Voice in the Mist

by Nigel Cubbage

  “So – I saw that look on your face. What are we really going to do?” asked Rebecca.

  “An old man in the village, known as Hamish the Haddock, on account of his quite unseasonal odour, once said there is a secret passage from the Old Ruin to the Barradale estate, used in days gone by to avoid capture. Old Hamish swore blind it was there. He said it leads into a labyrinth of caves and underground rivers under Ladhar Bheinn. There are lots of caves around here, so it could well be true. If we can find it and go quickly enough, we should catch them up. They’ve got to go over the mountain top by the path. They’ll take hours while we will only have to go a fraction of the distance. But first we must find it.”

  “Right,” said Rebecca. “You start out here in the sheds and I’ll take the house.”

  Rebecca headed over the rough grass of what once was the lawn to the front door of the old house. This was now just a gap in the wall, framed by two stone columns. She entered, treading gingerly to avoid debris and fallen timbers. She found her way into the hall, from which various doorways led. The air held a dank, musty smell. Rebecca’s eye fell on a door at the far end, noticeably lower than the rest. The door was still in position, sturdy and black with a heavy bolt at the bottom. Rebecca’s first attempt to slide the bolt across was unsuccessful. It would not budge at all. She examined it as closely as the dim light would allow. It was badly rusted. Turning to seek something to help shift it, she found a pointed piece of rock. Gripping this as tightly as she could, she hit the end repeatedly until it moved and she was able to slide it the rest of the way across.

  Rebecca had to put her shoulder against the door and shove as hard as she was able. It eventually gave, with a loud scraping noise, and she forced it open wide enough to squeeze through. She was at the top of a narrow staircase. The daylight coming through the roof above her guided her down the first few steps. The interior was dim and smelt of damp and decay. After about ten steps, she reached the bottom. Rebecca’s eyes were not accustomed to the gloom and as she edged forwards, she stumbled over a low table, banging her knee. She let out a yell.

  “Rebecca.” A voice came from a few feet away. Rebecca jumped, startled.

  The gentle face of a young woman appeared out of the gloom. Rebecca was struck by the strangeness of her clothing and pale complexion.

  “Let me help you up.” The woman held out her hand. “I am Siobhan.”

  Rebecca’s mouth dropped open in utter astonishment. She reached down to steady herself, unsure whether to take the hand offered.

  “Siobhan? … tell me, are you …?”

  “I am companion to the Lady Rebecca McOwan. Don’t be alarmed, I wish you no harm. Sit, please, there is much to talk about.”

  As she spoke, all around her the room came alive. The house suddenly seemed very much still in use, with furniture and ornaments. There was outside light from somewhere. A fire crackled in the corner.

  Rebecca sat down suddenly, unable to take in what was happening.

  Was she in the presence of a … ghost? She felt herself becoming giddy.

  “How … I don’t understand …” her voice faltered and stopped. The woman rushed forward to stop her from falling and knelt beside her. Her face was very pale but her eyes were bright and reassuring.

  “Of course,” she said gently, taking Rebecca’s hand. Her hands felt strangely cool.

  “You do not understand. Let me explain. My mistress and I were imprisoned in this house by Lachlan McOwan, when he came to Rahsaig after the death of the Laird. Lachlan stole the family’s most priceless treasures. At first, my lady tried to stop him. Lachlan was never welcome at Rahsaig and the Laird left him nothing. Lachlan was a bad lot, who gambled and wasted much of their father’s money. Their father was weak and could never refuse him anything. But after his death, everything was left to Donald. He was not such a soft touch and would give his brother nothing. Lachlan secretly loved Mary, my mistress’s mother, although she wanted nothing to do with him. Donald and Lachlan fell out. There was a swordfight, in which Lachlan received a bad wound to his neck. The Laird banished him that day and put him aboard a boat with orders never to darken his doors again. Lachlan swore bloody revenge.

  He fell in with the evil McLeod on Rum and we heard little of him for a few years.

  Then, one day, he came upon the Sanctuary, the burial place of the Princess Immelda of Norway – she who perished in the loch on her wedding day. Priceless treasures were buried with her. Lachlan stole everything he could find. He took the burial mask and the beast’s collar. But he awoke the beast Hakon and his master, Knut, who vowed never to rest until these were returned. Lachlan brought all that he stole to the Manse. Most treacherous of all, though, he betrayed Robert to the English… he told them where to find Robert so that he could have Rahsaig for himself.”

  Siobhan paused, her eyes faraway.

  “My mistress knew the whole story. The Warrior and the Wolf came to her. They demanded her help. After Lachlan’s hand in poor Robert’s death, she needed no second bidding. She came upon Lachlan one night, as he was returning from the Sanctuary and confronted him. He imprisoned her and me in this remote house, to keep us from telling anybody. He told everyone she had gone mad and must be kept locked away from the rest of the world. That was not so.”

  “I knew it!” Rebecca had recovered some of her composure.

  “I knew she wasn’t mad; I knew her paintings were not those of a mad woman.”

  “We lived here for some months but my mistress could not rest. She escaped on the night of a terrible storm, intending to take a boat and go to the Marquis of Morar, to seek his help. But her flight was discovered and Lachlan and his men gave chase.”

  She paused, biting her lip.

  “Lachlan snatched her locket, in which was a picture of her mother. He pushed her off a cliff and killed her. The story was put about that she jumped, took her own life in her madness – but that is what his men were told to say. One confessed it to me.”

  “But … how come you are here … now? You died hundreds of years ago … didn’t you?”

  “After my mistress’s death, suspecting that whatever she had known, I would also know, Lachlan allowed me no food. I became weak, ill and my mortal life slipped away.”

  “... Are you a ghost?”

  “Mortality is neither the beginning nor the end. I am gone from the physical world but cannot enter the realm of the dead. My soul cannot find rest because my task is not finished.”

  “What task?”

  “I must help my lady. We must do what Hakon and Knut bid us do.”

  Rebecca’s expression was one of astonishment.

  “Becca? … she is with you here?”

  Siobhan squeezed her hand in reassurance and smiled.

  “She too is trapped until we can rid this world of Lachlan and return the treasures.”

  “Why have you chosen me? Why is Knut talking to me?” Rebecca’s tone was imploring.

  “You are a door into the mortal world because your mind is open. We can do nothing without the help of somebody from the physical realm. We inhabit the twilight, the blurred edges between the living and the dead – but belonging to neither. Yours is only one world; there are others but most mortals cannot see into them because they can only conceive of physical form.”

  “I don’t understand,” said Rebecca.

  “Our humanity touches areas of the soul, the mind, of consciousness. You can see only if your mind is open to them.”

  “Can you ever be free?”

  “Our souls are trapped and cannot find peace, nor Knut and Hakon, while the Sanctuary is disturbed. The collar and mask must be found. Thieves have stolen them again, just as Lachlan did. Only by returning them, sealing the Sanctuary and allowing the Princess and her guards to rest peacefully, can my mistress and I be allowed to go to our rest. Because you are my mistress’s descendant, because you read her journal, we know you will understand.”

  “So ... the key, the journal left
open at a particular page … that was …”

  “My Lady. The key was a test. If you were inquisitive, you would make the connection. We knew you would read the journal. If you read it and believed it, we felt sure you would want to know more. Your heart is good. You knew that something was unexplained, that something important had been left unfinished. Just as the Warrior called to my mistress in our time, so he now calls to you in your time.”

  “So Becca is the lady in the crimson dress – of course!”

  Rebecca stood up and took a few paces, trying to absorb everything and comprehend.

  “Nobody is ever going to believe this,” she shook her head. “I am speaking to a ghost!”

  “Ghost is such a melodramatic word!”

  Rebecca smiled for a moment before becoming serious again.

  “So, Lachlan discovered the Sanctuary and stole the treasures. You must know then where the entrance is?”

  “Beneath the mountain is an underground cave. One entrance is hidden among the rocks on an island on the causeway to Barradale Castle. The island is almost completely submerged when the tide comes in. Inside there is a narrow passage to a secret chamber in which the Princess was laid to rest. The caves fill with water at high tide, so you must take great care, else the waters will claim you. The secret chamber has not been entered for hundreds of years, since Lachlan discovered it.”

  Siobhan gripped Rebecca’s hands.

  “Rebecca, they must not be allowed to find the Princess.”

  “Becca! English person!” Drew’s voice reached them from somewhere above. Rebecca turned to look back up the stairs.

  “Down here, Drew!” She called. She turned back to Siobhan.

  But she found herself all alone in a damp, dark, empty room.

  CHAPTER 17 – The Sanctuary

  It took Dougie an hour to gain sufficient ground to bring the men within sight. Not only was he able to move much more quickly, since he was very fit and the artist, in particular, had seemed quite frail, but he had also used his knowledge of the country to cut off a good slice of the distance. The thieves were taking the Stalkers’ path, a circuitous route to avoid the steep southern slopes of Ladhar Bheinn. Dougie could save two or three miles by making a direct ascent of Dead Man’s Crag, from where he could scramble down the scree slopes on the Barradale side.

  Dougie was breathing quite hard from his exertions and sweating. It had turned into a very warm day. As he stood at the top of the steep-sided ridge, he could see his quarry several hundred feet lower down, still on the Rahsaig side. Over this sort of ground, at the speed they were travelling, it would take them at least an hour to draw level with him. He would have plenty of time for a rest before he would need to move on.

  He looked back down the Glen towards the Old Ruin, just visible in the distance, and wondered if Drew and Rebecca had heeded his warning to stay put. He frowned. His brother’s swift acceptance of his order had made him suspicious, although the need to follow the thieves had forced him to take Drew at his word. He hoped that the rather less impetuous Rebecca, although younger, might be a calming influence.

  A silly mistake could be dangerous.

  Dougie set his watch alarm for half an hour and sat back against a rock to take in the magnificent view of the peaks and islands of the Western Highlands, laid out like a panorama before him in the beautiful summer sunshine.

  ***

  “You’ve been talking to a spook?” Drew’s face creased into a smile of disbelief.

  “I knew you wouldn’t believe me.” Rebecca sat down on a wooden stump just inside the entrance to the Old Manse.

  “I didn’t say I didn’t believe you but it is a bit unusual, forgive me!” said Drew.

  “Siobhan the Ghost? Doubtless, some of the kooks round here will know of her.

  Where did she go?”

  “I don’t know. When I heard you calling, I looked round and when I turned back, she had gone. It was weird. I was with her one moment and the room was real. Then, nothing. Why were you calling, anyway? Have you found something?”

  Picking at a patch of moss in the wall, Drew shook his head and gave a wan smile.

  “Nope. Not a dicky. I was hoping you had. Let’s see where you found this Ghostie.”

  They retraced Rebecca’s steps down into the cold chamber. Drew produced a torch from his pocket and swept the beam around the dripping walls. The room was better preserved than the rest of the house, having benefited, presumably, from being sealed off but was, nevertheless, in a severely dilapidated state. The chair and table had deteriorated in the damp and fungi were sprouting around the walls.

  “Where’s that draught coming from?” Rebecca held out her hand, feeling a faint but steady rush of air against her arm. She turned in the direction from which it seemed to originate. A small stone seat was cut into the wall. At one end of it, Rebecca noticed a section of the stone was missing. She knelt down and put her hand against the hole. Sure enough, she could feel a strong breeze.

  “Wait a minute,” Drew was on his knees next to her. “The seat comes off, I reckon. Here, give me a hand.”

  They each grasped an end of the seat and pulled upwards. It lifted easily. Drew shone his torch inside, revealing a narrow stone staircase leading downwards into the dark. A rush of cold air filled their nostrils. They leaned the lid of the seat against the wall.

  “Haddock, you old devil you! It’s a tunnel all right. The mad old fool wasn’t making it up after all!”

  “But here, in the very room where Siobhan spoke to me – funny she did not mention it.”

  “Maybe didn’t know it was here. You said they were prisoners.”

  Drew looked up and smiled widely. “Ready to explore?”

  Rebecca’s eyes sparkled in the torchlight. She nodded eagerly. Not hesitating, Drew climbed over the edge of the seat. The steps stretched down into blackness.

  “Here, I brought yours,” he said, holding out a second torch to Rebecca. As he disappeared into the narrow aperture, Rebecca followed, over the sill and down.

  After about thirty steps, they emerged into a natural corridor. Their torches lit up walls made up of layer upon layer of stone strata, a mass of colours. Water was dripping somewhere close by. Progress was slow, as the passageway frequently narrowed. In some places they could barely squeeze between the cold, slimy walls. The ceiling at times was very low, necessitating some uncomfortable squatting down and shuffling along.

  Rebecca was glad she was not claustrophobic. As she played her torch beam along the jagged walls, she was awestruck to think that they were now somewhere deep inside mighty Ladhar Bheinn, its one thousand metres towering over them, the weight of a mountain crushing down on them.

  She shivered, imagining unseen eyes staring from the blackness, the spirits of people from long ago. Nobody would hear their cries down here.

  “Not exactly giants in days gone by were they?” said Drew, a slight edge of exasperation creeping into his voice, as he scraped his knee for the third time in as many minutes.

  “How did that tall fellow Hugo ever get through here?”

  “Podgy Sibley would get stuck!” said Rebecca, grateful for the chance to break the silence. They noise of their laughter echoed. They rounded a sharp turn into a much larger chamber, where their torches picked out long stalactites hanging menacingly above their heads. Suddenly Drew halted abruptly, causing Rebecca to crash into him.

  “Water.” Drew’s torch illuminated a small lake. The surface was black and glassy.

  “I wonder how far it goes,” said Rebecca, clambering to the edge of the lake and shining her torch ahead. The passage veered away from the water about twenty metres further along. At this point, they could see that the lake was much larger and stretched round into another, even bigger chamber.

  “Are we about to find the Princess’s grave?” asked Drew.

  “Not according to Siobhan,” said Rebecca. “She said the Sanctuary is on an island in Loch Hourn, halfway across the causew
ay.”

  “But Becca’s journal said the entrance was between a grave and a sword, didn’t it? How can that be in the middle of a causeway? It doesn’t sound very likely.”

  Rebecca shrugged. “The journal hasn’t been wrong so far,” she said. “Come on – let’s see where this passage comes out. How far do you think we’ve come?”

  “I’d say the best part of a mile. According to the Haddock, the passageway leads into a labyrinth of tunnels and underground rivers. They say that over the centuries men got lost down here and never came out.”

  “Oh great – now he tells me!” growled Rebecca.

  “If you listen closely, you can probably hear the anguished cries of long-lost clansmen, begging to be freed from this living hell in the bowels of the earth!”

  “Enough, Campbell! It’s not funny if you’ve brought us down here and got us lost.”

  ***

  Dougie was watching the men from a vantage point high on Dead Man’s Crag. Several hundred feet lower down, they were following a small burn down through the rocks and hillocks. Dougie could keep an eye on them and remain well hidden. Way below, the edge of the Barradale estate was marked by a forest, which would provide sufficient cover to remain unobserved to the shore of the loch.

  The men struggled to carry the pictures. Although they were too far away to be heard, the artist did not seem to have stopped waving his arms about since they left the Old Ruin.

  Barradale Castle stood on a barren, unwelcoming island, a few hundred metres from the shore. Its sheer grey walls were broken by narrow apertures, through which bowmen had once rained down arrows upon their foes. The castle was small and square, only fifteen rooms in total, but its history was long and colourful. Built in 1312, it had seen bloody confrontations and battles, as clans fought each other to possess it. It was completely cut off at high tide and could only be reached in safety for a few hours each day around low tide. After this, the causeway quickly submerged under dangerous currents sweeping up the loch. Many an enemy had floundered in the tides over the centuries

  The glorious weather of the morning was now gone and Dougie felt a few spots of rain. He moved quickly. His path would bring him out near the causeway. There was no road, the causeway simply extending from a rough track by the shore as it had done since the days of horseback. The tide was on the ebb. If the men were bound for the castle, they must intend to spend the night. That meant he could return for Drew and Rebecca, camp by the shore and keep watch from the safety of the trees.