by M. L. Briers
“The Point – I think…” Isla rushed out.
“You think?” I snapped back.
But I wasn’t about to wait around for her to get her brain into gear. I tossed the apron that I hadn’t realized I’d been trying to strangle, down on the counter and started for the back door, only just remembering to grab my car keys on the way out.
“Well, that’s…” Isla’s voice followed me out the door.
“Our Maggie for you.” I silenced Moira’s next words as I slammed the door behind me.
I needed to get to the point and see for myself if Jack was there. If he was, then I could bring him back from the edge before catastrophe struck, and if he wasn’t then it was a nice drive back.
But, what if I was already too late?
~
By the time I reached the Point night was starting to close in. I started the long walk from where I’d parked the car over the rugged land towards the cliffs.
Jack’s car had been nowhere to be seen, but I reasoned that he wasn’t a local and wouldn’t have known the closest place to park in order to get to the cliffs. He could have parked anywhere along a very long stretch of road from the Point where I’d seen him in my vision.
I noted the weather closing in. Those rain-filled, ominous clouds in the distance didn’t look right, not for my vision. It had been brighter, definitely more daytime than dusk. Perhaps now wasn’t the right time for my vision to come to be.
I should have turned back, but something kept pulling me onwards, a feeling, a strange sense of pins and needles that lightly brushed my skin and made the fine hairs on my body stand to attention, and the closer to the edge that I got, the more it tingled, the more it pulled at me.
Magic. I could feel it more strongly now. It clung to the earth and enticed me on. Here there be magic was a much-used phrase, but, oh, it was getting stronger with each step, pulling, enticing me towards the edge.
Mr. Croon was definitely not of the supernatural world because we would have sensed it like we sensed every other spiritual person on the Isle that had Fae within their blood, of which there were many because Skye was sacred land. No, it wasn’t his spirit that beckoned me, I was almost sure of that.
In truth, there was a little magic in all of us. The human race was born out of magic and had embraced the heritage, embraced the Elements that kept us all alive, fed the Earth with its vibrant pulsating energy that ran like veins beneath our feet.
Once, we were as one. As it was, so it should always have been, but some turned their back on the truth of it, and the magic lay dormant within them. But here, in the powerful realm of the faeries, that magic was still strong, and it still pulsed through the earth.
Stronger now with every uneven step that I took across the wild lands. I could feel that magic calling to me, pulling at me, and leading me towards its pulsating heart.
There was a part of me that knew I should turn back, my magic was on full alert and crackling just below the surface of my skin. It was unnerving, I’d never felt it act like that before, and yet, my feet kept taking me closer and closer towards whatever was pulling me on, drawing me in, like a spider to the fly … I consciously pushed back.
It was wrong, and I finally realized it.
“Capture the darkness, fill with light, for mortal vessels, Hecate make right. Fear ye none while in her care, the Goddess walks beside ye, always there. Guardian of the veil between this life and the next, protector of the blessed, Mother of all, hear me now as I call to ye, protect this mortal vessel, with your powers be – if it harms none, blessed be.”
I pulled on my magic and felt its light, its love flow through my body, warming me like the Fire within us all. Magic crackled and twisted in the Air around me. The winds picked up and swirled, and as the clouds burst open and the rains fell, the Water drenching my body and it made the Earth squelch beneath my feet.
The Elements combined; Earth, Air, Fire and Water, and I felt the guiding hand of the Crone tug me back away from the edge of disaster.
I turned on fast feet and ran blindly back across the land. My shoes slipped on the wet grass, my heart raced, but I needed to escape.
Whatever it was on that bluff, those cliffs at the Point – I knew that old man Croon’s death had been no accident.
~
“Here there be magic,” Moira was the first to speak after my story was told.
The rest of my family sat in silent contemplation around the dinner table. The food on our plates was virtually untouched as I recounted what had happened in the hope of finding wisdom from my elders, and as a warning to my siblings to be on guard.
“That’s not funny,” I bit out as I offered Moira a dirty look.
“It wasn’t meant to be,” Moira shot back with a frown. “We all know that Skye has a vibrant pulse, perhaps you just ran into something bad piggybacking on it.”
“I don’t like it,” Dad said, still half lost in thought as he stared at something unseen on the table in front of him.
“I hate it,” Eileen grumbled, and I was sure that I’d just given my little sister another reason to deny her heritage.
“What can we do?” Mother asked, looking way more lost than I felt.
I wasn’t shaking so hard anymore, inwardly or outwardly, but my skin still felt funny, as if I had something crawling on it. I needed to cleanse, and not in a beauty regime way.
I noted that Gran was uncharacteristically silent, and funnily enough, it had been her that I’d been looking to the most for something – I don’t know – profound, comforting, kick-butt, but she looked kind of green around the gills, and I wondered if she was alright. She always had something to add to a conversation – until now.
“Gran?” I said and watched her jump in her seat as if I’d shouted in her ear.
I shot a quick look at Moira to see if she’d noted Gran’s strange behaviour, Moira and I might have fought, or sparred, like cat and dog, guess which one of us was the dog, but she was always my go-to girl for kicking ideas around, and I found my sister staring back at me with questions written all over her face. I shrugged, and so did she.
“I need a moment,” Gran said, not sounding like herself at all.
She pushed up to her feet and walked away. I didn’t know if it was just me, but I thought she looked decidedly older right then.
“Dad?” I turned my attention toward him and found him still lost in thought. He gave a small shake of his head and gave me a questioning look. “I think there’s something wrong…”
“I know there’s something wrong. You were attacked by magic,” he said, looking at me with both sympathy and like I’d just announced I’d joined the church.
“With Gran,” I offered back.
Geez, had all of my elder's taken leave of their senses?
“Hmm?” he said, distracted once more.
“Donlan!” Mother snapped out, and that seemed to perk him up. “Your mother, now. Go fetch!” She pointed to the door, and he pushed up to his feet with a scowl.
“What did she do now?” he muttered to himself as he went after her.
“Gran’s not right,” I said to my mother.
“Gran hasn’t been right for a long time,” Moira mumbled back.
She had a point, but I didn’t think this was that – whatever that was – it felt different. Gran looked … weird.
“Can I be excused? I’ve lost my appetite,” Eileen said, skulking in her chair and practically pouting.
I know that Moira and I weren’t that much older than her, she was eighteen, Moira was twenty one, and I was twenty-three, but seriously, she still acted like a child, and there was Moira and I holding down a business and making it work.
“No, this is family business, suck it up,” Moira answered for my mother.
Eileen pouted some more. “I hate this witch stuff…” she grumbled. Well, she couldn’t exactly escape it unless she left home and never came back to the island.
Moira was right, our sister needed to s
uck it up.
“You what!?” Dad’s voice boomed through the downstairs of the house, and Moira and I shot surprised looks at each other.
My father very seldom raised his voice in anger, and I’d never heard him do it to Gran … except for the time that she’d almost burnt off his face by lighting the barbeque with her magic, but that was understandable, and warranted – I might have zapped her without thinking twice.
To say that a mad rush for the door ensued would have been an understatement – we were like cats in a sack at the log-jam at the doorway, elbowing each other to try to be the first out.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
~
“It’s my fault, all my fault, and I must fix it. I did this – I did this, and I must fix it…” Gran was walking around her greenhouse somewhat aimlessly when I got there, and no, I wasn’t the first through the door because Moira had pointy little elbows and had winded me.
I hated it when she did that, but not as much as I hated the sight of Gran in such a tizzy.
“What did she do?” Moira was the first to get up the courage to ask my father as he stood there looking all distracted again. Although his eyes were following Gran around the room as she flittered about her plants and herbs, he looked like he didn’t know what to do.
“I have no idea,” he said with a look of bemusement and a big old shrug. “She announced that she’d done it the moment I walked through the door and then … this.” He looked kind of helpless as only a man can in times of uncertainty.
I took matters into my own hands and walked towards Gran, approaching her in a calm manner, because there was no way that I wanted to get my backside – accidentally – fried. “Gran,” I reached for her hands, and they were ice-cold and shaking. She finally brought her gaze to mine, and her eyes stared at me for a long moment as if she didn’t recognize me.
“Someone get the scotch!” Moira announced, and we all shot a look at her. “What?” she shrugged. “It looks like she’s in shock, and it’s what Gran would do.”
We all mumbled in begrudging agreement and turned to look at Eileen. “Why me?” She sounded shrew-like.
“Because you hate this witch stuff,” I said, getting her right between the eyes with that one.
She huffed, turned a three-sixty and disappeared out the door like she needed a pee break and couldn’t wait to get back to a movie.
“Gran,” I tried again, and she just stared at me.
“Well, something happened!” Moira stated the obvious and I shot her a sneer.
My sister, the genius.
“Ya think?”
When Eileen shot back in the room like the hounds of hell were on her heels, I offered her a berating glare, and she ground to a halt and blew the hair from her eyes. “Got it,” she said as if she was totally innocent.
“Well, pour a dram, she’s not going to drink from the bottle,” I berated her, but that got Gran’s attention, and she snatched her hands from mine, reached for the bottle, unscrewed the top in record time, and as my sister held out a wee glass … Gran put the bottle to her lips and swigged it like a sailor on shore leave.
Who was I to judge?
“Way to go, Gran,” Moira couldn’t help herself, and as Gran came up for air and practically breathed out fire, Moira sniggered.
It was all fun and games until that dark magic touch reached out for my sister. Then she’d be more intent on discovering what Gran knew.
“Alright, let’s give her a moment to…” Dad stopped as Gran went back in for more of the same. Now, in Scotland, we were practically raised on Scotch from the cradle, and we had a lifelong relationship with it until the grave, but I’d never seen my Grandmother knock back the drink like that before – at least, not all at once. “Sober up – someone put the kettle on.”
~
“You said that you’d done it…”
We were back around the dinner table once more. The plates had been pushed away into the center, and we were all eager to hear what Gran had to say, not least because she was still cuddling that bottle of Scotch and looking decidedly white, and pink-cheeked at the same time. One was the fright, and the other was from the Scotch.
“I did!” Gran announced, slurring her speech slightly and eyeing my father like he was a priest. “Not just me – there were others.” She tossed up an absent hand.
“Did what, Fiona?” Mother asked and got a caged look back.
“It!” Gran tossed that absent hand in my direction, not literally, it didn’t fly off her arm or anything.
“It’s official,” Moira announced and I felt my nose twitch with knowing that there was going to be a punchline to that one. “You’re an it.” She smiled sweetly at me, and I sneered back.
“Now is not the time,” Gran berated her. “You’re all in danger…”
“What?” Eileen was the first to an irrational squeal like question.
“I should have known.” She pulled her head back on her neck and made three chins. “I should have figured it out when Earnest died…”
That got everyone’s attention. “What?” I got there first, but that word was echoed around the table, only Eileen was slow to act that time.
“Old Mr. Croon,” she asked, playing catch-up. Gran nodded.
“What does Mr. Croon have to do with this?” I asked, although my mind was trying to put two and two together and coming up empty.
“He had magic once,” she said, and I shot a look at the faces of my family. We all looked dumbfounded.
“How do you lose magic?” Eileen asked. It was a good question and one that was certainly on my lips, but I could see why she’d want to know.
“His brother…” Gran said and left it there with a long sigh.
“Brother?” Moira prompted.
“Twin brother, they shared a womb, shared a mother and father, and then Angus stabbed him in the back and siphoned his magic right from him,” Gran spat out as if she had the bitterest taste on her tongue.
“How do you siphon…?” Eileen started, and shut up rather fast when we all glared at her.
“Not happening,” I informed her and watched as she skulked back in her chair again.
“When you say stabbed…?” Moira asked, and Gran scowled.
“Not literally,” she said, giving a small shake of her head. “But, he did use a spell to hold the man down and steal what he wanted. Then he was gone – like a thief in the night – the bas…”
“Gran!” Eileen snorted a chuckle before Gran could get the rest of the word out, and I for one, and probably Moira for two could have killed her for it.
Gran never swore, and it might have been strange to hear it, but just once wouldn’t have given her such a moral high ground to stand on.
“So, why is this your fault?” Dad asked, and I wanted to know, but I’d much rather wind time back to the moment when Gran swore so I could silence Eileen and hear it.
“It was the spell,” she admitted, full of shame, and I for one had never seen my Gran like that. It must have been bad.
“Spell?” Moira dropped it in as if she couldn’t care less, but I could see that she was chaffing at the bit to hear the rest.
“The power of three,” Gran said and then said no more. Now I was chaffing at the bit to know.
“Go on!” I practically bit her head off to get her to spill her guts.
“You all know the history of the Isle where you were born, where you’ll live your days, and where you’ll be buried…” Gran started as she always did – like it was a fairytale.
Why she didn’t just say once upon a time and be done with it, I’ll never fathom that one out.
“Of course,” Eileen chimed up, like a kid at Christmas. The bookworm was back in her element.
“The ancient magic in the land that runs like veins beneath the Earth. The faeries, witch clans, and the unmentionables…” Gran dropped her voice on that word, and I scowled.
“Wait,” I didn’t want to stop her there, but I kind of had t
o do it. “You mean the unmentionables are real?”
“Very real,” Gran said.
That couldn’t be. I’d lived on Skye all of my life, and I’d never heard or seen anything to even make me wonder about such things.
“Gran’s had a little too much…” Moira tipped up an imaginary bottle before offering Gran an innocent smile.
“Vampires are real,” Dad said, and you could have knocked me down with a feather.
I gawked, Moira gawked, and Eileen offered a small squeak as she looked around her.
“One is not going to jump out and get you, you…” I bit out at my youngest sister and then rolled my eyes as she shuffled uncomfortably in her chair.
“You think Gran has one stashed in a coffin in the basement just waiting to pounce on us this day?” Moira sniggered at Eileen and got a glare back in return.
“Where are they all?” I asked.
I didn’t think I wanted to run into a vampire down a dark alley at the back of a Portree pub or anything, but I’d still like to know if someone was a vampire.
“Not on Skye,” Gran said. “Not anymore.” Well, that was certainly good to know. “The Isle is protected. It was agreed…” she sounded put out as if someone had upset her apple cart.
“By who?” Dad asked.
“When?” Mother said.
“Why?” Moira added, and Gran looked overwhelmed.
“Wait,” I held up my hand to stop everyone talking at once. “Go back to the beginning – not the beginning of time when dinosaurs roamed Skye, but take it from where you started.”
“Where was I?” Gran looked around at us for help.
“The unmentionables,” Eileen said, and I was glad someone listened to Gran when she spoke.
“Yes, those,” Gran snorted her contempt. “Well, back in the ancient days dark magic was as much a part of the spell working as light. The faeries and the Picts worked against each other to form a balance in nature…”