Everything looked so different from this vantage point. Judging by where he’d fallen, he could roughly gauge where he must have stood, to land as he had. In the drying mud, his footprints told a story, despite several overlaid paw prints. Even now, Gus sniffed and investigated every interesting distraction, as he followed Mac.
A line of footprints trailed from an area not far away, to where Mac stood.Hisfootprints? He placed his foot in one, already sure of the fit. His excitement grew as he followed the tracks, searching for their origin.
Suddenly, Gus barked at something, startling both Mac and a flock of boisterous birds from the treetops. The sound of their noisy scolding played in Mac’s head, as if a memory pushed at the dark shadows, but he couldna quite bring it into the light. Before he lost the impression completely, he closed his eyes, searching for any sensation he could capture.
Nothing.He waited, focusing on the image of the footprints in his mind, his feet sinking, sliding, in the heavy mud. A recent, heavy rain. Rich scents of damp earth. Heaviness in his bones. An ill-fitting sleeping hollow.His eyes flew open.A what?The impressions scattered as quickly as the birds.
Mac pondered the words,sleeping hollow,as he continued walking, surprised it dinna feel as odd as he’d first thought, but he couldna imagine why. He followed the tracks to an area near a large boulder where the ground was littered with footprints, all his. Wanting to study the spot for anything that might trigger arealmemory, he leaned against the stone, but its ragged edges bit through his plaid. He shifted away. Then back.
He’d felt this before!
Almost giddy, he examined the ground. Something, orsomeone, had lain there, in the mud. All combined, the signs told the tale of events.He’dlain there, gotten up, leaned on the boulder, then made his way to the road, climbed the rocks to get over the fallen tree and fell, hitting his head!
“Aye!” he yelled, punching the air with a fist. ’Twas no’ as good as actually remembering, but at least he had a tiny piece of his past. ’Twas incredibly empowering!He’dstood on this very spotbeforehe lost himself on the rocks.
Gus barked and jumped around him, as if he too, had discovered something marvelous. Mac laughed. Suddenly the sun seemed brighter, the air sweeter, and he couldna wait to share his discovery with Brie.
Sighing his pleasure, he lifted his face to the soft breeze moving through the trees like a whisper…
“Alistair…”
His breath hitched. Had he imagined it? He cocked his head and listened again. Nae. ’Twas naught but the breeze, stirring the leaves and branches.
“Alistair!”
He dinna imagine that! He was sure of it! He recognized Alistair’s name from his dream. And the voice.’TwasSoncerae’s.
A chill spread through him. Then, suddenly, all the layers of frustration he’d been holding inside erupted. “Who are ye?” he yelled turning in a circle. “If I can hear ye, ye exist, so show yerself! I’m weary of yer tricks.”
“ ’Tis almost time tae come back, Alistair MacDonell.” The pretty voice whispered. “Are ye ready? Have ye found yer answer?”
Mac whirled, expecting to see someone standing there, but ’twas naught but he and Gus within sight. He’d gone daft from the bump to his head.
“The answer tae what?” he demanded.
AlistairMacDonnell.He let the name sink into his consciousness. Soni had spoken it, as if it belonged tohim. WasheAlistair MacDonnell?
And who wasSoni?Where had that come from? Soncerae. Soni. Heknew her, no’ just the voice that held something familiar besides the brogue that matched his own. ’Twas a sense of peace and…gratitude? Mayhap even affection? But definitely no’ the kind he held for Brie. Mayhap, more of a sister?
Even though he still dinna ken the whole of what was happening, he felt a surge of relief. Soncerae dinna wait for him, at least no’that way. He couldna wait to share his realization with Brie.
The surge of new understandings spawned even more questions and made his head spin. He stumbled back to the rock and sat, to regain his wits. What answer did Soni expect him to find? He dinna even ken the question, let alone an answer.
Och! ’Twas almost too much, too fast! He yearned, ached, for the return of his memory, but these pieces and parts that he couldna ken were muddling his ability to reason.
Again, he let the name, Alistair MacDonell, swirl in his head and once more, closed his eyes to let the sensations come.
Alistair.Alistair…
“Get out of here, ye filthy ragamuffin!” Alistair stuffed the treasured bit of rotten fruit he’d pilfered from the garbage heap, into his pocket and ran. If they caught him, he’d be sent back to the workhouse. He was six, now, and big enough to pass for seven, mayhap even eight. He could make it on his own. He couldna be much hungrier on his own, and unless he got caught doing something he shouldna, he’d at least escape a daily thrashing from either the headmaster or the older lads, stealing whatever scraps of food he’d been given.
Mac groaned and shifted, recalling the gnawing emptiness of his belly. He settled again, and waited…
Alistair MacDonell, ye’re a coward! The three lads jeered at him from the cold corner of an abandoned building. How can ye be thirteen and still act a frightened wee bairn?
“ ’Tis one thing to take from rubbish piles, but I’ll no’ break into someone’s home and take what is no’ mine. ’Tis wrong!” Alistair argued.
“Och! ’Tis a waste! Someone with yer size and strength. Go back then, to yer mother’s lap, until ye’re weaned, right and proper. Ye’ve no place wi’us.”
