Page 1 of Revelations

Prologue – Reborn

Fermanagh’s Lakelands – Lough Erne

January 10, 1567

The sharp scent of cut pine intermingled with a fainter pungent earthen odor to assault her nostrils, shocking her out of whatever oblivion she had been cast in. Her eyes stung as her lids fluttered open.

Nothing.

A weighted blanket composed of damp and heavy air pressed down on her chest. The oppressive atmosphere refused to quench the need for oxygen. Her parched lips opened in anguish, unable to force out more than a breathy squeak.

Not a sound other than the thudding of her heart. Its “lub dub” rhythm gained speed and volume with each passing second.

Three words repeated in her head, barely audible…

Where am I?

Her limbs shook with the effort, but she eventually managed to slide her hands around to get her bearings; nothing but thin wood planks underneath. Just a few inches to either side, more wood rose to block further exploration. She squinted against the unrelenting darkness, but nothing came into focus.

Tentatively, a hand pressed upward; one inch, then two. Splinters pierced her palm and wedged deeply into the tender skin. She yanked her hand back, as cold sweat broke out on her entire body.

No! No! No!

Her mouth gaped open wordlessly, her throat too dry and constricted to scream.

Oh, dear Lord in Heaven! No! No! No! This keena be!

Bitter tears welled in her eyes, brimming over to run down the side of her temple; the cool wetness was a small comfort.

She fiercely punched against the wood overhead, in strict contrast to the quavering weakness from moments before. Little daggers of pain shot through her fists and up her arms, while warm liquid seeped between her fingers. Groans and guttural noises filled the enclosed space to mix with the hammering against the rough wood.

The short burst of energy dissipated as quickly as it had appeared. She slumped back in defeat.

Reality punched back. Yes, this was not a nightmare. This was real, and most likely she would die here. Or…was she already dead? Was this Hell?

No! Can’t be. Calm down. Can’t find your way outta maze by flailing about like a drunken hobbit. Think, girl. Think.

More gingerly this time, her fingers felt around the box, searching for an edge or a possible opening. After a while, she found a small dip etched into the upper right corner of the box. She worked to manipulate the thinner wood, clawing out splinters until her frayed fingernails ripped.

A flood of warm tears coursed down her face as her body convulsed in frustrated sobs. “No, I will not die here!” Dirt fell and covered her chest and face. Spitting the debris from her lips in an effort to scream, she kept pounding and kicking until the wood ceiling finally gave way. More pungent earth poured on her, filling her nostrils and mouth.

Taking one last, painful breath, she scratched and dug her way up and out of the tight enclosure through layers of packed earth.

Please, oh God, save me! I don’t wanna die. Don’t let this be my end!

Renewed strength rocketed through her body, as thoughshe had been struck by a lightning bolt. She furiously clawed upward and kicked against the broken wooden planks below to propel her up faster as if swimming in an underground sea, chained to a sinking ship that would drag her down to Hell itself.

No! She kicked viciously against the invisible force, whether real or imagined.

The exact moment that all hope and her lungs gave out, fresh, frigid air touched the tips of her fingers. Scraping frantically, the looser soil gave way until she latched onto a thick, exposed root. With the last glimmer of strength mustered, she pulled herself up—free from her earthen grave.

Her mouth opened to inhale the frigid air. Icy shards pierced her lungs with each gasp. Crumbling on the ground, dirt and bile spewed out to coat the frost-covered grass. She lay hunched over, shuddering and spent in the final throes of dry heaving.

A faint chuckle broke through the otherwise silent night.

Too weak to run, fear traced a new tendril down her spine. She turned toward the sound. The effort was almost too much to endure.

Everything was a blur. Blinking, grains of dirt caked onto her lashes began to fall away. A few more blinks and her eyes brought into focus the gloom of an icy—mostly moonless and starless—night. Finally, she was able to make out the fuzzy silhouette of a tall figure lounging against the side of a large, gnarled oak tree.

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