"Is this better?" Iain asked as he strolled around the interior of the circle.
"Somewhat," Maggie replied. At least there were more than three stones. In truth, Maggie was quite happy with this circle, but she was also surprised. It looked quite different than Clava Cairns. To begin with, it was smaller, only about fifteen feet across. In addition, there were no stone burial mounds inside the circle as at Clava. Finally, and most obviously, Clava Cairns had not had the recumbant stone, which was so striking a feature of this circle as to command almost all of Maggie's attention
"So what was this used for?" Iain laid a hand on the recumbant stone.
"I'm not sure," Maggie peered into the guidebook. "Let me see what the book says."
After a moment she looked up, "Well, it doesn't really say what it's for, just that it's kind of the trademark feature of this type of circle."
"Aye, I can see why."
"And it's usually placed to the south," Maggie read.
"Really?" Iain looked to the sky for directional guidance but was given none. At least the rain had started to let up. "I'd have expected the north."
"Yeah, me too," Maggie said. "Although I'm not sure why."
Then she saw it. Not three stones, two upright and one flat, laying in a field of grass. But three organs, two lungs and one heart, laying in a pool of blood.
"So what else does it say?"
"Er," Iain's question jerked Maggie back to the present. She quickly skimmed the one page devoted to Tyrebagger Hill, half of which was filled with a rather poor photograph of the site. "Not much."
Maggie walked to the recumbant stone, where Iain still stood.
"What—?" but he was stopped by a raise of Maggie hand.
Iain held his tongue while Maggie faced the recumbant stone and closed her eyes. Silent for several seconds, she opened her eyes again and began walking, clockwise, around the circle stopping briefly at each stone on the outer circle. There were eight in all, one each at southwest, west, northwest, north, northeast, east and two sharing the duties for southeast. When she had completed the circuit, she closed her eyes again for several seconds.
Finally she opened them again.
"All right," she announced, "we can go."
"All right, then," Iain smiled incredulously; he was enjoying himself. "Where to?"
Maggie smiled, her face returning to a more normal expression. "Lunch, I think. I'm hungry."
Iain laughed at the unexpected answer.
"Do you know anywhere around here that's good to eat?" Maggie asked, heading back toward the car.
"No," Iain smiled, "but I'm sure we'll find something."
* * *
Salad dressing dripped from the lettuce leaf onto the newspaper clipping on Sgt. Warwick's desk.
"Damn," she muttered through her full mouth and hurried to wipe the oil and vinegar off the brittle paper before it stained. She had read and reread every last piece of paper in the files. Nothing new was jumping out at her. But after a day of sticking her hands in knotholes, she had decided to return to more traditional police methods. Still, it was leading nowhere.
There were no witnesses. No fingerprints. No murder weapons. No clues.
The only thing she knew for certain was that when the sun went down on Friday, another one of Aberdeen's young women would most likely die. And all the increased patrols in the world were unlikely to prevent it.
* * *
Lunch was pleasant enough. They had found a small pub in the town of Blackburn and enjoyed sandwiches and beer. Following their meal, they had driven to several nearby circles, but each appeared to be about as dilapidated as the one at Mundurno. Eventually, though, in the later afternoon, the rain finally stopped and they arrived at a stone circle called Easter at Aquhorthies.
Maggie's guidebook explained that the Easter at Aquhorthies circle was believed to be approximately 4000 years old, its stones having been erected some 1700-2000 years before Christ. Nevertheless it was also one of the best preserved sites in Scotland, or at least around Aberdeen. The crown feature of the circle was its recumbant stone, consisting not just of the expected upright-recumbant-upright combination, but also of two additional stones, placed against the inside of recumbant. The effect was of a very solid and very important keystone to the circle.
"This one's even more impressive than that Tire-bag Hill," Iain observed sincerely, if somewhat inartfully. He was enjoying the field trip. "I'm surprised I've not seen these before. You'd think my mum and da would've taken me out to see these when I was a lad."
"Ah, yes," Maggie replied, eyeing the recumbant stone herself. "A tourist in your own city. I still don't think I've been to half the things every tourist does when they come to Seattle."
Iain just nodded silently. He was smart enough not to insult her by suggesting that tourist traps built in the 1970's were a bit different than structures erected four millennia ago.
"So what are we looking at then?" he asked instead.
Maggie pulled her book open and flipped through the pages. "Let's see here. Easter at Aquhorthies ... Okay, here it is. Hmm. Okay, it's another recumbant circle."
"'Recumbant'—that means this one laying down, right?"
"Right."
"So what's it for? Looks very important, this one."
Maggie frowned slightly as she read the description. "Apparently, this is a circle that has confirmed astronomical uses."
She squinted into the distance, not because it was bright out—it wasn't—but just out of habit. "See that stand of trees over there?"
Iain squinted too. "Yes."
"It says that those are new, but before they were put in, you could probably see to the horizon. That's where the sun rises on the equinox."
"Really?" Iain looked back at the stones, then again at the stand of conifers. "They knew that back then, eh?"
"Guess so," Maggie replied.
"I wonder how they knew that?"
Maggie thought for a second. "They probably watched it rise once."
Iain looked down at her smug smile. "Be careful, lass. Impertinence doesn't become you."
"'Impertinence'?" Maggie laughed. "That's a rather large word, don't you think?"
"Aye, it is," Iain agreed with a proud smile. "I read books too, you know. And I think I may have even used it correctly just then, eh?"
"Maybe," Maggie's eyes narrowed. "Although I think it suggests some sort of superior position for you."
"Well—" Iain started.
"So," Maggie continued over him, "maybe 'smart-ass' might have been better."
Iain seemed willing to accept this correction. "All right, then. Don't be such a smart-ass. It doesn't become you."
"Thank you," Maggie said with an approving nod.
"You're very welcome."
The two continued to walk around the circle as Maggie read out descriptions of the various astronomically significant configurations. When they reached the recumbant stone again, Iain inquired with true interest, "So what was this one for then?"
"Hold on," Maggie paused. "It's on the next page."
"'Twas fer the moonset," said the gravelly voice behind them.
Both spun around to see a very old man standing just inside the circle, at the northwest corner—assuming the recumbant stone was to the south as it should have been. The man was tall and thin, wearing heavy wool pants and large black shoes. A red wool jacket hung to his hip and covered a white wool sweater, from which protruded a thin, wrinkled neck. Upon this old neck sat a grizzled but kindly face. Large thick glasses hid his eyes and a tweed cap sat atop a head which showed absolutely no sign of hair.
"Hello?" Iain tested.
"'Ello, lad, miss," said the old man with a tip of his cap. Sure enough, no hair underneath. "I cooldna help but overhea' ye. That stine thare was ust tae watch th' moonset."
"Er, thanks," Maggie replied, unsure what else one says to a scary old man inside a 4000 year old circle of upright stones. "Thanks a lot."
The
man smiled again and just looked at them for a few seconds. Maggie and Iain both smiled back, each uncertain what to do next. It was rather uncomfortable. Finally the old man spoke up.
"Name's Angus," he raised a bony hand in greeting. "Angus MacCadie."
"Iain. Iain Grant," Iain stepped forward to shake the old man's hand. "This is Maggie." He didn't offer her last name.
"Good tae meet ye, Iain, Maggie," the old man replied with the slightest wheeze. Maggie wondered just how old he was. Eighty if a day. "Int'rested in th' stines, are ye then?"
"Aye," Iain replied first. "They're quite interesting."
Maggie just smiled and nodded in agreement.
"Aye, tha' they are." Angus said with a grin. Maggie was surprised to see that he still had all his teeth, even if they were rather yellowed.
"Ye see tha' wee hoose o'er yonder?" Angus pointed to a small blue house not 500 yards away.
"Yes?" Maggie replied, joining Iain's "Aye?"
"Ah've lived me whole life in tha' hoose," Angus shook his aged head slightly, "an Ah thin' thare's nae been a day Ah'm nae come up to see th' stines."
"Really?" Maggie found this both interesting and unlikely.
"Weel. Mebbe a day or two," he smiled again. "But Ah do ken th' stines as well as anyone."
Oh really? Maggie thought.
"Why's that?" she asked. It seemed a fair question. She noticed Iain looking at her disapprovingly. He probably just wanted to get going now that strange old Angus had arrived. Too bad.
"Weel, Ah'll tell ye," Angus narrowed his eyes and he raised a thin finger in emphasis. "Ah groo up in tha' hoose. Me da groo up in tha' hoose. His da bilt tha' hoose. An' fer as long as anyone kin rem'mber, th' MacCadies ha' lived right aboot where tha' hoose stands."
"Okay..." Maggie was trying to see the relevance.
"Now, these stines 'ere, they've been 'ere fer quite a time as weel."
"True enough," Maggie encouraged.
"Sae it seems a fair conclusion tha' a MacCadie, or at least an ancestor of a MacCadie, most likely 'ad a hand in biltin' this 'ere circle. An' Ah've nae intent of breakin' 4000 years o' fam'ly tradition."
Maggie smiled warmly at this conclusion. She had gained a deep appreciation for family tradition in the recent weeks.
"So, tell me," she asked, "what do you know about this circle?"
Angus smiled broadly, his skin bunching up loosely at his eyes and cheeks. "What woold ye like tae ken?"
"How old is it, did you say?" A sort of test question. If she was going to rely on what this old man she'd never met before was about to tell her, she wanted to feel at least moderately comfortable with his qualifications.
"No one kens fer sure, mind ye," he stroked the short white whiskers just sprouting across his wrinkled face. "But the best guess is tha' it was bilt aboot 1700 or 1800 B.C."
Got that one right.
"And what's this larger stone here?" She pointed at the recumbant.
Meanwhile, Iain had gone from scowl to the bemused smile he wore whenever Maggie turned on her charms to obtain information from people she'd just met. He stood to the side, arms crossed and head cocked, and watched the show.
"Och, that's the recoomba' stine," Angus answered promptly. "Tha's th' main stine fer th' circle."
Not bad, she thought, although it's pretty obvious that it's the main stine. Stone.
"Th' signif'cance o' tha' stine," Angus went on, "'as tae doo wi' th' moon cycle."
* * *
Warwick looked up at the clock on the wall. Almost 3:00. It was starting to get dark already. And she hadn't made any appreciable progress. She wanted to run some ideas past Cameron, but she doubted he was around. He had started ducking out early last week—at a little before five o'clock—and had been pushing it back ever since. Probably just as well. He hadn't been terribly helpful lately anyway. Quick to dismiss her ideas, but not offering any himself.
She shook her head hard. No good in dwelling on that. She had a job in front of her.
She looked down at her desk. She had a mess in front of her too.
She glanced again at the clock. Okay, a quick walk around the block to clear her head, then back to work. She still had two days.
* * *
"The moon cycle?" Maggie felt her throat catch on the question.
"Aye, th' moon cycle," Angus answered. His raised his arm, the jacket hanging from it like a scarecrow's. His finger pointed out a large arc across the sky. "On th' major stan'still, the full moon sets right o'er tha' stine."
Maggie looked at Iain inquisitively, her brows drawn together. He shrugged helplessly.
"The major standstill?" Maggie asked the old man.
"Aye, tha's th' day when th' moon rises high'st in th' sky. High'r e'en than th' sun."
"Wow." She didn't even know they were competing.
"Aye, it rises more north'rly than th' sun, and gets high'r in th' sky." He traced the arc with his gnarled hand. "An' when it sets tha' morn, it sets right o'er th' recoomba' stine."
"Really?"
"Really."
Okay, this guy knows what he's talking about, eighty years old or not.
"Wow," Maggie wasn't sure what else to ask. "So this is just a big astronomical observatory?"
Angus' face twisted into disapproval. "Nae, lass. Nae 'juss.'"
Maggie smiled apologetically. "I didn't mean it that way, I just—" She better get this right. "I just thought that these circles were, I don't know—I thought they had some sort of religious significance or something?"
"Aye, lass, they doo."
"But you just said it was all set up for the moon and sun and stuff?"
"Aye. But tha' nae means it wasna ust fer cer'monies too."
"Oh, really?"
"Aye, it's all related. They mark'd th' moon an' sun a'cause they worsh'ped the moon an' sun."
Maggie considered this. "Well, I suppose that makes sense," she admitted.
"Weel, aye, lass, o' coorse it doo. You're nae likely tae bilt somethin' just to mark a moonset wha' comes 'roond ev'ry eighteen years or so."
"Eighteen years?" Maggie didn't understand.
"Aye, lass," Angus was just so obviously enjoying himself. He knew so much, and his wife, if she was still alive, was probably pretty tired of hearing it all again and again. He had a fresh audience. "Th' moon cycle's more than juss full moon to full moon."
Uh-oh. Did she have it all wrong?
"Full moon, haff moon, waxin', wanin'—them's th' phases o' th' moon. Th' cycle o' the moon, thare's much more to it than juss th' phases. Th' moon rises an' sets a wee bit later each night. Rises in diff'rent places, sets in diff'rent places. Arcs 'cross th' sky in diff'rent places. It's all part o' th' lunar cycle. It takes th' moon eighteen yeers tae get back up to th' same spot in th' sky relative to th' sun an' earth, what with th' earth spinnin' 'roond th' sun and th' moon spinnin' 'roond th' earth."
"Eighteen years?" The words hung on Maggie's lips.
"Aye. 'Tis a long time, nae? Lot kin happ'n in eighteen yeers."
Maggie just nodded, her jaw slightly slack. "And so what kind of ceremonies...?"
"Weel, tha' depends," Angus raised a thoughtful hand to his lips. "Thare were all kinds o' cer'monies. Moon an' sun watch'n o' coorse. In addition tae th' moon, th' sun's got its own cycle too. In fact the winter solstice is this Sunday. Juss afore Christmas. No coinc'dence that. Ah expect thare'll be plenty o' folks what'll come out tae th' circle here fer the solstice."
Sunday's the solstice? Maggie thought. I thought Sunday was the new moon.
Angus continued, "An' then thare's your ev'ry day sort o' cer'monies: sacr'fices fer th' harvest, most likely. Praying to gods. Mebbe e'en summon'n demons."
Maggie raised her hand at that one. "Wait. Summoning demons?"
"Och, aye, most likely. 'Coorse canna ken fer sure."
"Why would they ever want to summon a demon?" Her voice betrayed her eagerness for the answer. Iain sensed her agitation and walked back over.
"Weel, thin's were a wee bit diff'rent back then, wern't they? Evil an' sin an' demons—tha' was juss a part o' life, I think. An' o' coorse, your en'my was always more evil than ye are, ye ken?"
Maggie forced herself to smile as she waited for more information.
"So, th' old ones, they believ'd in demons th' way ye or Ah might believe in, och, television or th' Glasgow Rangers. Verra reel thin's. An' if your en'my—who was more evil than ye, remember—if your en'my is goin' tae take advantage of this resource—an' o' coorse he is—weel then, you'd better too. It was likely a sort of arms race."
"Makes sense," Iain conceded.
"So what would they do?" She needed specifics.
"Och, weel. I dinna ken th' specifics, but most likely they summoned th' demon to fight alon' side the chieftain. Or mebbe imbue th' chieftain wi' unholy pow'r by graftin' th' demon directly tae him."
"Wow," Iain beamed. He looked at Maggie. She did not return his gaze.
"Um-hmm?" she encouraged Angus to go on.
"O' coorse, th' problem lies in th' nature o' a demon, Ah'd imagine. As a gen'ral roole, Ah nae think they've much use fer humans. I canna imagine they'd take kindly tae being order'd 'roond by some chieftain in a kilt wi' blue paint on his face. More likely, if ye succeed'd in summonin' one, he'd kill ye on the spot as soon as look at ye."
"You're right," Maggie agreed a little too enthusiastically. "You're absolutely right."
Angus smiled broadly. "Weel, thank ye, miss. Is there anythin' else you'd like tae ken?"
Iain looked at Maggie. It was her show.
Maggie smiled as kindly as she knew how. "No. No, thank you, Mr. MacCadie. You've helped more than you can know," and she shook his hand warmly in departure.
"Glad tae have helped," he called after them. "God keep ye."
Scottish Rite (Maggie Devereaux Book 1) Page 32