Stone of Destiny

Introduction: Cliffs of Moher, Liscannor, Ireland, Present Day

 

The damp air outside of Liscannor made it difficult for Murray Vaughn to catch his breath. The rough wooden handle of the shovel that he had been using for the last hour had rubbed the skin on his palms raw. Murray grimaced each time the pale Irish moonlight illuminated the blood covered handle of his shovel, his blood. In spite of bleeding hands, it was Murray’s back that was causing the most pain. In the last hour he had been knocked to the ground three times by the man in the dark coat, each time the blow coming by way of the heavy wooden walking stick that the man held.  Each time the blow landed on the same spot on Murray’s back.

“No stopping yet” said the man in the dark coat behind him. “The sooner you can find it the sooner you’ll be back with your families.”

Murray was standing waist deep in a hole that he had been digging on the top of the Irish Cliffs of Moher for the last hour. The Irish landscape that a visitor would see here by day, including emerald fields of windswept grasses, was hidden to Murray’s eyes by the dark night that surrounded him. The darkness couldn’t however hide the musty smell of earth that tickled Murray’s nose as he threw shovel full after shovel full of dirt out of the hole he was digging.

Murray was only half of the digging crew; the other half was a younger man that Murray’s captors seemed to be familiar with. Across the hole Murray could see the other prisoner take a short break and lean on his shovel. He was trying to catch his breath.

Stopping wasn’t a good idea.

The other prisoner was suddenly knocked to the ground by the man in the dark coat, his walking stick connecting soundly with the shoulder of the other prisoner. Murray ignored the abuse that was happening to the other digger and continued shoveling the compact dirt out of the hole and on to the pile of excavated dirt next to him.  The other digger got up from the ground quickly. After rubbing his shoulder for a short moment he resumed shoveling, this time at a faster pace.

“This wasn’t supposed to happen!” thought Murray angrily. The sweat from his head dripped down his dirt covered face and into the disturbed ground at his feet.

After a few more shovelfuls of dirt a second man walked up to the hole that Murray and the other prisoner were standing in. He walked around it while shining his flashlight into it. The flashlight illuminated the dirt at Murray’s feet.

“Hold it a minute” said the man. His voice was calm and held no hint of the local Irish accent that had become second nature to Murray in his homeland. Murray stopped digging. The man with the flashlight continued to circle the hole and shine his light onto different areas on the bottom, no doubt looking for the object that Murray knew was there, just a little further.

Murray took advantage of the break and rested against his shovel. He looked around him. There were five men total, Murray and the other prisoner, plus three captors. The man in the black coat, the man with the flashlight, and the man waiting in the heated interior of the idling sedan that they had all come in an hour ago.

The man in the black coat had been the only one to show violence yet. In spite of that Murray knew that he was the least of Murray’s concerns. The man in the black coat was a slave like him, put in charge of getting this hole dug. He answered to the man with the flashlight, which was clear from the looks they were exchanging. The real leader of the group was the man still in the car. Murray had known that long before he’d been kidnapped earlier this evening.

“Give me your shovel” said the man with the flashlight. He jumped down into the hole with the two captives. Murray handed him his shovel, glad to have a moment to rest his hands. The man began to dig, in the right spot too, and after three more shovelfuls each of them heard the sound of the metal shovel come in contact with wood, still buried just below the dirt at their feet.

“Good” whispered the man that was digging. Murray recognized his accent, it was American. The moonlight illuminated an ever so slight smile on the American’s face. “Its right there” he said and pointed to the area that he had been digging at, “get it out of there.”

Murray took his shovel back. Both he and the other captive continued digging, this time more carefully. The hole was cramped with both men in it, each digging in the same place. After only a couple of collisions with their shovels they were able to find a rhythm that let them take turns removing dirt; a few minutes later and they had dug around the object buried at their feet. When the dirt around it was cleared they both were able to identify it, a wooden chest, still caked in dirt but in good condition. Under orders from the American, Murray and the other digger picked up the chest and lifted it out of the hole. Once the chest was out of the hole both Murray and the other captive followed.

The chest was about the size of a shoebox. The wood was old and covered by a thick layer of dirt. Murray could see inscriptions on the wood in areas where the dirt had fallen off.

The American held the dark chest in his hands. He starred at it, looking for how to open it; wondering what treasure awaited inside. After a moment he attempted to pry the top open but it held closed. He pulled harder, still no movement. After a third attempt to open the chest was unsuccessful he grabbed the shovel from Murray’s hands and began to hit the chest. Murray’s faced grimaced at the thought of a relic being needlessly destroyed. After five strikes with the shovel the American got back down on his knees to inspect the chest and survey the damage.

“Nothing!” he shouted.

“Perhaps you could let me take a look at it?” suggested Murray.

“Keep your mouth shut” said the man in the dark coat. He struck Murray with the heavy walking stick for the fourth time. Murray shouted with pain and fell forward onto the undisturbed grass in front of him.

“No Olcan” said the American, “Let’s give the man his chance.” He gestured to Murray, allowing him to get up and approach the chest. After only seconds of looking at the inscriptions on the chest Murray had forgotten about the throbbing pain in his back. He looked closely at the detail carved onto the chest. He ran his fingers over the worn carvings, unconsciously forming sounds and words with his lips. After a moment Murray looked back up to the American and smiled.

 

Maolan mac Ainles

Cormetaid o dia Ruiri

Co apthu ocus betha ocus aine do-alrindi

 Inbaid beirid cathair dom”

 

Molan son of Ainles

Guardian of God’s throne

Till death and life and Glory come

To one day take it home.”

 

After completing the translation Murray reached his hand under the chest and felt around until his fingers found a small lever. He pushed on the lever and suddenly the top of the chest sprung open.  The smell of stale air and damp wood snuck out of the opened chest and tickled Murray’s nose.

The American smiled quickly at Murray then reached into the open chest. He pulled out an object that glittered in the moonlight. He held the object up to investigate, it was a golden chalice. The light sparkled off the chalice, illuminating what appeared to be both rubies and emeralds set deep inside the cup. Murray noticed that the only other item in the chest, a piece of cloth, had fallen out when the American had pulled the cup out. Murray bent down and picked up the old cloth. It was rough and somewhat waxy. Its hard surface gave the appearance of being sealed in some type of sap many years ago to keep it protected from the moisture in the damp chest.

“What is this?” said the American as he gazed longingly at the chalice in his hands. He pulled it in close to his face to better study the detail that was engraved into the gold. As the American studied the surface of the cup Murray saw the man in the dark coat pull a small revolver out a holster on his belt. He walked towards Murray and the other captive.

The American lowered the cup from his gaze and spoke to the man in the black coat.

“Get rid of traitor and put the professor back in the car. We may have further use for his knowledge.” The American reached out and took the cloth from Murray’s hands. The man in the dark coat smiled and raised his gun towards the other captive.

“No!” shouted Murray. With only a moments thought he threw the shovel he was holding at the man in the dark coat. The man did not have time    to move before the shovel connected with his gun. The gun fired into the starry sky above them. The explosion of the bullet echoed across the empty dark meadow and disappeared over the ledge of the famous cliffs of Moher, one hundred feet down to a tumultuous Atlantic Ocean.

The booming sound of gunfire brought the other three men standing around the hole to sudden movement. The other digger was the first to respond. He lifted his shovel high in the air and brought it down powerfully in contact with the hands of the American holding the golden chalice. The American shouted and dropped the artifact onto the damp grass.

“Bastard!” shouted the man in the black coat. His hands were bleeding where the shovel Murray had thrown had hit him. He went to his hands and knees in the tall grass looking for the gun he had dropped. Murray wasted no time and jumped across the opening of the hole to confront the temporarily weaponless guard. While the man in the black coat was searching the grass for the gun, Murray grabbed the large wooden walking stick that the man had been holding for most of the night. Once Murray had the wooden stick he wasted no time raising it over his head and bringing it down with all his might on the man on the ground.

The man in the black coat shouted as the heavy staff connected with his lower back.

“Hurts like hell doesn’t it you prick!” shouted Murray. He continued beating the man with the wooden staff. Murray was using all the strength he had as he rained blows down on the man below him. In spite of being the best of his efforts, it clearly was not enough. After a moment the man in the black coat rolled over onto his back and pointed the gun, which he had just found, at Murray’s heart.

“Hold it” he grunted while holding the gun steady. Murray was motionless, the staff still raised over his head, waiting to be brought down at the right moment. “Put it down slowly” said the man with the black coat, motioning to Murray. Murray looked over at the American who was fighting with the other digger. It looked like the American was favoring his right hand, which appeared to be bleeding profusely from being hit by the other mans shovel.

“He said not to kill me, I might still be of some assistance” said Murray, attempting to buy some time before having to put down the staff.

“Won’t be much assistance to us if you’re dead, but you’ll be even less assistance to us if we’re dead” replied the man and again motioned to Murray to put down the staff. Murray hesitantly set it down. The dark night suddenly filled with the roaring of an engine as the car that had been parked down the hill rushed towards them across the open meadow. Murray saw the bouncing headlights from the car as it approached their location. The approaching car must have startled the man with the black coat, who was still laying on his back on the ground because he moved his gun from pointing at Murray’s heart and fired it twice into the air. Murray fell to the ground in an attempt to avoid the gun shots.

The car arrived and stopped. An older man stepped out of the driver’s side door. He had white hair and spectacles, a cane in his left hand and a black handgun in his right. The white haired man pointed his gun in the air and fired it. The American and the other captive both stopped fighting. The old man walked around the hole to where the other captive was standing.

“Jack, I am disappointed in you, first you steal from me, and then you try to avoid the consequences.”  The other captive opened his mouth to respond but without warning the old man raised his gun and shot him twice in the chest.

Murray was shocked by the sudden brutality shown by the old man. His body ached from the digging and abuse as he lay still on the ground with the scrap of ancient parchment from the wooden chest partially hidden beneath him.

The old man looked down at the body of the man he had just killed.

His name was Jack thought Murray.

“Bury him” he said in a strong voice with a pronounced Scottish accent. The man in the black coat and the American both moved quickly, pushing Jack’s body into the hole that he and Murray had finished digging just minutes before. The moonlight illuminated dark blood stains on the grass and dirt below where Jack’s body had lain.

“Jacob, what have we found?” said the old man as he tucked his gun back into his cloak.

“This” said Jacob and softly kicked the ancient chest at his feet. “Inside was this cup and a piece of parchment. The Professor translated the script on the front of the chest. So far I can’t see anything written on the cup.” The old man listened to Jacob’s response then looked down at Murray.

“I am glad to know that you have been of some use professor. It seems I was not lied too when told about your uncanny ability with the lost languages.”

Murray’s stomach twisted in knots as the white haired man, the murderer, spoke to him.

“You will not find what you are looking for” replied Murray. He was shivering, a result of laying on the cold, damp grass.

“You too may believe that, but you will find yourself incorrect” replied the old man.

“People like you have never changed the world for the better” said Murray, “they just always managed to screw it up a little bit more.” The old man laughed.

“And schoolboys like you have never recognized progress when it stares them in the face. To men like you professor progress is a new museum that no one will attend or a new grant to study something that no one cares about.” The old man took the chalice out of the American’s hands hand held it up into the moonlight.

“An empty museum is better than one more person crushed under your feet, eager to do your bidding, to be your slave” replied Murray.

“The world has always needed strong men to hold it together professor, don’t hate me merely because I fit a mold.” He put the golden cup that he had been inspecting down and looked back at Murray. “I assume that you still have the parchment that was found, please let me see it.” Murray stood up, still holding the treasured parchment in one hand, the wooden walking stick in the other.

“This is not for you to have, you will be stopped.”

The wind moaned in the meadow and behind the old man Murray could hear the sea waves crashing against the surf at the bottom of the cliffs at the end of the meadow where they stood.

“Professor, I haven’t time for your games” said the old man. He took a deep breath and reached into his coat and pulled out the gun that he had used to shoot the other captive. “Now hand me the parchment or you will join your friend there.” He motioned down to the still body lying in the freshly dug hole.

Murray extended his arm to hand the parchment over to the old man. At the last moment Murray changed his mind and pulled it back. “What you are seeking is not yours to find” he said again, this time more adamantly. “You will not find it, and you will not have any more of my help!”

Murray threw the staff at the gun in the old man’s hand, knocking his arm to the side. The minor confusion was all that Murray needed and he ran strait into the old man’s body, knocking him and his gun to the ground. Murray remained standing and continued to run past where the old man had stood, across the empty grass swept meadow, toward the Cliffs of Moher.

“Stop him!” shouted the old man. Murray heard gunshots from behind him. He continued to stare ahead while running, concentrating on the edge of the cliffs, only 150 feet ahead of him. Murray knew that the one hundred foot fall to the freezing ocean could quite possibly kill him but he also knew that it was only a matter of time until the old man killed him too, and this was the only way to keep the secret safe. The gunshots continued behind Murray. The cliffs were now only sixty feet in front of him, now twenty… Murray put in every last bit of energy and pushed himself harder as he reached the end of the meadow and launched himself off the cliffs.

As he tumbled over the edge of the cliff Murray heard the squawks of a group of seagulls he startled nesting near the top. Gravity quickly pulled on him as he flew over the cliff and his body began the long fall to the ocean below. The cold night air ripped by his face, screaming past his ears, making his eyes water. He fell down, and down and down. Murray watched the water rising up to meet him, the white tips of the waves breaking and forming, and just before he hit he looked to his right hand, where he has been holding the piece of ancient parchment. Murray was surprised and upset to see that his hand was empty. He had dropped the parchment somewhere in his escape. With luck he dropped it on the way off the cliff and it would soon be floating out to sea, like his body.

Hopefully to never be found again.

 .

 .

.

Thank you for reading the prologue to Stone of Destiny. If you enjoyed what you read consider purchasing an electronic copy of the full book for just $2.99. You can purchase the book at each of the following locations. 

The Amazon.com Kindle Store

The iBook app for Apple iPad

The Nook by Barnes & Noble

The complete book is 55 chapters of 123,000 words. This is average for a full length novel. The text has been professionally converted for a positive reading experiance regardless of what device you read it on.

Check back soon for more information on a hardcover edition.