I thrilled at following a trail my own mother had blazed.
When Giovanni came to meet me at my hostel with a rental car, he was still miffed at how I had left him at the park the night before. I had called him right away when I ran into Finn, so I didn’t get why he was still upset.
His eyes crackled with intense earnestness as he explained. “Finding another Scintilla was a miracle. Even a few moments of thinking I’d lost you was agony. I thought the worst. I’m not quite ready to face the world alone again.”
I’d have told him that I understood more than he knew, but it wasn’t necessary. That was the thing with Giovanni—he knew. Neither of us wanted to go back to being the only one. Our shared understanding rapidly connected us in a unique bond.
“I promise I won’t worry you like that again,” I said. To my surprise, he pulled me into a hug. The incredible whirling force of dynamic energy between us caused us both to step back. We exchanged awkward smiles. Hanging around another Scintilla was going to take some getting used to.
The Brú na Bóinne Visitors Center was a very busy place. We parked the car and got the last two tickets for the next time slot on the bus that ran between the visitors center and the historic site. I was relieved to get the tickets. I had to see as much as I could before my dad arranged for a military-style SWAT shakedown of Ireland to find me.
The photos of Newgrange I’d collected back home looked like big mounds of grass-covered dirt with some rocks around them, but in person they were enchanting. The very earth felt hallowed. Ancient energy rose up around me, grounding me in its history.
We tromped up the path toward the largest burial mound, a giant grass-covered dome with intricately carved rocks around the base like a stone diadem. There were over a hundred of the large stones, called kerbstones, all engraved with ancient megalithic art of spirals, zigzags, and drawings. I was intrigued to learn that exactly three kerbstones were never found. That number again.
Giovanni strolled ahead of me, taking pictures of the 5,000-year-old stones and touching them respectfully. I slipped around a corner to the steps that led up to the top of the largest mound, delighted to actually walk atop this ancient temple. I pulled out the red journal and turned to one of my mother’s entries about Newgrange. The paper fluttered lightly in the breeze.
I am led again to this home of the Triple Spiral, like a compass pointing me to my true North. Could Gabriella have been right? Is this just one of many places in the world that was a base for people like me? It’s not what we know about it that intrigues me. It’s what we don’t. Who built it? What are the true meanings of the markings in the stones? Why did the inhabitants mysteriously disappear, sometimes for hundreds of years, before another group would settle, only to also disappear? A theory is that the tomb was a solar temple for a prehistoric race of supernatural people. Doesn’t seem so far-fetched right now. Our Irish mythology taunts me like King Nuada, the Silver Hand…Silver. Could the legends have only told part of the story? Too often in history that is the case. There are so many signs telling me this was once a place of people like me. And too many like me have vanished. I feel I’m on the edge of a discovery. One that could answer all of my questions.
The passage gave me chills. I shared her feeling—on the edge of discovery. I looked around at the green valley below. Satellite mounds dotted the fields in the distance. The river Boyne meandered past the great mounds. Ireland stretched out beneath me in all directions. The beauty of it created an alchemy inside me, transforming my curiosity into a deep affection. Ireland struck me as wild. A restrained wild, though. Not the messy abandon of a jungle. A tame fury simmered under every green blade.
Seeing auras was considered supernatural. When I pulled the word apart, examined it, I thought it meant natural but different, extraordinary. It didn’t mean it wasn’t real. From my inquiries online, I learned that auras were considered real by many people, doctors and scientists included. All over the world, people conducted research to prove and measure and study their existence. So that couldn’t have been my mother’s big discovery.
No. There was more to this. Being what Giovanni called Scintilla was just one part of the puzzle. If Scintilla was one race, were there others? If so, my hunch was they had white auras.
“What happened to you, Grace Sandoval?” I whispered into the wind.
Giovanni found me atop the tomb. His aura was so strikingly beautiful, it made me see mine in a new light. If only everyone could see the beauty radiating from our bodies, the truth of who we are, and how our energies merged, maybe the world would be a nicer place.
“Come, Miss Cora,” Giovanni said, waving me over. “They say we can go inside the tomb now.”
We went together to the doorway, first climbing stairs to get over an enormous oblong stone with spirals carved in its surface that was blocking the entrance, and then ducking under a flat lintel stone over the door. A slit above the doorway made it possible for the sunlight to penetrate deep inside the chamber for twenty minutes every winter solstice.
I’d finally found my way here.
Inside, a large pillar stone welcomed us, and I sucked in a breath. The actual triple spiral! This iconic stone saw sunlight only once per year on the solstice, and our guide said it was possible the original inhabitants believed it to be a connection from our realm to other realms of existence. It was pure mystery and magic. I wanted to sweep my fingers over the pattern that curled like tender new fronds, but a few people in front of us blocked our way. I remembered vividly how the picture of it spun in my mind’s eye along with the other images when I unearthed the key. And I also vividly remembered the first time I saw its pattern tease me from under Finn’s shirt.
“What does it mean?” Giovanni asked.
“It’s called the triple spiral. It’s known over the world as a Celtic symbol, though that’s completely misleading because the people who built this place were here three thousand years before the Celts arrived. It’s older than the Great Pyramids and older than Stonehenge. There are all kinds of theories about the triple spiral, but no one knows for sure. Some say it celebrates the sun since so many of the stones are astrology-based. Others call it the triple goddess: maiden, mother, and crone.” My face heated. “And I might have slipped into know-it-all mode.”
“Creator, destroyer, sustainer,” offered an elderly woman from behind us. “I’ve read that interpretation as well.”
“Life, death, and eternity,” said someone else in a voice hushed with awe.
“A tale with no beginning and no end,” I whispered to myself.
Giovanni’s hand rested between my shoulder blades as we walked through the narrow passageway toward the small chamber room. I didn’t know if it was the place or his hand causing the strange sensation, as though my heartbeat had shifted, settling closer against my back, beating hard against his hand.
“There is Viking graffiti in these tombs,” Giovanni said, pointing excitedly. “Do you see?”
“I see,” I said, smiling.
We entered the narrow cruciform passageway that led to a ceremonial chamber where cremated remains had once been found. The winter solstice event was simulated for us with lights. I shuddered in the cool cavern. The hair on my arms stood on end. “You can feel history blowing on you here.”
The sun gifted us with its presence when we walked outside the tomb. I turned to Giovanni. “What did you mean the other day when you said I may not know what I’m capable of?”
Giovanni sucked his bottom lip when he concentrated. “How do I say it?” His blue eyes squinted as he searched for the words to explain. “People, they go around giving and taking of energy.”