroglyphics. Mike’s mother was buried here. Sarah shifted the basket she carried to her other hip. It was cold and she was glad for the woolen cape she wore. It was one of Siobhan’s, and surely had never been in fashion at any time in history. Sarah grinned when she thought of Siobhan and her insistence that she take the cloak. Sarah was warm and that’s what counted.
The old Ballinagh kirkyard must be five hundred years old, Sarah mused as she wandered among the headstones. Even so, she couldn’t remember ever seeing anyone visiting a grave here. The section closest to the rectory was the newer part. Seamus and Deirdre were buried here. And Papin. Sarah felt her heart squeeze. There were others, too. Friends, family, enemies.
The Crisis had increased the population of the little churchyard by half. People dying before their time.
“I thought I saw someone out here,” a voice called from behind her. She turned to see Father James Ryan pick his way through the haphazardly-placed stones to her.
“Hello, Father,” Sarah said with a smile.
“Makes you think, no?” Father Ryan said, returning her smile. “The ones who’ve gone on before us?”
“It does.” Sarah nodded at the large yellow Labrador retriever at Father Ryan’s heels. “I see you’ve got company.”
“Oh, aye. Daisy showed up a few months back.” He ran a hand through the dog’s fur. “Mind you, I’ve no doubt she was sent to me.”
“I need to talk with you,” Sarah said. “I’ve brought milk and tea if you’ve got a way to heat it up.”
His eyebrows shot up in surprise. “Now, that I do,” he said.
Sarah guessed he was in his mid thirties. He wasn’t bad looking and she always wondered when she met a good-looking priest if it was more difficult for them to live a solitary life. She glanced at the dog, loping at his heels, as they made their way to the rectory.
The rectory, visible from the graveyard, backed up to a small stone chapel that the villagers called Saint Amself’s. Only one stone wall remained of the original church. Nobody could remember how old it was.
Once inside, Father Ryan put the kettle on and settled himself on an old, dilapidated couch Sarah assumed had been donated to him. She sat across from him and looked around the cottage.
It was cramped with the kitchen, the parlor and the bed all in one room. It was nearly as cold sitting in his parlor as it was on the porch.
Looks like the good Father takes his vow of poverty seriously.
Father Ryan poured tea into two chipped mugs.
“What a treat,” he said as he dropped a sugar cube into his cup. “I can’t remember the last time I had sugar in my tea.”
“That’s kind of the reason I wanted to talk to you today,” Sarah said.
“Sure, I’m that curious, Sarah,” he said. He blew on his hot tea, his eyes twinkling over the rim. “Let’s have it.”
“As you know, Mike really wants all of us at the compound to help out the people of Ballinagh—I mean, short of actually inviting them inside.”
The priest frowned but said nothing.
“And so, Fiona and I have been visiting Ballinagh to hand out medicine and see what their needs might be.”
“It’s good work that you and Fiona are doing.”
“That’s just it. Me being a foreigner and all—not to mention the whole charity-from-the-compound thing—I don’t think it’s working out the way Mike was hoping.”
“You want me to take over the visits.”
“Well, isn’t it really more the church’s role? Helping the suffering in the community? We’d supply you with all you need, the medicine and food.”
“You’ll be knowing, Sarah, that the suffering of the community as you put it is all of our concern.”
“Yes, yes, but if the fact that I’m American is preventing the…sufferers from getting what they need?”
He sighed heavily. “Unfortunately, they don’t seem to trust me much more.”
“Really?”
The dog put her chin on Father Ryan’s knee and he dropped his hand to her head. “I was wondering if you noticed anything different the last time you visited them?” he asked.
“I didn’t,” she said. “But Fiona said one of them told her he saw trees walking. So that’s weird.”
The priest looked up with a start.
“Did you say the trees? Sactorum custodiat nos,” he said quietly, his eyes staring into space. “I was afraid of this.”
“Fiona seemed to think it signaled a return to a…more pagan kind of spirituality. We don’t have any idea how widespread it is. Could be just the one guy.”
Neither of them spoke for a moment. Sarah hated to see how her news was upsetting him. It made her wonder how many people came to church any more.
A honey-sweetened johnny cake that she’d brought sat on a dish on a small t
able before them. Sarah broke off a piece and fed it to the dog. Father Ryan looked up almost as if surprised to see her still there.
“I wonder who she belonged to before all this,” Sarah said. “She looks like a pure-breed.”
“Aye. I try not to think of what happened to her family,” he said sadly, putting a large hand on the dog’s head. “After I pray for their immortal souls of course.”
“Of course.” Sarah grinned. It must be a lonely life out here. If the villagers weren’t interested in supporting their parish any more, maybe Ryan would be up for moving into the compound? She’d run it by Mike first but she liked the idea of starting a little chapel in New Dublin.
“If you’re okay with doing this, Father,” Sarah said as she stood and wiped her hands on her jeans, “I’ll have one of the men deliver the first load of food and medicine to you tomorrow.” She looked around. “You’ll just need to store it somewhere.”
“That will be fine.” He stood up and walked her to the door.
“I’m sorry,” Sarah said on the porch as she ran her fingers through Daisy’s fur. “Maybe the villagers will come around again.”
“No,” he said, looking past her into the woods. “No, I really don’t think they will.”
*****
Mike met Sarah on the road home and waved the others on ahead. He’d forgotten she intended to visit the priest today and it bothered him that she was outside the compound and unarmed.
“Don’t worry about me,” she said as he dismounted to walk with her. “Haven’t you got enough to worry about?”
“God knows I do,” he said, “which is why I’d really appreciate it if you didn’t walk alone outside the compound for awhile.”
“So they really were a child’s remains?”
He grimaced. “Aye.”
“Do you still think it’s harmless?”
“I don’t know what to think. I know Declan is ready to sound the alarm that we’re about to be overrun by fairies and gargoyles.”
“Surely not. But it is disturbing.”
“Aye. We’ll need to get to the bottom of it, please God. Meanwhile, what did the good Father say to your request?”
“He’s fine with it.”
“That’s grand.”
“Did you talk with the guy from Burren?”
“Not yet. Will you come?”
“I thought you’d never ask.” Sarah grinned at him and slipped her arm through his as the front gate of compound loomed in the distance.
Mr. Darby Connor was waiting for them on their front porch when they returned, his bags packed at his feet. He looked to be in his mid-forties with a pale complexion that hadn’t been treated kindly by the elements in the last four years. He’d already told Mike he was thirty and had been a barrister in Limerick before the Crisis.
Sarah smiled and held out her hand to him as she mounted the steps.
“Hello, Mr. Connor,” she said. “I’m sorry we kept you waiting. I’m sure you’re eager to continue your journey.”
“Aye, Missus,” Connor said, as he shook Sarah’s hand. “It’s a long way home, so it tis.”
“Well, come in and have a bite before you go,” Mike said pulling open the front door. “And my wife will likely want to pack you something for the kiddies.”
Sarah dropped her basket and jacket on the couch and hurried to the kitchen while Mike found a chair for the man. She made up a tray with a pot of tea and the scones she and Siobhan had baked earlier. As she filled dishes with raspberry jam and clotted cream she was well aware the man likely hadn’t had a Devonshire tea for at least four years. She set the tray down on the table between the men and thumped down a canvas knapsack next to Connor’s chair.
“I’ve packed raisins, chocolate and some energy bars as well as the last of our oranges,” Sarah said. “Plus enough ibuprofen and antibiotics to last you the winter. Mike said you’ve had decent luck planting so you’re good for food until spring?”
Connor nodded, staring at the knapsack as if it contained a small cache of gold.
“Well, then you should be fine,” Sarah said, pouring the tea.
“I…I can’t believe there are still people like you…left in this world,” Connor said, his voice shaky with emotion as he looked at the pack of food and medicine. “My children…my wife will…I canna thank you enough, Missus.” He shook Mike’s hand. “Mr. Donovan. Thank you.”
“Tis’nae to be thanking me, man,” Mike said. “I’m that glad your lot is doing well. It’s hard work, that’s the ticket.”
“And people willing to help,” Connor said, gripping the knapsack. “For the joy you’ve given me bairns,” he said to Sarah, “I’m indebted to you.”
The man stayed long enough for one cup of tea but he was eager to get on the road home. After a few minutes of awkward hugs and more thanks, Connor gathered up his bags and hurried down the front steps. Mike draped his arm around Sarah as they watched him disappear through the main gate and down the long road leading away from the compound. Out of the corner of her eye, she noticed Margaret Keenan standing in front of the low-burning campfire and watching them. She nodded at her and Margaret returned the acknowledgment with a knowing smile.
Could Margaret possibly know about the discovery of the altar?
Sarah shivered and decided it was unlikely. As she and Mike began to walk back inside their cottage, she caught a glimpse of the old woman as she turned and walked quickly in the direction of Mickey Quinn’s tent.
*****
That evening, Mickey regaled several of the other men about his afternoon’s adventures as they sat around the main campfire. It was a relief for Mike to see that the anxiety levels lessened with every telling of the discovery of the slain dogs.
He noticed Declan wasn’t in attendance by the campfire which, now that he thought of it, wasn’t unusual. The nighttime was when the compound was most vulnerable. So the nighttime found Declan relentlessly securing the perimeter. Mike was mildly surprised he hadn’t heard more complaints from Fiona over Declan’s schedule. But then she more than most knew how necessary that security was to all of them.
Mike brought out the whiskey and passed the bottle. That had been Sarah’s idea but she’d been right. Bringing a bottle to the campfire gave the retelling of the day’s events a feeling of story time and fiction. By the time everyone wandered away from the fire to their own beds, they were laughing and the discussion had long moved off the dogs and the altar and onto more typical campfire story lore.
Sometime in the middle of the night, a sound of sound pounding woke Mike from a deep sleep, bringing him to his feet with his knife in his hand before he knew what the threat was. Sarah touched his arm and he could see the fear in her eyes.
“It’s the front door,” she said.
Not bothering to dress, Mike bolted down the hallway. Gavin still slept but John stood in his door as if unsure what to do.
“Stay put,” Mike said over his shoulder on his way to the door. He wrenched it open and Declan burst into the room. He ran into the kitchen and then turned and ran back to the living room as if he had no idea what he was doing. His eyes were wild.
“Declan, man, what is it? Are we being attacked?” Mike looked past Declan through the open door but there was no movement in the front square. He turned to look at his friend. “What the hell, Dec?”
“I went back,” Declan said, holding his arms as if he were cold and attempting to warm himself. “With Benjy and Roddy and shovels.”
“Tonight? For God’s sakes, why did—”
“I found them, Mike,” Declan said, his eyes glassy. “I found them all.”
Sarah and John stood in the hallway, listening. Declan’s hands were dark from dirt and his chest was heaving.
“Found who?” Mike said.
“Men, women, children.” Declan said, his voice dull with shock. “It’s a mass grave.”
CHAPTER FIVE
How the hell could this have happened so close to the compo
und?
Mike stood with Declan in the early morning light and surveyed the mound of bodies.
Not bones but bodies in various stages of decomposition.
They stretched across the ground behind the altar measuring roughly half the size of a cricket pitch. Declan had gone back with his two cousins before dark and set up three battery-operated lights on six-foot poles. It wouldn’t have taken them long to discover the full extent of the massacre. Most of the bodies were lumped together. The colors of the blouses, shirts, scarves and sweaters were muddied but not faded. The killings had been recent.
They were gypsies. You didn’t need to examine the clothes too closely to see that. Mike’s stomach churned at the thought of these poor people—families from the look of it—murdered within screaming distance of the compound. How? How could they not have known?
“When was the last time the lads were out here?” Mike asked. As compound sheriff, Declan should know the answer to that.
But he just shook his head.
“If they don’t find anything, they don’t mention anything,” Declan said. He had calmed down in the time it took for Mike to dress then saddle two horses. Declan had wanted to take the Jeep but Mike worried about the message the sound of a vehicle would send to the already nervous compound members. The Jeep wasn’t used much and only for emergencies. The poor devils in the woods had waited this long. A few more minutes wouldn’t matter.
“What do we do?” Declan asked, still staring at the scattered bodies.
“Bury them proper,” Mike said.
“And then?”
Mike turned to Declan. “It’s a hate crime, Dec. Pure and simple.”
“You mean because they were Travelers?” Declan used the term for his gypsy tribe. “And that’s the end of it?”
Mike refrained from responding too quickly. Declan was well aware that the breakdown of law after the bomb had made Ireland’s vulnerable people all the more vulnerable. Hell, it had thrown women back into second-class status, although you wouldn’t know it from talking to Fiona and Sarah.
Irish End Games, Books 4-5-6 Page 5
