“How do I stop it?”
She smiled faintly. “Ah, you can’t stop it. But you can preserve it. We must gather all that we can into one place for safekeeping. A great cache. All of our knowledge, all of our scrolls, our language, our customs…it can be kept safe by one family, down through the ages. Guardians of all that is Pict. Keepers of our ways.”
As the last scroll was copied and placed carefully into a sturdy wooden trunk to be placed into the keeping of the chosen family, Meara did not tell Bridei that she had added her own scrolls as well, ones that had been written by Fate’s own hand.
If the lass was from the spirit world, then he wouldn’t be able to keep her here with him. Bridei found that he didn’t like that idea. “How do you know about the scrolls I gave to Domnall?” he demanded again.
“I am part of that family. They are my ancestors”, Nessa told him.
“Lass, you make no sense. I left instructions with Domnall only three moons past, and I know for certain that you are not of his line, because the man has only sons.”
“Iamthough…just reallyfardown the line. Thirteen centuries, in fact. I came here from the future…I think.” Angus had gone on once about parallel universes, but she was going to stick with the easiest explanation possible. “My uncle brought us both here through some sort of doorway, and it opened up into the well.”
His eyes widened just a little and he leaned back, looking her over as if he were just seeingherfor the first time.
“So that is what you meant when you told me you fell through a hill, the first day we met. Are you are telling me that Domnall kept his word to me, as did his descendants, forthirteen centuries? How is that possible?”
“I think they were all so afraid of the curse, that they didn’t darenotkeep his word.”
“What curse?” He looked a bit alarmed. “Has someone cursed you, Ashta?”
“No! Or, maybe? You threatened Domnall’s line with a curse if they ever broke their word and failed to keep the language and stories and knowledge…all of that stuff.” She waved her hand to include whatever else was in that trunk. “I don’t know what the curse is though, Gram never told me exactly what would happen, if she even knew herself.”
He laughed, a deep, almost melodic sound. “There is norealcurse. That was only to be certain Domnall would do as I said. He is a very superstitious man. I knew such a threat would make him diligent.”
Nessa eyed him cautiously. “So do you believe me?”
Bridei looked at her long and hard while she squirmed under his scrutiny. Finally, he nodded slowly. “I suppose I have to. No one else knew about Domnall, and why else would you have thrown yourself into the well? I have to admit, I was a bit worried that you were losing your mind.”
He believed her. He believed her! A wave of relief washed over her and she slumped in her chair a little. To finally have someone know what had happened to her…to no longer have such a weighty secret…tears stung her eyes.
But there was still one more unanswered question, one that would affect the course of the rest of her life, however short or long that would be. “What are you going to do with me?” she asked.
His eyes were soft and dark as he looked at her; his expression unreadable.
“I don’t know.”
“Meara!”
Bridei burst through the door without waiting for an invitation, but there was no one inside the dark little house. He spun on his heel and went back out. “Meara!”
“Over here!” called a voice from somewhere to his left.
He found her tending her herb gardens in the yard. She was kneeling on the ground, and her hands were stained green and brown with soil and leaves. She looked up in acknowledgement and gave him a smile, but kept working.
“Did you need something?” she asked.
“Not long ago, Meara, you bade me have a scribe copy all of my scrolls and more and entrust them to a single family for generations to come.”
“Aye.”
“I did so.”
“I know. And I’m glad.”
“And do you know what came of it?” He suddenly narrowed his eyes. “Oh, aye…you must know. Is thisyourplotting and planning?”
Meara drew her small knife across the stem of a plant, placing the fragrant greenery in her basket. “I’m not sure what you mean.”
