Participles and Portents (55)

Whispers and Shadows

Daylight was harsh.  It cracked the beauty of the night before and left Lin standing in the rubble of all her uncertainties.  She had made so many mistakes, most of them coming from trusting the wrong people.  True, good had come from at least one of those mistakes -- Ian and Sean could hardly be judged as anything other than wonderful parts of her life.  But the trust she had placed in their father, the blind trust she had placed in their relationship, well, that had been a collosal mistake. 

Still in all, it had not been as bad as the one she made next.  She had honestly believed she had found someone with the same integrity as her Da.  What a joke.  There was no comparison.  She had spent far too long believing in something and someone that did not exist.  He was just another salesman, and she had bought the goods and now look at the price being paid.  She smiled as she thought of her Ma and Da. That was bedrock, no shifting sands.  They fought, everyone did, but always they loved.  Why did it matter so much that the time with him had been a fabrication?  Was it because she had compared him to her Da?  Was that why it still rubbed so raw?  Or was it that she simply had no ability to discern the truth of others when it came to intimacy with herself?  Lord help her, she really needed to get a grip on it.  She had to find someway to start trusting herself again.  She had some so close to feeling whole again, and now here she was, sucked into this vacumm where reality came closer to fiction than anything she could ever have dreamed of.  She wished that things were as simple as just being devastatingly disappointed in a trust misplaced. 

She gingerly fingered the leaf.  It felt real enough, but she just wasn't sure.  The only thing she was certain of was that she needed the boys whole again.  She needed to wrap her arms around Fiona and Sean and Ian and breathe.  That was real.  But there reality fell apart; it simply slipped over the cliff into the insanity of visiting the Teague O'Byrne's of the world.  She slipped the leaf between two empty pages in her green notebook and slid it into her pack. She bit her lip, tasting the metallic tang of blood on her tongue.  There had to be something more, something more grounded than this haphazard path they were following.  She had come here to this land that had been a source of solace to her father seeking a balm for her hurts and answers to the questions that eluded her at home.  Instead she was caught in a bizarre net of intrigue which wove its way through the old world of Eire, dredged up the tales she had raised her boys on and dared her to step over the line and to believe in these fantasies. In fact, she felt like she was being double-dared to believe in them.  Why did it seem that this confluence of forces came together in a way that required her to understand something intangible in her belief systems, to take hold of the roots somehow and use them to affect the end-game?  She flipped the pack onto her shoulder determined to let go of the brooding mood.  The sharp rap on the door startled her.  Fiona was there reminding her they had fifteen minutes left before breakfast would be over.  She had saved her some scones and some tea.

Lin took a quick pad around the room looking for anything left behind, found a brush and stuffed it into her bag.  She slipped out the door and headed for the steps, taking them slowly, head down in thought.  She looked up just in time to find herself eye to eye with Roary, his blue eyes searching hers as he stood at the bottom of the landing.  She gave him a quick smile and moved down the last three steps, starting to pass him.

He caught the strap of her pack. "Ye' don't have to carry all that weight on the whole journey," he rumbled.

She looked at him, finding his remark odd.  Her pack was no heavier than it had been before.

He caught her under the chin with a forefinger, tilting her head up so he could look directly at her. "I've no idea what ye've been dwellin' on but it doesna' belong here, Lin.  Ye've enough to deal with now, ye' kin?" 

Her vision blurred the tiniest amount and she found herself pressed into the warmth of his sweater.  He held her, his head resting on hers in an embrace that lent her some of the solace she truly needed. She absorbed the comfort like a child being cosseted after a nightmare.

A quiet cough separated them. "Your tea is quite cold, but it might do to wash down the scones.  Roary and I can finish the packing while you eat."  Fiona slid Lin's pack from her shoulder and moved toward the door, her lack of further comment adding weight to the room.  Roary gave Lin another quick squeeze, "Off ye' go or yer Mum will tar and feather me hide."  They shared a brief laugh and separated, each to their tasks.  Lin managed one scone and her tea, which was indeed quite cold, then hustled out to the car.  They were bound for New Grange.  She felt a trill of anticipation at the thought of their destination.

New Grange, for all that it had become a true tourist destination, was still one of the oldest and most sacred sites in Ireland and was said to be one of the most active Sidhe sites as well.  This ancient mound was older than the pyramids, and archeologists were still studying it trying to learn as much as they could about the people who had created it and its purpose.  It was a sacred home of ritual, a place that celebrated the cycle of life, death, and rebirth.  For Lin it seemed to hold a sense of joy and honor in the abundance of life.  She supposed that was an odd way to view what most people considered a burial mound, but New Grange was ever so much more than that. 

Fiona recalled her first visit there with Lin and James. God, how she missed him.  They had squeezed in through the portal passage, one by one following the rough, hand-hewn passage to the central clearing.  Here a main shaft of light fell to the chamber floor; around the walls were the symbols of ancient Ireland.  She remembered the guide telling them that many believed that the bodies of the recently deceased were brought to this chamber and received the blessing of the sun and the moon as they cycled through the sky and sent their light into the main chamber. Once blessed, the bodies were moved to a burial mound to await re-birth.  She could still feel his hand in hers as they listended to the description of this mystic eloquence and the thoughtful time given to each departing soul.  It was, she supposed, no wonder that James loved Ireland.  There was such an undercurrent of unity in the belief systems of the ancients or at least what everyone believed they knew about them.  One thing was certain, no one ever really knew all that much about a past written in symbols and languages that had died.  The best they could do was interpret, and with a bit of luck perhaps they would intrepret well enough today to advance their quest.

Roary watched the two women lace their fingers together on the bus ride from the welcome center.  He knew they were reliving their first visit and preparing to visit the site without "Da" as Lin always called him.  He suspected this visit would be hard and he prayed it would yield a silk.  His feet itched.  He could not shake the feeling that time was running short.

They climbed from the bus and made their way up the gravel path,circling the great mound.  Fiona dutifully photographed the beautiful ancient etchings and the small almost beehive-like structure to the right and rear of the mound.  And they waited, waited for their turn to enter the sacred chamber, waited for some tingle, some indication that they were in the right place.  When it was time, they made their way through, single file, each breathing in the ancient scent of the rock and the lingering swell of the passing of far too many casual glancers.  To Roary it almost felt like the rocks seemed to breathe out their displeasure at the lack of dignity they suffered through now that they no longer served their purpose and were simply a cash-machine in the tourist trade.  In the central chamber the sunlight shafted in and man-made light gave a supporting balance, highlighting the symbols etched in the rock walls.  He glanced at Lin and Fiona, who were completely centered on the fall of the sunlight, hands clasped.  His guess was that they were too lost in the past to be aware of the present.  He focused on the etchings each in turn, and gradually began to feel the natural rhythm of the chamber take hold.  He could feel the thrum of the space, not the people here with him, the ancient pulse of the stone.  He ached to touch it but refrained; he knew it was not allowed. His eyes followed the line of sight that Lin and Fiona were fixed on. The triskelion wound its way, curving over and over and over, uniting in its trinity the lines of family, haloed just behind the guide's head.

He felt a cold breath on his neck that traveled down his spine.  It chilled him straight through his chest.  He could faintly hear, "Late, late, late . . . run, run, run . . . blood, blood, blood."  His pulse began to pound and in his mind he dared to ask, "Where?" A harsh high-pitched scream echoed in his skull, "Re-birth! Re-birth!"  "Here?" he whispered. "Run, run, run . . . late, late, late . . . blood, blood, blood,"  the echoing reply  screeched through his head. 

He slapped his hands around his ears and stumbled wildly toward the exit.  As he broke into what was as close to a run as he could get in the close confines, people moved and shifted to get out of his way. He staggered into a young couple, their camera falling as he did so, but he caught the strap before it hit the rocks and handed it back. "Sorry," was the only explanation they received as he continued his way out of the chamber and away from the voice still receding from his head.  When he broke though to daylight, he was surrounded by security.  Lin and Fiona came out on his heels. 

'Claustrophobia," said Fiona.  "We apologize. He was doing so well." 

The garda gave her an appraising eye and let them through to Roary. They were allowed to scoop Roary along by the elbows and lead him away from the mound.  He was as white as a sheet, pupils dilated, in fact,  he looked crazy as hell. 

"Well, it's no wonder the garda simply let us haul him off," noted Fiona. "They certainly did not want to have to deal with a lunatic tourist."

"Is he okay?"

"Yes, I'm fine," said Roary levelly.  Then he promptly sat down in the grass and put his head in his hands.

Fiona and Lin shrugged and joined him.  They waited until he was ready to talk.  When he described what he had felt and heard they were dumbstruck. They sat for awhile just looking at each other.

"Well, that's it then, we're screwed," stated Lin.  "New Grange was and is the site for rebirth. Where else is there to go?  And even if there are other mounds of any signficanse, how would be find them fast enough?  If I ever get my hands on Aoife . . . never mind, there's just no point is there?"

"We've one place to start," said Roary. "Ian's journal.  I have no idea why, but he seemed to be researchin' everythin' between the rebellions and anythin' to do with the Sidhe.  And if it's not in his journal, then we just have to go to Trinity and the like. Someone will know if there's another site."

Fiona stood, "Well, it can't be found sitting still.  We've wasted enough time, so stop yakking and start moving.  I have some grandsons I'd rather not pet as they get older."

Lin stood and extended a hand to Roary.  Rising, he risked a smirk. "She never really stops, does she?"

"Ma?  No, I don't think she actually knows the meaning of that word. Every other word in the dictionary, definitely, stop - very questionable."

"Are you coming? The bus is loading?"

Spirits somehow revived, they picked up their step and joined Fiona, who was already picking through Ian's journal though the shadows on the pages made it difficult to read.