Exile to Érenn - 7. Chapter 7

Declan, Aiden, and Cianán returned from Castlebaldwin in the late afternoon. The SUV hummed along the narrow road toward the farmhouse.

Rowan had stayed behind to get some work done.

Declan drove with one hand on the wheel, the other resting on the gear shift. Aiden sat in the back seat beside Cianán. The windows were cracked, letting in the cool scent of cut grass and distant lake water.

Declan glanced in the rearview mirror. “Cianán, can you join us for dinner tonight?”

Cianán’s eyes lit up. He looked down at his hands, then back up. “I’d like that very much. Thank you.”

The words came out quiet, almost shy.

Once home, Declan lit an outside grill and proceeded to cook burgers. The smell of charred meat and onions drifted through the front door. Aiden and Cianán assisted Declan. Aiden inhaled deeply and said, “Finally American food. Something I’ve eaten before.”

Everyone laughed, even Cianán, a small, surprised sound that made Aiden’s chest tighten for no reason he could name.

After clearing the plates, Rowan and Declan shooed the boys out of the kitchen. “Go relax,” Rowan said, waving a dish towel. “We’ve got this.”

Aiden and Cianán wandered into the living room. The space was dim, lit only by the soft glow of the setting sun through the window and the embers in the fireplace. They sat comfortably on the gray sofa, their shoulders pressed together. They pulled a lap blanket over their legs. The rest of the house was quiet except for the faint clink of dishes in the kitchen and the low murmur of Rowan and Declan’s voices as they washed up.

Aiden turned on his iPad and clicked on the TikTok app. He swiped at the screen. A video loaded. A golden retriever tried to jump onto a couch, legs splaying, face full of betrayal. The caption read “when you trust physics but physics doesn’t trust you.”

Cianán let out a startled bark of laughter, short, surprised, almost disbelieving. His shoulder jolted against Aiden’s.

“That dog,” he said, voice low and wondering, “believed the couch would hold him. And it did not.”

Aiden grinned, thumb hovering. “Wait. Watch this one.”

He tapped play. A teenager attempted a backflip off a trampoline, missed the landing, and ended up flat on his back in a flower bed while his friends screamed with laughter. The sound of their cackling filled the small speakers.

Cianán’s eyes widened. He leaned forward slightly, as though the screen might explain itself if he got closer. “How do they all fit inside this little window?” He touched the edge of the iPad with one fingertip, careful, reverent. “They move. They speak. It’s like a window to another place, but it fits in your hand.”

Aiden’s grin softened into something quieter. “It’s just videos. People record them on their phones and post them online. Anyone can watch.”

Cianán stared at the screen as though it might speak directly to him. Another clip started. A cat knocked a glass off a counter in slow motion. The glass shattered with exaggerated drama while the cat looked utterly innocent. Cianán laughed again, this time longer, freer, the sound bright and startled in the quiet room.

“It’s absurd,” he said, shaking his head. “The cat knows exactly what it did.”

Aiden laughed too, louder than he meant to. Their shoulders pressed tighter for a second.

From the kitchen doorway Rowan leaned against the frame, arms folded, watching them. Declan stood just behind, drying a plate with slow, deliberate circles.

Neither spoke. Rowan’s mouth curved in a small, private smile. Declan’s expression was softer than usual, almost unguarded. His eyes moved between the two boys on the sofa and the way their heads bent close over the glowing screen.

Rowan caught Declan’s gaze and lifted one eyebrow. Declan gave the tiniest nod. The corner of his mouth twitched upward.

Aiden swiped to the next video. A toddler tried to hug a much larger dog. The dog patiently endured while the toddler’s arms barely reached around its neck. Cianán let out a breath that was almost a sigh.

“Even the animals are kind here,” he murmured.

Aiden glanced at him. Cianán’s face was lit blue-white by the screen, eyes wide, lips parted in quiet wonder. For a second Aiden forgot the video entirely.

“Yeah,” he said softly. “Sometimes they are.”

Another clip loaded. Someone failed at a skateboard trick and fell into a bush with cartoonish sound effects. Cianán laughed again, sudden, delighted, and leaned his head against Aiden’s shoulder for just a heartbeat before catching himself and straightening.

Aiden’s pulse tripped. He did not move.

Behind them Rowan turned back to the sink, voice low enough not to carry. “Look at them.”

Declan set the plate down. “I see.”

Rowan bumped his hip against Declan’s. “They’re happy.”

Declan didn’t answer right away. He watched the two boys on the sofa, heads close, shoulders touching, laughing at something small and fleeting on the screen.

“They are,” he said finally, voice quiet. “For now.”

Rowan reached over and squeezed his hand once, brief and sure.

In the living room Aiden swiped again. The next video started. Cianán leaned in closer without seeming to realize he was doing it.

And for a little while the only sounds were laughter, the soft crackle of the fire, and the faint clink of dishes being put away in the kitchen.

Rowan and Declan joined them in the living room. Rowan sat in one of the chairs and streamed some soft rock from his phone to Bluetooth speakers. The music filled the space gently, acoustic guitar and low vocals.

Declan approached the fireplace and peered at the vial glowing and otherworldly in the faint light on the mantel. The pale green quartz caught the embers and threw tiny prisms across the wall.

After a few minutes Declan noticed Cianán and Aiden standing by his side.

“It’s interesting, isn’t it,” said Declan. “I don’t understand it. The vial shouldn’t exist.”

Cianán considered this and smiled. “It’s precious but not sacred. I’m glad you have it.”

Declan turned to him. “Cianán, the three of us will be out of town for a few days. We plan to drop the vial off at the university lab in Dublin and show Aiden some of the city sights. We’d love it if you could join us. Do you think you can get permission from your parents?”

Cianán’s expression shifted. “I don’t think so,” he said with a sad look. “I haven’t seen them for a long time.”

Declan considered this. “We’ll be back in a few days. You and Aiden can get together then.”

Cianán looked at Declan, then at Aiden.

The next morning was clear and cool. Rowan loaded the Tesla with a cooler full of sandwiches and tea.

Declan carefully placed the vial secured in a padded case into the glove compartment. He checked his phone, confirmed the lab drop-off and sightseeing plans.

Aiden sat in the back seat, nervous and excited.

They pulled out of the lane and drove a short distance before slowing.

Cianán stood on the side of the lane, thumb out, dressed in a green sweatshirt carrying a small backpack.

Rowan stopped and rolled down the window. Cianán calmly said, “I’m heading to Dublin. I have people there.”

Rowan immediately invited him to join them. “We’re going that way anyway. Hop in!”

Declan was wary and suspicious but did not object. Aiden slid over to make room.

Cianán climbed into the back seat beside Aiden. A faint herbal scent filled the car.

Rowan pulled away. The adults accepted the situation as a kind lift for a local kid with no visible family.

Aiden and Cianán sat close. Their shoulders brushed. An unspoken shared secret hung between them. Their plan had worked. It was simple, unspoken, and slightly reckless.

Cianán had waited on the road, thumb out, exactly as they had arranged.

Rowan joked lightly. “You two look thick as thieves back there.”

Aiden blushed, but Cianán simply smiled back

The Tesla hummed along the N4, leaving the open fields of Kildare behind as the first signs of the city appeared on the horizon. Cianán sat forward in the back seat, hands braced on his knees, eyes fixed ahead. Aiden watched him from the corner of his vision, noting the way Cianán’s breathing had changed—shorter, quicker, as though the air itself carried something new.

The motorway curved gently and the skyline came into view.

Cianán made a small, involuntary sound.

“That… that spike,” he said, pointing at the thin silver needle rising above the rooftops. “It touches the sky. No tree, no cairn, no spear ever reached so high.”

Aiden followed his finger. The Spire of Dublin caught the late-afternoon sun and flashed like polished steel.

“It’s called the Spire,” Aiden said. “They put it up to mark the centre of the city. It’s just… art, I guess.”

Cianán shook his head once, slowly. “Art that pierces the clouds. The city people make monuments to nothing and everything at once.”

Rowan glanced back from the driver’s seat and grinned. “It does look like it’s trying to poke a hole in the sky, doesn’t it? Wait till you see it up close.”

Declan, in the front passenger seat, kept his eyes on the road, but his voice was softer than usual. “It’s hollow. It’s made of stainless steel. It reflects the light in a way that changes colour with the day.”

Cianán leaned closer to the window. “It sings when the wind moves through it. I can feel the note.”

Aiden’s pulse kicked. He had never heard anyone describe the Spire that way. He wanted to ask how Cianán could hear something the rest of them couldn’t, but the words stuck.

The car descended toward the Liffey. The river appeared on their right, broad and slate-grey, spanned by bridges of stone and steel.

Cianán pressed his palm flat against the glass. “The river is bound in chains of iron. There was a time when men waded here with cattle, holding spears high so the current would not take them. Now… boats larger than any currach glide beneath bridges that do not sway.”

Rowan laughed quietly. “Those are cars on the bridges. And trains. The bridges are built to hold thousands of tons.”

“Thousands of tons,” Cianán repeated, as though tasting the number. “And the river lets them pass. It has grown patient.”

Declan cleared his throat. “The Liffey was a ford once. People crossed it on foot or with animals. Axes and spearheads have been dredged up over the years. Gold ornaments too. It wasn’t a big settlement, but an important crossing point.”

Cianán turned to look at Declan. “It is very different, but the land still remembers.”

Declan met his eyes in the rearview mirror for a second, then looked away. “It does.”

They crossed the river at Heuston Bridge with the Victorian station rising on their left. It was made of red brick, with a clock tower and an arched roofline.

Cianán stared. “A house for metal serpents. It has a face like a king’s hall, but it breathes smoke and people instead of fire.”

Rowan couldn’t help smiling. “It’s a train station. The trains go all over Ireland.”

“Trains,” Cianán said. “Another invisible fire.”

Rowan took the next turn south. The road widened into Dame Street. Dublin Castle appeared ahead with its towers, battlements, white State Apartments gleaming against the grey stone.

Cianán leaned so far forward his seatbelt caught. “A fortress. But not for war. The walls are too open. Too proud.”

Declan nodded. “It was the seat of power for centuries for kings, viceroys, and presidents. Now it’s mostly ceremonial.”

Cianán pressed his fingers to the window. “The stone remembers blood. And music. And dancing. I can hear echoes.”

Aiden glanced at him. Cianán’s face was lit by the afternoon sun, his eyes shining with something that wasn’t quite joy and wasn’t quite sorrow. Aiden felt it in his own chest as an ache that had no name yet.

Rowan eased the car through traffic toward Donnybrook. As they passed St. Stephen’s Green, Cianán stared at the iron railings, the people walking dogs, and the flower beds bright with roses.

“The gardens inside a city,” he said. “It is caged and green. Previously, the green was everywhere. It was not fenced.”

Aiden touched his arm, light and brief. “You can walk in it. Anyone can.”

Cianán looked down at the place where Aiden’s fingers had rested. “Anyone,” he repeated, as if testing the word.

They reached Donnybrook Hall. Rowan parked in the small lot behind the Victorian building. Climbing roses spilled over the brickwork. The garden smelled of damp earth and late blooms.

Rowan killed the engine. “Welcome to Dublin, Cianán.”

Cianán stepped out slowly. He turned in a full circle, taking in the quiet street, the old houses, the soft hum of the city beyond. Then he looked at Aiden.

“It is beautiful,” he said. “And terrible. And alive in ways I never imagined.”

Aiden met his eyes. “Yeah,” he said. “It kind of is.”

Declan lifted the vial case from the footwell. Rowan slung the cooler over his shoulder. Together the four of them walked toward the hotel door, two men, two boys, one ancient mystery wearing a green sweatshirt. They were all carrying the weight of things seen and yet to be seen.

For the first time since he arrived in Ireland, Aiden felt like he was not merely passing through someone else’s world.

He was beginning to belong to it.

The lobby of Donnybrook Hall felt small and warm after the long drive. The receptionist handed over the keys with a practiced smile. Declan and Rowan took theirs first. Room 12, second floor. Aiden and Cianán received Room 14, just down the corridor.

Declan paused at the foot of the stairs. “You two get settled in your room. Meet us in the lobby in half an hour. We’ll stretch our legs and get something for dinner.”

Rowan gave Aiden a quick, reassuring nod. Then the two men disappeared up the staircase.

Aiden stood in the hallway holding the key. Cianán waited beside him, backpack slung over one shoulder. Neither spoke. Aiden felt the silence settle like dust.

He fitted the key into the lock of Room 14. The door opened with a soft click.

The room was small but clean. Two single beds stood side by side with only a couple of feet between them. A small table and one chair sat under the window. The curtains were thin and let in the soft city glow. The ensuite bathroom door stood open, showing white tiles and a compact shower.

Aiden stepped inside. Cianán followed. The door closed behind them with a quiet thud.

Aiden felt his face heat. The beds looked too close. He could already imagine lying there later, hearing Cianán breathe across the narrow gap.

He set his backpack on the bed nearest the window. Cianán placed his small canvas bag on the chair by the table. They stood for a moment, taking in the space. The room smelled faintly of clean linen and old wood. The carpet was soft under their trainers.

Aiden cleared his throat. “I’ll go first.”

He crossed to the bathroom, closed the door, and leaned against it for a second. His reflection stared back: flushed cheeks, wide eyes. He used the toilet, washed his hands, splashed water on his face. The routine steadied him. When he stepped out, Cianán was still standing by the chair, looking around the room with quiet attention.

Cianán went next. The bathroom door clicked shut. Aiden dropped onto the edge of his bed and stared at the opposite mattress. The beds were so near he could reach out and touch the other one without stretching.

We’re actually going to sleep together tonight.

The thought arrived sudden and clear.

I’m so nervous and excited.

He swallowed.

I guess … I really do like guys.

Cianán emerged a minute later. He had washed his face; his hair was damp at the temples.

Aiden stood. “Ready?”

Cianán nodded.

The door closed behind them with a soft click. Aiden locked it. They walked down the corridor in silence, footsteps muffled on the carpet.

Aiden’s heart beat too loud.