Irish End Games, Books 4-5-6

by Kiernan-Lewis, Susan

  Both John and Gavin nodded.

  “As it happens,” Siobhan said, “her mother didn’t tell quite the truth as the girl’s father was the local butcher in the village—a shop where the girl, herself, went for the family’s meat nearly every single day.”

  “So,” John said, frowning, “her mother lied to her?”

  “Aye, she did,” Siobhan said helping herself to another cornbread muffin. “But didn’t she see every day someone she believed didn’t exist?”

  “Okay,” John said, “but how does the altar of dog bones fit into the old stories suddenly coming alive or whatever?”

  Siobhan sucked in a breath and smoothed down Ciara’s hair as if reluctant to answer. Sarah stepped back into the room and took Ciara from the old woman.

  “Come on, little one,” she said brightly. “Let’s get you to bed.” But she hesitated in the doorway as if Siobhan’s hesitation had power to hold her there.

  “The druids,” Siobhan finally said, “used nature, you see, to connect the heavens and the mortal realm with the underworld.”

  Sarah felt a shiver travel up her arms. John and Gavin stared at Siobhan in rapt attention.

  “And they sacrificed animals—the living embodiment of nature—on their altars to appeal to the gods. Morrigan, Dagda, Odin.”

  The sounds of the ancient names felt like an incantation and for a moment the room was unearthly quiet.

  Sarah cleared her throat. “You think we have practicing druids in the area?”

  Siobhan looked at Sarah and smiled. “I do, darlin,’ I see it. The gypsies among us see it. And your man. Oh, he sees it as clear as the stars in the night sky.”

  Sarah put the baby to bed, and then she and Siobhan cleaned up the kitchen while the two boys sat on the porch and talked. Sarah lighted a lantern in the living room so she could read by it and Siobhan could knit.

  The older woman had been neatly adopted into the family and Sarah was grateful for her company. After a while the boys would walk Siobhan back to her own cottage on the other side of the main campfire. Mike shouldn’t be late tonight, but Sarah was uneasy. She hadn’t read half a chapter of one of the mysteries she’d brought from the States last year when she heard his footfall on the porch and the voices of the boys in greeting.

  He opened the door and smiled tiredly at her. It was already late and she hoped he didn’t have more work that would keep him from going to bed soon.

  “Final cup of tea?” Sarah asked, looking at him and Siobhan.

  “I wouldn’t say no,” Mike said. He kissed her and collapsed onto the couch next to Siobhan. “How are you then, Siobhan?”

  “I’m bonny, Mike Donovan,” she said, with a twinkle in her eye. “And yourself?”

  “Well and truly knackered.”

  Sarah handed him a mug of tea and set Siobhan’s on the coffee table in front of her.

  “Tell us about our visitor,” Sarah said, sitting opposite him. Siobhan put her knitting down. Even television, if they’d had it, wasn’t as good as news from another village.

  “He’s from a village on the west coast.”

  “My bones,” Siobhan said, “he’s come a long way.”

  “Aye, he has,” Mike said. He smiled at Sarah and she felt a rush of love for him. He did so much for everyone. Sometimes there wasn’t enough left of him at the end of the day.

  “Are they planting and making it work?” Sarah asked.

  “They seem to be doing better than our lot around here. At least they’re catching fish and they managed a decent harvest this year.”

  Gavin and John came in from the porch.

  “But I was wrong about him just passing through,” Mike said. “Seems his village heard about our antibiotics. They’ve had some illness and he’s come to beg for medicine.”

  “What did you tell him?”

  “That we’d talk again tomorrow. He slept in the ditches for four nights to get here. He’s pretty done in.”

  “It’s good to hear other communities making it,” Sarah said. “Even without the help of generators and refrigerators and semi-automatic weapons.”

  “Mind, they’ve had their problems.”

  “Like what?” Gavin asked. Because the west coast was so far from the Irish Sea and the usual marauding bandits from the UK, it was generally considered safer than the middle of Ireland or any place on the east coast.

  “A couple of young girls went missing last summer. Pretty much upset the whole village.”

  “Well, I should say so. They have no idea what happened to them?”

  “Disappeared without a trace.”

  “Their poor parents,” Siobhan said.

  “Aye. The girls were sisters. Twins. And the only children of their parents, poor devils.”

  “No other children missing?”

  “I don’t know, Sarah. I’ll ask him tomorrow.

  “When last summer did it happen?” Siobhan asked, picking up her knitting again.

  “June,” Mike said.

  “Late June?”

  “Give it a rest, Siobhan,” Mike said wearily.

  Sarah turned to her. “Did you know of it?” she asked.

  “No, but late June would be Midsummer,” Siobhan said. “They wouldn’t by chance have been taken on Midsummer Eve, would they?”

  “I have no idea,” Mike said, finishing off his tea.

  Siobhan addressed the boys and Sarah. “On Midsummer Eve, bonfires are lighted on every hill in honor of Saint John. It’s an important feast day, especially when you need to celebrate a successful harvest.” She looked at Mike reprovingly.

  “I’ll wager a better celebration,” Mike said pointedly, “is getting the newly-harvested crops into the root cellars rather than running amok lighting bonfires on hilltops. Can you imagine our lot doing that? We’d have more broken bones and burned hands than fruits and vegetables.”

  “But some of the other communities do it?” Gavin asked.

  “Thinking of running away to join a community that has more parties, Gavin?” Mike asked dryly.

  “It’s late,” Siobhan said as she gathered up her knitting. “John and Gavin fetch me my basket from the kitchen that Sarah was so kind to pack for me and I’ll meet you out front.” She put a hand on Sarah’s arm. “Thank you, Sarah, for the scones. I’ll enjoy them tomorrow morning. Get off your feet now, darlin.”

  “You’re welcome, Siobhan. I will.”

  “And as for you, Michael Donovan,” she said. “Mind you tell your good wife the rest of the story.”

  “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Mike said, standing and shrugging out of his jacket.

  “Tell me,” Sarah said to both of them.

  “As I said, Midsummer’s Eve is a verra special night of year,” Siobhan said as she wrapped her shawl tight around her shoulders and moved to the front door where the boys were waiting for her on the other side. She hesitated with her hand on the door handle.

  “It’s when the fairies come and steal away beautiful girls to be their brides.”

  CHAPTER FOUR

  “I know you’re not thinking about what Siobhan said tonight,” Mike said as he slid into bed. Sarah smoothed moisturizer on her elbows and hands. The bitter cold of the Irish winter hadn’t descended upon them yet, but when it did she well remembered the months of chapped and cracked skin.

  “Well, it is one of the better Irish ghost stories,” Sarah said. “But I’m wondering why you wouldn’t just tell me, yourself? Did you honestly think the boys or I would imagine those girls had been spirited off by…spirits?”

  Mike sighed. “I wanted to keep whatever happened in Burren well mired in reality. If there was a kidnapping—”

  “Wait a minute. Our visitor is from Burren?”

  “Is that pertinent?”

  “In the research I did when David and I were planning our trip over here I read that Burren is where Irish legends come from.”

  Mike leaned on one arm, facing her in bed.

&nbs
p; “Well, there you are, then. Mystery solved. Our visitor is a ghost not mortal and I’ll be thanking you, Sarah, darlin’ for pointing that out to me. But as I was saying, we don’t even know that the girls did disappear.”

  “You think he’s lying?”

  “I think our powers of verification are a little less than they were. Gossip and rumor are our media outlets now. So if it was a kidnapping—and you yourself know well that can happen—I’d like to stay focused on the human blackguards who are likely responsible and not get distracted by marauding fairies.”

  “Makes sense.”

  “Saints be praised,” he said, falling back into bed.

  He did look tired, Sarah noted. “How’s the mill coming?” she asked.

  He groaned again. The mill project was clearly proving to be a bigger challenge than anticipated. Just diverting the nearby creek was taking all the men’s time and effort.

  “Every time we build the dam to where it reroutes the flow of the stream the next morning we’ve lost another meter of height.”

  “Why?”

  “Mostly because we’re working with dirt and rocks and because none of us knows what we’re doing.”

  “Two steps forward,” Sarah said.

  “Aye, something like that.”

  Sarah slipped into his arms. She placed her hands on both sides of his face.

  “Don’t carry the weight alone, Mike,” she whispered to him. “You’ve got me, now. Remember?”

  “I remember, love.” Moments later, Sarah heard purring snores coming from him. She snuggled close to him, her cheek on his chest, feeling her strength and courage return as she listened to the steady drumming of his heart.

  *****

  The next morning, Mike awoke to find Declan sitting in the kitchen drinking a cup of tea while Sarah fried bacon. Both boys had already eaten and were outside throwing an old softball back and forth.

  “Declan,” Mike said as he entered the kitchen. Sarah left the stove to give him a kiss and Mike pulled her to him, dropping his hand to cup her bottom.

  “None of that, Mike Donovan.” Sarah laughed and squirmed out of his grasp. “We have company.”

  “I see we do,” Mike said, nodding to Declan before taking the steaming mug of tea Sarah handed him. “To what do I owe this early honor?”

  “I could head out there on my own,” Declan said matter of factly, “but then I’d just see you there anyway, aye?”

  “Makes sense,” Mike said, not bothering to sit down.

  “And old Mickey will be coming, too,” Declan said.

  “Says who?”

  “Well, being a daft old bugger, he’s not as used to taking orders from yourself as the rest of us are.” Declan stood up and smiled his thanks at Sarah before walking to the door. “He’ll be needing to ride, though. I’ve sent the lads to saddle a horse for him.”

  Mike sighed and caught a be-patient look from Sarah.

  “What’s your day look like?” he asked.

  “Canning. Cooking. Arguing with Fi. What does it ever look like?”

  “What are you and Fi arguing about?”

  “Nothing. Go look at the dog bones. Then come back and reassure everyone we don’t have leprechauns or practicing Wiccans in the woods.”

  “Damn that Mickey Quinn,” Mike said. “He’s told the whole camp then?”

  “What little he knows. I think so.”

  “Bugger.” He leaned in to kiss her. He was tempted to stay longer but turned to join Declan and Mickey on the porch.

  “Declan said you wouldn’t mind if I was to join you, Mike,” Mickey said. He was wearing a thick jacket and a woollen fisherman’s sweater underneath which seemed to accentuate his age and frailty.

  “Not at all,” Mike said, patting Mickey on his bony shoulder. “The lads tacking something up for you, are they?”

  “Yes sir, they are,” Mickey said. He trotted down the porch steps in his eagerness.

  It had been a few weeks since Mike had been out of the compound. Normally he accompanied the night patrol for one circuit around the compound’s perimeter at least once a week. It occurred to him that after he married Sarah, it was harder and harder to get out of bed when she was in it.

  He was tempted to have the lads take him to the spot that Tommy Donaghue had discovered on the surveillance monitor. But with Declan and Mickey in tow, he decided against it. Come to that, he’d need to have a word with John and Gavin. Just because they weren’t superstitious, didn’t mean they couldn’t do a lot of damage if they were to talk too much about certain things.

  Mike had seen hysteria infect a group within minutes and he couldn’t take the chance of that happening here. The people in the compound counted on him to keep them safe. Even if it was from themselves and their own fears.

  The walk to Seamus’s farm wasn’t long. Two kilometers across the pasture if you avoided the roads. It was where Sarah and her first husband David had lived with John more than two years ago. As they were walking, Mike glanced at John. The boy walked next to Gavin, his shoulders straight, his eyes constantly scanning the bush, the tree line, and the horizon over the undulating pasture.

  John hadn’t been home the day his father was murdered, thank God. But he knew every inch of the ground that had soaked up David’s blood. Even now, John regularly visited the remote pasture where they had laid David to rest.

  What must he be thinking? Does the lad wonder if the altar is somehow connected?

  Mickey rode quietly while the rest of them made their way on foot. It was clear he wasn’t any kind of a horseman but on a mount this gentle, he didn’t need to be. If a rabbit were to burst from its burrow, Mike’s hand was near enough to the bridle to stop anything before it started.

  “What’s your interest in all this?” Mike said to Declan once the boys, having grown bored with the slower pace, walked ahead of them.

  “What do you mean?” Declan’s official role in the compound was that of sheriff. While there was the odd drunken row or domestic incident, for the most part life in the compound was peaceful. Declan spent the majority of his time patrolling the grounds and coordinating the watches.

  “Do you really think someone’s practicing witchcraft around here?” Mike asked.

  “You don’t?”

  Mike snorted. “Even if they were, I’m not sure how it affects us.”

  Declan’s face was set in grim resolve. “First it’s stray dogs,” he said. “And then it’s our sheep. And after that? You said yourself, most of these woods are hunted out.”

  “It’s a sacrificial offering,” Mickey said.

  Mike didn’t bother to respond. If Declan and Mickey saw the human bones, they would all have a problem. Declan would likely stay mum—even though he was definitely acting edgy—but Mickey? There was no way he wouldn’t go back and launch a full-scale anxiety bomb onto the others.

  When they reached Seamus’s property, they could see Sarah and David’s old cottage about a quarter mile down the fence line. As far as Mike knew it was still abandoned. John and Gavin were tasked with keeping an inventory of which cottages had inhabitants and which didn’t. When they did find a cottage where someone had moved in, Declan and Mike soon made an unannounced visit. If the squatters were transients, they were encouraged to keep moving. The belief was that only families interested in planting a field and making a home wouldn’t eventually cause trouble for the compound.

  And they had yet to meet anyone like that.

  “There it is,” Declan said. Gavin, wearing his favorite red flannel shirt, was easily visible from the sixty yards that separated them. He stood on the verge of the woods bordering the pasture and waved.

  Mike hoped he could distract Mickey long enough to see the bones for himself and then hide them before the old man caught wind of it. Short of whispering in Declan’s ear—which would be sure to cause consternation in Mickey—there was little Mike could do to warn Declan ahead of time about the human bones.

  They trudged ahead u
ntil they saw what the boys were standing in front of. Mike whistled when he saw it because as a structure it was no mean feat. Standing ten feet across and three feet tall, it was a sturdy and functional altar. That was undeniable at first glance. And it wouldn’t have been easy to build. Each of the stones weighed at least twenty pounds. The capstone was narrow as if it had been chiseled just for this purpose—not something found in the pasture and repurposed.

  Immediately behind it was a half circle of standing stones. Jammed into the ground like irregular headstones, six flat granite slabs—resembling a miniature Stonehenge—bordered a small clearing. Mickey sucked in a loud breath and Mike turned in time to catch the old fellow before he fell out of the saddle.

  The altar at the opening of the rock formation had two dog carcasses draped over it and one on the ground in front. Mike had to admit, the scene was chilling. Someone had not only slaughtered these animals—dogs that had been somebody’s pet a few years ago—but carefully built the execution platform. As Mike approached the altar, he remembered an article he’d read years ago that said most psychopaths had some history of animal torture.

  He touched the collar on one of the dogs. Each dog’s throat was efficiently cut with a single slice. Mike’s scalp prickled at the thought that the human bones were near these deliberate killings.

  Could the child’s bones be a part of the ritual slaughter? Was someone making human as well as animal sacrifices?

  “Jaysus,” Declan said. His face was white as he gazed at the dead dogs.

  “Druids,” Mickey said, his voice panicked and high. “This is a druid altar.”

  Mike glanced at John and Gavin. They were standing off to the side, and both gave him a strained look. They’re trying to tell me the human bones are that way.

  He turned to Declan. “I’m going to take a leak. Watch Mickey, will you? He looks a little shaky on his pins.”

  Declan didn’t take his eyes off the altar. Mike decided this was probably all the window he was going to get and he marched over to the boys.