Exile to Érenn - 2. Chapter 2

Rowan drove along the N4 toward Castlebaldwin. It was late afternoon, and the western sun slanted across the plains, gilding the low hills that rose ahead. Aiden sat on the left, still wired from the flight, staring out at the passing hedges and fields. He hadn’t said much since they left Dublin Airport, just short answers, half-grunts. The radio played low, some folk tune he didn’t recognize.

The road curved gently, and without warning the landscape opened on the right.

Aiden leaned forward, craning past Rowan to see. A long, narrow lake stretched out below them, silver-black under the bruised purple sky, cradled between dark ridges that rose like shoulders on either side. Mist clung to the far shore, blurring water into hill until the two seemed to merge. There were no boats, no houses crowding the edge, just reeds and the slow lift of a single heron from the shallows, wings slicing the dusk.

He hadn’t expected it. Rowan hadn’t mentioned a lake, just “hills and a bit of quiet.” But there it was, vast and still, holding the fading light as though it had been doing so for thousands of years and would keep doing so long after they passed.

“What is that?” Aiden asked, voice quieter than he meant.

Rowan slowed a fraction. “Lough Arrow. I didn’t think to point it out earlier. It sneaks up on you.”

Aiden snorted softly. “Looks like every other lake I’ve seen in pictures. Just bigger.”

But even as he said it, something shifted in his chest, something small and almost imperceptible. It wasn’t wonder exactly, but more like recognition. It was like he’d seen this place before, in a dream he couldn’t remember waking from. The restlessness that had followed him from California felt suddenly smaller, quieter. He hated that it did.

Rowan glanced over with a small smile. “Most people expect postcard Ireland. This one’s different. It keeps its secrets.”

Aiden rolled his eyes, but he didn’t look away. “Secrets. Right. Probably just a bunch of old rocks and sheep.”

Rowan chuckled. “Declan’s the expert on all that. He’s eager to take you on a tour. I think you’ll find it interesting.”

“I doubt it,” Aiden said, folding his arms. “Ancient monuments aren’t really my thing.”

He kept watching the lake slide past on the right, mist drifting, light bleeding out of the sky. The words sounded hollow even to him.

The road curved inland again, carrying them toward Castlebaldwin and the promise of dinner. But the lake stayed in his mind, silent, vast, waiting.

The village lights appeared ahead. “We’ll stop here,” Rowan said. “We can stretch our legs and get some food at McDermott’s. Declan won’t be home till tomorrow anyway.”

Inside, the air was warm with turf smoke and frying. A few locals nodded to Rowan; the barman called out, “Evening, Rowan. The usual?”

They took a table near the fire. Aiden scanned the menu. There was fish and chips, steak sandwich, chicken goujons, and all kinds of pub grub.

Rowan ordered stew for himself. “Get whatever you like,” he said. “You’ve earned it after that flight.”

Aiden went for the chicken goujons and chips. Sounded like chicken fingers, familiar and safe. When the plate arrived, the portions were huge, golden, steaming.

Rowan smiled. “Welcome to real food.”

They ate quietly, the fire crackling. Outside, the hills darkened, the first stars appearing over Lough Arrow.

Aiden felt the distance from California settle in his bones. Home was not just miles, but something deeper.

Rowan watched him. “You okay?”

Aiden nodded, mouth full. “Yeah. I’m just tired.”

But he wasn’t just tired. Despite dismissing Rowan’s suggestion of a tour of the ancient sites, he was curious, and the road ahead led west, toward the mounds, toward whatever waited in the dark.

They left McDermott’s as the last of the daylight faded out of the sky. Rowan eased back onto the N4 for a few minutes, then turned left onto a narrower road that wound west, the headlights cutting through the gathering dusk. Aiden sat on the left, window down a crack, cool air carrying the smell of wet grass and distant peat smoke.

The road dipped and curved, hedges rising high on both sides, the world narrowing to the beam of light ahead. The lake had disappeared behind them, but its stillness lingered in Aiden’s mind, silent, vast, and waiting. He didn’t mention it again. He just stared out at the passing fields, with the occasional glow of a farmhouse window in the distance.

Rowan drove quietly for a while, then spoke. “Not much farther now. Just a few more minutes.”

Aiden grunted. “Good. I’m beat.”

The lane turned sharply, gravel crunching under the tires. The headlights swept across a low stone wall, then a gravel drive lined with low hedges. The farmhouse appeared ahead. It was whitewashed stone, slate roof, chimneys rising like quiet sentinels. It looked exactly like the Ireland in postcards Aiden had seen but never believed in: neat garden bordered with lavender and boxwood, tasteful landscaping, everything well-kept without looking fussy.

Rowan pulled up and killed the engine. The silence rushed in, deep, complete, and almost painful after the constant hum of California. There was no traffic, no sirens, no distant freeway drone. There was just the wind moving through the grass and the faint lap of Lough Arrow far below.

Aiden stepped out. The air was cool, damp, smelling of wet earth and cut hay. He stood there a moment with his arms folded, trying to look unimpressed.

Rowan came around the car, keys jingling. “Welcome home,” he said, his voice soft. “It’s not much, but it’s ours.”

Aiden snorted. “It’s nice.”

Rowan laughed quietly. “High praise. Come on. Let’s get you inside before the midges find you.”

The front door opened into a low-ceilinged hallway with flagstone floors worn smooth by generations. The walls were painted a warm off-white, the wood trim dark and polished. A small table held a vase of fresh flowers. They were simple, wild-looking. There was no clutter, no excess. Tasteful again.

Rowan led him through to the living room. There were exposed beams overhead and a wide stone fireplace with logs stacked neatly beside it. The furniture was modern with clean lines, a soft gray sofa, a couple of armchairs in muted green, though the room still felt old, like the house remembered who it had been before the updates. A large window looked out over the garden and the dark shape of the hills beyond.

“There are three bedrooms upstairs,” Rowan said, pointing toward the staircase. “Yours is the one on the right. Declan’s office is on the left. The bathroom’s shared, but there’s an en-suite in ours if you’re desperate.”

Aiden nodded, still taking it in. The silence pressed against his ears. It wasn’t empty exactly, but full of small sounds he wasn’t used to: wind against the window, the faint tick of a clock somewhere, the creak of old beams settling. It hurt, that silence. Like the city had been a constant noise blanket, and now it was gone.

Rowan watched him. “You okay?”

“Yeah,” Aiden said, too quickly. “It’s just quiet.”

Rowan smiled, small and knowing. “It takes some getting used to. You’ll hear things you never noticed before. The land talks if you listen.”

Aiden rolled his eyes. “Right.”

But he didn’t move away from the window. The hills were dark now, the lake invisible in the dusk, but he could still feel it out there. It seemed to Aiden that all was patient, ancient, and waiting.

Rowan set Aiden’s suitcases at the foot of the stairs. “There’s soup on the stove if you get hungry later, or some leftovers from McDermott’s. Help yourself. Declan won’t be back till tomorrow. He’s just finishing up in Galway.”

Aiden shrugged. “I’m good.”

He climbed the stairs alone, carrying his suitcases. The bedroom was simple: a single bed with a thick duvet, a small desk, a window overlooking the garden and the dark ridge beyond. The walls were pale, the floorboards wide and worn. A single lamp glowed on the bedside table.

He dropped onto the bed. The silence pressed harder up here. He missed the city drone, the sounds of the neighbors, distant sirens. It was just the house breathing around him.

He stared at the ceiling beams. They looked old. Really old.

For the first time since landing, he wondered what he’d actually come here to find.

And whether he was ready for whatever answered.

Aiden woke earlier than he expected, the sunlight slanting through the thin curtains. The bed was too soft, the room smelled of old wood and faint peat smoke, but strangely he felt rested. Jet lag should have left him wrecked. Instead his body felt oddly alert, as though the quiet of the night had reset something inside him.

He pulled on yesterday’s jeans and hoodie, padded downstairs barefoot. Rowan was already at the Aga, an ancient-looking cream range with heavy cast-iron doors. He was stirring a pot of oats. The kitchen smelled of warm porridge and coffee.

“Morning,” Rowan said, glancing up. “Did you sleep all right?”

“Yeah. Weirdly good.”

Rowan smiled. “Country air. Do you want some creamy oats?”

“I won’t eat that,” he said flatly.

Aiden opened the cupboard and scanned the shelves. There was no American cereal, just Weetabix, porridge oats, and some off-brand muesli.

Rowan raised an eyebrow. “We’ve got milk, bread, eggs, and porridge.”

“I’m going to the shop,” Aiden cut in. “I need cereal. The real kind.”

Rowan hesitated. “It’s a fair walk to Castlebaldwin. Three miles, maybe four. I can drive you when Declan gets back this afternoon.”

“I’ll walk,” Aiden said, voice firm. “I need to get out.”

Rowan studied him a moment, then nodded. “All right, but stick to the main road. You can take my phone if you want. The signal’s spotty, but it’s better than nothing.”

Aiden pocketed the phone and left before Rowan could change his mind.

The lane was quiet, hedges high on both sides. He walked fast at first, burning off the restless energy that had followed him from California. The air was cool, damp, smelling of wet grass and distant turf smoke. After twenty minutes the road dipped toward the village. He found the Centra, grabbed a box of Quaker Oat Squares, paid, and started back.

Halfway home, the lane curved past a sagging farmhouse set back from the road. There was peeling whitewash, an overgrown yard, and two rusty pickups. Two teenagers stepped out from behind the fence, big and broad, maybe sixteen. One had a shaved head, the other a rugby shirt stretched tight.

“Hey, Yank,” the shaved one called. “You’re the kid staying with Declan MacDonagh and that other poof, Rowan.”

Aiden stopped. The word landed like a slap. He bristled, his fists balling at his sides.

“Yeah,” he said, voice low. “What’s it to you?”

The rugby-shirt one laughed, short and mean. “This lane’s private. You’re on our land.”

“It’s a public road.”

Shaved-head stepped closer. “Not today it isn’t. Declan’s kind think they own everything now. Leased our land back to us for a euro a year. Our people ruled this valley long before Declan’s people showed up.”

Aiden’s pulse kicked. “Move.”

They didn’t.

Rugby-shirt shoved him hard. Aiden stumbled, the cereal box dropping into the grass. He caught himself and came up swinging. The older boy blocked his punch and grabbed his wrist. Pain flared up his arm.

“Last chance,” shaved-head said.

Then a car, a nice car, a Tesla Model Y, slowed and pulled up behind the boys. A trim man with dark hair and faint gray at the temples stepped out. He wore wire-rimmed glasses and a quiet authority in the way he moved.

“Gentlemen,” the man said, his voice calm, almost gentle. “Is there a problem?”

The boys froze. Shaved-head’s grip loosened.

The man looked at Aiden, then back at the boys. “You’re blocking the public road. And you’re on my lane, which means you’re blocking my family’s access.”

Rugby-shirt muttered something under his breath.

The man didn’t raise his voice. “Go home. Now.”

They looked at each other, then at the man. Something in his steady gaze made them hesitate. They backed off, muttering, disappearing toward the farmhouse.

He watched them go, then turned to Aiden. “Are you all right?”

Aiden nodded, picking up the cereal box. “Yeah. Thanks.”

“You must be Aiden.”

“Yeah.”

A small smile. “I’m Declan. Rowan’s husband. Just back from Galway.”

Aiden exhaled. “Good timing.”

Declan glanced at the box. “Quaker Oat Squares?”

Aiden shrugged. “Only thing worth eating.”

Declan laughed, quiet and warm. “Come on. Let’s get you home before Rowan starts worrying.”

Aiden fell into step beside him and walked to the Tesla.

Once seated Aiden said. “Nice car.”

”It’s Rowan’s. He lets me borrow it when I have long highway driving. It’s much more comfortable than the SUV.”

For the first time since landing, he felt like someone had his back.

Upon arrival back at the farmhouse Aiden greeted his uncle. Declan joined them from the hallway, carrying his coat. He gave Rowan a quick peck, then turned to Aiden, nodded toward the hearth and said, “That fireplace was built on top of an earlier one. God knows how old the base is. The houses have been built around this hearth for hundreds of years.”

Aiden shrugged, but his gaze lingered on the stones. They looked ancient. Really ancient.

Rowan smiled and added, “Declan’s the history nut. I just live here.”

Declan gave a small laugh. “Speaking of history…” He looked at Aiden. “Would you like to see something I’ve been working on? It’s a little bit of a walk, but if you’re up for it.”

Aiden hesitated, then nodded. “Sure. Why not.”

They stepped outside. Declan pointed to a small outbuilding behind the house made of stone walls, a slate roof, and windows that glowed faintly. “That’s Rowan’s office. He works from home a few days a week. He works for an American diagnostics company in Sligo town. It keeps him busy.”

Rowan chuckled. “Keeps me sane.”

They walked a short path through the garden, past the apple tree and herb patch, then into a field that sloped gently uphill. The ground was uneven, limestone outcrops, patches of heather, a faint track worn into the grass. After fifteen or twenty minutes, the path opened to a low rise.

A cairn sat there, mostly buried. It was larger than Aiden expected, smaller than the main Carrowkeel tombs he’d seen online, but still impressive. It was a low mound of sod covered stones, with a clear entrance passage and upright slabs still standing. It looked intact. Not ruined.

Declan stopped at the edge. “We found this six or seven months ago. It’s not on any of the maps yet. We found it with the help of a landowner tip and some ground radar. It’s a passage tomb and probably 5,000 years old, maybe older. We’ve only cleared the entrance so far, but it’s in better condition than most at Carrowkeel. I’m still working on excavating the interior. The stones are tight, the passage seems almost complete.”

Aiden stepped closer. The cairn felt solid, purposeful. A few slabs had faint carvings of spirals, cup-marks, and one with a vague, weathered figure that might have been a person or an animal with arms raised.

Declan crouched, tracing one of the spirals with a finger. “Neolithic people built these as tombs, but they’re more than graves. They aligned them with the sun for illumination during solstices and equinoxes. Light would come through the passage at certain times, touch the back wall or a stone basin. We think it was about renewal, death and rebirth, the cycle of seasons. Some say the carvings were maps to the otherworld, or markers for the people who came before.”

Aiden stared at the spiral. It looked simple, but it pulled at him, the same feeling he’d had watching Lough Arrow. “What people?”

Declan straightened. “The old stories call them the Tuatha Dé Danann, skilled folk who ruled Ireland before the Gaels. They were driven underground, into the mounds. The Aos Sí. The people of the sídhe. Whether they were real or myth, the tombs remember them.”

Aiden snorted, but it sounded forced even to him. “Sounds like fairy tales.”

Declan smiled, small, knowing. “Most old stories do. Until you stand inside one at the right moment.” He winked at Aiden with a smile.

Aiden looked at the entrance. It was dark, narrow, and inviting. The carvings seemed to shift in the fading light.

He didn’t say anything else.

They walked back in silence, the hills closing around them, the farmhouse lights glowing ahead.

But the spiral stayed in Aiden’s mind as if it was endless and waiting.