Flight of the Earls by Michael K. Reynolds Page A

the necklace, asked, “May I?”
    Clare nodded and her body shuddered in the cool air with anticipation. The woman’s long fingers reached behind her neck and pushed back Clare’s hair. The keener’s face was only a few inches from hers, and up close the woman appeared much older, and her brown, probing eyes and long, slender nose gave her a crowed appearance. There also was the prevailing charisma that Clare imagined was the fragrance of wealth.
    As Madame O’Riley hooked the clasp, she bent toward Clare’s ear and whispered words in a firm and haunting tone. She pulled back and placed a finger before Clare’s lips. What she spoke was not to be shared. In full control of the moment, the keener displayed a measured smile, one wrought of confidence and melancholy.
    When Madame O’Riley returned to her seat, Clare’s gaze slid to the pendant at the end of the chain. She cupped it in her hand and examined it in the dim light. It was braided silver in the shape of a clover with three leaves. In the center was a small translucent gem, but it was too dark to discern its hue.
    When Clare looked up again, she realized her guests were grasping for an explanation. She froze, not knowing how she should respond.
    â€œDo you like it, my dear?” Madame O’Riley said. “It was given to me years ago by a . . . close friend.”
    Clare noticed her father was glaring at the keener with disappointment.
    â€œYes.” Clare caressed the pendant. “It’s quite lovely. A most unexpected gift.”
    â€œHow kind,” Fiona said, breaking into the awkwardness. “I’m shamed to say it, but my gift is only words. I believe I can speak freely for all of us. Will be a sad day in the morn when the three of you young ones leave us behind. Will be a poorer place without you.”
    Fiona rose and gave hugs to the three of them, and a few other guests joined in the procession. As they each returned to where they were sitting, a solemn sense of imminent loss came upon them and several began to cry.
    Then, as a cresting instrument in a symphony, a voice chorused in and raised the sound of mourning in a majestic way. The keener’s mouth opened in sacrifice to the night sky, her face writhing in such profound emotion all spiraled into her expression of grief.
    Soon, many of them wailed together as one, although each to their own sorrows—and for the first time today, Clare sensed they all were gripping with uncertainty of the future. Without words and beyond measure of time, they connected in their pain, reaching out in desperation for God to breathe mercy into their lives.
    After a while, the coolness in the air subdued the strength of the dissipating fires, and Clare felt uncomfortably cold. It was late enough for her to be exhausted, but nervousness about what lay ahead kept her alert, her thoughts rising as a nearing storm.
    Worries about the family she was leaving behind were blended with a creeping exhilaration for the unfolding unknown. It was years since Clare embraced the idea of tomorrow, and she greeted this both as an old friend and a guilty pleasure.
    There were also the strange words the keener shared with her in confidence, which kept repeating in Clare’s mind. What did they mean?
    Father Quinn put his arm around Clare, and she rested her head on his shoulder. No one said a word.

Chapter 5
    On the Road

    Clare smiled in her sleep. There was a laughter to her dreams she rarely enjoyed while awake.
    The warm body cuddled next to her gave her a sense of security. She had grown accustomed to sharing her bed in the loft with her siblings, which satisfied the practical need of surviving the frigid nights.
    When she slowly opened her eyes, Clare experienced an odd sensation of motion just as her fingers felt the coarse hair of her sleep mate. She sat up with a start and heard the giddy cackles of Seamus and Pierce. Suddenly, the memory of hitching a ride on a