The Celtic Conspiracy (45 page)

“Yes, Victoria, I think I have. Where is Jarod?”

“A better question might be, where we both are,” she said with a soft laugh.

“Why? What do you mean?”

“We’re in Dublin. I thought it was high time Jarod saw where his grandfather came from.”

“Victoria, you should come—”

“I know where you are, and we’ll be on our way within the hour.”

“There’s something else you should know,” Shane began, but she had already hung up. Shaking his head, he put his cell phone back in his pocket and went deeper into the woods. Jennifer and Deborah should be there somewhere.

Ryan’s journey here ended at midday. His body had been brought in the cargo hold of an airplane from Washington to Dublin, and then he had been driven here. O’Brian and Sarah had carefully prepared everything that morning and his body had been laid on a pile of kindling at least six feet high.

On the other side, many Irish people had laid another fire that would offer warmth to the guests in the evening. It would be a long night.

Jennifer and Deborah watched the setting sun at the edge of the woods.

“He would have liked this,” Jennifer said, giving Deborah a hug.

Deborah was slowly recovering by being with her friends and had mustered some courage again. “Yes, he would have. I still can’t quite believe that he’s not here anymore. I keep thinking he’s going to come around the next corner any minute. It’s hard, Jennifer, even though I can sense his spirit here. But somehow things go on, and I am eternally thankful to you all that I can be here with you today. When I’m finally able to start cataloging the parchments, it will be
better, though.” She smiled at Jennifer, took off her glasses, and began to clean them carefully.

Shane came up from behind and sat down with them.

“So is everything ready?” Jennifer asked.

“Yes, we’re ready.”

The paths leading to the clearing followed the four compass points, and several wooden buildings had been constructed in the forest. Here the remains of Celtic culture would finally find a home, in a central spot of the promised land of the Druids.

“It’s an amazing place,” Shane said, his face beaming.

“Tell me, how did you convince the pope to take this step?”

“Me? I didn’t do it at all. He had already made up his mind, but he was waiting for the right moment. The man knew quite well that he was in mortal danger. If the Curia had even the slightest inkling how much he understood...”

“But you told him something, didn’t you?”

“Yes, an Irish legend that Thomas told me once.”

“Do I have to twist your arm or are you going to tell me of your own free will?”

Shane leaned back and crossed his arms behind his head. “In the tale of the sea journey of Arth, son of Comn, a young hero loses a game of chess and is forced to make a dangerous journey in search of a certain maiden. He has no idea where and how he can find this young woman, but he can’t get out of searching for her, so he travels off, from one dangerous situation to the next. He
takes many wrong paths and endures much suffering, but when he finally finds her and returns home years later, the people greet him with jubilation and joy because his success also helps his people. The happiness of one is the happiness of all.”

“That’s beautiful,” Deborah said, deeply moved.

“Giuseppe must have understood the message behind it, since the unknown maiden was a metaphor for his search for God and for himself. This alone, apart from any control that could be found through a doctrine of salvation, means happiness for everyone in the end. In this story, the visionary Druids only wanted to express that each individual can achieve a large measure of insight if they develop their potential and remain free of indoctrination.”

“How did all this get into your head?”

“I can actually answer that. I learned it in my body, on the stone that is now in the clearing. Thomas had the theory that there is a universal knowledge that is saved for eternity like a memory. That is exactly what I experienced when I was lying on the stone in the cave. My memory. This kind of experience is possible for everyone.”

Jennifer considered this. “Yes, the last few weeks have probably prepared every one of us for something that will awaken memory and this longing.” She stood up and stretched. “OK, enough philosophy for today. Come, it’s almost dark and nearly everyone is here already.”

As Jennifer, Shane, and Deborah entered the clearing, they were stunned. People from every direction were
streaming into the circle. Many of them were already standing in the middle. Ruth Copendale, Ronald MacClary, and the other Irish families were positioned in the first row around the stone.

Then Shane saw several figures making their way through the crowd with torches, including a man in simple white clothing.

“I don’t believe it.”

“What is it, Adam?” Jennifer tried to get a better view.

“Don’t you see him?”

Jennifer’s eyes grew wide as she recognized the approaching figure of the one-time pope. As the old man arrived at the inner circle, the people welcomed him into their midst. Shane went up to the pope and with a smile took the Ring of the Fisherman out of his pants pocket. “A lovely thing, Giuseppe, and it’s a great temptation to keep. But I think it would be better in your possession,” he said as he laid the ring in his hand.

Deborah stood next to Giuseppe Mardi as everyone in the circle held hands. Now Adam Shane spoke for the first time in front of the last descendants of the Druids. His voice was as fragile as autumn leaves as he looked at the pile of wood with Ryan’s body on it.

“I am here today because I followed my heart and a vision that brought me to my roots. Our world often seems to be on the edge of a precipice because we are cut off from each other and feel helpless. But we are all bound one with another, even in death. I, you all, everyone here
has an unending divine potential. The key to our freedom lies in self-determination and in the rejection of false feelings of guilt. The true miracle is that we are all in control of how we create our lives.”

Shane gave the pope a penetrating look and then continued.

“Even the last seventeen centuries were necessary to come to this point of forgiveness. Today is a good day to invite all cultures to create this planet anew with our perception and our strength. We can do this. In humility and grief, I bow down before you, Thomas Ryan, descendant of Rodanicas, and release you into the
autre monde
, the other world, where you may find peace and serenity.”

Together with Deborah, he walked up to the pile of wood and lit it with a torch. All of them stared into the flames that flickered around Ryan and everyone bid farewell to him in their own way.

Then the long night began. From all four directions, more and more people streamed into the forest. Their faces reflected a mixture of redemption and excitement about what this turning point would bring. Everyone at that place knew that she or he would have a part in it.

From the United States came a particular request from President Branks. She hadn’t forgotten what Adam Shane had entrusted to her the night before the announcement of her ambitious economic plan, and she invited him to work as an advisor for her.

Jennifer and Deborah pulled Shane aside. “What do you think? Are you going to accept her invitation?”

“Well, after this little cultural confusion, I don’t really know where I’m headed, but why not?” Shane said, half in jest.

“Little?”

“What are a couple of thousand years, Jennifer? In the last few weeks, I’ve realized that our spirit creates our reality.”

Together they stared into the flames that were slowly engulfing Ryan’s body, the last Druid. Shane remembered his time with Thomas Ryan and his ability to recognize the whole universe in a leaf.

I must create a system, or be enslaved by another man’s. I will not reason and compare, my business is to create.

—William Blake, Irish Poet

Shane stood on the spiral of life and looked up at the stars. Tears of grief and joy had sprung into his eyes. Jennifer joined him on the stone and took his hand. They both looked up at the sky. Near them, children were dancing around the fire, his son Jarod among them. He was happy to see Jennifer and Victoria talking with each other. A little bit later they came up and sat down with him on the stone.

Shane let the memory of the last few weeks wash over him. Someone had spoken of success, even of victory. He couldn’t even begin to think of using terms like that. He hadn’t been the one to make the Church collapse, nor had it been the group of people with whom he’d spent the last few weeks. And so many of the Druids’ secrets remained hidden to them and would probably never see the light of day.

But humanity had a chance.
Perhaps we can finally accept the possibility that there is no divine plan and that we are alone with that which we have
, he thought.
And perhaps we can finally value what we have
.

No, he didn’t feel any sense of triumph. The Druids, like the Roman and Greek philosophers, had been concerned with rational knowledge. In the interest of power, other influential thinkers had allied themselves with the political leaders of their time and given people what they longed for, in their fear and helplessness: the concept of a single God. Just as the Christian tracts and the practice of the Catholic Church had very little in common with Jesus Christ, the countless brotherhoods and lodges who were bidding farewell to Thomas Ryan this evening had no clear idea of the original Druidism.

It just wasn’t enough to make a Druid robe and to insist on the legitimacy of any kind of ritual. Still, there was the possibility of searching for the spiritual and ethical principles that lay behind these legends and songs and hero’s tales. There was the possibility of remembering, as the Christians had just remembered the true message of Jesus Christ in St. Peter’s Square and throughout the world. Shane was sure that the respect for different faiths, for different perceptions of reality, was as much a part of this as the respect for the earth.

For a moment he felt an enormous responsibility resting on his shoulders. But then his gaze passed over the clearing, the people, the happy children, and finally rested on Jennifer’s face, and the love that radiated from her eyes.

I would like to thank my publisher, Christian Strasser, who not only had his heart in the right place, but also recognized the signs of the times, a time in which a new consciousness is searching for historical truths. In particular, I am grateful to my editor, Ulrike Strerath-Bolz, for all the inspiration and a fantastic working relationship. And my thanks as well to Wolfgang Ziegert, who has been a true teacher, friend, and discussion partner for a long time.

Thanks as well to Naomi L. Kucharsky, who so successfully championed this novel. I am especially grateful to my partner, Verena Strobl, an uncompromising reader and visionary who coached and inspired me, and I must also thank my parents, who have supported me in everything I do.

Further thanks are due to the numerous experts in ancient history and jurisprudence for their generous advice, and to the numerous critics of the Church, from whose experience and writings I was able to learn so much.