When Darkness Comes

by W. Franklin Lattimore

  “But now we are gettin’ to know them. The stories… the hundreds of stories that we are startin’ to translate… This is just beyond my ability to take in.”

  Brent was curious about another large stone panel that stood within a ring of red velvet ropes. “Angus, the other stone. Why is it being displayed along with the Key of Bridei and the Pexa Stone?”

  Excitement and a big grin lit up Angus’ eyes. “That, my dear friend, is somethin’ amazin’! Come! See!”

  Angus unhooked one length of the rope from a brass stand, letting the end drop to the floor, and escorted them into the ring.

  “This stone, we already knew came from the same time period in which the Picti were conquered. In fact, this stone was most likely commissioned one-to-two years prior to the murder of the last king of the Picti, King Drust.

  “Drust was king for maybe a year before his reign came to a rather painful end. Prior to Drust, it was King Uurad. We believe he is the one who had this stone created as a commemoration to a certain great warrior.”

  Angus led them to the far outside edge of the panel where the three crouched down. He pointed to an inscription. “See here? Look at this.”

  Tara looked at it quizzically and asked, “Isn’t that Latin?”

  “Good eye, Lass! It’s actually an odd combination of both Latin and Goidelic, or as you’d probably call it, Gaelic.”

  Brent chimed in. “Isn’t that a bit unusual? I mean, I’ve not seen any other stones—at least in my own investigation—that had actual letters inscribed into them.”

  “Aye! Unusual, it is! And excitin’! While we’re not positive of why this stone has been inscribed with non-Picti writin’. We think it has to do with the monks who lived in, and brought the name of Christ to, the area in the years followin’ the conquerin’ of Pictland. Perhaps they, too, understood the weightiness of the commission that had been carved into the face of this stone.

  “The Christians who set foot into Pictland obviously did so because they loved the people and wanted them converted to Christ. So, it makes sense to me that they put this inscription on here years later in order to make it clear that they had either supported or somehow ended up helpin’ with the mission that King Uurad had given to the warrior.”

  All three of them looked at the lettering:

  Tara asked, “What does it say?”

  “It says, ‘Drosten, in the reign of Uoret’—that would be King Uurad—‘and Forcus.’ Drosten is the warrior for whom the commemoration and commission was created. Forcus… well, we’re just not sure.”

  Angus, followed by Tara and Brent, stood and walked to one of the faces of the large stone.

  “It looks like part of the stone is missing,” asserted Brent.

  “Aye. Right yeh are. Some of the upper portion of the stone is broken away. Tis a shame, really. You’ll see the stone is in two pieces. The top section, before bein’ found and reunited with the lower, had been carelessly used as step in a set of stairs.”

  Angus pointed to the lower section excitedly. “Look here! What do you see?” He didn’t wait for either of them to respond. “We have some incredible information! Notice the two circles connected by these two parallel lines and divided by this diagonal line. This represents the Key of Bridei!”

  “It doesn’t look like the key to me,” Brent intoned.

  “That is because the maker of this slab din’t want to give away the actual markin’s on the key. Now notice this shape below the key. It looks like a dome or some sort of coverin’. This is the symbol for protect or protection. To the right of that we have the oft-seen mirror and comb. This means ‘to take personal responsibility for.’ Now, notice the host of animals, with the warrior symbol below. The warrior has a bow and arrow pointed at a boar. Would either of yeh care to take a stab at its meanin’?” Angus gave them a broad smile.

  Tara and Brent looked at one another. Brent shrugged. Tara looked back at Angus and responded. “Well, I’m guessing that Drosten was commissioned to put the stone under his protection.”

  “Well done!” said Angus with no little excitement. “From the Key of Bridei on down we can interpret the slab to say somethin’ akin to, ‘The Key of Bridei is yehrs to protect. It is yehr personal responsibility, no one else’s. Yeh are to become like the animals of the land’—each of which, I believe symbolizes a different way that the animals could camouflage themselves or move without detection or outrun an enemy—‘and to protect the key from an oncomin’ enemy,’ represented by the chargin’ boar.”

  Angus folded his arms across his chest, proud of his obvious ability to translate a language that had been lost for well over a millennia.

  Brent smiled and said, “So, Drosten successfully protected the key. He got it done.”

  “That he did, Brent. That he did. And the historical record bears that out. There are several stones that show the two sides of the Key of Bridei below the shield. These would have been made sometime followin’ the death of the last king of the Picts.

  The Scots would not have known what the symbols meant, but any of the remainin’ Picti would have known that the key to the survival of their culture had been faithfully protected from the hands of their enemies.”

  Brent shook his head. “All of this in order to protect their heritage. It’s amazing.”

  “Not really so amazin’, my dear boy,” said Angus. “Look at our own tombstones, read our monuments. How different are we than the Picti? We are desperately wantin’ to be remembered. Though, for the warrior, Drosten, it was about somethin’ other than the protection of their heritage.”

  Tara chimed in. “Wait. I thought that’s precisely what this was all about. Drosten’s protection of their culture so that it could one day be retrieved.”

  “Aye. Their culture, but ultimately not their heritage. Their heritage was pagan, at least in the north where Drosten was commissioned with his task. As for the cross on the front of the Drosten stone? Well, there are clues that would lead us to believe that it was inscribed into the stone in the years followin’ the death of King Drust, the last true king of the Picts.”

  Brent was trying to make it all make sense. “So, then how did it go from being the protection of their heritage to the protection of a culture, especially the protection of a culture that was about Christ, if Christ wasn’t who they believed in?”

  “That, dear boy, was answered on the back of the Key of Bridei! The reason that the key had not been fully translated for the hundreds of years that it sat in Trinity College in Dublin was that the symbols didn’t make sense and didn’t seem to correspond with the Latin inscribed on the back.

  “For five of the six sections they were able to, in a fashion, make heads or tails, but the sixth area wouldn’t match up with any of the symbols or Picti text on the front. It is my belief, and now the belief of other researchers lookin’ into all of this, that Drosten rewrote that sixth section. He was determined to prevent the resurrection of the religion that he had once practiced by erasin’ it forever from their language.

  “Drosten, bein’ the last of the known Picts, ultimately got to determine the culture that would be reestablished, if ever the opportunity came.”

  Brent, eyes wide with realization, turned to Tara. “That means what Brendan and Stephanie were trying to revive…”

  “… It was all a lie,” finished Tara. “It was all just a ruse.”

  The aging curator froze, a curious look coming to his face.

  “What is it, Angus? What are you thinking?” asked Tara.

  “A thought just came to me. What if Drosten, who was evidently responsible for the carryin’ of the Key of Bridei to Ireland, had eventually come back to his home? Tis obvious that the man had become a believer in Christ. Who’s to say that he, himself, wasn’t responsible for Christ bein’ preached in the north of Scotland?”

  Angus’s eyes became wide and his face beamed with the possibility. “What if the Drosten Stone wasn’t created before his mission to protect
the key, but afterward?!”

  Angus began pacing, processing the idea. He was getting more visibly excited by the moment!

  “What if it was Drosten, himself, who had this stone created in order to tell the story of the key’s protection? The Gaelic and Latin words on the side could have been his very signature!”

  Brent and Tara watched the man with no small amount of pleasure. Then he said, “My apologies to the two of yeh, Brent and Tara. I won’t be but a moment, but I must check meh books!”

  With smiles on their faces, they bid the man leave. Brent walked again to the Drosten stone. Tara told Brent that she was going to step outside for a little bit.

  She walked out of the Tarbat Discovery Centre and into the yard. Dozens upon dozens of grave markers surrounded the old church building. Walking among them, her thoughts again returned to Stephanie, and she sighed. Oh, the things she wanted to say to her just now.

  Stephanie, you almost died, and now you’re in jail, all for a religion that Brendan was ultimately just making up.

  It was all a lie. Brendan used you for his own glory.

  Maybe he truly believed there was power to be had. Maybe he had blindly misinterpreted the Pexa Stone. Or maybe he had just decided to keep the teaching of an “Olde Faithe” alive even after realizing that the evidence for it no longer existed.

  Tara shook her head. So many people had trusted in him to lead them to an ancient source of power and a life of ultimate fulfillment. Stephanie had been played and deceived right along with all the rest.

  The spark of an idea formed in Tara’s mind; one that caused her to smile.

  “Stephanie O’Leary,” she said out loud, “at one time you were my teacher of all things spiritual. Maybe I can now return the favor.”

  THE WHITE U.S. Government vehicle approached the home of Brent and Tara Lawton and slowed to a stop just short of the drive way. The driver barely took notice of what he was required to deliver and just made sure that the address was correct.

  He looked at the address on the box. 10113. It was definitely the correct location.

  The man reached his hand out through the window and pulled open the door of the Lawton mailbox. Once opened, he placed within it a pile of mail.

  Delivery complete, he drove his vehicle another sixty feet, or so, to the next mailbox on his daily route.

  Contained inside the Lawton mailbox, amidst three bills, two Happy Anniversary cards, and several pieces of junk mail, was an “Official Use Only” envelope addressed as follows:

  Village of Pittston

  Office of the Mayor

  5000 Robinhood Drive

  Pittston, OH 44058

  Mr. Brenton N. Lawton

  10113 Belmeadow Drive

  Millsville, OH 44078

  Within that particular envelope was an officially-worded letter that began with these words:

  Dear Mr. Brenton N. Lawton,

  We would like to extend to you an opportunity to interview with our Mayor, the Honorable Marie Wilbur, for the position of Chief of Police for the Village of Pittston, Ohio. …

  1 Most researchers now agree that Pexa was a tribal name from which the name Picti or Pecti was later derived. This seems to be confirmed by the oral tradition of the Scots who call the ancient people Pechts. It used to be believed that Picti came from the Romans, who used the same word that, in Latin, means “painted” or “tattooed.”

  2 Cináed mac Ailpin later took on the name Kenneth MacAlpin by which he is most widely known.

  3 To read a short description of Pecti-Wita witchcraft please proceed to the Appendix.

  4 To read about “Discerning of spirits,” please proceed to the Appendix.

  5 Iona is a small island (3.4 square miles) of the Inner Hebrides off the West coast of Scotland, North of Ireland.

  6 To read about the Book of Kells turn to the Appendix.

  7 To read the few actual historical details of the Battle of Tarbat turn to the Appendix.

  8 To read about the true history of the ceremonies depicted here please turn to the Appendix.

  9 Tír na nÓg is the most popular of the Otherworlds of Celtic mythology. Its literal interpretation is “The Land of the Young.”

  10 http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Christian_angelic_hierarchy

  11 http://www.icr.org/article/principalities-powers/

  12 Much of what Brent & Tara have been reading and commenting on comes from the actual website Spiritual Warfare and Deliverance Ministry http://spiritualwarfaredeliverance.com The site is not fully comprehensive, and I believe that there are a few aspects of the site’s teachings that can be questioned when it comes to spoken authority.

  13 For information on awareness during Spiritual Warfare, please proceed to the Appendix.

  14 To read about the gifts of Words of Knowledge and Words of Wisdom, proceed to the Appendix.

  15 To read about checks in the spirit provided by the Holy Spirit, please proceed to the Appendix.

  At the beginning of the writing of this novel, I created a fictional character whom I named Drostan (with an “a”). He was to be the guardian of his people’s history, culture, and religion. I enjoyed developing his story on the page. Then, in the midst of all of my continued research into all things Picti, I came across an interesting description of a Pictish standing stone that is currently housed at St. Vigeans museum in Scotland. Etched into the outside edge of one side of that stone is something that shocked me—my character’s name! Immediately, I went back into my writing and changed the last vowel in his name to conform with that found inscribed on the stone.

  One might start wondering if once there was a warrior, a guardian, a hero of the Picti people. A man named Drosten.

  Inscription on the very real Drosten Stone

  It’s about time I finally published this account. I’ve put it off for too long. During its writing it’s bound to stir up so many raw emotions that I just pray I can get through it.

  My name is Brent Lawton. I’m the chief of police for the Village of Pittston, Ohio. I have a wife, Tara, and three children: Jenna, Jamie, and Amy.

  I love my life.

  You’d laugh at that last comment if you knew half the things that Tara and I have been through. But this story—this situation—took place before our children were born. In fact, it took place before Tara and I were even married.

  This past Thursday evening I approached Tara in our living room as she sat reading on the couch. I told her that I had a story that I needed to share; one that I thought would capture her attention even more than Tosca Lee’s latest work of prose, Iscariot.

  Tara did me the courtesy of setting aside her book with a humored grin. I’m betting she thought that my awkward demeanor was the precursor to something worthy of an upcoming laugh.

  Sitting in my favorite chair while facing her on the couch, I took a deep breath and released it, the whole time looking her in the eyes. Her grin faded.

  “What is it?”

  “I have something to tell you. Something that happened a few years after the hike.”

  ‘The hike,’ as we’ve come to call it, was the event that brought Tara to Christ—and me to Tara—back in 1987. A long time ago.

  “Hon, do you remember back in 1990 when…” I paused. I didn’t really want to say the words.

  “When your Mamaw passed.”

  I nodded. “That was also the year that my Grand Am got totaled, Dad lost his job, and all of our friends took off into their own lives.”

  “That would be a difficult year to forget.”

  “If it hadn’t been for you, I’d have gone crazy.”

  Tara leaned over and took my hands. “That was a brutal year for you and your family, and if I recall correctly, I wasn’t very much help to any of you. Somehow it ended up being your trip down to Kentucky for your grandmother’s funeral that got you grounded again.”

  She became thoughtful for a moment, remembering. I wondered if she would recall…

  “You said someth
ing to me when you got back.”

  Nodding my head, then looking down at the floor, I said, “Yep. I did.”

  “You said that you couldn’t tell me what happened down there. Is that what this is all about?”

  “It is.” I looked back up into her eyes. “After all that we’ve been through in the past year with Donna McNeill and the Picti people … Stephanie O’Leary and your frustration with her stubbornness as you continue to share Christ… It’s caused me to reflect quite a bit about God’s ability to control everything that’s been going on.”

  Tara’s green eyes burrowed into my own. She gave me a single nod to continue.

  “Well, I guess it took all of these recent events to get me to a place where I’m finally willing to talk about what happened that week in Kentucky.”

  “I still wish I could have gone with you for her funeral.”

  “It’s kind of funny to think about now, but your inability to come with me was the camel that broke the straw.”

  She unavoidably laughed. “You mean the straw that broke the camel’s back.”

  “No, Hon. I pridefully thought I was the camel, but God showed me very clearly, in the span of three days, that I was nothing but straw.”

  Venture Backward

  into the

  Otherealm

  “The foolish plan of God is wiser than the wisest of any man’s plans.”