The Celtic Conspiracy (5 page)

He and Deborah made an odd pair. After living through some wild years struggling against the IRA, whom he deemed responsible for the death of his brother Matthew, Thomas had transformed himself from a farmer into an expert in the use of herbs, seeing patients
in Dublin pub backrooms. Deborah, with her red curls and old-fashioned glasses that made her still look like a student, was struggling along in Dublin as a lecturer in Irish literature. She was a genius at interpreting old languages, though there was hardly any interest in Welsh or the other original Celtic dialects anymore.

Thomas dragged his heavy body up and pushed his blond hair back. “Wait here, I’m going to get some coffee.” He moved toward the bar, passing the entrance on the way. As he did, a young man nearly barreled into him as he made a swift entrance into the pub.

“Slow down, young man,” Ryan slurred to him. “Or do you want to buy the next round?” Then he paused and took a closer look at Shane. “Well, if it isn’t my curious friend from Austria. Fantastic! It looks like you took me up on my invitation.”

“Yes, I was excited to get it.”

With a loud laugh, Ryan pointed to one of the back tables. “Let’s sit down back there, next to the woman with the round spectacles and the earnest expression. That would be Deborah.”

“Tell me, am I wrong, or is there a meeting of Druids going on here?”

“Of course! And I’m Thomas Ryan, grandmaster of the last order of true Druids.”

Ryan had said this loudly enough that Deborah shook her head slowly and sank down into her sweater.

“Then you’re not too happy to be here?”

Ryan suddenly felt more sober and looked Shane in the eyes.

“No, and this is definitely the last time.”

With that, he pivoted toward the bar.

* * *

Shane stood there at a loss, noticing uneasily that some people were looking at him suspiciously after Ryan’s performance. Still, he grabbed his bag and went over to Deborah.

“I have to apologize for Thomas’s behavior,” Deborah said. “He’s not having a good day. Sit down. What would you like to drink?”

“A Guinness, of course.”

“Are you from Germany?”

“No, Austria. My father came from Dublin, though. He emigrated from Ireland to Austria after the war.”

“And what brings you here?”

“Let’s say, a strange dream and”—he reached into his pocket—“this invitation.”

“Well, you must not have looked at the invitation very carefully. Except for the lecture tomorrow, the conference is over. There’s only one discussion left...unless...”

“...unless I can sober up in the next two hours, says my nursemaid,” Ryan interjected, sitting down next to Shane with a coffee cup.

Shane looked at the invitation in frustration. It was true; his anxiety had tripped him up again and he had mixed up the dates. He groaned softly to himself.

“Don’t worry,” Ryan continued, “the most important part is still to come. Tomorrow is the lecture by Ronald MacClary.”

“That’s the only reason I’m here. I’ll gladly do without the pathetic attempts by neo-Celts, Celtic shamans, Wiccans, and other types romanticizing the Druids.”

This enraged Ryan. “I’d suggest you talk a little more quietly. There are some here who won’t take kindly to your words. And to be honest, I don’t either.”

Deborah glanced around her as though she were trying to gauge if Shane had already attracted any unwanted attention. “How about a refreshing walk through the damp alleys of our beautiful city?”

Shane took a deep breath to ease the tension that seemed to be shadowing him on this trip. “That sounds like a very good idea.”

Ryan stood up, paid for the round of drinks, and didn’t speak again until they’d left the pub. “Tell me, Shane, if you’re so skeptical about esotericism, what do you make of the fact that you stumbled over me in particular?”

The question surprised Shane. “Let’s call it an accident. But I’ll confide something to you. I had a dream a couple of days ago. A dream of such intensity, it was like a revelation to me. Then, the same morning, I happened to find this invitation. I’m here because the dream was reflected in the title of the invitation.”

“Must have been quite a dream.”

“Trust me, it was. That morning, I could smell the earth I had touched in the dream. The dirt under my fingernails could have been centuries old. Just after I woke up, I went blind and lost my balance, and I could only see apparitions of light. Then I saw a trip through history, amazingly fast, steeped in lies and destruction. The whole time I could see legions raging under the banner of Christendom.”

Why was he being so candid? What if he was confiding in the wrong people? After all, he was in Ireland.

Ryan stopped walking. “Adam, I don’t believe we met each other by accident. There’s probably a very simple explanation for what you experienced. You’re by no means the only one to have experienced something like this.” Ryan, who suddenly seemed much more sober, laid both hands on Shane’s shoulders. “You’re just remembering yourself,” he said, shifting suddenly into German.

“Remembering? How can I remember something without having taken part in it?”

“How do you know that you didn’t? Have you ever considered that consciousness could govern time and space? Adam, that was definitely more than a dream. It’s an indication that you have a gift that you can train. It’s happening to more and more people all over the world these days.”

The intensity in Ryan’s eyes was more than a little disturbing to Shane.

“There’s one thing I’d like to know, Thomas. Why do you despise these new Druids, and what was it about the old Druids of ancient times that was so special?”

“You get right to the point, don’t you, Adam? I don’t despise the neo-Druids. But a better question would be why the ancient Druids suddenly disappeared. I firmly believe that they had another concept of life for us. But let’s slow down a bit. How about this: get some rest and we’ll meet tomorrow in front of Trinity College at seven fifteen. Then I’ll introduce you to Ronald MacClary. He’ll be more than glad to answer any questions that are still bothering you. I think that’s enough for today. Patience, my friend.”

Shane stood there and looked at him completely confused. “But...”

“I’ll just add one more thing, Adam. When I walk through a forest, through a meadow blooming with wildflowers, when I listen to the buzzing of the bees or come upon a spot with mushrooms, shimmering white-gold in the shadows, or hear the call of spring from a chickadee, then I see the gods before me, not a forest to use and exploit. Nature is for me a divine experience. It is the place where I recognize the true mother, the true father. I have no god in heaven, only gods here on earth.”

Shane remembered what Ryan had told him in Vienna about his commune and how he had removed himself from modern life to the country to be surrounded by nature.

“Our erstwhile culture will not return if we, like so many here, play the Druid on the weekends, only to drive
back to the office on Monday. Only by making decisive changes will we make any kind of difference. But if we are going to talk more about this, first you have to learn more about the fall of the people who once ruled Europe. And there will be time enough for that tomorrow evening.”

Shane’s first impulse was to contradict him, to continue the conversation, but suddenly he realized that he didn’t even have a hotel room for the night. It was really about time for him to take a deep breath and find a place to stay.

“OK, it’s a plan.”

Ryan clapped Shane on the shoulder. “All right then. Good night, Adam Shane.”

* * *

It was already dark, and, at eight years old, he knew that he shouldn’t be leaving his room again. But he was too curious about who all these people were and what they were talking about. He had to carefully place every footstep so that the creaking of the old wooden floor wouldn’t give him away.

From upstairs he couldn’t see into the room where almost a dozen men and women were sitting around in heated debate.

“My God, Jane, do you still believe in this myth? I mean...”

“Ron, you have one of the family trees, like everyone else here, and they’re so similar to this MacClary’s parchment, and it comes from Austria...”

“Yes, and what about it? It doesn’t help us if he doesn’t have the coordinates.”

“Not yet, Ron, not yet, and it can’t be an accident that Connor got to know him. We should trust him. He’s no friend of Rome, he won’t give us away, and he takes us seriously.”

“Jane’s right. The day will soon come, the time that Dubdrean has given for the return.”

“And that leaves open the question of what or who should return. You know the religious aspect of this doesn’t interest me in the slightest,” Thomas’s father, Connor, continued. “But the possibility of giving back to the remaining Celts a portion of their stolen identity—that is too tempting not to follow him.”

At that moment there was a loud crash as he fell from his crouching position.

“Thomas Ryan!” came the voice of his mother. “Did I or did I not tell you that it’s your bedtime?”

Thomas held tight to his teddy bear. “But I want to be a Celt too!”

Thomas was greeted with hearty laughter from the whole room.

“You already are, my son,”

“Really?”

“I’ll bring him back to bed.”

“No, let him come down. He won’t sleep anyhow until we’re done here,” O’Brian said.

Thomas skipped down the stairs into the living room. It was warm there, with an open fire, and the light had a yellowish glow. His parents’ house was a good two hundred years old, and in winter the cold wind blew through every nook and cranny. The mostly antique teak furniture and the many heirlooms passed down from grandparents made the whole house seem almost like a museum of Irish culture. Ryan cuddled up with his uncle O’Brian, his father’s best friend, and mumbled something. He felt so happy to be surrounded by the grown-ups. But then he felt all of their eyes on him.

“What did you say?”

“When are the Druids coming back, Mami?”

“Did you tell him about this nonsense?” his father said in irritation.

“No, absolutely not.”

“Who told you about it, Thomas? Be honest,” his father asked.

“No one told me anything! I dreamed it a couple of days ago. I saw men in a ship on the ocean, and a couple of them had long robes on, but not all of them. And they came onto land and went off in different directions. But before they did that they took each other’s hands and said that they would return. And...no, that was all, but then I heard you talking about the Druids and I thought...”

“It’s OK, Thomas, you’ve heard us talking before. Your mind is playing tricks on you. The Druids we’ve
been talking about, my son, they’ve been dead for a long, long time.”

Suddenly there was a knock at the door, and his mother stood up. Seconds later he heard her scream. “Oh my God, no, God, no, no, no...” Her voice fell to a whimper.

His father ran to the door, and friends of the family carried Thomas’s older brother Matthew inside. Matthew was white as a sheet and didn’t move. From his chest and leg blood was gushing. A lot of blood.

“My God, will this never end?” Thomas’s mother screamed.

He stood there glued to the spot next to Uncle O’Brian, holding his hand tight. “What did they do to Matthew?” he asked.

“They shot him,” O’Brian said.

“But why?”

“Because he doesn’t have the right religion, Thomas.”

“I don’t understand.”

“No one understands, little one.”

“Are the Druids a religion too?”

“No, Thomas, they are old masters who united knowledge and faith, and from this understanding they wanted to create our future. They were spiritual leaders, but not a religion.”

“I don’t think I understand, Uncle. But I want to know more about it.”

“You will, little Thomas Ryan, you will, I promise you.”

For his entire life, Ronald’s father had praised Trinity College in Dublin as one of the oldest and most beautiful oases of knowledge. Beyond its gothic architecture, the university boasted several astonishing things. One of these was the library, built in 1732, that housed more than two hundred thousand ancient texts, among them the famous
Book of Kells
, and the oldest harp in Ireland. Sean MacClary’s second home had been the Long Room, a space almost 210 feet in length where the most valuable books were housed. Its corridors, running on both sides and on two floors, had a fascinating clarity and aesthetic. The classical rotunda of the top floor warmed the entire space.

Ronald’s lecture tonight was taking place in a no less impressive section of the college—the old Examination Hall, a place that had inspired fear and respect in students simply through its sheer size and beauty, along with its ancient symbols and frescoes. Ronald’s father had often told him of his memories, when he was struggling with
his own exam jitters, wondering if he would ever make the transition from student to teacher.

Lost in memory, weighed down by his father’s legacy, Ronald strode through the venerable halls of the university where generations of MacClarys had, in one way or another, left their mark. He went into the Examination Hall and was surprised to find no one there yet, not even the young assistant, who should have been helping him set up. Confused and a bit unsettled, he looked at the clock over the lectern and then at the invitation he had sent to nearly four hundred people. Then he let out a sigh of relief, his expression relaxing.