Part III
She stirred and rolled over on her side, oblivious to the manacles around her wrists and ankles, still half asleep. It seemed to her that she was safe in her bed at home, the evil dreams of the night before just wisps at the corners of her mind. The first thing she was fully aware of was the strong smell of earth. Next, the feeling of a spider crawling on the back of her neck. Finally, the sound of metal striking soil, right next to and below her. Someone was digging.
She opened her eyes. She was lying on the edge of a deep red, almost brown blanket. It was still dark, and she could just distinguish the forms of trees unending past her sight. A torch was struck in one of the trees. She blinked. No, not a tree, a figure cloaked in black held the flickering light. She shot up with a slight cry only to have a previously unnoticed figure put their hands on her shoulders and slam her back to earth. She cried out in pain. No one answered her. The person kept their hands on her shoulders, and another grabbed her ankles. The skin around her wrists and ankles was raw and bruised from the rubbing of iron on her youthful skin.
“What’s going on?” she asked of the cloaked figures of which she now saw were nine. Five holding torches around the small clearing, two keeping her under control, and one digging. The final one was walking, light-footed, to her side. He knelt, and extended a hand over her heart. He spoke softly in what she recognized as Latin.
“Please,” she cried, “I swear by my blood that I’ll keep the faith. That I’ll reform. Please let me go.” The man stood and remained still. She wept to the sound of a grave being dug. It seemed to her that she was a figure in an archaic painting. The maiden being offered to the pagan god. As she thought this she felt a great swell of pity for the others in the painting.
A thud startled her, and she saw the one digging being hoisted up out of the hole. He came around to her feet, as Mr. Thomasson moved from her side to her head. Before she could collect herself they had grabbed the corners of the blanket and lifted her up. Her first instinct was to roll out, but it was too late as she was caught between its high corners.
They held her above the hole, and began to lower. She cried out for mercy, first in English, then in Latin:
“Parcete, parcete, PARCETE!”
Then, she hit bottom. The grave was at least nine feet deep. The person who had first shoved her back down remained at the hole, while the others disappeared to her left. She knew who it was.
“Mom! Mommy, please, save me! Save me, Mommy. I’ll change.” The figure stepped back from the edge and out of sight. She screamed and thrashed, getting cuts and scrapes all over her from the chains and the rocky earth. But that was nothing to the deep ache that had exploded in her heart. She had always walked around with a weight, and now the ropes holding it were severed. It was molten pressure. They sealed her grave with ancient granite, but the cold stone couldn’t hide her blood-curling screams.
Her mother lingered, as the others filed away. Mr. Thomasson returned for her quickly, taking her arm and leading her away. He offered no words of encouragement and she shed no tears. No matter the pain now, her resurrection would be glorious, as none had been for a century.
Reilly soon passed out again, only to wake in complete darkness. She told herself that it was her choice to let her fear become panic, but her reason didn’t last long. She felt as if there were a thousand little things crawling on every inch of her skin. She thrashed about, still screaming. She felt nausea, vomit. She was getting dizzy as blood flowed freely from several deep scrapes. Finally weary, she closed her eyes and wept till she blacked out.
The thing she first noticed when she woke up was again the smell, but this time the rich smell of earth was joined by the smell of her own vomit. She squeezed her eyes closed, but she had no water left for tears. She thought about how long she had been down here, but the stone let in no light. she bit the inside of her mouth until she bled to keep from panicking as the spiders still tickled her skin, like a thousand feathery needles.
“Think, Reilly, think,” she yelled in her mind. It was hopeless. She was bound with iron and even if she could stand the stone lid would still be almost four feet above her head. Her head spun, but for better or for worse that kept her from panicking again. As her senses shut down she calmed. One thought sewed through her mind. It was more of a feeling really, an eerie feeling of deja-vu. This had happened before. She remembered. It had been in a book Mr. Thomasson had given her called The Da Vinci code. That book had disdained the idea of resurrection. She forced her thoughts away from that supposition. She started to panic. She forced herself to sing to keep her mind under control.
“Saol na saol,
Tús go deireadh.
Tá muid beo.
Go dea.”
The familiar song fought off her panic.
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