16- Flight

15 3 1
                                    




                   

Molly's head was spinning.  One question prevailed.  Why?  Why would Lorcan steal the book, murder its keeper, and try to bring death to Tír na nÓg?  None of it made sense. 

She had to escape.  Had to find  a way to warn Council.  But how?  She had easily fallen into his capture.  She wriggled to try and bring circulation back into her arms.  They had been tied behind her back all evening and the lack of movement had rendered them numb.  She cast a glance in the direction of the kitchen.  She knew he was there.  She had seen the wretched soul go in.  He appeared anxious. Pacing and fidgeting.  It was as if he was waiting for someone or something to happen.  But what?

            *                   *                     *                     *                     *                     * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

"Donal, she's white!  Completely white!  What happened to her?"

"Aye, lad.  She musta had a frightful night, indeed."  Donal patted Tinker's neck.  "She seems none the worse for wear, but me heart does go out to her." 

Donal helped Conor onto the back of Tinker.  Horse and rider were a bit skittish, but Conor soon had Tinker reassured under the soothing stroke of his hand.  A moment later, Donal jumped onto Tinker, behind Conor.

"Ya ready, lad?"

Checking his fears, Conor gave a determined nod.  "I'm ready."

Donal kicked his heels into Tinker's side and gave a mighty holler. Tinker took off at a rate that surprised even Donal.  Quickly they departed from their camp and galloped hard across the deserted plain.  Rock and water were impediments to their ride, but Tinker galloped rapidly across the ground, eating up the distance beneath his hooves.  It wasn't long before they came upon their original path.  On it they found surer footing and were able to quicken their pace further still.

With any luck they would make it to Lorcan's by late afternoon. Conor gripped the reins of the horse tightly.  Horseback riding was not foreign to him, but at such a rate, it was enough to make his teeth rattle.  He clamped his mouth shut and hunched his shoulders forward.  They had to get to the house on time.  They just had to!

*                                *                                    *                                       *

            Lorcan came out of the kitchen and gave his captive a diabolical grin.  "How was your sleep young lady?"

            "Just as restful as yours!" Molly flipped back.  If he thought she was going to be a quivering captive, he would be disappointed.  If she could only get free, she was convinced she could take him. 

            He snorted his reply and went back into the kitchen.  Molly surveyed the ruined cottage interior.  Now that it was daylight she had a better view of what lay around her.  Scattered about were pieces of furniture and crumpled decorations.  But no knives or scissors.  She inched a little to the left and tried to flip a cushion with her foot.  Suddenly a thought came to her.

            "Wait a minute!"

            She scooched back to her right and lay on her side.  She tried to get a better look at the framed photograph that rest there.  It was a photo of a broad smiling Lorcan.  He was shaking hands with another council member while accepting some kind of an award.  Molly inched herself farther away from the photo until it lined up nicely with the heel of her foot.  With one quick slam of her sneaker, the glass covering Lorcan's puss broke into a few large pieces.  Lorcan returned to the sitting room.

Molly McCormack & the Legend of Tir na nOgWhere stories live. Discover now