Page 79 of Blindsided
The forest floor is carpeted with ferns and wildflowers, their colors vibrant against the rich earth. We cross small streams on stepping stones, the water crystal clear and ice cold from mountain snowmelt.
As we climb higher, the trees thin, giving way to open moorland swept by wind. The view stretches for miles—rolling hills covered in purple heather, valleys cut by silver ribbons of water, and in the distance, the glint of the Irish Sea.
“This place,” Kori murmurs beside me, “it’s magical.”
“The Irish tourism board would love you,” I tease, but I understand what she means. There’s something primeval about these mountains, something that speaks to something deep within.
“How much further?” Kat calls from behind us, breaking the spell.
Declan consults the map again. “Should be just over this ridge.”
We crest the hill, and there, nestled in a protected valley, lie the ruins of what must once have been Miners Village. Stone cottages, their roofs long gone, stand in silent rows. At the center, rising above the other structures, is a square tower—miraculously intact despite the centuries.
“There it is,” I breathe, suddenly nervous. “The tower from the clue.”
Declan leads us down the slope toward the ruins. As we draw closer, I can see that the village is larger than it first appeared—perhaps twenty structures in various states of decay, with the tower standing sentinel overall.
“Mining was big business here in the 18th century,” Rory explains as we pick our way through the ruins. “Lead, mainly. But the mines played out, and the village was abandoned.”
“Perfect place to hide something you don’t want found,” Wren observes.
We reach the tower, its stone walls weathered but sturdy. A narrow doorway opens into darkness. Declan pulls out a flashlight and peers inside.
“Looks clear,” he reports. “Single room, spiral staircase leading up.”
“I’ll check upstairs,” I volunteer, taking the flashlight from him. “Kori, want to come with me?”
She nods, following me into the cool darkness of the tower. The stone staircase winds tightly upward,forcing us to climb single file. I go first, testing each step before allowing Kori to follow.
The upper chamber is small and circular, with narrow windows offering views in all directions. Empty except for debris—fallen stones, bird nests, the remnants of what might have been furniture long ago.
“What exactly are we looking for?” Kori asks, running her hand along the rough stone wall.
“Something that doesn’t belong,” I tell her, scanning the room. “A mark, a loose stone, anything that seems deliberate rather than decay.”
We search methodically, tapping walls, examining the floor, checking each window embrasure. Nothing.
“Kane!” Declan’s voice echoes up the stairwell. “Find anything?”
“Not yet,” I call back, frustration building. “Keep looking down there.”
Kori moves to one of the windows, leaning out slightly to check the exterior wall. “Kane,” she says suddenly, her voice tight with excitement. “Come look at this.”
I join her at the window, following her pointing finger. Just below the window, carved into the stone, is a symbol—a small, crude dragon.
“That’s it,” I breathe. “Has to be.”
I lean farther out, examining the stonework around the carving. One block seems slightly misaligned with the others, its edges not quite flush.
“I think this stone is loose,” I tell her, fingers probing the edges. “Help me.”
Together we push, pull, and wiggle the block until it finally shifts with a grating sound. It slides inward, revealing a small cavity behind.
“Guys!” Kori calls down the stairwell. “We found something!”
The others thunder up the stairs as I reach carefully into the opening. My fingers close around something solid—a metal box similar to the one we found at Tara, though smaller.
I pull it out just as Declan, Wren, Kat, and Rory crowd into the chamber. The box is old but in good condition, sealed with a simple latch rather than a lock.
