by Paul Heron
‘Yes, follow me,’ Michael said, activating the torch from his phone.
‘She told you to memorise some weird chant to open the locked wall, didn’t she?’ Ajit said.
‘Done. It’s all upstairs.’ Michael tapped on his temple.
They crept down the sand covered path, the tiny dot of sunlight behind them getting smaller, taking them further into the dark cave. Nothing but cold damp air and blackness ahead. From what Michael remembered, they had to take the first path on their left. He led the way. They walked forty-five paces, then turned right. Another fifteen paces and they came to a dead end, a slight opening in the wall, like a doorway to a building, but it didn’t lead anywhere. A huge stone wall blocked them from continuing any further.
‘Why are we stopping?’ Mohammad said.
‘Can you walk through walls now?’ Marcel teased.
Ajit sniggered.
‘Is this it?’ Sofia said.
‘I think so,’ Michael said. He scanned the torch across the wall. ES was etched into the bottom corner. ‘Elisabetta Sirani.’ He pulled the chain from around his neck and gripped the stone tightly. ‘Let’s see what happens.’ He began to chant something in old Gaelic Irish, one of the oldest Indo-European languages. He chanted the phrase three times, getting louder each time. Then fell back into silence, as if waiting for an answer.
Carolina cleared her throat.
‘What the hell did you just say, man?’ Marcel said.
‘I thought he was having a panic attack,’ Eduardo said.
Sofia laughed. ‘That was a good choice of a password.’
The wall started to shake, then slowly it parted ways, dust falling from the ceiling covering them all. They had their opening. The smell of damp escaped the enclosed room, bits of stone could still be heard hitting the ground inside the room.
Michael approached. He peeked in, shining the light from his torch. As he scanned the torch around the room, he was met with two red eyes glaring at him. They flashed and disappeared, followed by an ungodly groan. He jumped, almost out of his skin. Feeling the stone on his chain vibrate around his neck, he looked back at the other six: all of them silent, their silhouettes forming a semi-circle around him.
He stepped in first, followed by Sofia, then Carolina, Mohammad, Ajit, Eduardo, and finally Marcel.
There it was: the wall where the sculpture had been carved. It wasn’t completely vertical, it was at an angle, as if shaped to aid Elisabetta with her creation. All the countries taken off it, all it had was the outline of the earth’s seas and oceans.
‘Wow,’ Marcel said, astonished at the size of it. ‘This must have taken Elisabetta forever.’
‘She didn’t spend much time here. Obviously, once she started chiselling into it, she absorbed the Dark One’s power.’ Sofia whispered as if they had just walked onto sacred ground. ‘This is, of course, where she got her enhanced ability – which caused Pietro’s jealousy and dare I say any artist at the time.’
‘Michael let’s start this jigsaw,’ Ajit said, gesturing towards the bag.
‘Be careful not to drop it. We don’t want him to get upset with us,’ Eduardo whispered. ‘He’s already pissed enough. Just be kind, put it back, and we’ll kindly be on our way to Spain.’
‘Don’t be so scared,’ Mohammad spoke loudly, his voice bouncing around in the darkness. ‘We’re the dream team. He loves us, the old Dark One does.’ He slapped Eduardo on the back and shouted, ‘go team!’
Then came a rumbling. The walls shook, then the ground, as if coming from an earthquake. A gust of wind pierced through the gap in the wall where they’d entered. The sound of a thousand claps, a warm of bats whipped around the room, grazing the top of their heads. After about twenty seconds, the rumbling settled. The wind retreated with the bats, back out of the room again. Then came a spine-tingling moan, like a deathly voice.
‘Mohammad! don’t say another word, or we’ll leave you here.’ Carolina slapped him on the back of the head.
‘We better get out of here,’ Michael said. He pulled the container from his bag and opened it. Sofia and Ajit used their torches to help him see what he was doing. He took the fragment and stepped towards the wall. Another deathly grown came as he got closer to it. Another gust of wind. The group stepped closer, all bunched closely together; out in the world, they were the most gifted group on the planet, but here they were clearly at the mercy of the Dark One. Michael was about to place it back on the wall when Ajit interrupted.
‘Let us hold it, Michael before you give it back to old Prince of Darkness.’
Michael laughed. He handed it to Ajit.
Ajit held it for a second. ‘I can feel my body tingle all over, it’s as if I’m warming up from it.’
‘Let me have a go.’ Mohammad snatched it off Ajit. ‘You’re right, I feel a weird tingle too. This thing’s giving off some sort of energy.’
They all held it then handed it back to Michael.
They watched as he gently placed the fragment back onto the area it had been carved.
As he lifted his trembling hand off it, a terrifying sound of a horse galloping towards them came through the darkness. The clops got louder and louder, accompanied by the high-pitched scream. Whatever entity it was whizzed through them in another gust of wind.
‘This place scares the crap outta me,’ Marcel said. ‘Let’s go.’
One by one, they left the room again and back down the corridor, heading towards the growing dot of sunlight in the distance. Emmett was waiting with the motor running. ‘How’d it go?’ he shouted. ‘Are we one step closer?’
Michael just smiled and nodded his head. His exhausted body dropped onto the seat in the boat.
‘Go team!’ Mohammad repeated, at the top of his voice.
‘I’ll take that as a yes then.’ Emmett laughed, guiding the boat out of the cave’s mouth. The bright grey canvas of the sky above bringing them back into the light again.
They got back around to the beach to find George and the rest waiting. Everything was in a rush. They couldn’t all stand around and pat each other for a job well done.
Aine gave them all a kiss and a hug. For their journey to Spain, she had packed them all an Irish breakfast: sausages, bacon, soda bread, potato bread, mushrooms, beans and toast; and of course, veggie sausages for the Muslims of the group.
They went on their way.
On the jet, they could all relax. There was a comfortable silence lingering around the cabin. Michael sat looking out the window, the Irish coastline getting further away.
He felt the distance from his family and home again as the jet flew further out over the Irish Sea. He looked around the cabin at the other six. Sofia was reading a book she’d borrowed off Scarlett. Marcel was taking selfies of himself with his bright smile. Eduardo was working on improving L'amico. Mohammad was already snoring, with his mouth wide open. Ajit was watching Mohammad in disgust. Carolina was sitting beside Michael. She placed her hand on top of his. ‘Are you okay?’
Michael looked around the cabin at the group again and smiled. ‘I’m okay.’ He looked at Carolina. ‘Thanks.’ He turned and looked out the window again. ‘Wonder what’s next
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TOGETHER
Chapter One
MICHAEL JOLTED AWAKE to the vibrations of his Samsung buzzing below his pillow. He rolled over onto his front. Face down in his pillow, he groaned while reaching under to answer the call. He looked at the screen. It was George.
‘George, why Spain now?’ He rolled onto his back again and sat up. ‘Would it not be safer to go a little further t
han the last country we were in?’
‘It's better to return the two fragments that have been separated from the cave the longest. The Spanish and French fragments, they’ve both been separated for too long. France and Spain have both been plagued with Fomorians for a long time; the monsters have secretly roamed the streets of the two countries, destined to find the fragment, with the hope of being rewarded by the Dark One.’ George sneezed, then coughed. ‘Sofia's family also want Elisabetta to know we’ve got the two pieces her life was cut short for. This is more of a gesture to her than an obligation.’ George stopped and cleared his throat. ‘I feel ill-equipped to talk about Elisabetta now that I have no way of communicating with her, Michael. There appears to be only you, your link to that world. This has not only left the Sirani Foundation wondering why, but Mancini Corporation, too. We know that the Spanish fragment has not fallen into hands of Mancini agents, yet. So, we have a chance of returning it before things get trickier.’
Michael knew whatever the outcome of their mission, he'd be the one delivering the news to Elisabetta. He only hoped it would be good news. Part of him wished he couldn’t communicate with the Otherworld. He wanted to be normal, if he ever was. ‘George, can we expect a Spanish mission like the French one? I’ve looked into a dying man's eyes enough for one lifetime.’
Michael would never forget that the group’s mission in France ended with him wrestling on the ground with Alejandro Garcia; a struggle which resulted in the Mexican catching four bullets in the stomach. For this to happen at the entrance to Bruce’s Cave on the Irish coast was somewhat symbolic. It was the place Pietro Mancini – the founder of Mancini Corporation and murderer of Elisabetta Sirani was sent to his death by Elisabetta’s untamed black unicorn; a story that was yet to write itself into the archives of Irish myths and legends.
‘How are you feeling about that? Garcia, I mean.’
‘I’ve got work to do. I can’t sit around thinking about it, right?’ Michael tried to swallow, but his throat was bone dry. He downed half of his glass of room temperature water. ‘I'm happy as long as this is all for the best.’
‘Good man. Get some rest, I’ll speak to you later.’ George hung up.
‘Rest, of course, rest. I remember that word.’ Michael laughed, sitting on the edge of his bed. He placed his bare feet on the fur rug which lay below his bed. He looked around the room, not sure what time it was. It was still dark. His suit hung on the door of his wardrobe, it's dark outline looking like a stranger watching him sleep.
They were in another private estate, this time on the coast of Spain. He walked to the window, following the cool air and smell of seaweed. He watched the moonlight glistening off the vast blanket of water; the sea: an unstoppable force, yet at this time of night, it looked so peaceful, as if asleep along the Spanish coastline.
He spotted a red dot in the distance, a commercial jet getting further away. The aircraft was a reminder of their life in the sky. And Alban, the Albanian pilot who’d flown them from destination to destination under the world’s radar. As he continued to watch the aircraft, the entire sky flashed in a blinding white light. The ground shook with every flash. Then it returned to the black canvas that it was. The plane was gone, as if taken in one of the flashes. As he searched the sky for the red dots of the jet, those giant white, deathly looking eyes appeared on the sky. Michael stared at them, they grew bigger as they moved across the sky as if coming down to him. He was utterly terrified but didn’t want to show it. He just continued to stare back at them. Those eyes that were watching him, haunting him. It’s as if they were trying to stare him out, but he didn’t budge. Eventually the eyes flashed and disappeared, leaving behind a crack of thunder and a lightning bolt zapping straight into the sea, sending water into the sky. He shut the curtains.
Returning to his bed, he went back to sleep. He felt grateful for a moment of silence before whatever the day would bring.
MICHAEL'S ALARM WOKE him at seven thirty. He still hadn't changed it since leaving Ireland; and seven thirty was when his mum would come crashing into his room, waking him up for school. He sat up on his bed. One sit-up and his abs where killing him from wrestling with Garcia. Even with the gifts of the Irish gods he'd returned from Otherworld with, he could still feel pain. He could still ache and groan like a normal human. He had a taste of blood in his mouth. His lips felt raw. He was developing a nervous habit of biting them in his sleep.
He lay back down again, just looking at the white ceiling above. He sniggered, remembering the poster above his bed in Little Camberly after their night on the town. A night in which they’d all gotten arrested for getting drunk and causing mayhem in the local pub.
‘I’ll never do that again.’ He rolled to his right, hoping to find some water left in his glass, it was empty.
He grabbed his phone; his eyes struggling to focus on the bright screen. Facebook's news feed was a list of apparent experts commenting on what must have happened in France. The French president had posted a tweet on Twitter saying he's suffering memory loss. The president didn’t know what happened, he just woke up in the back of a BMW at the old Lavazza warehouse outside Paris.
Following on from the story in France, Michael laughed when he received a Snapchat photo from Mohammad: a photo of Ajit wearing Mohammad's socks across his nose while sleeping. And as if on cue came bangs on the door.
‘Open the door. Police! Police, open up this instant.’ A childish giggle came from the outside. ‘I want my unicorn back!’ Mohammad burst into laughter.
Michael got up from his bed and wrapped himself in his robe. Stepping into his slippers, he got to the door hearing Mohammad’s laugh from the other side. ‘What age are you?’ Michael said, opening the door to find Mohammad already dressed in his suit – ready for the day. Standing five foot six inches, with around fourteen stone filling out his suit, Mohammad looked like a magician ready to pull something out of his overgrown thick beard.
‘What age am I? I’m not sure what age I’m supposed to be,’ Mohammad said. ‘Maybe you should ask your girlfriend – Elisabetta,’ he bellowed as he turned and walked away towards the spiralling stairs. ‘Come on, chief. We gotta go get the Spanish president today. Scarlett’s making us breakfast. Move your ass!’
As he entered the kitchen, Michael was hit with the overwhelming aroma of ground coffee. He sat down at the table with the others. All looking tired and patiently waiting for a hit of caffeine.
‘Sleep well?’ Scarlett asked, yawning while taking the steaming Moka off the hob. ‘Think I could have slept for a week after the last few days.’
‘Slept okay,’ Michael said as he watched Scarlett; her red hair, running half way down her back. Her black silk dress outlining her slim figure, promoting nothing less than pure English elegance. He watched as she prepared the breakfast, that lady who'd followed him on his flight from George Best Belfast City Airport to Luton had become someone he’d trust with his life more than anyone else. She might have the appearance of a beautiful damsel, but she was far from it.
Ajit got up to help her with the breakfast. ‘Heard from George?’
‘Not yet,’ she said. ‘I’ll give him a call once we’ve eaten.’
‘George woke me at about four or five this morning. He’s in England.’ As he spoke, Michael felt his lips, still raw. ‘I was eating my lips in my sleep, woke up with a taste of blood in my mouth.’ He laughed. ‘Must be hungry.’
Gazing at her phone, Carolina yawned. ‘I want to be on a Brazilian beach right now.’ She ran her fingers through her long black hair that ran down her back, ‘I could do with a visit home.’
‘We'll all feel better when this is over,’ Scarlett said, ‘but for now, we'll have to make do with whatever we've got, starting with some breakfast.’ She set plates down on the table. ‘There's orange juice as well. Can’t begin the day without some orange juice and coffee. Buon appetito!’
‘Where's Ringo? and the others?’ Ajit asked as he steamed up and wiped his
half moon glasses that sat centre in his oval shaped face. ‘I’m not waiting around for them, I’m starving!’ He complained, snatching up a slice of toast.
‘Me neither,’ Marcel said, following Ajit. His facial expression becoming livelier with some food in his hand.
‘They're all in England with George,’ Scarlett said, sipping her glass of orange juice. ‘Fresh orange juice, just what I need. They’ll be back later. We'll eat, then we’ll look at what we gotta do in Spain.’
‘I'm researching the country now,’ Sofia said, phone in one hand, reaching for an espresso cup with the other. She shook her head as if in awe. ‘It’s such a beautiful country. An intriguing heritage. I’m looking up Spanish royalty and hopefully get an idea of where the fragment could be now.’
‘I'm excited to try something new with L'amico.’ Eduardo chimed in, referring to his and Ajit's device that could scramble the world's electromagnetic spectrum, shutting down anything that’s used to communicate, a gift from Oisin – the Irish god of technology. Grinning from behind his laptop screen, his eyes darted, landing on everyone around the table. ‘Ajit and I have been working on this through the night, and...’
‘Breakfast first before we talk about work,’ Mohammad said with a mouthful of toast, spitting crumbs with every word.
‘Okay.’ Marcel rubbed his hands together. ‘How about we check out the gym after breakfast? I’m guessing this castle has a gym somewhere? I need to train.’ He looked at Michael. ‘Fancy a session on the pads?’
Michael sniggered. ‘It’s your funeral, amigo!’ Marcel and Carolina were both martial art specialists, unlike the world had ever seen, another gift from the Irish gods. But Michael, for some reason was gifted a piece of all their gifts - Mohammad's animal control, Sofia’s brain: access to infinite information and with the ability to speak all languages, Ajit and Eduardo’s engineering and technology powers, and the fighting skill of the two Brazilians were all Michael’s gift. On the other hand, it was his burden as the group’s leader.