When Darkness Comes

by W. Franklin Lattimore

  In 1997 two pieces of the Key Stone were found in what turned out to be the collapsed cover of a stone-lined culvert. Two years later, during the excavations of two former buildings—a “kiln barn” and a “corn drier”—four other pieces, all of which fortunately remained as parts of the original masonry, were also discovered.

  Thankfully, the locations of the original two pieces that David had discovered back in 1987 were still accessible, though one of the pieces, the now famously-named “Dragon Stone,” having been discovered by an archaeologist in 1995, had been removed in 1997. The Pictish relic was taken from the crypt below the Tarbat Old Parish Church and moved upstairs to be a display piece, under lock and key, in the re-named Tarbat Discovery Centre.

  The Society of Bridei’s other major asset had been the information superhighway. The discoveries of the archaeologists had been turned into news stories and peer-reviewed research articles that eventually made their way to the Internet, then finally to the computer screens of both Brendan and David. The web also aided in locating the prized Key of Bridei, protected in the archives of a college library in Ireland.

  The ease of locating all of the artifacts online had been one thing; the challenge of getting the Key of Bridei and all of the pieces of the Pictish Key Stone back to America had been another thing altogether.

  But as it is said, “Where there is a will, there is a way.”

  It soon happened that newspapers in Scotland and Ireland reported the following criminal activities within their borders:

  PICTI RAID IN PORTMAHOMACK

  PORTMAHOMACK—Many in the region of Easter Ross, in the northernmost part of Scotland were stunned yesterday to learn that under cloak of darkness the previous night, several pieces of historical Pictish history had been stolen from the Village of Portmahomack on the Tarbat Peninsula.

  At present, no one knows how the “raid” was pulled off, only that important pieces of the nation’s history are feared to be forever lost.

  Angus Mackay, Director of the Tarbat Discovery Centre, was said to be “overwhelmed with emotion” as he, the primary caretaker of the artifacts within the center itself, felt solely responsible. “It’s my centre. I was tasked with the protection of the items in this facility. There was little I could do about the pieces at the excavation sites, but this here was mine to protect.”

  When Mackay was asked about the significance of the pieces, he said that it appeared that all of the pieces used to be part of one whole, a Pictish standing stone that had been broken apart sometime in the Fifteenth Century. The standing stone’s importance is yet to be confirmed, but some residents of the area believe that it was somehow related to the mythological Pictish stone known as the Key of Bridei.

  One source close to the director of the Tarbat Discovery Centre stated that Angus Mackay felt as though he had “let his people down.”

  Local authorities have begun to investigate at multiple sites where the pieces were discovered missing, but we are told that, so far, there are few clues that have been discovered regarding the perpetrators of this crime.

  KELLS TREASURE STOLEN FROM

  TRINITY COLLEGE

  DUBLIN—Rest assured, it is not what you might first suspect. In fact, unless you are familiar with ancient Pictish lore and archaeological finds, you may have never even heard of it. A stone claimed by some historians to be the legendary Key of Bridei, was stolen from the Conservation Department located at Trinity College Library.

  The circular stone that may have had both secular and religious significance, based on the Pictish symbols and Latin words inscribed upon it, had been transported to the safety of Trinity College alongside one of Ireland’s greatest treasures, the Book of Kells, in 1661. Since that time it has only been put on display for special exhibitions in the Long Room of Trinity College Library. Most recently it was displayed in 2008, as part of an exhibit entitled “Escape from Iona,” but the object was greatly overshadowed by the four bound volumes of the Book of Kells, which is believed to have also traveled from Iona to the Abbey at Kells.

  Ms. Sally Megaw, Keeper of the Preservation and Conservation Department for the library said, “Whoever perpetrated this unseemly act knew what he or she was doing. It happened when our facilities were at their most vulnerable. We never announce to the general public when we will be moving pieces around for special attention or for transportation to another location. It would seem, though, that someone with that knowledge was able to smuggle the Key of Bridei out of our facilities when we were making preparations to lend a considerable collection of manuscripts to another library in the United States.”

  Asked about the value of the Key, Ms. Megaw stated that the object had never been assessed a monetary value, but that it was considered priceless since it is one of only a few pieces of Pictish history resident in Ireland.

  Investigators at the scene were confident that they would find the individual(s) involved and bring him to justice. Asked about clues, we were told that they were not at liberty to disclose any information.

  TUESDAY, MAY 24 - 11:45 P.M.

  THE KEY OF Bridei was back in the U.S. and en route to Pittston, Ohio, along with all but one of the pieces of the Key Stone. Brendan, David, and Stephanie finally felt as though they had everything required to conduct the high ceremony that would officially usher in the “New Beginning of the Olde Faithe”—the long-awaited Redeeming Age.

  But even as the physical preparations were being made, they knew that individual spiritual preparations must take place, as well. Invitations must be sent out—invocations to their gods. If their plans were to succeed, they would need the ancient deities to aid them and bless their mission.

  Each with his and her own oak staff, Brendan, David, and Stephanie walked out of the farmhouse and went to meet the other ten members of the Society’s Home Coven at the top of a man-made mound at the center of the farm property.

  The evening was cool, in the mid-sixties and dropping. Through scattered clouds, a little more than a half moon lit the night sky. Cricket song was loud on the evening air.

  Nearing the mound from the west the three were acknowledged by the other members of the coven; five women and five men, all barefoot and clothed to match their leaders in knee-length, white-linen tunics cinched at the waists by dyed-blue linen belts.

  Brendon, David, and Stephanie stopped before reaching the upward slope of the mound. It was round, approximately five feet high, and had a diameter of about fifteen feet. Though it was man-made—created by Brendan a decade and a half before—it was covered with grass and looked almost natural to the surrounding landscape.

  “Welcome, brothers and sisters of the Olde Faithe,” began Brendan, a smile on his face. “Tonight we seek the favor of two of our gods; the Hag, Cailleach, who loves the darkness and is a great worker of spells, and that of Sluag, who is the Host of the Unforgiven Dead. After summoning the Hag and the Host, we will seek protection as we go forward in our mission to return the religion of the Picts to its rightful place amongst the world’s religions; a position of power and of dominance.”

  Brendan extended his arms outward to his sides, palms facing the mound, oak staff in his right hand. The twelve men and women approached and formed a straight line to either side of him, facing the mound toward the East. It was time for the ceremony to begin.

  Stephanie, to the left of Brendan, knelt to the ground and laid down her staff, pointing it east. Standing again, she untied her belt allowing the sides of her tunic to fall open. Lifting the shoulders of the garment above her head she allowed it to fall to her left side and to the ground. The other five women, seeing this, followed suit, disrobing as moonlight tickled the backs of their bodies. Kneeling once more, the women again took up their staffs.

  Brendan kept his face relaxed, though he felt the muscles in his back tense. He had not foreseen this, and was slightly peeved by the introduction of this potential visual distraction. One thing became obvious by the act, though, and even produced some measure
of satisfaction; the women were in unity. Not one among them had hesitated. They followed their priestess. And the men, to their credit, though most certainly tempted, kept their eyes eastward.

  Brendan continued. “Tonight, upon this consecrated ground we will bring ourselves into submission to the powers of the gods and of the earth. Take time, now, to center yourselves.”

  Each of the thirteen spread their feet shoulder-width apart. Placing the bottoms of their staffs on the ground in front of them, they used the long pieces of wood to create triangles coinciding with positions of their feet. They then placed their hands, one over the other atop the staffs and rested their foreheads upon their hands.

  Closing their eyes, they began to breathe deeply, feeling the energies of the earth eventually draw up into their feet and legs. Though thousands of miles away from their Pictish homeland, they sought to lure within themselves the power of their ancient heritage as the old Earth saw fit to direct and bless.

  As each of the men and women reached a centered state, he raised his head. Brendan was patient as he waited for the last of the coven to finish. There was no rush, and these were good people, good students. Good Picti. He trusted their sincerity and commitment to this great cause.

  When the last of the thirteen raised her head, Brendan gave her a nod. He then looked down the line to his left and caught the eye of Brook Shaw—whose pseudonym had become Grainne Lugos, which meant “she who inspires terror” and was also the name of a Celtic sun god.

  Brook gave a slight nod of acknowledgment and began to walk a circuit, a deiseil movement—clockwise—around the mound. They all followed and walked at a relaxed pace holding their staffs before them in both hands, the tops of the staffs held above their heads. They made three circuits around the mound, then the line split in half and circled the mound to the east from both sides. They formed another straight line, backs to the mound, and remained facing east.

  Keeping the staffs in both hands and planting them upon the ground, they once again positioned their feet in centering positions. Now they waited upon Brendan and Stephanie to take the lead.

  In completing these first ceremonial rites, they had shown their respect to the gods, who would now be open to hearing from any among the coven, should they be summoned.8

  STEPHANIE BACKED OUT of the line and turned around. She walked to the top of the mound, positioned herself in the middle, and laid down flat on her back on the cool grass, hands at her sides. The moon’s glow played on her pale skin, creating an otherworldly shimmer.

  She tried to relax her breathing, but she was nervous. She didn’t know what to expect from this point forward in the ceremony. She felt led to this station on the mound and somehow knew that another piece of the puzzle regarding her life’s purpose was about to be put on full display. She hoped she wouldn’t disappoint Brendan.

  She closed her eyes and heard the twelve others begin to walk around the mound, taking positions to surround her. Brendan Cadeyrn, Stephanie’s high priest, whose name was interpreted “Prince of War” or “Battle King,” began to speak.

  “Upon this mound rests a holy servant of the gods of the Picti people. Aileen Lóegaire, do you take upon yourself—and into yourself—that which the gods wish to bestow?”

  Stephanie’s breathing quickened and she struggled to maintain composure as she responded in a firm voice, “May the will of the gods be enacted upon and within me.”

  “May it be done.”

  The eleven others repeated the words of agreement and unity. “May it be done.”

  “May it be done,” Brendan repeated once more. He extended his oak staff over Stephanie’s naked form, and as he called upon the gods the others reached forth with their staffs, as well.

  “Proud and powerful Cailleach, hag and goddess of our people, hear my voice! This night we call upon you to direct your maucht—your power—this way. For a brief moment turn your eyes from our ancient home and direct them toward us that we may honor you and hear from you. Great and powerful Sluag, god and Host of the Unforgiven Dead, turn your ears this way and grant us our desires. May it be done!”

  “May it be done!”

  Stephanie whispered the words with no small amount of trepidation. “May it be done.” It was one thing to do spellcasting, it was another thing, altogether, to call upon the ancient gods of the most powerful religion that had ever existed and to offer them full reign within her body.

  She could hear her pulse as blood coursed through her carotid artery. Having finally given up trying to control her breathing, she was getting lightheaded and very close to hyperventilation. She felt something cool come down upon her chest. It was the head of Brendan’s staff.

  For a moment the coolness lingered, then she felt an intense current course through her body. Her back arched off the grass. The shock caused her to gasp, and as she inhaled she felt something—some thing—enter through her mouth and nose. Her eyes sprang open with fear. A cry tried to force its way past her throat, but she couldn’t make a sound. Her eyes darted left and right trying to find a rescuing presence, but all that she saw was Brendan’s staff as it was pulled away from her.

  Then everything went dark.

  BRENDAN LOOKED AT his Aileen with amazement and a sense of satisfaction that the gods had answered so quickly. While he saw her nearly panic upon the mound, he knew that this was the fulfillment of her purpose, so he didn’t intervene. These fortunate twelve sets of eyes would now witness the beginning of the Redeeming Age!

  Her eyes opened and began darting back and forth as his staff rested upon her sternum. Feeling inclined to back away and rejoin the circle with his brothers and sisters, he pulled his staff from Aileen’s body. He watched in amazement as her eyes rolled back into her head.

  Her breathing slowed and became deep and rhythmic. Her hands came up from her sides and settled upon her bare breasts. She furrowed her brow and seemed puzzled. It was as if she didn’t recognize the touch of her own body. Her head turned to the right, and with white eyes that seemed to burn into Brendan, she spoke, “Gothnik thenum porlah hȕme. Porateth inum murah em. Porateth inum murah em! Miriah oneth herȕm sȕ. Eth pelorum mishteth hie!”

  The hag! Her voice was as menacing as it was old and dry. Brendan had never heard a voice that sounded so … so dead. For a moment it shook his resolve. He heard others around the mound gasp. A few of the women and maybe a man or two took slight steps backward.

  Brendan tried to refocus. She had spoken. But what had she said?

  Aileen’s right hand came off of her breast and extended toward Brendan. With her index finger she directed him to come toward her. He forsook his desire to abscond and instead advanced, climbing the slope and kneeling beside her. His tunic touched her hand.

  With unexpected speed and ferocity, her hand rushed up and grabbed the garment at his chest and pulled him forward toward her face. Brendan’s first instinct was to pull free and get as far away as possible, but in the attempt to separate himself from her grasp he found he lacked the needed strength.

  Aileen’s face contorted into a twisted smile and she forced out a dry laugh. The stench that ushered forth from her mouth forced Brendan to start turning his face to gag. But he wasn’t permitted that liberty. The hag, Cailleach, launched her hand from his chest to his face and grabbed his open jaw. Three fingers extended deep into his mouth, her thumb clamped under his chin. She drew him closer.

  She repeated herself, punctuating each syllable so as to make her point clear. “Gothnik thenum porlah hȕme. Porateth inum murah em. Porateth inum murah em. Miriah oneth herȕm sȕ. Eth pelorum mishteth hie.”

  Brendan held his breath as long as he could, considering his heart rate had spiked to three times normal. When he could no longer hold it he exhaled and inhaled quickly to get it over with. The stink was worse this time and he gagged again. This time he could not retain control of his paristalic muscles and he vomited onto the old hag—onto Aileen. She again laughed as the contents of his stomach streamed dow
n her arm.

  What does she want? He wanted to bite down on the fingers in his mouth, but he couldn’t—he wouldn’t. He tried to think of another means of extracting himself from the situation when the woman spoke again … in English.

  “Few survive the call you have made. You ask for a lot. You ask for a lot! But granted it is. If you can divine the stone.” She loosed his mouth and he immediately pulled back, losing his balance and cascading down the slope.

  As Brendan collected himself, grabbed his staff, and pulled himself back to his feet, he watched as Aileen began to writhe and whimper. She struggled with what was in her. Was she conscious at all of what was happening? Was she hearing or understanding the words coming out of her?

  A sound came out of Aileen that horrified the twelve still surrounding her. At first it was a sound resembling that of retching—dry heaves. Then, as if broken glass tied to the end of a cord were being pulled from deep within her body, a horrifying shriek of pain emanated from within.

  Everyone backed away, except for Brendan. He forced himself to step toward her. The scream ended suddenly with Aileen bolting upright and bringing her hands to her throat.

  Fear laced her features, and she looked around quickly, eyes back to normal. Finding Brendan, she tried to speak, but wincing in pain, she stopped short of forming a complete word. Brendan rushed up onto the mound and took Aileen into his arms.