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"I know," I reply, trying to sound more confident than I feel. The need to know what lies ahead of us is so much stronger than anything I had ever felt. It’s like a thirst for water. I need to take a drink.
"I’m not losing you," he asserts; the protective edge in his voice makes my heart skip.
I suppress a smile. "Then follow me," I say, meeting his gaze. "Make sure that if I go too far, you can bring me back."
Niamh, who has been quietly supportive until now, steps forward, her flashlight in hand. "What can I do?" she asks. Her voice conveys her eagerness to help, yet carries an undercurrent that she wants to be anywhere but in these confining tunnels.
"Stay out here in case someone needs to be called to get both of us." Diarmuid's voice is firm, his decision clear, as he addresses Niamh. He then drops the tools beside him, readying to drag them along as we move forward. It's a practical solution, given the constrained space and the need to keep our hands free.
I start into the tunnel, taking a few deep breaths to prepare myself—it might be my last chance for a while to breathe this freely. The passage is narrow, forcing me to move in an odd, sideways shuffle. I slide one arm along the wall while lifting the other ahead, holding the flashlight high to illuminate the path above. It’s an awkward dance, and despite the seriousness of our quest, I can't help but let out a laugh. The sound echoes weirdly in the tight space, bouncing back at me from the cold, unyielding stone.
“Something you want to share?” Diarmuid asks.
I imagine Diarmuid behind me, likely mirroring my strange gait, and the thought makes me wish I could see him. The tunnel is constrictive, the stone cold against my chest and back as I press forward so looking back isn’t an option. “No,” I say, the laughter draining as quickly as the air from my body.
It doesn't take long before we reach what appears to be the end. Just as Captain Henry Keogh had reported, a pile of rocks and debris blocks further progress. The sight is disheartening, a physical barrier to both our path and my hopes.
"Blocked?" Diarmuid's voice carries a mix of resignation and inquiry.
"Blocked," I confirm, the word heavy and final.
"Good. This is already more than I wanted to do. Let's get out," Diarmuid says, his tone suggesting relief, perhaps a desire to retreat from the claustrophobic confines of this hidden passage.
But frustration wells up within me. I was so certain this was the place. It had to be. The clues, my research, everything pointed here. How could it just end like this? No, something in me refuses to accept this dead end as the conclusion of our search. My mind races, reviewing every piece of evidence, every historical account that led us here.
As I stretch my arm forward, fingers probing the cold, rough surface, they catch on something unexpected—a recess hidden in the wall. Excitement surges through me as I grip the corner of the stone and pull, maneuvering my body around what turns out to be a corner cleverly disguised by shadows and the limited light of earlier explorers.
Behind me, Diarmuid curses, his voice strained with effort and concern. It takes a few tense moments of wiggling and pushing, but finally, I manage to squeeze past the tight corner. Relief washes over me as I find the tunnel opening up into a larger chamber—space that feels untouched, where the air holds the weight of undisturbed centuries.
"I know, I know. That was a lot, but look at this, Diarmuid," I call out as he follows, his breath heavy from exertion.
The chamber beyond is astonishing—a continuation of the swirl and diamond designs that mark the exterior of Newgrange, but here, added to them, are shapes of stars woven into the patterns. The designs remind me of Van Gogh’s The Starry Night, with their dynamic, swirling energy that seems to pulse with life. Yet, these carvings are both natural and man-made, crafted with a precision that suggests both artistic flair and ceremonial importance. We leave the cavern and enter another tunnel.
Together, we follow the tunnel as it winds deeper into the earth. Our flashlights sweep over the walls, illuminating the ancient artwork until they finally fall upon a wall that rises abruptly in front of us. It's another apparent dead end, but a tiny opening in the wall catches our attention.
I step closer, heart pounding with the thrill of discovery and the fear of another barrier. It’s then I notice something—a small carving beside the opening, so easy to overlook in our initial dismay. It's a crown etched into the palm of a raised hand.
"A crown in the hand," I whisper, tracing the lines with a finger, feeling the chisel marks left by some ancient artisan. The symbol resonates with power and mystery, and my mind races with the possibilities of its meaning.
"Diarmuid…" I say, my voice heavy with a mix of anticipation and anxiety.
"I know." His response is terse, reflecting his reluctance. He understands the potential of what we might uncover, but his concern for our safety weighs heavily on him.
I persist, fueled by the enormity of our discovery. "If we can trace any of the names in the tomb, any possible council members, then we can find their descendants. We can find the people who are above Victor." The gravity of our mission, the potential to unravel a hidden lineage of power, strengthens my resolve.
The plan remains unchanged. I take the lead, my left arm extended to feel my way, my right arm holding the flashlight overhead to guide our path through the narrow, constricting tunnel. The cold, earthen walls press against me from both sides, a constant reminder of the confining space that envelops us.
As I move forward, the tunnel seems to stretch endlessly ahead. I'm squeezing through the tightest spots, pressing against the damp soil, pushing forward with every bit of strength I have. Then, abruptly, a deep rumbling sound echoes behind me. My heart skips a beat. The flashlight is knocked from my grasp, clattering away into darkness. A moment later, Diarmuid's light vanishes too.
I am plunged into total darkness.
Panic claws at me as I try to squirm backward, only to be met with a solid wall that wasn't there before. The realization hits me hard—I'm trapped, separated from Diarmuid by this sudden collapse.
And in this pitch-black solitude, a profound truth settles over me: I want to live. More than that, I need to know that Diarmuid is safe, that he survives this too.
But the wall is between us now, its thickness unknown, its permanence a new barrier to my desperate hopes. I have no way of knowing how close he was when the tunnel caved in. All I can do is stare into the oppressive blackness, my eyes useless in this void.
Tears escape me, born of fear and frustration, streaming down my cheeks as I stand trapped in the earth's cold grip. I fall to my knees and try and feel around the damp earth, searching for my flashlight. If I can find it, at least I will be able to see it.
