“It’s ready,” Chann announces from a projector he set up.
Apparently, the flash drive only contained a few documents. One of them Chann deemed as the place for us to start.
With the lights dimmed, I flop on the massive leather couch next to Alannah. She has Rory curled up on her left, so I stretch an arm around and pull them both into my side, ruffling Rory’s hair as I do it.
He beams that happy smile at me, and I melt like a pussy.
“You want me to read it aloud?” Chann asks as the document flashes on the massive cream wall above the fireplace.
“Yeah,” I reply, thinking it’ll keep us all together as we move through what’s surely to be something fucked up.
Here we go.
The modern miracle is a farce. What the media portrays as unexplained wonder or the vile testament to a higher being presiding over human life, is a lie created to deceive the human population. The idea of Divine intervention is a crude representation of the inner workings in place around us.
Water into wine and healing the ill are not the focus of this manifesto. The miracles in question here are the events experienced every day. For example, the woman who was mugged without any self-defense training and able to escape her attacker unscathed. This may seem like dumb luck or miraculous intervention by whichever higher power an individual or society believes in. I argue that there is another, provable and scientifically verifiable explanation for this, and other occurrences. Such as, the man who survived a plane crash that ended the lives of over two hundred people. The woman who reportedly survived in an air pocket after the ship carrying her across the Atlantic sank five days prior. The soldier who single-handedly took down the enemy without sustaining a single injury.
These people and many others are regarded as miracles. Survivors of horrific experiences by the grace of God. I argue that this is far from accurate. In fact, when studying the facts, this attribution is rooted in Christianity when miracles of this kind began long before the religion took hold.
My research points to misunderstood miracles originating in prehistoric Ireland c. 8000 BC. Part of the misconception lies in the belief that written records do not exist in Ireland until the Iron Age. The history books have that wrong. From the earliest settlements, there are records held. They are not for public consumption, but rather, a cultural strong hold passed down through generations of Irish. A pure-blooded race that has dwindled as time has passed with only a few left to pass on their wisdom today.
I feel it is my duty to be the orator of this history. The monumental discovery that has been hidden away and often dismissed in the social sciences. Alas, it is not meant to be. This is not my culture to share and the brave souls who have provided me with their history do not wish to be known or have their lives torn apart by the machine that is modern day media.
So I offer this Irish Manifesto in its entirety to shed light on misunderstood miracles only to the few who may actually experience it. This is your guide to your past and a window into your future. You must hold on tightly as you traverse the world that will undoubtedly bring more harm than good as the masses will never understand what they cannot fit into their small, stereotyped version of reality.
I believe I will be your guardian, the person whom you will trust with your lives while providing scientific proof to offer the world when the time comes. The time is nearing where the weak will be preyed upon, and the strong will dominate. You will become the shields that protect and rise against the evils surging to the surface.
The records I spent nearly a decade obtaining consisted of almost exact replicas of the information I was provided with. There was little to no variation in the facts presented. This allowed me to further my research into discarded archeological finds that further corroborated my hypothesis of the origins of misunderstood miracles.
When a person is in grave danger, bargaining is a part of the process in trying to come to terms with life nearing its end. Whether you pray to a god or simply hope for a positive outcome, you bargain to come out of the situation with your life intact.
It is this bargain that sits at the crux of how shields are obtained. From the beginning of time in prehistoric Ireland, this give and take has been respected. There is an allowance that occurred in the early years of civilization due to the bargaining of hunters and gatherers.
This is the foretold in ogham:
The person who willingly and selflessly gives their life for another will bestow upon the receiver of life a shield from the sacrificed.
The bargain that was created was not to save the gravely injured life. This is not about coming back to life or staving off death. This is about sacrifice of life in order to save another. When one makes this brave choice, they bestow a gift. It is a shield from dying in the same manner. For example, if a man throws himself in front of a bullet in order to save his wife from certain death, that woman will never be able to die from a bullet. In fact, she will essentially become immune to bullets. That will be her shield, bequeathed to her through a bargain agreed upon from the beginning of time.
For centuries, shields were common knowledge amongst tribes. The shields were not against bullets and knives, but instead spears, rocks, animals and starvation. Hunters and gathers protecting the livelihood of their people’s survival. But as the years passed and evolution began, the bargain was forgotten, and the shields were less common. The need to survive in order to provide for a family was no longer life and death. So began a regression of sorts.
As people moved away from their roots, this gift was no longer allowed. As races and ethnicities began to mix, this gift was no longer allowed. As the world changed from a blossoming flower to an overrun city dump, the gift was no longer allowed.
The brave people who had once bargained and sacrificed in order to allow their people to live and prosper were long forgotten. Simply a relic amongst many, and without a colorful past like the Romans or the Greeks, deemed unimportant.
There were whispers in Pagan culture. There were suggestions when scientists could not understand what was happening around them. There were hypotheses put forth by anthropologists. The shields, however, were never revealed.
It wasn’t until late one stormy April night, where a doctor was completing her residency hours at a free clinic in Kansas City, when the secret came to life once again. I held a miracle in my hands that night. He was not a miracle due to his harsh entrance into the world. He was a miracle because he gave me my first glimpse at a shield and pushed me to discover this lost bargain.
I was not able to protect him that fateful night. I have vowed to protect the rest of you who bear the shield. I intend to set right what I wronged so many years ago, and I believe you will be the key to that.
You are a bearer. A rare mixture of culture, faith and sacrifice. Power has been bestowed upon you in the most courageous manner that exists. So I welcome you to your new life, and I wish you all the happiness in the world as we work together to discover what your bargain has gained you.
My research has led to many findings, but you will be interested in why you are a bearer. We are curious animals as humans. We crave understanding and force ideas into boxes if they do not fit where they should. Do not force your shield into a misunderstood miracle box. Rejoice in your shield and bear that gift proudly.
There is specific criterion in order to become a bearer. They are as follows:
1. You must be of one hundred percent Irish descent.
2. Your bloodline must come from an original prehistoric Irish tribe or one of the close evolutions of one.
3. The sacrifice made for your life may not have been coerced or required.
4. The sacrifice must end in death.
5. Your life may not be near its own end, i.e., if you are close to death yourself, a sacrifice will not save your life.
Moving beyond those strict rules, there are some parameters that I have discovered through my own research into shields. They are:
1. The
strength of your shield is affected by the age at which you receive it. The older you are, the less powerful the shield.
2. The manner in which your sacrifice dies also affects your shield. The more violent the death, the more rigorous the shield.
3. You can only possess one shield. This is simply due to the fact that a person can only die from one cause. A person may die after having received multiple wounds from varying weapons, but only one will be the culprit to take the sacrifice’s life.
4. Shields are not born; they are made. A shield will not pass on their ability to their offspring.
I hope that, in the future, I will find multiple bearers. Together you will be able to harvest your strength and plan for a positive future doing good in the world that has forgotten you. It is my mission to assist you in any way I can in this endeavor.
You are a miracle, never misunderstand that.
The room is silent other than the whir of the projector. All of us doing our best to digest the information and the wacked out ramblings. One thing’s for certain, Davina Slone was a nut job for the record books.
“Holy shit,” Chann hisses, breaking through the tension filled fog.
“I’m gonna puke,” Rory gasps and takes off running toward the bathroom.
I climb to my feet to go after him, but Chann holds a hand up to halt me, saying, “I’ve got him.”
I remain standing and try to think of the right words to fill this space. I can only hear Sorcha’s voice right now though.
Kane, you’re my wings, the answer to my prayers. The gods decided my womb wasn’t meant to bear a child. They gave me you instead. A pure soul to watch and protect. You’re my miracle.
“We have proof now that she was crazy,” I announce. There are mutters and snorts of agreement. “We also know she was wrong about shit. I have more than one shield, and my son is obviously a bearer. Alannah is reaping the benefits of his abilities.”
I pause and think over what we just learned while gazing down at my woman and her bump. Her electric blue eyes are filled with worry and concern, but I see a little relief mixed in too. We have some answers.
“This is hard for all of us. If she’s right, we’re bearers because someone sacrificed their life for us. While that may be a gift, it’s also a burden to carry. With the information we have on all your lives before Canyon Nine, we can probably figure out who sacrificed themselves on your behalf. We’ll help each other through this. And as your memories come back, we’ll support each other. This is a lot of fucked up information to process. Does anyone wanna say somethin’?” I finish, sick of the sound of my own voice.
“Do you think she was actually intending to do good or just building up to be a complete psycho?” Braden asks the room as I flop down next to my woman again.
“That read like some cult shit,” Emmett chimes in.
“She wrote it in the nineties. Do you think she wrote more recently?” Nora asks me.
“There’s more shit on the flash drive, but Chann said it’s not as spelled out as this.”
“Do we think Ronan’s any better than she was?” Devin questions.
“He seemed like a good guy, but I don’t trust him. I don’t trust anyone who’s not in this room or connected to us.”
Alex squeezes my shoulder, and I lift my chin at him. I wonder if he knows who sacrificed their life for his. I’m not sure if I should ask. That’s personal. It’s obvious my birth mother sacrificed her life for mine. I’m doing my best not to imagine what she must have endured in order for me to have all of my shields.
“We need to get this to Reagan and Dermot,” Alannah says quietly to me as the room breaks into conversation.
“Already on it, Doc,” I assure her before kissing her crimson lips.
“I might end up bein’ a fish,” she murmurs against my mouth.
I furrow my brow and remember that Sixteen sacrificed his life for hers. Fuck me.
“I don’t know what tribe I come from,” she teases, “but I know I’m one hundred percent Irish.”
“Not sure I’m willing to find out if you’re a fish,” I grumble. “I didn’t enjoy finding out.”
She nods thoughtfully, hugging me tightly.
“I bet Reagan’s a vest. Two people have sacrificed their lives for her. Now she’s all alone in Chicago, mourning her man and probably fighting with Dermot. I should’ve tried to get her to stay here with us.”
“I’m guessin’ Dermot hasn’t left her alone. He’s a lot like me.”
“Weird questions, lacking social skills and hot as hell?”
“There you go with that mouth,” I purr just as Rory and Chann emerge from the back of the house.
“You good?” I ask the kid.
“No,” he huffs.
“I’ll make you some herbal tea. Kane’s mom gave me a great recipe for nausea. It tastes like dirt, but it does the trick,” Alannah says, climbing to her feet.
I snag her wrist before she can get away.
“She did that?” I rasp, fighting the emotions clogging my throat.
“She was convinced I was pregnant. Forced me to memorize her recipe while we were in the bunker,” she answers sadly. “I wish we still had her around for all of this. I think she might be the only person who could make this room full of confused people feel better.”
“Yeah,” I grunt, releasing her.
She runs her delicate fingers across my jaw before striding away, sweeping an arm around Rory’s waist as she goes.
“So we gotta figure some shit out. Cait needs to see Alannah, go through that whole comin’ back to life thing. You need to have a serious talk with that Ronan fucker. And we gotta figure out where to put all these people. We can’t stay out here in the sticks forever,” Chann says, dropping on the couch next to me.
As usual, he’s unfazed by the weird shit he just read. He takes everything in stride so well that I’m starting to think he’s on drugs. I know he’s not, but how can one person be this unaffected?
“I’m not an alien,” I joke.
“No, you’re some magical creature from some dirty ancient tribe. Like I said, tell people you’re a mutant. Way cooler.”
“You’re not freaked?”
“After the bullet comin’ outta Alannah’s chest while chanting some weird shit and holding a bunch of strangers’ hands on top of her belly?” he asks seriously. “Nah, man. This shit was cake compared to that mind fuck.”
“Right,” I reply through a snort.
I guess this is easier than that. A lot fucking easier.
“I think Ronan should come back out here and talk to everyone. Set that up for me. Have Caelan bring Cait out here. I’m not ready to leave until I’ve done some digging on Sage Development. Start lookin’ for some builders for me. People we use in the clan. I’m thinkin’ I’ll build something on my family land,” I rattle off, feeling a bit like my old self.
“Anything else?” Chann asks while typing away at his phone.
“Thank you,” I say sincerely.
His thumbs stop, and his head turns to face mine.
“I was drownin’ in that forest. A fuckin’ breath away from death even if my body wouldn’t let me die. You brought me back and made me fight for my family. I owe you my life, Chann. Thank you.”
He swallows thickly before nodding. “Love you, man.”
“Love you too, brother.”
I pull him in for a rough hug and then rumple his messy hair.
“Kane,” Braden calls out from the center of the room where all the bearers are scrolling through whack-job Dr. Sadist’s manifesto.
“Yeah?”
I slide off the couch and join the group.
“We all just realized we’re livin’ off you and your crew. None of us knows if we have any money or anything left. Do you know?” Emmett asks.
“I don’t think you all have anything, but Chann can look into that. You don’t need to worry about money. I’ve got us covered until you all get your memories back and d
ecide where you’re headed.”
“We’re not leavin’,” they respond in unison.
“Let’s wait and see how you feel once you remember.”
“Anyone ever tell you you’re an asshole?” Rhys asks.
“Only when I try to talk to people,” I snark.
“You’re keepin’ Rory. Why don’t you want us?” Nora asks sadly, which causes Braden to glare at me.
“It’s not about wanting you guys around. Of course, I’d like us to stay close. But some of you might have lives you wanna get back to. Friends, jobs, dreams…fuck I don’t know. I’ve got nothin’ left. Canyon Nine stole every-fuckin’-thing from me other than what I have in this house. Maybe I’m hopin’ you all didn’t lose what I did,” I grumble, cracking my neck.
“Why would they take everything from you and leave anything for us?” Lucas asks a very good question. The lumberjack blizzard is quiet most of the time, but thoughtful when he speaks.
“Wishful thinkin’.” I shrug.
“Dead people comin’ back to life is a problem, Kane. Even if we had lives to go back to, they’re gonna be fucked up and filled with questions we won’t have answers to. Or if we do have answers, people are gonna struggle with that shit. This is the reason superheroes have secret identities,” Kevin says seriously.
We all chuckle at the superhero comment. Though, he makes a good point. It’s not like we can just call CNN and report our shields. There are too many fucked up people in the world that would want to do the same shit to us as Dr. Sadist was. Keeping our shields to ourselves is the smart plan.
But I refuse to live in hiding anymore. I want a life that’s full of normal shit.
“My mom left me some land. Well, a lot of land. If you all decide you wanna hang with me, I could build us a place there,” I suggest as Rory and Alannah bust out laughing in the kitchen.
I look over my shoulder to find my woman smiling from ear to ear while Rory tries to gag down Sorcha’s recipe. I wish she was here to see this. To live this life that’s rooted in a history she was faithfully dedicated to.
Misunderstood Miracles Page 24