Celtic Shores (9 page)

Burke Monastery — The Dungeon

Unable to temper her curiosity any longer; Orla snuck around to the back of the monastery, intent on breaching the entrance that led below the main structure. Had it not been for the conversation she overhead between her mam, and some unknown soul, she may have gone on about her own business. But that was not her way. The fear she saw in Shanleigh’s eyes did little to dissuade her. Her mam was scared, and she intended to find out exactly what was behind that most unusual development.

Certain she had not been followed, Orla peered around the garden trellis and tiptoed through the muddy pathway, until she caught sight of the iron handle peaking just beneath a lavender bush. Thankfully, the storm drowned out the sound of screeching metal hinges as she pulled the small wooden access upwards. Remorseful she hadn’t thought to keep the lanthorn with her, she crouched to enter the dank stairway and let the makeshift door slam shut behind her.

She sensed she was not alone. Obviously, this was some type of baleful penitentiary, meant to terrify as well as punish unfortunate or unrepentant perpetrators. Startled laments sounded below and she wasn’t sure whether to be frightened, outraged or sympathetic. Convinced there was no other choice, she embarked on her downward journey to the belly of the caverns by scooting on her backside, one stair at a time, feeling her way with muddy hands. She was convinced mostly because her attempt to reopen the access door was met with solid opposition. Getting into the dungeon was not hard, getting out would most likely prove impossible.

“Who’s there?” shouted a young voice from below. “I demand to know who’s there.”

“Shhhh,” whispered a man from the far side of the darkness. “Hush, boy!” he demanded.

Orla sat rigid at the bottom of the stone staircase, unable to move for fear.
Well, I’ve done it now
, she thought to herself. She wasn’t sure if she wanted to climb back up the grimy stone stairs and wait for the overhead door to open…to what she wasn’t sure…or if she should continue her descent into the threshold of hell. A hacking cough to her right interrupted her train of thought and she stood to survey her plight with her hands.

Standing at the bottom of the stairs, she could feel a jagged stone wall to her left and also to her right. In front of her was an opening into what she assumed was a hollowed out cave.
A dungeon.

“Who’s down here?” she spoke into the abyss. The cavern grew eerily silent against the external backdrop of storms, and she stepped down further until she stood on the cavern floor. “I said, who’s down here?” The sound of metal chains scraping against the rocky walls pierced her ears and she became brave with her demands.

“I demand to know who is down here, this instance!” she cried into the darkness.

“Orla?” said a female voice directly in front of her. “Orla, what are ye doing here? Ye must leave child. Ye are in danger.”

“Naelyn?” cried Orla, unable to believe what she heard. “Naelyn, what is this place? What are ye doing here?” asked Orla through relieved tears.

“Orla, don’t move. I don’t wish ye to fall. I was brought her at the command of yer mathair. I am a—prisoner,” replied Naelyn.

Orla reached into the darkness until she found Naelyn resting on her knees, secured by her right wrist, to a chain attached to the stone chamber. She reached to hug her long-time friend and knelt beside her in the darkness. “Naelyn, what is going on? I overheard me mam talking to someone, to something, rather, and she was terrified. I watched some men bring a boy down here.”

“Orla, ye must leave at once. The guards, they don’t ken who ye are. I’m afraid they will abuse ye if they find ye down here.”

“Who is she?” shouted a young male voice. “I’ll cause a ruckus if ye don’t tell me what ye want, right now!” shouted Braeden from his position just feet from where Naelyn was chained. Huge hands reached across the darkness and gripped Braeden by the shoulders. Placing one finger over Braeden’s lips, Father MacArtrey tightened his grip on his shoulders and shook him in a silent plea. Braeden complied, for the moment.

“Naelyn,” started the priest. “Naelyn, how can I help ye? I believe I hear the voice of a child?”

“I am no child!” retorted Orla indignantly. “I am the daughter of O…” Naelyn clasped her hand tightly over Orla’s mouth and pulled her down against her. “Shh… Ye’ll keep yer mouth closed if ye wish to live, Orla. I am not playing with ye now,” Naelyn whispered into her ear.

“I’ve had more than enough of this,” exclaimed Braeden as he wiggled out of the clutches of the priest, who was chained mere feet in front of him in the dungeon. “Who’s down here? I intend to escape and if ye want to go with me, ye better be identifying yerself now.”

A muffled chuckle from the back of the caverns caught Orla’s ears by surprise. “How many of ye are there?” she whispered.

Braeden piped up, “I am Braeden. I am sitting just to the left of ye, and next to me is a sleeping boy I am about to wake up. In front of him is a large mon. To my right sits the lassie ye call Naelyn and in the back corner, there is another mon; the one that frightens the guards.”

“I wouldn’t say I frighten the guards, exactly,” said Cordal.

“Well, ye are the only one here with chains on his feet, are you no’?” asked Braeden sarcastically. “There must be some reason they don’t want to wrestle with ye.”

“Very observant little lad,” replied Cordal. “And ye got all that from just listening in the dark?”

“Never mind that,” replied Braeden. “Who’s going with me when I leave? Ye best be telling me now, a’fore I make my break for it.”

“Just how do you think ye are getting free of these chains and outta this prison, son?” asked the priest. “I see no way out.”

“That would be yer first mistake,” he retorted. “Relying on what ye see instead of what ye feel. Have ye no faith?” he asked the priest. “Who are ye?” repeated Braeden into the darkness. “Who is here with me?”

“I am Father MacArtrey of the O’Malley clan.”

“I am Naelyn, and this is Orla.”

“I am Malcus MacDugal,” spoke the boy chained beside Braeden. “I was taken off me father’s boat a few days back.”

“And who are ye, son?” asked Cordal.

“I am Braeden Cordal McTierney.”

“What kind of game are ye playing here lad? I am Cordal McTierney.”

“Well—I
am
Braeden
Cordal McTierney.”

Orla stood to stretch her legs and noticed that her eyes had adjusted to the lack of light. She bent down to get a better look at Braeden and the other boy. “Why are
ye
down here? What have ye done to warrant this…place?” she asked. “Ye are but children.”

“We are as old as ye are, ye ken?” Braeden retorted. “And why are ye here?” he asked angrily. “Why would anyone come down here of their own accord; unless they were sent here to spy or for some other menacing reason? I trust ye not,” he said, as he attempted to peer into her eyes in the dark; holding his chin high in belligerence and standing to compare his height with her own.

“I hear someone coming!” exclaimed Malcus. “Hush, someone’s coming, can’t ye hear the handle rattling?” Malcus inched his back as far against the stony wall as he could, subconsciously believing it would somehow shield him.

“How can ye hear anything over the sound of this infernal rain?” asked the priest. “Just relax boy and pretend ye are a’sleeping again.”

“I hear it too!” added Braeden. “Listen, can’t ye hear it?”

“By the gods, Orla, we need to hide ye; ye shouldn’t be found down here!” exclaimed Naelyn into the darkness.

“Come back here lass,” instructed Cordal. “Come back here with me, and hide behind me, I’ll cover ye so they won’t see.”

The familiar creek of iron hinges on the hidden door sounded and a stream of light from a lanthorn showed halfway down the chamber stairs. Keys rattled and a rotund guard grunted and cursed as he attempted to traverse the muddy stairs without losing his footing. Naelyn gave Orla a reassuring nudge and directed her through an unlit path in the dungeon towards Cordal who was chained in the back left corner.

“Here now, I won’t hurt ye lass,” just sit right here behind me, I’ll cover ye best I can,” he said.

Orla shook violently, unclear if it was because she was completely soaked through, or because she was terrified of who or what had entered the dungeon behind her. Cordal placed a reassuring hand on her shoulder and bade her to remain as still as possible.

The light from the lanthorn grew brighter and soon the cavern was filled with the misty haze of yellow fog.

“Who’s there?” questioned Father MacArtrey. “Who’s there?” he asked again to the light, unable to make out the form of the person behind the light source.

“Get up,” demanded Rufus to the priest. “Yer time has come, Father. The service will begin soon, and ye will get yer chance to make it right this time ye will.” Rufus set the lanthorn on the bottom stair and turned back around to face the priest who was now standing. After unchaining the priest, Rufus commanded, “Hold the lamp for me,” and turned to face the two young boys. “Which one of ye should go first?” he asked mockingly as he stroked his matted beard in contemplation. “I ken me lady will be wanting a worthy sacrifice this eve,” he added.

Orla gasped in shock from the back of the caverns and Cordal coughed to cover the sound. The sound of his chains rattling sent Rufus into chuckles and he picked both boys up by nape of their necks to examine them. “Pity neither of ye are a fine specimen,” he spat before slamming them back down to the ground.

“Take me,” said Malcus. “I’ve been here longer than he and I ken he doesn’t fully know what is about to happen. Give him time to prepare,” he begged Rufus.

“Alright then, I’m in no mood to argue about it,” he replied as he bent down to unlock the chain holding Malcus’ wrist to the wall.

Naelyn began to weep loudly and Orla dug her fingernails into Cordal’s back in terror. “What are they going to do with him?” she whispered.

“They are going to take him to the chapel and drain him of all his blood.”

“What, why?” asked Orla. “I don’t believe you.”

Braeden coughed and the priest blew out the lanthorn light. The wind caught the still open dungeon door and slammed it shut against the ground. Rufus grabbed the now unlocked boy by the forearm and screamed at the priest. “Just what do ye think ye are doing?”

“’Twas the wind, sir,” replied Father MacArtrey. “The wind caught the door and blew out the light.”

“Nobody move!” shouted Rufus. “Don’t even breathe in my direction, else ye will all catch the sharp side of me sword!”

“Ye mean this one?” asked Naelyn pressing the sharp tip of Rufus’ sword into his throat. How she managed to come upon his sword was anyone’s guess but for now, Braeden saw it as his chance.

Rufus shoved Malcus onto the ground into the darkness in front of Naelyn. She lost her footing and fell forward, losing the sword in the process.

“Ye all fancy yer very smart now, don’t ye,” he asked. “Easal will be looking for me and when he finds out what ye’ve done, it won’t bode well for ye,” he continued backing his way towards the stairway in the darkness.

Rufus made a choking sound and gurgled before collapsing onto the cold, stone floor. The sound of keys rattling startled Orla and she loosened her grip on Cordal. “What’s happening?” she asked.

“I say, who is going with me?” interrupted Braeden’s voice.

“What happened?” asked the priest.

Malcus spoke up solemnly, “Rufus is dead,” he said, before proceeding to feel his way in the darkness to the chains that secured them to the dungeon walls. Naelyn lay passed out on the floor but was quickly revived by Father MacArtrey. The door to the dungeon swung open and moonlight shone down the stairway.

“It’s just me,” said Malcus, “I opened the door. We must leave at once.”

Orla followed Cordal from the back of the cavern towards the stairway where Rufus lay with a dagger protruding from his neck, a pool of blood now mixing with the rain and mud.

Braeden hesitated before reaching the first stair and crouched down to remove the dagger from the dead man’s neck. “This is mine,” he said out loud, before wiping it with Rufus’s cloak and returning it to its place in his knee-high boots. “I told ye I was getting out of here,” he remarked snidely to the priest and mockingly patted him on the fattest part of his belly as he walked past him up the steps. “I told ye.”

O’Malley Territory

Patrick and Darina walked hand-in-hand as they traversed the rocky terrain leading down from the ridge back towards the village and castle. Patrick held tight to his steed and guided them along the gravelly landscape. He whistled a command to the sentries that had accompanied them on their ascent, and they walked in silence, from their locations on either side of the new Laird. Darina took in the breathtaking view of O’Malley lands. The castle and village lay before them to the left near the winding river; and to their right, the full moon kissed the sea.

“Patrick,” she said, “tell me how Covar knew where to find us. I sense that he is not one of us. Mayhap he is not from this world at all? Do ye ken…can ye tell me…how did he come to meet us on the ridge?”

Patrick squeezed her hand tenderly and steadied her to avoid a rock in their path.
Covar is indeed not from our world. Yet, he has been a part of the MacCahan clan for as long as I can remember. He was a dear friend and confidante to me mathair.

“Patrick, where is he from?” she asked.

I’m not really sure, another place, not of our soil. From beyond the stars he said—beyond the stars.

“How did he find us, Patrick?” she asked again. “How did he ken where ye would be?”

“D’rina, ye ca-can-canna ever tell an-any-anyone what I am ab-about to sh-share,” he said to her audibly, tipping his head to the side and locking eyes with her.

I understand,
she said with her mind.

Darina, ye see this ring, on me right hand? It bears the image of a dragon against a shamrock. This ring is made of some type of precious metal I have never been able to identify. I am a blacksmith, and believe me, I’ve tried to identify it.

“What does that ring have to do with anything, Patrick?

This ring was left to me by me mam. She wore it around her neck on a chain. It is used to locate the person who wears the ring. Covar can find me or anyone else who wears the ring, anywhere, at any time. Unfortunately, me mam was not wearing it the day she was killed.

“Who else has worn the ring?
she asked him.

Well as far as I ken, there are only three of these rings. I have one. Airard from my village has another; and the last is worn by Lucian. The ring bearers are called Dragonians, because of the dragon crest inlaid into the metal.

Darina slowed her walking and paused before Patrick, clasping his hand in her own and carefully studying the mysterious ring which adorned his finger. “I’ve never seen anything like it,” she exclaimed. For a moment, it appeared that the dragon’s ruby-red eyes lit up and danced in the darkness. She rubbed her eyes to clear her focus and placed a small kiss atop Patrick’s hand.

Darina, I’ve a question for ye as well.

For me?

Aye. I wish to know what ye meant back there, when ye said ye were pulled into the river?

What do ye mean, Patrick?

Well, ye didn’t say ye fell, or lost yer footing, or ye were pushed. Ye said that ye were pulled into the river and yer mam came in after ye—didya no’?

I suppose I did. Patrick, I swear a hand reached out and pulled me into the water. I’ve told me mam, but she swore me to keep it secret. I was watching the minnows at the edge of the river. It was almost dusk and near time to return to the castle and I saw him.

Him?
asked Patrick.

Aye. I saw two large gray eyes behind blazing copper-colored eyelids staring back at me from the water; and before I knew it, I was pulled into the water. I still bear the scars from the deep scratch marks. See, look here on my right hand, those lines here, they were deep cuts and I had to be sewn up.

“Yer mathair b-bade ye to k-keep silent ab-about it?” he asked.

“Aye, she did.”

“N-not even L-Lu-Lucian?” he asked.

“Not even Lucian.”

***

Odetta sat terrified on the three-legged stool awaiting the arrival of her husband, Easal. If there were any possible way she could have appeased the Visitor’s unfathomable wrath and blood-thirsty appetite, she couldn’t think of it. As it stood, she would lose her husband this day. She already lost her brother, as well as her sister, and her very soul, in the process.

She twisted her hands in her lap and fought back tears, yearning to remember the spell she was taught so many years ago. She must do
something
to dissuade Easal’s fear and pain; she must.

If it weren’t for her weakness as a child, she may have avoided this…all of this. Better to have killed herself than to subject her family to the unknown horrors still awaiting them. At least she left Orla in the responsible care of Reni, that she could feel good about. Reni would ensure her safety and security and their plan to take Orla to McTierney territory the next week would ensure her safety forever. She would have to finally tell Orla and Cordal’s family that Orla belonged to them, that she was Cordal and her sister’s child; not her own.

Eaton intended to take a host. She knew what that meant, although she didn’t have any desire, or the stomach, to witness the shocking process of a fragile human body transfigured into the host of an inhuman beast.
Easal
. He was good to her: always loyal, unquestioning and non-judgmental. The only true ally she had in the world, and he was about to become a true-to-life puppet for an other-worldly villain.

I must see Naelyn. She will ken what to do, she can always calm me. That’s it. I’ll go get Naelyn from the dungeons, and together, we will find a way to be rid of Eaton forever.