The Emerald Key

CHAPTER 1





Near Cork, Ireland, 1847


Jamie Galway had already stared into the face of death too many times in his young life, yet a shiver still ran down his spine as he passed a family lying together in the ditch. The dead mother’s arms were wrapped stiffly around her children’s bony shoulders. The deceased father’s head was turned away, his face lined in heartbreak and pain. The mother and father, the son and daughter had all died with their mouths open, still stuffed with the tough inedible grass that lined the side of the dirt road; their last desperate attempt at staving off starvation.

Ryan, Jamie’s older brother, stopped and threw back his hood. He knelt down in the grass beside the family. Taller and ganglier than his younger brother, Ryan gently reached out and closed the family’s tormented eyes with his fingertips, crossed himself, and said a prayer for the dead. Jamie removed his hood as well, his short brown hair framing emerald green eyes, and joined his brother in prayer. The moment of sombre meditation ended as Ryan shook him by the shoulder.

“I need to leave, right now.” Ryan’s hazel eyes and freckled face were burning red with anger.

“Having hate in your heart won’t do anyone any good.”

Ryan wheeled around on his brother, his eyes wild with fury. He thrust a finger back at the dead family.

“Hate? No, not hate, little brother. Rage, disgust, and a sense of treachery, perhaps … but not hate. How can you, of all people, not feel the same? Look back upon that family! How can you not be angry as well? That’s two dozen dead we’ve passed since we left the abbey! Just lyin’ there! On the side of the road, like the dried up cores of tossed apples! But these aren’t eaten apples we’re talking about. These are God’s children! Dead! Just like our parents, all dead for no good reason!”

Jamie didn’t back down. “Of course, I feel upset for all those who have suffered. And you very well know that I miss mother and father as much as you, but the Brotherhood has warned us not to lose control of our emotions. These are trying times. We must rise above the pain that surrounds us and stay true to our sacred vows.”

Jamie held up his left hand in order to allow the golden ring to glimmer against the grey sky. A simple yet beautiful Celtic weave was etched into the outer surface of the gold.

Ryan thrust his own golden ring towards Jamie. “Don’t start quoting Cardinal Shulls to me. We are human, and the Brotherhood sometimes asks the impossible!”

“The Brotherhood needs us right now,” Jamie reminded him. “They’re trusting us to complete this journey without incident. We have to concentrate our thoughts on bringing that safely to Cork.”

Jamie pointed to the satchel hanging off his brother’s shoulder. Ryan glared at him, then turned on his heels and strode off angrily down the road. Jamie sighed and jogged to catch up. To his left, abandoned stone huts lined the grassy ridge of the road, and the emptiness of the once bustling countryside, a countryside that used to bring Jamie and his brother so much joy, was unnaturally silent. The still dampness of death hung heavily in the air, as nature soaked the spilled souls of the dead into its thick cloth of fog.

Around the next bend, the brothers passed a tiny farmhouse. Wrapped together in only a thin blanket, a family sat in the doorway, shivering in the afternoon mist. Their starvation was so great, they did not have the energy to look up, but instead stared trance-like at their feet through sunken, lifeless eyes. The brothers looked knowingly at each other and, without a word, reached into their pockets. Each holding a small loaf of bread, they approached the family.

“Please, take this food,” offered Ryan. “I wish I could give you more, but it’s all we have.”

The parents were so surprised to see strangers acknowledging their plight that it took their confused minds a moment to recognize that food was indeed being offered. The blanket dropped to the ground. Jamie cringed when he saw their bodies. The skeletal ribs of the children showed that it was an effort for them to even breathe.

The father took the bread with a quivering hand.

“Thank you, Fathers,” he whispered. “God bless you both.”

A single tear from the starving mother was all the heart-wrenching thanks the boys needed.

Ryan nodded. “God be with you and your family.”

As they moved on, Jamie frowned at the stark landscape that surrounded him. The once lush forests of Ireland had long ago been harvested by the British to build their ever-growing navy. Farms had moved into the open land, but where there were once dozens of vibrant stone homes there now stood only piles of rubble. The homes had been destroyed one by one by the British landlords. The families, unable to pay their rent after another season of failed potato harvests, had been evicted from their shelters. Instead of producing food for the starving people of Ireland, the farmland had been converted into pasture for cattle and sheep, meat that would later be shipped off the island to English markets.

Many of the displaced peasants had removed bits of the rubble to build scalpeens, tiny illegal stone shelters that now dotted the Irish countryside. Those even worse off for shelter had no choice but to dig holes into the soft ditches that lined the road. The holes were then covered with sticks, turf or whatever else they could find to help protect themselves from the elements. Like a pair of feral kits, two tiny boys peered out from the shadows of a nearby hole. Without any food to give them, all Jamie could offer was a quiet blessing.

The fog finally began to lift, and the city of Cork materialized in the distance. The city’s great harbour sparkled, its protected waters a gateway to the Atlantic Ocean for the large collection of ocean-going vessels anchored in its waters. Seeing their final destination ahead raised their spirits. Soon they would be together again with the Brotherhood, and the priceless package in their possession would be safe.

A pleading scream broke their brief moment of tranquility. Nearby, a tiny farmhouse had been surrounded by four English soldiers in crimson suits, each brandishing a rifle. An argument was taking place between the husband and the lead soldier as his frightened family huddled in the doorway. A second soldier took hold of the single ox tied to the side of the house and led it out onto the road.

The farmer begged the soldiers. “No! Please! We’ll starve without her! How will we plough our field and earn enough for our keep?”

“You haven’t paid your landlord in almost a year,” replied a soldier, coldly. “He has agreed to take your ox in exchange for rent.”

The wife fell to her knees in tears, clutching her face in her hands.

“Jamie, I was wrong,” muttered Ryan as they walked closer. “I do hate them.”

“Don’t start,” said Jamie. “You know we can’t get involved. Look! I can see the cathedral spire from here!”

Ryan was about to answer when he saw the father reach for the ox. The soldier with captain’s stripes on his sleeve shoved the farmer hard and the weakened man collapsed backwards, crashing into the stone wall of the farmhouse.

The mother left her children and ran to him, shouting. “Leave my husband alone!”

The back of the captain’s hand caught the mother on the side of the cheek as she passed, sending her spiralling into the dirt.

The captain hovered over the crying couple. “And if you forget your rent again, we’ll be taking your house next.”

Something in Ryan snapped. Whether it was the memory of what had happened to their parents or simply a moment of enraged insanity, Ryan strode up to the small farmhouse before Jamie could stop him. Ryan approached the captain who had struck the woman.

“I saw this woman collapse. Is everything all right?” he asked.

“Must have had a dizzy spell, Father,” chuckled the captain, eyeing the young, hooded priest. “Fainted right here in front of me.”

“Funny how that happens, especially when something crashes into your face … like this.”

Ryan was deceptively strong for his thin frame. His balled fist crashed hard into the cheek of the captain. The soldier’s head snapped back so quickly that he flew through the air and landed in a heap on the dirt road. The other soldiers hollered in rage at the attack and were on Ryan like a pack of hounds. Ryan elbowed the nearest one hard in the chin and kicked out at the other. Off balance, his boot only grazed the soldier’s ribs and the remaining two redcoats threw him to the ground and began pummelling him.

“Ryan!”

Jamie couldn’t believe this was happening! He rushed to his brother’s aid.

Fists were smashing into Ryan’s face and chest. Jamie leaped at the nearest soldier, tackling him hard and sending him sprawling along the ground. The uninjured soldier left Ryan writhing in pain and turned to face Jamie. Jamie was preparing to defend himself when his head suddenly exploded in a sea of stars. He crumpled to the ground beside his groaning brother. The captain had recovered enough to grab hold of his rifle and club Jamie’s head with its wooden butt, knocking him out.

“Is this priest the one that attacked me?” he asked, pointing to Ryan while touching the growing welt on the side of his face.

“Yes, sir.”

“Filthy friar. He should be shot here and now for breaching his own vows to God.”

A soldier held up his rifle and aimed it at Ryan’s heaving chest. “Just say the word, sir.”

“You can’t shoot a priest!” interjected a third. “You’ll be damned for all time!”

The captain paused at the thought and took a moment to contemplate the situation.

“All right, we won’t kill him.”

The captain brought his rifle butt down on the back of Ryan’s head, bringing his moans to a sudden stop. The two unconscious priests lay together, as still as corpses in front of the terrified family. The captain looked out to the shimmering harbour and watched a tall ship raising her sails.

“I do hate to waste a life. My friend is an officer on board the Carpathia. The ship is scheduled to leave this evening for Quebec. What do you say we do our part for God and teach these young priests a valuable lesson? Take the tall one down to the harbour and give him a one-way ticket to Canada.”

“Isn’t the Carpathia better known as the ‘Floating Morgue’, sir?”

He chuckled. “Yes, I do believe that is the one. That’s why its fare across the ocean is so cheap … so few actually survive the crossing. It should give our good friar here a lot of practice giving the last rites to the passengers who die along the way.”

While two of the soldiers picked Ryan up by the arms, the third looked into the satchel draped across his chest.

“No money in here, Captain. Just an old, dusty book. And it’s all written in that nonsense Celtic. Must be a monastery book.”

“I don’t see any reason to deny him his studies. Perhaps he’ll learn the lesson of turning the other cheek in matters that do not concern him. Now, hurry him down to the harbour. I don’t want the priest to miss his departure.”

“And what of the other lad?”

The captain took hold of the reins of the ox, then looked back to the terrified family huddling around their groaning mother.

“Make sure that you tell the lad everything that has happened,” he shouted back to the family. “This young priest can help spread the word to any other clergy in Ireland who dare intervene in the affairs of the British Empire. His authority is limited to what happens within the church and Heaven above. Tell him Britannia rules supreme everywhere else!”