A bedtime story…
“Onceupon a time, there was a King, and his name was Bridei. He was very powerful and very wise, and he was about to lead his people into a battle that would either win them their freedom, or destroy their way of life forever.”
The little girl hugged her stuffed bear tighter, her eyes lighting up with anticipation. “But he won the battle, right Gramma?”
Her grandmother smiled. “Aye, he did. Because he knew that if he had lost, the Picts would be swallowed up by the invaders, and that eventually, everything that made them special would be lost forever.”
“How did he know that?” She tried, and failed, to stifle a yawn.
“Because that’s what happens, when people lose a battle, and someone else takes over their lands. So he did something no one had ever done before, just to be safe. He gave one family all of the knowledge of the Picts, and told them to keep it safe forever, no matter what happened. No matter how much time passed.”
“And they did?” She already knew the answer.
“Yes, to this day. And that is why we speak our secret language that no one else knows, Nessa.”
“But he won the battle. Tell me about the torches.” The little girl yawned again, and her grandmother gently tucked the blanket higher around her chin. For a moment she felt…not quite a sense ofdéjàvu, but more like a strange quickening of fate. It was not the first time she had felt this way when looking at her small granddaughter.
“Yes, the Picts were waiting when King Ecgfrith marched north to Dunnichen Hill to put down the rebellion. Some of them pretended to run away, and when Ecgfrith went after them, the rest came out of hiding. They won of course, and after the battle, they went looking for the men who had fallen, because it was a great honor to die in battle, and they would have a special celebration for those that lost their lives that day.”
“And they had torches,” the girl mumbled sleepily, her eyes growing visibly heavier.
“Yes, they searched well into the night to make sure they had found every last man, and because there was such violence and emotion there that day, they say that even the hill itself remembers it.”
“Like ghosts.”
Her grandmother nodded. “Kind of. Maybe like the ghost of a moment in time. Places, and even things, can hold memories, like a photograph or a video. Even today, when the night is just right, you can see the torches moving about Dunnichen Hill in the darkness, as the ancient Picts search for the bodies of their dead.”
“I want to see them.”
“Maybe someday you will Nessa dear, but now it’s late and time for sleep.”
Orkney Islands 682AD
Bridei, King of the Picts, stood tall at the stern of one of the largest boats in his fleet, watching the distant strip of land grow larger. All of his attempts at diplomacy had long since failed, and now his heart pounded in anticipation of the impending battle. The people of Orkney would know by now of their arrival, and would be preparing their weapons, hiding their treasures, and secreting away their women and children. But they didn’t stand a chance against the five thousand men he had brought with him, all trained with the sword and the axe, and all prepared to die for Pictland…and for him.
Their clothing was torn and spattered with dirt and blood when they finally sailed away that night. The fires they’d left in their wake were still visible, glowing orange and red against the pitch black of the sky.
They had destroyed everything in sight.
It would be a very long time before the Chieftains of Orkney were again a threat, and those that had lived had pledged their oath to him as their King, as they should.
They camped that night on the shore of the mainland, and if he had expected dreams of fire and blood-soaked swords and the screams of dying men to haunt him, Bridei would have been greatly mistaken. He woke with a start, and the woman he had been reaching for in his dream vanished like a mist. He hadn’t seen her face, but she had felt perfect in his arms, and his cock was hard and aching as if he’d been about to take her in the dream. Such a pity he’d woken too soon. For a brief moment he thought he could still smell her, a soft, feminine scent that had made his heart beat faster. He would remember that dream…that sweet scent of woman, and the way his heart had pounded with what felt like pure joy, for a very long time.
“Angus, wait!”Nessa grabbed for the hem of her uncle’s rumpled button-down oxford and missed, her fingers closing around nothing but cool, damp air. He was already scrambling out of the water just ahead of her, while she was still sputtering and clawing wet tangles of hair out of her face. Even though her mind hadn’t caught up yet with the sudden change of circumstances, she knew in her bones that something world-shattering had just happened— something that had probably just changed her life, irrevocably, forever. She also knew that sometime in the next minutes or hours, she was going to know exactly what that something was.
Only a few heartbeats ago, she and Angus had both been quite definitely inside the passage grave on top of Clough Hill, which had been as dry as a bone. This place—wherever it was—was most definitelywet. In fact, she now found herself nearly up to her waist in icy cold water. She looked around, her heart pounding in her chest and her mind still dizzy with the sudden turn of events, trying to make sense of things. They were in a small stone-lined room, not much bigger than the pool of water it contained, and Angus was already at the far end, climbing a set of narrow steps towards a shining sliver of daylight. Sudden fear made Nessa’s breath hitch in her throat and she slogged through the pool as fast as she could after him.Who knew what was up there?
“Angus,wait!” She scrambled clumsily out of the dark water, pulling herself up onto a narrow stone ledge. Her clothes were heavy and dripping. She stumbled forward, barely catching herself as she lurched towards the stairs. Swearing under her breath, she hurried after her uncle, feet slipping on the damp, moss covered steps, her fingers grabbing the moist rock that made up the walls. She emerged from the narrow passageway only seconds after him, soaking wet and shell-shocked, momentarily blinded by bright sunshine. She reached again for Angus, and this time her fingers found purchase in his wet shirt. She curled them tightly into the fabric and held on, as much to steady herself as to keep him from running off into god-knew-what. This wasn’t good. Not good at all. Something had just happened thatshouldn’thave happened.
The last thing she remembered she was crouching on the ground in the passage tomb next to Angus. The dusty,dryground. How could they possibly have ended up in the water? Was there another exit to the tomb that she hadn’t known about? Her mind raced, trying out possibilities and just as quickly discarding them. Could she have had a seizure? Blacked out? Hit her head?
But as her eyes adjusted and her vision cleared, Nessa knew she had much bigger problems than a bump on the head. A bump on the head would have been simple. Easy. A visit to the doctor, maybe a few days off work, and everything would have been normal again.
Nothing wasevergoing to be normal again.
Her fingers curled even more tightly into the fabric of her uncle’s shirt, until her short nails dug painfully into her own palm. Her heart was suddenly beating way too fast, or was it not beating at all? She couldn’t seem to draw a breath. The swift rush of adrenaline pumping through her veins made her legs tremble and her vision seem far too bright. She swayed slightly before catching herself on the doorway of the stone passage, holding onto it for dear life, and inadvertently letting go of Angus. The air that wafted out of the tunnel behind her smelled of cold water and moss and damp earthiness.
“Angus… what have you done?” Her voice sounded breathless and far away to her own ears. Her instincts had switched over to some sort of dreamily lucid survival mode, and she was grateful that full-blown panic probably wouldn’t come till later.
