by Clare Wilson
When the voice spoke again it sounded weaker than before. The tone of the voice was almost pained in some way. ‘I grow weary now. Do not summon me again until the old man is removed. You must move quickly, Naithara, I cannot stress that enough.’
With this the atmosphere in the room quickly lightened and the candles suddenly extinguished themselves. The presence was gone. Naithara shook her head as though she had been in a daze or dream, then quickly put her things away and looked in the mirror. She composed herself, straightening her dress, and smiled. Her face which had once held great beauty seemed to be contorted slightly by cruelty and greed. Around her blue eyes there was a distinct look of malice. She tied back her long blonde curly hair and thought back to when she had first discovered the ancient lore in a book in her uncle’s library. The old fool had not even realised it was there. She had taken it away years before and had only realised after a great deal of study what it was capable of. With the book she had summoned Eiric and learned of his dark arts. He had taught her that her family resided on a great source of power; a power so strong it was capable of freeing him from his current prison and could allow him to return to his former glory. With the help of Eiric they would take control of her birth right, harness the power of Cairn Holme and control the forces of nature themselves. With one last gleeful look in the mirror she swept from the room and proceeded downstairs.
Chapter Three
Dark Omens
Tom had spent two days in the clearing, fruitlessly toiling with the staff, and was beginning to get extremely frustrated. On his third morning he could tell Torean was also beginning to lose patience.
‘Look, laddie, can you feel the earth power flowing through you at all?’ he rasped.
Tom thought for a moment. He could feel an increased power around him. Closing his eyes, he tried to focus on that. He listened again to the wind and tried to forget the old man was there. He opened his eyes and said, ‘Amas.’ The winds rose around him as they had before and he saw the pebble tremor but that was all.
‘Not bad,’ said Torean, trying to sound encouraging. ‘That was better than before.’
Tom made no response to this, he felt like a failure.
‘Try again,’ the old man continued, putting an arm on his shoulder. ‘Do it again just as you did before, but this time, try to concentrate more.’
Tom felt angry, how can I concentrate any more than I already am? He knew his negative attitude was not going to help. So he took a deep breath and tried to forget his anger and frustration. He tried again. This time the pebble began to rise slowly into the air. He suddenly became excited about this and before he could react to what was happening the stone flew through the air and hit him square between the eyes. ‘Ow!’ Tom exclaimed, rubbing the red mark in the centre of his forehead left by the stone. ‘What use is a spell which does that?!?’
Torean laughed, ‘That was almost as funny as the way you fell out of the sky and landed on your rump!’
Tom couldn’t help but crack a smile.
‘With the right concentration,’ Torean continued, ‘you would make the pebble float gently into your hand. As our little experience has just taught us, letting yourself get carried away can have consequences, like losing an eye,’ the old man winked.
‘Sorry, I just got excited when it moved.’ Tom said sheepishly.
‘Don’t worry, boy,’ Torean smiled. ‘All that matters is you’ve done it. Once you can focus your power you can learn anything!’ He patted Tom on the back.
Inside Tom felt completely elated, he wanted to jump around the clearing. The success of the morning had given him an immense sense of achievement.
‘We will do no more today. Tomorrow the hard work really begins,’ Torean said, as he turned round collecting their things.
Even this omen could not bring Tom down from his high. They worked in the field that afternoon and as dusk began to fall, Torean spoke to Tom of the ways in which evil had struck before. ‘It always comes in different guises,’ said the old man as he gathered their tools, ‘but always wants the same thing. If they can use the concentrated power of Cairn Holme, they can bring about a darkness that would cover the land. Many of them are disillusioned and do not fathom the consequences of their actions. They only sense the power and do not understand how to wield it properly. In such circumstances this power consumes them and they ultimately destroy themselves. Right now I can feel that she senses the power, and that those she recruits will be used as fodder to achieve her ends.’
‘What is her name?’ Tom asked.
‘She calls herself Lady Naithara Anstruther. However, such great forces of darkness are not usually in human form for long. Either she is not what she appears, or she is being used by a force she will not be able to control for long. I believe it to be the latter. I remember her as a child staying with her uncle during a time of illness, although, she does not appear to be the same person now. Evil distorts people in this way, sometimes the transformation is even visible.’
Tom seemed intrigued by this thought. ‘Do they turn into monsters?’ he asked, puzzled.
‘No, my boy, evil just has a certain mark. When you gain more experience you will be able to see it too. Anyway, we need to concentrate on your training rather than fear of the enemy. You must always remember that they are weak because they lust for power. We simply allow power to use us as a vessel for the protection of the earth. Let’s go home for the night,’ said Torean, as he wrapped the last of the tools in the sacking he carried them in.
As they walked back to the cottage, Tom felt his success morning made him more aware of everything around him. Every bird singing was suddenly so vivid to him that it was almost deafening. He felt the heat of the sun in a new way and the scents in the air around him seemed to be bursting with life. When they arrived back at the cottage, Adaira was preparing dinner. Tom’s senses were extremely alive and he felt hungrier than he could remember feeling before.
‘Ah, the wanderers return,’ Adaira said. ‘Dinner is almost ready. Aneirin is out putting the animals back into the barn. Tom, would you be so kind as to go and fetch him?’
Tom agreed and walked out into the yard. He was slightly apprehensive about approaching Aneirin as the boy seemed to have gone to great lengths to avoid speaking to him. He entered the barn and looked around. ‘Aneirin, are you there? I've come to fetch you to dinner,’ he said in a slightly sheepish tone.
Aneirin appeared from the shadows at the back of the barn. ‘Thank you,’ he said curtly. ‘How are you and my grandfather getting on?’
Tom thought about this for a moment, ‘Fine,’ he replied. ‘We are working in the fields. You have a lot more land than my grandfather has. It’s hard work but…’ Tom paused. ‘It's fun,’ he said, smiling nervously.
Aneirin grinned sarcastically. ‘Really? Well, hopefully you will be back with your own grandfather before long. How old are you anyway?’ He asked this question in a way that made Tom feel belittled.
‘I’m thirteen. Just,’ Tom said, feeling uncomfortable. He had almost forgotten he had turned thirteen a couple of days previously.
‘I see. Well I’ll be fifteen when winter comes,’ Aneirin said, as if this settled the argument. Without another word he brushed past Tom into the yard.
For a moment Tom felt hurt. Obviously Aneirin was not happy with the amount of time he was spending with Torean. He wondered how he would feel in the same situation. Aneirin was obviously used to having his grandfather to himself and Tom could understand his unhappiness. He sighed and couldn’t help smiling to himself. He didn’t want to let worrying about this spoil what he had done that day. There was nothing he could do to change the situation. Looking around the barn he realised he could even feel the energy of the animals surrounding him and wondered whether it was possible to turn off this sensibility once it had been woken. Will I always feel this aware of everything around me? He imagined in the wrong circumstances these senses could be overpowering. What would it feel like
to stand in the centre of a crowded room? Would it be deafening?
That night as they sat down to eat, Tom couldn’t believe how alive he felt. It was the first day since his arrival he hadn’t felt wracked with fear, the first time he had thought himself capable of mastering the lore Torean was to teach him. He then looked at Torean and thought once more of his own grandfather. He wanted to make him proud. He wondered what his grandfather would say when he returned and told him of where he had been. He could visualise the old man’s smiling face. He then thought of his mother, disapproving at the danger Tom had been in and whether she connected it to how his father had died. He knew one thing: even if he made it back in one piece to tell his grandfather this awesome tale, nothing was ever going to be the same again for him or his family.
At this Adaira interrupted his train of thought. ‘So Torean, is there any word of Tom’s family?’
It’s like she’s reading my mind, Tom thought. He felt panic wash over him, what is Torean going to say?
The old man seemed to think over what she had asked for a few moments. ‘From what Tom has said,’ he said calmly, ‘he must have hit his head, because he doesn’t remember where he’s from. I will take a trip into town tomorrow to visit the Sheriff’s office to see if anyone has been looking for the boy.’
‘You poor lamb,’ she said reaching for Tom’s hand.
He did his best to look as if he was worried. ‘I hope it won’t be long before my memory returns. It’s okay,’ he told her. ‘I feel I was meant to be here, I like staying with you.’
She stroked his hair and smiled, he’s such a gentle little thing. Somehow he reminds me of my Abhainn.
Aneirin looked livid. He didn’t say anything, but Tom thought he didn’t want him staying with them any longer than was strictly necessary.
‘You are welcome here, young man,’ Adaira said, returning to her food. ‘Although I’m sure you have a mammy somewhere who is frantic looking for you.’
They carried on eating their dinner in silence. Tom hoped that as Torean had said, his mother had not noticed his absence. That he would be able to return from where he had left.
* * *
At the Laird’s house Naithara was preparing herself for the evening meal she was due to have with the Sheriff, Michael MacDonald, and her uncle, Laird Angus Anstruther. She sat at her dressing table putting rouge upon her cheeks and an extra hint of perfume upon her neck. If she was to convince the Sheriff to act on her behalf to solve the situation with the old man, she would need to use all her feminine wiles. She smiled to herself as she put down the bottle of expensive perfume, having been careful not to put on too much. Her mother always told her that a lady’s perfume should whisper, not shout. She had to get this just right. Her bedroom was strewn with various dresses she had tried on and then discarded, trying to create exactly the right look. Finally, satisfied with her efforts, she stood, took one last look at herself in a full length mirror and left the room.
A few moments later the door re-opened. Lizzy went into Naithara’s room in order to tidy up the various things the Lady had left strewn around. While picking up various garments haphazardly thrown to the floor, she had the feeling someone was watching her. She quickly turned towards the window, but no-one was there. The atmosphere in the place made the hairs on the back of her neck stand up. She quickly finished putting the clothes away and rushed from the room, closing the door behind her. Something inside her had made her want to flee in terror from the eerie bedchamber.
As Naithara entered the drawing room her uncle was talking to the Sheriff by the large ornate marble fire place. The room was large and the soft lamp light showed many paintings on the wall depicting family ancestors. ‘As you know,’ her uncle said, ‘the farmers on the estate are very important to me. Your father understood that well, I hope you will…’
‘Good evening, uncle. Sheriff MacDonald,’ interrupted Naithara brightly. She smiled demurely at the two men. The Sheriff turned and gazed at her, mesmerised.
‘Ah, good evening, my dear,’ her uncle replied, beaming. He was a small, portly man with thinning dark grey hair. One could find him comical to look at as beneath his dark grey hair he had bushy white eyebrows and a jolly smile.
The Sheriff, who had been unable to take his eyes from Naithara, approached her hungrily and kissed her hand. ‘Good evening, my Lady. Your uncle and I were just discussing the importance of the farmers on the estate. He is a very loyal Laird.’
‘Yes,’ Naithara responded, sighing with feigned weariness. ‘He cares for their welfare very deeply. He is perhaps too generous. There are those who do not appreciate the kindness. The MacKays, for example, seem a lazy bunch. One wonders if they could be deemed farmers at all. I think the grandfather actively encourages his grandson to poach our fish and fowl.’
‘Come now,’ her uncle said, shaking his head, tired of hearing this from his niece. ‘Since the death of his son, Torean has done his best for his family. The MacKays have resided in this valley for generations; I would not begrudge them food on their table.’
Naithara sighed and looked at the Sheriff. ‘Still, the law is the law. Is that not so, Sheriff?’
Before the sheriff could respond, the bell rang for dinner. He was greatly relieved that he had been spared from answering Naithara’s question, and they proceeded into the auspicious dining room. The long, slightly narrow room seemed to be illuminated by the silverware; from the gleaming cutlery on the table to the ornate pieces in the cabinets along the walls. Lizzy scurried around the long table making final adjustments to the three place settings that seemed slightly out place on the enormous table, which on many occasions had seated large numbers of guests.
As they ate their meal of smoked salmon followed by rich venison, conversation roamed from subject to subject, mainly concentrating on issues of taxation and fishing rights. Naithara, picking at her main course, tried her best to appear reserved and did not overly involve herself in the discussions of the men. She knew she would need to choose her time carefully to broach the subject with the Sheriff. If possible, she would need to do so without her uncle in the room. It was so tiresome to sit there and listen to them drone on when she had important matters to discuss.
It was fast approaching ten thirty when they retired to the drawing room for a dram, and Naithara’s uncle quickly fell asleep by the fire. As the fire crackled in the dimly lit room, the Sheriff idly discussed with her the flowers coming into bloom for the season. Naithara un-subtly brought the conversation back round to that which she had been waiting to discuss all evening. She had no interest in wasting this opportunity discussing such silly women’s things. ‘I sense, Sheriff, that we are of kindred minds,’ she started.
‘Well,’ said the Sheriff blushing, obviously flattered by her words. ‘I do feel drawn to your company.’ He lifted the poker next to the fire and began to stoke the flames in order to distract from his obvious embarrassment.
‘With regard to our earlier conversation, if we are to grow closer, I would appreciate if the MacKay situation could be… brought to a close, shall we say?’ she said, no longer sounding innocent or demure. ‘My uncle is too kind and permits people to take advantage of him. If I, or should I say, if we are to develop our relationship further I need such “generosity” to end.’
The Sheriff was slightly flustered by the choice of topic and almost dropped the poker. He had hoped they could discuss more romantic matters. ‘My Lady,’ he sighed gently, clumsily putting the poker back in its place. ‘I have visited the farm on several occasions at your request and have found no evidence they are poachers.’ While he desperately wished to impress Naithara, he did not see how he could get her to see reason on this subject. The MacKay family had never been in trouble before and it was beginning to look suspicious with him having already made several visits to them on behalf of Lady Anstruther.
‘That is unfortunate,’ she said shortly, examining her finger nails. ‘Let me think for a moment upon the problem.’ At
this she put her hands together and began to mutter under her breath. The atmosphere in the room suddenly changed; it became warmer, with a sweet smell - almost sickly. It was similar to the one which had appeared earlier in Naithara’s room and it seemed to intoxicate the Sheriff. As Naithara spoke, the fire seemed to dim and a haze of pleasure came over him. ‘I can share great things with you, Michael,’ she whispered in silky tones. ‘I am a very talented woman. Still, I need you to remove Torean MacKay from this estate permanently. He offends me.’
The Sheriff, who now almost appeared to be in a trance, simply nodded like a dog, ‘I understand, my Lady,’ he said. ‘I wish nothing but to make you happy.’
‘Thank you, Michael,’ she said, smiling at him like a cat with a mouse. ‘If they are not poachers, I will need you to find another reason to remove them. However, it will not be enough to simply evict them from the farm. You must find a way to remove the old man permanently, a tragic accident perhaps?’
At that moment there was a noise outside the drawing room which sounded as if someone had dropped something. Naithara’s uncle stirred in his chair and the atmosphere was instantly broken. The Sheriff, who looked a bit like he had just woken up himself, gazed dreamily across the room at Naithara. She knew this look, as she too felt the hunger for power. It was an addictive and exciting feeling. She knew he was experiencing what she had long ago and loved the power she felt from ensnaring another to do her bidding. She was unaware that the Sheriff’s thoughts were driven more by his lusts for her, than by his hunger for power.
Her uncle, completely unaware of anything which had transpired, leaped from his chair. ‘What on earth was that?’ he yelped.
‘It was probably Lizzy being clumsy with the silverware again,’ said Naithara impatiently. She hoped this interruption had not distracted the Sheriff from what she was trying to impress upon him.