The Emerald Key - By Christopher Dinsdale Page 0,1
soon their hunger for Irish treasure grew, and they pushed their ships further and further inland along the rivers and waterways.
Athy Abbey was one of the most isolated monasteries in Ireland. Father Francis knew that this remote location had bought his parish precious time to design a way to keep his abbey’s treasures out of the hands of the Viking raiders. He could only hope that his plan would be enough to keep the priceless treasure safe.
Father Francis lit a torch and entered the empty stable. He reached for a hidden handle in the floor. A large wooden hatch opened under the hay. Descending from the hatch was a shaft and a set of steep stairs that led deep underground. A large stone rested on the hay beside the hatch.
“Father?”
“Kiera, is that you? Come here quickly.”
She stepped into the stable, the bell still in her hand. “What’s going to happen, Father?”
“The Vikings are going to destroy our beautiful village, Kiera,” he answered bluntly.
“But why, Father?” she asked, her voice wavering. “Why do they do this to us? Why can’t they be our friends?”
The old priest sighed. “They are not interested in becoming our friends. They are pirates, killers, barbarians. Call them what you like. They have come to our land to pillage our wealth.”
“Can’t we stop them?”
“I wish we could. They are magnificent fighters, if nothing else. They are strong, fearless, and relentless. We have never seen anything like them before. No defence has stopped them, and if we do try to defend ourselves, they will kill everyone in the village, including the children. There’s no point in resisting, Kiera. All we can hope to do is somehow survive their assault.”
Kiera looked out the door nervously. “So what should I do?”
He gazed solemnly at her. “You run away. You try and stay alive so that you can grow up and tell your own children what our beautiful land was like before darkness fell upon us.”
“Are you running away too, Father?”
“No, I’m not. Would you like to see why?”
She nodded.
He mustered a smile. “Seems right a child will be the last witness to our country’s soul.”
Taking his torch in one hand and Kiera’s hand in the other, he descended through the trap door and into the gloom below. Once he reached the bottom of the stairway, he put the torch to a V-shaped trough hanging from the ceiling. Low orange flames leapt and snaked quickly down the long corridor, illuminating the spectacular catacomb. Endless aisles of leather-bound books lined the walls. Gold and silver statues along with religious relics covered the dry floors. Beautiful bronze statues crowded the corners. Intricate tapestries that had been carefully sealed in waxy coatings were stacked to the ceiling. Father Francis paused at the marvelous sight.
“Please don’t let our efforts be for naught,” he whispered to the heavens.
“Father?”
He took her bell and placed it on a shelf full of books. “This is the heart, mind, and soul of our land, Kiera. The three hundred years of civilization that once adorned my university’s libraries and walls are now buried in this magnificent chamber.”
“But why is it buried down here?”
“The Vikings are here in search of this very treasure. They want to take our beautiful works of art, melt them down, and make creations to honour their own pagan gods. They want to take all of our books and burn them, for their ignorance of the written Latin language infuriates them. They want to destroy our culture so that they can settle and impose their own culture upon us. They want to tear the heart out of Ireland.”
“So we must hide our treasure from them so that they can’t get it?”
He ruffled her hair and managed a smile. “Good for you. But we’re not going to let them have our treasure, are we? They can’t destroy our soul if they don’t know where it is.”
She looked up at him imploringly. “I promise never to tell them, Father!”
“I believe you. You have done well to warn the village. Now everyone will be safe. Before we hide our treasure for a very long time, there is one thing I want to give you.”
Kiera watched Father Francis as he stepped forward and removed a small pendant from a peg on the wall. He turned and placed it around the little girl’s neck. She took the pendant between her fingers and held it up. It was a small Celtic stone cross, carved with beautiful swirls and geometric shapes.