Inish Clare

by Jennifer Rose McMahon

  Paul jolted up to his feet, sending the table forward, and his chair tipped and smashed off the tile floor.

  The thunderous bang sent me flying, like a cat stuck to the ceiling, shooting electrified sparks through my body.

  The shock brought tears and then convulsions that shook my body into terror and then darkness. The world closed in and spun around me in a whir as I became weightless and released myself to the slow-motion haze.

  In the same instant, I was awakened with a jolt as Paul collided into me, catching me before I hit the floor. My body quaked in his arms as I smelled Fergal’s hand over my mouth and tasted his foul stench with the clarity of the moment it happened.

  Paul held me with such an intensity of strength I was sure it would hurt, but instead, he held me together. He lifted me and stared into my face, as if I’d been mortally wounded and these were our final moments.

  His tortured face turned up to the ceiling as if looking for strength, or answers, or a death wish on his enemy.

  I sank into a cloud of soft covers that cradled and soothed me. The safety of his strong arms and my warm bed allowed for the tears to unleash without shame. With quakes that could easily have been mistaken for the first heaves of vomit, the tears flowed out of me.

  I cried every detail of the story to Paul, slobbering and rambling, shouting and struggling, until I was exhausted.

  Staring at the fresh drizzle on the window, I swallowed and sat up, picking pieces of stuck hair off my wet cheeks.

  Paul’s nostrils flared as he ground his teeth.

  “I’m gonna kill that fucker.”

  “He said he had to stop me.” I rubbed my temples and laid back down on the bed, curled up with my blankets.

  “I need to contact the garda. They’ll need to make an arrest.”

  “Rory spoke with them last night. They want me to come to the station today to file a formal report,” I muttered.

  Paul balled his fists at the sound of Rory’s name. He paced the room like a trapped animal.

  I thought about what Rory told me, of the land in dispute. Fergal’s intentions.

  “It’s all about the land disputes. The territory up for grabs.” I picked my head up off the pillow and peeked at him.

  He pursed his lips and looked up in thought.

  “The deadline for resolution must be closer than we know. That would explain Fergal’s attacks.” His teeth clenched as he mumbled to himself, shaking his head in anger. “Legends say there’s treasure in the territory. Fergal’s greed has taken priority over his clan.” He cocked his head to the side.

  I spun around in the bed and propped myself up.

  “He must know I have the map. And the deed to the land.” My hands flew to my mouth to muffle the words.

  My eyes darted to my backpack, filled with Grace’s truths. The truths of the O’Malley Clan.

  “What do we do? He nearly killed me for it.” My voice sounded more steady.

  Paul huffed. “Yeah. ’Tis ironic.”

  He shook his head in disbelief and went to the window.

  “What is?” My eyebrows squeezed together.

  He stared out at the rain and then turned to me.

  “The fact that I need to go to Rory.” His lips pressed together until they were white. “For help.”

  Chapter Eleven

  Chieftains

  We hurried down Shop Street through the middle of Galway City, dodging the rain, and the levity brought a smile to my face that I hadn’t felt in days—since before the Fergal thing, anyway. The misty rain had turned to streaks of wetness as Paul pulled me along by my hand over the bumpy cobblestones. Late-afternoon shoppers dispersed and the streets opened up.

  The bright red door of Lynch’s pub caught my eye and I slowed our pace.

  “Thanks for doing this,” I said to Paul, as he turned to see why I’d stopped.

  “Yeah. Certainly not my first choice of person to share space with.” He pressed his lips together. “But Rory has information we need. I get that.” He paused and checked his phone.

  I bent forward to get a clear view down the street and felt anxiety tighten in my core. It was going to be awkward to share space with Paul and Rory again.

  And the moment Rory and I shared, right before Paul arrived that morning after the Fergal attack, haunted me. My gut twisted whenever I tried to rationalize it. I lumped it in with the moment Paul shared with Patricia at Smokey Joe’s, as if the two events were similar in some way. Though I prayed they weren’t, and hated that they happened at all.

  “And Maeve.” Paul’s voice snapped me back. “I’ve found some more information in my research this morning. Might explain why Fergal’s so hell-bent on stopping you.”

  I looked into Paul’s intense face and loved him for caring so much. For making all of this a priority.

  “What is it?” I swallowed the lump in my throat.

  “A momentous clan council meeting. Next week. It’s makin’ headlines as an historical event, with magnitude that could effect the future of the clans involved.”

  I watched droplets of water collect on the ends of his hair and fall. I knew nothing of council meetings.

  He added, “Sounds like it could be related to the land disputes possibly. It would explain the rising angst in the MacMahons anyway.”

  He watched my eyes glaze over.

  “What kind of power do the clans have anymore, anyway? It seems like an ancient thing. More like tradition stuff.” I shook my head, trying to understand the enormity of what was at stake.

  I looked out along the cobblestone toward Lynch’s Castle, imagining the same road set in its original medieval time.

  Paul smirked.

  “Right. The clans hold on to their ancient customs, quietly. They hold more power than common folk know. The rituals and treaties, they’re all honored to this day, protected under Brehon Law.” He blinked rain from his eyes. “People tread on the land like it’s theirs. But sure, it’s sacred.”

  “Well, at home, in the States, if you buy land, it’s yours. Doesn’t matter if a clan had it before you.” My head tipped, suddenly questioning the rules back home.

  “There’s vast quantities of land in Ireland, not owned by individuals, but held, as territory, in clan names. It’s the true power of Ireland. Its soul.” He pressed his lips together and nodded his head.

  He squeezed my hand and shook the rain from his hair. The wetness splashed my face and went in my eyes. I squealed as I brushed the drops from my cheeks and pushed him.

  “Jerk!” I jeered.

  I took the ends of my hair and whipped them at him, sending drops back at him. He stepped back, under the shelter of a shopfront awning. He pulled me into him and held me, looking into my face with a steady gaze.

  “Tread easy in there. You know… on me.” He gave a half-smile of worry and the furrowed lines on his forehead stressed his concern. “I don’t like that guy.”

  I reached up on my toes and kissed him. He lingered with his eyes closed to prolong the moment.

  “No worries,” I said.

  But in my heart I was nervous—unsure how this meeting with go, with the three of us.

  Rory was arrogant and cocky. I prayed he wouldn’t piss off Paul. Especially with Paul still feeling insecure about the other night.

  But I was also uncertain of Paul’s ability to get Rory to talk. If anything, Paul would shut him down with his first word and Rory would walk away with whatever it was we needed.

  “Come on.” I pulled Paul away from the wall and tugged him to Lynch’s.

  I had to face this head on.

  Now.

  ***

  Rory was slouched at the back of the pub in the shadows by the ancient stone arch. His legs splayed out, taking up more space than he needed. His pint half gone. Paul lingered at the bar to order drinks and I went to sit with Rory.

  He pulled himself up to standing as I approached the table and his eyes moved over me like silk. He leaned forward for a hu
g but hesitated, noticing Paul’s watchful glare, and instead, gestured for me to sit.

  “You look better, Maeve. Are ya feelin’ okay?”

  He sat back in his seat across from me, taking up more space with the span of his outstretched arms—one propped with confidence on the back of his chair.

  I peeled off my wet jacket and shook my hair away from my face.

  “Actually, yes. Much better. I slept straight through last night, for the first time since… you know. So that’s good.” I half-smiled.

  “Well, I’ve reported everything to the clan elders and they’ve contacted Fergal’s outlier clan. He shouldn’t be botherin’ ya again. Ya can be sure o’ that.” He took a slug of his pint and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand.

  “Who are the clan elders?” I watched his mouth more than I should have.

  “The wise ones, basically. More in tune with the rhythms of the earth. Druid priests mostly. They’re the ones saw ya comin’.” He nudged his chin at me and then looked into his dwindling pint.

  I pulled my head back and scrunched my eyebrows.

  “How’d they see me coming?”

  “Ah, come on, Maeve. We all know you’re connected to ’er. To the great O’Malley chieftain.” His eyes grew wide with mocking exaggeration. “Sure, the elders know things. They’re connected to the past, ya see.”

  Paul came to the table with two pints and a coffee.

  “Hey, Rory.” He nodded with little expression. “What’s this about an O’Malley chieftain?”

  He set a pint for Rory and placed my coffee into my eager hands.

  “Thanks, man.” Rory finished the end of his pint and placed the fresh one on its coaster.

  Silence. Awkward.

  I looked at Rory and then at Paul. Neither flinched.

  “So the police still have no information,” I stated. “No leads.”

  Rory nodded and closed his eyes.

  “No surprise,” he said.

  The silence returned and stretched for miles.

  “Um, so,” I stuttered, “we need your help, Rory.”

  “Ya, I figured.” He lifted his eyebrows and tilted his head, waiting for details. “It’s about time, I s’pose.”

  Paul cleared his throat.

  “Can you tell us why Fergal attacked Maeve? What did he want?”

  Rory glanced around the pub to be sure it was still close to empty and said, “Yeah. Fergal wants something from ’er, all right.” He sat back farther in his seat and took a deep breath. “There’s a feud between the clans, ya know—the MacMahons an’ the O’Malleys. Goes back over five hundred years.”

  “I’m aware.” Paul’s voice fell flat.

  Rory squinted at him with an annoyed nod.

  “Well, there’s land involved.” He paused. “Lots of it. And riches, supposedly. The MacMahons have control over the land but still, no treasure’s been found.” Rory looked down his nose at me. “But you’ve upset all that now. Did ya know that, Maeve?”

  I squirmed in my seat, like an accused criminal.

  “They say yer here to finish her business.” He watched my shaking hands.

  “Who says that?” Paul interrupted.

  “The Druids. Elders of me clan.” Rory spoke to Paul, then turned back to me with narrow examining eyes. “Are they right, Maeve?”

  Paul reached his hand over to me to stop me from responding, protecting me from Rory’s interrogation. I took his hand and moved it back.

  I thought about his question.

  To finish her business.

  Rory’s clan was right. That was exactly what I intended to do. To restore the land that was rightfully hers. To get it back from the clutches of the MacMahons before it was too late. I couldn’t let their resistance stop me, or kill me even, and had to move fast.

  Maybe it was time to approach the O’Malley clan council with the scrolls. I had a week before the big hearing Paul was talking about.

  But who was I? Just an immigrant’s granddaughter from Boston. They wouldn’t take me seriously.

  Plus, it was all connected to Grace and I had to keep her at the forefront. I had to make the right decisions for her. She reached out to me. She wants me to do this. Not only reclaiming her territory to that of her original Gaelic Ireland, but reuniting her with Hugh. Returning peace and prosperity to the O’Malley Clan.

  I deflated at the enormity of the task. I was lacking the actual power to make it all happen… although the MacMahons seemed to think otherwise.

  “Well? Are they right? You here to finish her business?” he asked again with raised eyebrows.

  “Yes. They are right,” I stated with a clear, firm tone.

  Rory’s chin pulled back at my gumption and then he nodded. “I see. Then we do have a problem here.”

  Rory and I stared into each other’s eyes—neither of us blinking.

  I pulled power from his gaze and didn’t back down. All peripheral vision blurred out and I only saw into his deep pupils and all the secrets they held. The baby hairs all over my body bristled.

  A slow breeze blew my hair forward, tickling my face, and then with a heavy burst, the red door flew open, allowing a forceful surge of wind into the pub. The space lost pressurization and my ears popped as all sound mixed together into a loud hum. Then all went silent in the blast.

  My eyes darted around searching for an explanation. Just as my hair settled around me, a huge whoosh of energy picked up again, causing my eyes to squint.

  Swirling chaos of wind and salty mist filled the space with screeching sound and alarm.

  I turned to find shelter or a place to hide as my flight instinct took over. The squalls avoided the back of the pub, like the edge of a tornado, and the ancient stone arch remained clear.

  I reached for Paul and yanked him with me into the shelter of the arch. He grabbed my arms and pulled me close, wiping my hair out of my face.

  Rory jumped up from his seat and stepped farther into the wind with his arm shielding his wide, bewildered eyes.

  “Rory! Get in here!” I screamed through the torrents.

  He turned and peered through the gusts with squinted eyes, trying to hear me.

  “Rory!” I reached for him. “It’s not safe!”

  My voice turned to a scream as I saw her taking form in the wind. I reached for him again.

  “It’s her!” My voice was lost in the wind. “She’s coming!”

  I grabbed his jacket sleeve and tugged him in with us.

  The wind tore past the archway and continued to churn through every other space of the pub.

  The burn on my chest awakened and sizzled under the weight of her ring hanging from my necklace. I reached into my shirt, grasping the chain, and pulled it out. My head fell back as I cried out in pain. The ring swung on the chain in my hand and twisted in its agitated freedom.

  A dark blur flew across the pub toward us and yanked the ring from my neck. The chain broke and fell to the floor as I scrambled for the relic that was gone in an instant.

  “Paul! The ring!” I cried out, rubbing the back of my neck where the chain broke.

  Paul froze, gazing into the swirling mist as if entranced in the eyes of a cobra. I spun to Rory for help but he had the same lost look, staring in the exact direction as Paul.

  I followed their line of vision, breathing through the blistering burn on my chest, and squinted into the swirling black mist as it took the form of Gráinne Ní Mháille, pirate queen.

  Grace stood tall in the gusts with her blue cloak flowing all around her, exposing a white ruffled blouse held tight to her waist with a laced leather vest. Her broad stance held steady as the lines in her face and intent in her eyes became clear through the squall. She locked her piercing gaze on me and moved closer as her jet-black hair flew all around, framing her in striking beauty.

  She glanced to my left at Paul, then right at Rory, and they dropped to their knees in an instant and bent their heads down in respect.

  My legs qua
ked under me as she reached out to touch my hand. My eyes looked away in terror as I froze, waiting.

  She took my hand and lifted it in front of my face. Her weightless touch felt like air moving through me. My timid gaze remained planted on the floor, scared to death to look up into her magnificent face.

  “Méabh.” Her smooth poetic voice filled my head with the sound of an ancient language as she spoke my name like prose. “Taoiseach.”

  She held my hand up and waited. I lifted my gaze from the floor and looked at her through half-shut eyes, like looking into the sun.

  “Taoiseach Ni Maille.” Her eyes smiled into mine.

  She pushed the ring onto my middle finger.

  The scorching heat from the band, like liquid metal, bonded onto my skin without pain as it became a part of me.

  Like a strange mix of venom and morphine, a surge of energy burst from the ring and ran through me like hot streaking light. In an instant, I looked straight into the eyes of Gráinne Ní Mháille with a confidence that grounded me, as if I were home.

  She allowed me to gaze into her soul and joined it to mine.

  My eyes brimmed with tears as her mystical knowledge filled my mind. I gasped for air as my eyes rolled back. Visions of my life ran backward on rewind, flipping through the years to my infancy, but then continued on.

  I traveled through generations and centuries of O’Malley women and their life experiences. All focusing in on a single point of enlightenment. The true essence of the O’Malley Clan.

  My heart connected with hers as I filled my lungs with new life. New understanding. She was my soul now. My beating heart. And I wanted to stay with her.

  I opened my eyes and reached for her blue cloak, desperate to touch her.

  She nodded in satisfaction with my transformation but faded as I moved closer.

  I stepped toward her and watched the power in her eyes and strength in her stance blur into the mist.

  Panic shot through me with a shudder as the wind died down and her streaks of color settled into the haze.

  “Grace!” My voice cracked in anguish as the dark edges of the pub came back into clarity. “Don’t leave me!”

  And she was gone.

  I stared, panting, into the space under the arch where she once stood.