The Stone of Destiny

by Caroline Logan

  “You have to try the curry, it’s imported from Visenya. It was my favourite the last time we visited.”

  “When were you last in the capital?” Ailsa couldn’t help asking.

  “We were both invited for the King Connal’s coronation, around twenty years ago.”

  “Harris was just a boy.” Iona held up two hands to show how small he had been. “I was long since grown.”

  Ailsa tried her best to reassess Iona’s age. She thought the selkie was at least as old as her, but now she was obviously much older.

  The redhead simply shrugged. “Selkies live longer than humans and age slower. Anyway, I’m excited to see how it’s changed!”

  An hour later, they caught their first glimpse of Dunrigh. The buildings spread like ivy across a hillside in the distance and, at the top of the hill, sat the castle. Flags fluttered merrily in the breeze from the grey, stone towers. One large pine tree could be seen growing within the castle walls. Ailsa had the feeling the tree had come first due to the sheer size of it.

  “How long now?” she asked, chewing on her lip.

  “Another two hours,” shouted Harris exuberantly.

  Ailsa groaned and gripped Iona’s waist tighter. She was counting down the minutes until she could get off this blasted horse.

  Chapter 10

  An hour later, they came across houses, dotting the surrounding countryside like little cakes with straw frosting. The buildings were sunken with age, gravity slowly crushing them down over time. Ailsa felt the return of a familiar unease at being so near civilisation. However, there didn’t seem to be many people around, for which she was grateful.

  The reached a creek, water cackling loudly over the stones, and Iona pulled their horse to a stop.

  “I think I’ll make myself look a wee bit more presentable before we reach Dunrigh.”

  Ailsa didn’t know what she was talking about. Her copper hair was tied away neatly at the side of her head and she could smell nothing from her other than the pleasing scent of fresh lemons and sea air.

  How must I smell by now? The horse under her gave a whinny as if to say: Like me.

  They dismounted and Ailsa grabbed her soap from her pack. Wanting some privacy from the selkies, she limped off a little way until there was a bend in the burn, her steps hindered by the pain in her thighs. She scrambled down onto the bank, pleased to find she was mostly hidden.

  Unclipping her cloak from around her shoulders and placing her axe on the ground, Ailsa debated whether to undress further. She wasn’t terribly worried about how clean she was before getting to the capital, but the ice-cold water looked so inviting. The thought of numbing her aching backside in the stream was enough to bring a groan to her throat.

  She stripped down to her undershirt. A cold breeze made her shiver and she amended her plan of a bath to a quick dip. The leaves in the nearby trees swayed softly and she found herself checking the spaces between them.

  Too far apart, she told herself. It can’t get me here.

  She had pulled out the towel and was unbuttoning her trousers when she heard a sound, like the snap of a twig. It could have been any woodland animal, but Ailsa’s hair stood on end. She had the distinct feeling she was being watched.

  “Harris?” she called. Her voice was met with nothing but silence. “I’m going to have a wash. Go away.” Again, there was no reply.

  She waited a few heartbeats, wondering if it was her imagination or something else.

  I still feel eyes upon me. Was it the male selkie? She had thought she could trust him.

  Finally, with a huff, she redid her buttons and picked up her axe. She wasn’t getting undressed around any depraved fae. As soon as she picked up her weapon, she heard another twig snapping and the sound of footsteps moving away.

  Scared him off, she thought with a growl. That’ll teach him to spy on girls.

  Still, she couldn’t shake the feeling that, somehow, it wasn’t Harris who’d been watching her.

  She shrugged back into her blouse, foregoing the bath for a splash of water on her face and neck. The droplets tickled as they ran down inside her clothes, rinsing away some of the sweat that clung to her skin. She was adjusting her cloak back around her shoulders when she heard a shriek.

  It was far away and short. She would have mistaken it for a bird’s call if she had not heard something similar a few days prior. Her hands gripped her axe tightly as she waited to see if she would hear it again.

  One beat.

  The scream was quieter this time but unmistakable.

  Ailsa dashed up the bank and onto the grassy slope where she had left Iona, Harris and the horses. Rounding the bend, she met with a sight which made her heart skip a beat.

  Harris was restrained by a burly man, a knife to his throat. The blade had edged so far into his skin, that Ailsa could see a long wound oozing bright, crimson blood. Bald and tall, the man had a scrape on his jaw and the skin around his eye looked swollen. It seemed that Harris had landed a few punches before being captured.

  Iona was struggling in the hands of another, smaller, man. They were splashing water around as they grappled down in the stream. The man was grinning grotesquely, as if the fight was a game they were playing. He had a strong jaw and a clever nose, with inky black hair brushing his shoulders.

  The two bandits clearly hadn’t realised she was there. Iona kept struggling, until the smaller man swept her legs out from under her. Iona landed on her hands and knees in the water and he grabbed her roughly to him in a way that told Ailsa exactly what his plans were for the selkie woman. Harris snarled, but the sound was cut off by the knife sinking deeper into his throat.

  Rage, white and blinding, froze Ailsa where she stood. Blood pumped loudly in her ears and thunder crackled somewhere deep down in her stomach. Another shriek from Iona finally set her in motion, descending on the two men like a wrathful tempest.

  She lunged at the bald man first. Harris widened his eyes when he saw her, unable to produce more than a choking sound. The bandit didn’t have time to turn before she swung the butt of her axe into the side of his head. He let out a groan and staggered backwards from the blunt impact, dropping the knife, freeing Harris.

  Dazed and bellowing, the man charged at her, his steps off balance from the blow. He made to grab her but she managed to shove him to the ground. His shocked eyes briefly met hers before she swung the backend of the axe down in the exact same spot as before, this time rendering him unconscious

  One down.

  She turned her attention to Iona and the vile bandit she was struggling against. It was obvious that she had been holding back in worry for her brother’s life. Now that Harris was free, Iona had slipped the man’s grasp and stood defiant in front of him. Raising her arms wide, she raised the water from the stream upwards. The man merely blinked in shock at the magic whirling around him.

  Ailsa was sure that if Iona had glared at her the same way she was staring down the bandit, she would have turned and ran. However, the handsome man, his mouth gaping open like a fish, was not as smart as Ailsa. With a guttural yell, Iona sent all the water surging in his direction, down his nose and throat. The man clutched at his neck as he drowned. He sank to his knees, yet Iona did not relent. His eyes bulged out of his skull and he scratched at his chest, lungs clearly burning. Finally, his movements quelled and his lifeless body flopped back into the shallow river.

  Iona let her arms fall, panting heavily as she surveyed the corpse in front of her.

  “By the Gods,” Ailsa swore.

  Harris ran down the bank to help his sister out of the burn. The wound on his throat had already closed and the blood down his neck was starting to crust. When he reached Iona, she jumped slightly before letting him lead her back to the horses.

  “What happened?” Ailsa asked.

  Harris raked a hand through his hair before answering.

  “They jumped us. Told us to hand over any gold we had. When they saw we had none, they got violent.”
He reached out and clasped her shoulder. “Thank you, Ailsa, I don’t know what would have happened if you hadn’t turned up.”

  “I do,” said Iona, tears starting to trail down her face.

  Ailsa averted her eyes from the crying selkie and reattached the axe to her hip.

  “We better get going before the other one wakes up,” she grunted, grabbing the horse’s reins.

  Iona shakily swung herself into the saddle, but as Ailsa moved to do the same, her foot found something half hidden in the grass: the unconscious robber’s knife, still covered in Harris’s blood. She bent down and picked it up, wiping it clean before adding it to her belt. When he roused, the man wouldn’t have a weapon to threaten anyone else with.

  “Are you going to be okay?” Ailsa murmured to Iona when she was behind her in the saddle.

  The selkie girl nodded and squeezed the hand Ailsa wrapped around her waist.

  “I’m so glad you came with us,” she replied.

  Ailsa nodded, keeping her features neutral, but inside she was thrumming with pride.

  Perhaps I’m not so useless after all.

  They urged the horses into a trot, determined to leave the men and the stream behind. The bouncing gait did nothing to help the pain in Ailsa’s rear, but she gritted her teeth and thought of the food and soft beds waiting ahead.

  Chapter 11

  Dunrigh was surrounded by a thick, stone wall but was made all the more imposing by the two creatures flanking the city gates. Made from granite, a massive unicorn and stag reared up on their hind legs. Ailsa guessed they were about thirty feet tall, from hoof to horn or antler. As they approached, the trio had to crane their necks to see the statues.

  A troop of uniformed men and women greeted them at the entrance and Ailsa immediately pulled out her axe. They were guards of some sort, with swords hanging around their hips, flat caps and the same muted purple tartan on each of their wool kilts. Iona put a hand on Ailsa’s shoulder and stepped forward.

  “Greetings, ladies and gentlemen. I sent word ahead. I am Lady Iona of Struanmuir. The Royal Family is expecting me.”

  Much to Ailsa’s surprise, the men parted to reveal a young, golden-haired woman adorned with a white flower crown. She was leaning heavily on a walking stick and when she limped forward, her green velvet dress revealed her leg ended before her foot. She’s pretty, thought Ailsa, even with the purple circles under her eyes.

  “Lady Iona, Lord Harris,” she greeted them with a graceful curtsey. “I am Lady Moira, the King’s niece and emissary.” Her gaze flicked between the two, without pausing once on Ailsa. “Please, follow me and I will take you to the castle. His Highness is most anxious to see you.”

  The girl flipped the train of her dress around and started off in a quick shuffle towards the streets. The guards ushered them forward, making a loose circle around them.

  Ailsa let Harris pull her along behind him. As soon as she had seen the men, she had thought about turning around and leaving them here. Her job was done, wasn’t it?

  As they entered the gates, she pulled the hood of her cloak up so that it obscured the left side of her face.

  Just get in and out without causing mass hysteria, then you can go home.

  The city was a flurry of activity. People everywhere leaned out of windows and doorways, calling to each other. Their group passed through a square where musicians played fiddles and children danced by spinning each other with opposite arms. Ailsa noticed that some of the younger boys weren’t really dancing but spinning violently, trying to fling others off their feet.

  On leaving the square, they crossed into a narrow lane filled with fruit and vegetable sellers and carried on into the main town. The streets were set out like a grid, but this was where the uniformity of the city ended. The buildings were a mix of wood and stone, a few towering tall with many storeys, while others were squat little shacks. Wooden walkways ran between the towers, some covered and some not. While many of the older houses were grey and brown, the newer ones had been painted in bright colours, from greens and yellows to blues and purples. There seemed to be a competition for gaudiness of décor, too. Several merchants flew pennants while others covered their storefronts in hundreds of flowers, as if the very buildings were being taken back by the forest.

  The straight streets all led upwards as they continued into the city. A few were so steep that iron railings ran along the sides of buildings to aid travellers in their ascent. Ailsa’s thighs howled in protest as she urged herself forwards.

  I am never getting on a horse again.

  Finally, the entourage emerged from the maze of streets into the fresh air of the hilltop. Away from the dense city, a cool breeze caressed their faces and the sun kissed their faces through a gap in the clouds.

  In contrast to the disordered jumble of the city, the castle was a sturdy, symmetrical construction made of granite. Flags of jolly purple and green flew from the battlements. As they drew closer, Ailsa could see vines creeping up the stone walls and on either side of their winding path, bluebells grew wild and unchecked. Ailsa thought it was magnificent.

  Two round look-out towers sat at the front of the palace; between them, a pair of gates of opened, beckoning them into the inner courtyard. The pine tree Ailsa had spied earlier stood in the middle, covered with ribbons fluttering in the gentle wind.

  Lady Moira followed Ailsa’s stare and smiled, finally acknowledging her third guest.

  “That is the Peace Tree,” she said in a lilting voice—Ailsa was sure it was forced. “Originally, Eilanmòr was split up into various clans. The tree was planted when the warring clan leaders came together, in this spot, to unite the island and make our country whole. The story goes that Eilanmòr will stand strong so long as the Peace Tree remains standing. This is why the castle was built around it.”

  “And the ribbons?”

  Lady Moira rolled her eyes, clearly enjoying being asked, “Bit of superstition.” She shrugged. “If you tie a ribbon to the tree, then one of the ancient clan leaders will hear your prayers. If you’re worthy, they might even grant you a wish.”

  “I guess the colours of the ribbons mean something?” asked Ailsa as she bit her lip.

  “Yes. Pink for love. Blue for health. Green for prosperity. The purple ribbons are for wishes for our country. Those are usually used in times of crisis. There are fewer of those at the moment because no one is aware of the King’s condition yet. When he dies, white ribbons will be added to the tree as the people pray for his soul.”

  Iona fixed Harris with a stare and frowned. “What colour of ribbon should I use if I want my brother to behave himself?” He stuck his tongue out to show his sister he wasn’t willing to do any such thing.

  “Yellow,” answered Lady Moira with a smirk. “Though if I were you, I’d be tying a red ribbon to the tree.”

  “What does red mean?” questioned Ailsa.

  Lady Moira paused. “It’s supposed to bring you luck in all endeavours.”

  They reached a pair of ornate wooden doors emblazoned with the MacFeidh coat of arms—the unicorn and stag. Lady Moira nodded her head and the doors were pulled open by two guards stationed on either side.

  “Come,” she commanded and they followed her into the entrance hall.

  Chapter 12

  Ailsa sucked in a deep breath, which she tried to cover up with a cough.

  Elaborate pillars held up an impressive vaulted ceiling, decorated with animal carvings; badgers, foxes, unicorns and squirrels spied down at them. From the foyer, five doors led to rooms on the ground floor and a grand staircase rose steeply on the opposite side of the room. But what caught Ailsa’s attention the most were the people; they were everywhere, running between doors, heaving tables down the stairs and dusting picture frames. It was like being inside a beehive.

  Lady Moira gave a stately wave of her hand. “Welcome to Dunrigh Castle. You must be weary from your journey —your chambers await. Servants will see to it that you are taken care of
. If you require anything further, please let me know.” Lady Moira gave them a quick bow and limped through the nearest door.

  A group of women rushed in and ushered them up the stairs, As they ascended, Ailsa studied the ceiling and noticed a seal tucked away in a corner. Beside it, there was a maiden with flowing locks. She wondered if one of Iona’s relatives had been the inspiration for the fresco. Before she could wonder aloud at the carvings, they reached the first floor.

  “I guess I’ll see you later then?” Harris chuckled before a particularly bawdy set of young women grabbed his arms and led him through a huge door, slamming it shut. The rest of the group could still hear the cackling as they were led further down the hallway.

  The women who escorted Ailsa and Iona were much more reserved. Whether it was because they were more serious, or they felt they had got the short end of the straw, Ailsa couldn’t tell. One kept surreptitiously glancing at Ailsa’s face, so she ducked her head, feeling safer in the shadows of her hood.

  Iona and Ailsa were shown to a spacious chamber, adorned with gold chandeliers and velvet carpets. Before they could admire the furnishings, the chambermaids promptly pushed them towards the adjoining bathing room where two copper tubs of steaming water sat waiting.

  Iona, in a graceful flourish, stripped herself of her dress in full view of the servants. Ailsa tried not to stare at the selkie’s naked body. Despite the hard day’s riding, she looked like a nymph from a painting, with her red hair in loose coils and her freckled skin slightly flushed from the heat. When one of the girls approached Ailsa to help her with her clothes, Ailsa hissed at her and hugged herself.

  “Please, Ailsa, you’ll feel better for it,” pleaded Iona, stepping into a bathtub. She reached over the side of the tub, hovering her hands above the various lotions and oils, selected an orange bottle and poured its contents into the water.

  Ailsa debated with herself, giving the chambermaids a sideways glance. They hesitated, casting terrified looks in her direction. With a harrumph, she detached the axe from her waist and dropped it to the floor with a clang. She didn’t bother hiding her grin when the girls jumped.