“I see.” Lilybet frowned.
“I also see. ‘Tis impossible!"
“'Tis na’ so.” Lilybet wagged her head. “You still lack faith, is all."
“Faith? How am I to believe in something I can na’ see, feel, control, or understand? I even doubt that me parents truly live. I simply went along with all of this to appease Gran. She can be quite persuasive."
“Aye. But, I have something that might help you believe.” Reaching deep into the left keeping hole of the cobbled hearth, Lilybet retrieved a palm-sized, wooden box. “Izebeth told me to reveal this to you if, after a time, you still had doubts. She assured me, ‘twould be useful.” Lilybet offered the box to Seerah.
As Seerah held out her hand to accept the box, Cosmo climbed up her arm and settled on her shoulder. Holding the box in her lap, Seerah tried to open it. “The lid will na’ budge."
“Uh...” Lilybet cleared her throat. “You are to open it with your mind, Seerah."
Seerah groaned. “I should've known."
“You can do it, Seerah."
“Nay. I can na'. This is a waste of time"
“You must at least try. For Galynne."
“I ... but—"
“No buts, Seerah. And no more excuses. You must try. Concentrate. Picture the box in your mind's eye."
“But I—"
“Go on. Close your eyes. Now, I say!"
Startled by Lilybet's harsh manner, Seerah gazed down at the box and closed her eyes. When she finally pictured the box in her mind's eye, she felt the presence of an unfamiliar entity. A shiver ran down her spine and her eyes flew open.
“Do na’ fear the unknown. Concentrate,” Lilybet whispered.
Seerah swallowed hard and stared at the box as Cosmo chattered and nudged her head with his nose.
“Stop, Cosmo.” Seerah batted at his nose.
“He's telling you to open it, Seerah,” Lilybet said.
Seerah cocked her head at Cosmo. “Is that so?"
Cosmo nudged her again, as if to agree.
“See, there?” Lilybet said, “Try again, Seerah. You can do it if you can just get past your fear and uncertainty."
Breathing deeply, Seerah placed her left hand over the box and closed her eyes again. A silent moment passed, then she gasped. “I ... I see a small, odd-shaped charm."
Izebeth's voice resonated as if from thin air, “Open the box, Seerah."
Seerah flinched and glanced about the room. “D-did you hear that?"
“Hear what?” Lilybet's eyes shifted about, following Seerah's gaze.
“Uh ... n-nothing. N-never mind” Seerah looked down
As if compelled by some unforeseen force, Seerah shut her eyes again. Picturing the box in her mind's eye, she moved her hand slowly in a circular motion. “Hear me plea. Hear me bid. Allow me to open this wooden lid,” she chanted. She envisioned the lid opening and when she heard a muffled sound, like scraping wood, she opened her eyes to see that the cover of the box lay slightly ajar.
“Oh my,” Seerah gasped as she pried the lid fully open.
Her eyes grew wide at the sight of the charm and chain nestled in dark, purple satin. The crescent-moon-shaped medallion beheld a detailed depiction of a profiled, slumbering face etched into the arch. An amethyst gemstone, shaped like a star, dangled from the moon's upper tip.
As she caressed the amulet with her fingertips, the jewel began to glow with soft violet light. Then a luminous white flash suddenly ignited from within, causing Seerah and Lilybet to squint. Something akin to liquid heat surged through Seerah's fingers and she recoiled, releasing the charm as if she'd been burned.
“No more fear, Seerah.” Izebeth's voice echoed, again, her words growing fainter until they faded away. “Become one with the Amulet. Hold it in your palm. Quickly, danger nears."
Seerah swallowed hard. Then, pinching the chain between her thumb and forefinger, she lifted the amulet from the box and laid it in the palm of her left hand. As her fingers closed around it, she shut her eyes again, breathing deeply as warm energy flowed through her this time.
“Seerah?” Lilybet whispered.
“Aye.” Seerah exhaled
“Are you ... what..."
“I-it feels warm ... good ... like ... it belonged to...” A lone tear trickled down Seerah's cheek as she opened her eyes. “She lives. I feel it."
“Aye.” Lilybet nodded. “But, do you trust what you feel?"
Still clutching the charm, Seerah held it to her bosom. “I do."
Lilybet winked. “Good. It's about time. ‘Tis a powerful talisman. You are to wear it at all times. And from this moment on, you need to be very aware of the forces around you."
Seerah placed the amulet about her neck.
“Something still troubles you,"
Seerah nodded.
“What? Tell me."
“I feel so confused, as though I'm trapped in a labyrinth which offers no solution."
“Ah, but ‘tis the nature of every riddle to have an answer.” Rising, Lilybet placed her hand on Seerah's shoulder and whispered, “Faith is the key."
* * * *
“What in the name of Heaven is all that racket!” Marcus grumbled as he stirred in bed next to Lilybet.
Lilybet sighed. “Seerah,” she replied.
“Ever since you gave her that damnable charm, a fortnight ago, I've yet to get a good night's sleep."
“It's a sign.” Lilybet smiled.
“A sign o’ the Devil."
“Hush,” Lilybet said, and got out of bed. “I'll see to her.” She slipped on her house-shoes and retrieved her wrap. “You go back to sleep, Marcus."
“If only I could.” Marcus lay back and pulled a pillow over his head.
When Lilybet pushed the door to Seerah's room open, she gasped at the sight of furniture and earthenware floating about chamber. Suddenly, a fire erupted in the hearth and all the candles about the room lit themselves.
“Seerah!” Lilybet said, ducking low as a clay pot flew past her head.
Seerah sat up with a start. “Aunt Lilybet? What—” She glanced about the room. “Oh!” All the flying objects crashed to the floor. The candles and fire hesitated only slightly before they went out. “Dear, me."
Lilybet lit a taper and blew at the rising puff of smoke. “You've been dreaming."
“Aye,” Seerah whispered.
Lilybet crossed the room and sat on the bed next to Seerah. “Can you tell me of it this time?"
Seerah blinked. “I believe I saw something of the future. Only—” Grasping the amulet in her hand, she closed her eyes. “I see the blackness, now. It's very cold and evil. The serpent dwells there. I feel it.” She shivered. “I see a small, wild creature; a pig of some sort, with bloodied fangs. A fair-haired man in black stands before him."
“Fin-gael?” Lilybet whispered.
“Norseman, Aye."
“Could he be the man Izebeth spoke of—this Lord Of Thunder?"
“That's possible, I suppose. He be very powerful. He appears to be taming the pig, and the serpent, but...” Seerah shook her head. “His image is gone. Now I see a party of very large men. Four—no five Highland warriors riding war-horses. There be something ... something familiar about them, but something quite threatening as well. I sense great physical strength, overwhelming power, and—” Seerah gasped.
“What?"
“They're being followed, by a man cloaked in mail. He leads a large army of men."
“What of them?” Lilybet asked.
“They all search for ... a treasure of some kind,” Seerah said. “There be many shadows, and various rays of filtering light; colorful splintered beams, like those cast through a prism."
Seerah squeezed eyes tighter. “I see meself, now, standing in a violet, spectral haze. I sense another presence. A shadowed man looms nearby in the mist. Though his essence is cold and dark, warm golden light surrounds his form. A large, hulking man he is. I can na’ see his features clearly, but he radi
ates overwhelming power. He is na’ threatening though—” Seerah cocked her head, as if listening to a far off sound.
“What?” Lilybet cried.
“The fair-haired man beckons me from somewhere beyond the realm, but the shadowed man stands in me way. The two men are extremely different, yet similar somehow. I also sense something wicked. I think..."
“Nay, Seerah. What do you feel?"
“Feel?” Seerah blinked open her eyes. “Why, I feel ... drawn to each of these men. ‘Tis as if they need me—or me help, but each separately. I felt meself being pulled in two opposite directions. I also sensed an illusion. Neither of these men are what they appear to be. There be many strong forces of good and evil present, but the blackness is too great. ‘Tis all very confusing.” Seerah's shoulders slumped and she hung her head. “As usual, the images make no sense."
“They will though. All in due time. ‘Til then, we must simply wait and have faith."
Lilybet clasped Seerah's hand.
Seerah's body grew stiff; her eyes slammed shut and she clutched Lilybet's hand. “Nay! We must form a plan."
“A plan? For what? What do you see, Seerah?"
“Blood. The flash of cold steel, tearing flesh and ... blood."
“Death comes?” Lilybet gasped.
Seerah opened her eyes and stared at Lilybet. “I can na’ be certain if death comes, but these men come soon. They bring danger and blood. Definitely blood."
* * *
Chapter Six
The following evening, Seerah couldn't help noticing the way Marcus kept glancing anxiously over his shoulder, or the way he seemed to bustle the patrons about. When the last stragglers finally took their leave he practically slammed the front door shut behind them.
“Seerah hurry and count the coins, then put the cash box away. We did exceptionally well, but having all that money about makes me uneasy. Lilybet, smoor the fire. I'll lock up and clean this mess.” He stole an uneasy glance about the inn.
“Aye, Uncle Marcus.” Seerah took the coin box and set it on the bar.
“Marcus Ryan O'Shea,” Lilybet said. “Since when do you offer to clean anything?” She shot him a skeptical glance. Then, using a pair of cast-iron tongs, Lilybet dropped a hot ember from the fire into a bowl of foot water by the hearth. “What are you about, now? Why, you'll have me believing the end of the world be near if you keep at it."
“It may well be. Ever since you gave Seerah that charm, she's been plagued with dark dreams of blood and evil men coming. They have me jumping at the sight of me own shadow, I tell you.” Marcus glanced over his shoulder once again.
Lilybet placed her hands on her hips and arched her brow. “A believer you are now?"
Marcus quickly barred the door, then turned to face her. “With all the pocusy hocus going on as of late, how can I na’ believe something's amiss? I hear strange things thumping and bumping all through the night, as well. Why, I do na’ know what to believe, but I plan on being prepared for anything—especially with the moon so full."
Lilybet began raking the ashes. “Aye, Seerah's dreams have been vivid. She's certain, these men be very’ near and—"
“Seerah,” Marcus interrupted, “Take the coins upstairs. Hurry."
“But—?"
“Go. Now! Lilybet, leave the fire and dowse all hint of light. Quickly.” Marcus hurried across the room toward the hearth. He grabbed his blackthorn club, then went to the front door and laid his ear against the wood.
Seerah glanced at Lilybet and shrugged. As she headed for the stairs, she heard a faint murmur of a sound. As she listened the murmur grew into an intensifying rumble, like the sound of fast approaching thunder. “What on earth?"
“Go!” Marcus gestured for her to be on her way.
Seerah hesitated briefly, then hurried up the stairs. Half way to her room, however, she turned back. She set the cash-box on the landing and crept back downstairs. Keeping close to the wall she squatted on the bottom step, watching and waiting—just in case.
Lilybet swiftly extinguished the rush lights. Then, wringing her hands fretfully, she inched backwards toward the hearth.
The rumbling drew nearer, then stopped abruptly.
A brief moment of silence passed before a fierce pounding sounded at the door.
Seerah flinched, but remained hidden on the steps.
Lilybet stifled a gasp and as Marcus held a finger to his lips and flattened himself against the wall.
“Hail, inside. One of me kinsmen be wounded, and needs medical attention. Open up at once.” The command was thick with an unmistakable Gaidheal burr that distinguished the Highlander's Gaelic dialect from the lowland Scots and Irish.
Lilybet shivered visibly and Marcus held his trembling index finger to his lips, signaling her to remain silent.
“We know you be inside for smoke still rises from your chute,” the stranger said.
Marcus glanced at the hearth and grimaced. When he peeked through a crack in the shutters, his body seemed to sag with defeat
“I must insist upon entering,” the Highlander said, “for the sake of me wounded man. You need na’ fear us unless you refuse, for then we'll gain entry by any means necessary. I'll count to five while you make up you mind. One..."
“Me wife and I are old and alone,” Marcus spoke, his own words thick with the Irish-Gaelic accent of Gaeilge. “We know naught of healing. Should we na’ fear so many large warriors with weapons, who threaten to break down our humble doors?"
The Highlander replied, “Fear us or no, but we will gain entry. By what means be you choice, if you choose quickly. Two..."
Seerah stepped from her hiding place in the stairwell. “Aunt Lilybet?” she whispered.
Lilybet hurried forward. “Did you feel their presence?"
“Nay, but—"
“Three,” the warriors’ voice boomed.
Marcus advanced. “Hide yourself, lass,” he whispered. “You must be prepared to flee.” Then, to the men outside he called, “I'll willingly agree to grant you entry, if you agree to cast off all your weapons. I will also give you fair warning. I am armed."
“Aye,” the Highlander replied. His voice sounded like a growl and was followed by the clatter of clanging metal.
A look of distress danced in Marcus’ eyes when he turned to Seerah again. “Do as I said, lass. Hide yourself, quickly. We know not if these be honorable men."
“But I'm a healer. I could be of help, and—"
“Do as your uncle bids, Seerah. Please.” Lilybet ushered Seerah back toward the stairs and shooed her away.
Instead of climbing the stairs, Seerah crouched down and peered across the dusky room, trying to focus her energy on the strangers beyond the door.
“We've shed our weapons. Quickly, let us enter or I'll na’ be held responsible for the damage to your property,” the Highlander declared.
“Lilybet, hurry. Light some tapers, then unbar the door and get behind me.” Holding his weapon securely, Marcus took a firm stance in the center of the room.
Lilybet made the sign of the cross and hastily obeyed. After several wax tapers had been lit, she unbarred the door then hurried behind Marcus.
“Enter,” Marcus said, clutching his weapon so tightly his body visibly shook.
Seerah inched forward, thinking to go to stand beside him. When the solid oak door creaked open, however, she froze. As the three warriors entered, carrying their wounded kinsman, the first thing Seerah observed was their excessive height. Even at a distance through the dim light, it was simple to see that their heads had barely cleared the entrance.
Lilybet and Marcus were diminutive by normal standards, but they looked like mere sprites compared to the hulking men. And while the warriors’ colossal size was disquieting, to say the least, it was the their state of dress—no, their state of undress—that Seerah found most unsettling. The men wore no coats of mail, helmets or other such war-gear, only tartan kilts of green, gold and brown, secured at their waists by a
thick leather band. Empty baldrics were slung across their bare chests. Animal skin sandals adorned their feet, and shiny gold war-rings, known as torques, encircled their upper arms.
Seerah was fascinated by their blatant masculinity. Why, she had never seen so much bare, sinewy muscle in her all life. She gaped openly at them, admiring their striking, savage-like demeanor. When she spied the last man, however, standing just beyond the threshold, her breath caught in her throat. She might have swooned with fear if that was her nature; instead, she swallowed hard and clutched at her throat until she remembered to breathe. Her stomach churned with trepidation as she studied the titan warrior whose towering shadow and bulky silhouette nearly blocked the entrance.
Radiant light from the full moon seemed to splinter into shafts about his sturdy frame, making him appear immortal, like some mystical being.
The shadowed man? Seerah shivered.
“I be Tristan Kincaid. Your swiftness is duly noted. As you can well see, me brother's wounds be grave, indeed.” His deep, consuming voice echoed through the room.
“Aye, he l-looks l-less than well,” Marcus said, holding his weapon close to his chest. He glanced from the wounded man to Tristan, then slowly upwards, tilting his head as far back as it would go. “I ... I be Marcus O'Shea. This, be me w-wife, Lilybet. Your men can set him on a dining table. ‘Tis the best we have to offer."
Tristan took a giant step forward, ducking his head low to clear the entrance.
Seerah could have sworn his broad shoulders still brushed the doorframe.
As Tristan crossed the threshold, Marcus took a step backward, forcing Lilybet to follow suit.
Standing motionless just inside the inn, Tristan's bearing seemed as hard and unyielding as a granite sculpture. His dark, hooded gaze appeared calculating and emotionless, but not hostile—exactly. Gooseflesh rose on Seerah's skin as she studied every inch of his imposing form.
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