The Fairy Mound

by Rory B. Byrne

  I felt the joy of branding my identity. It was kind of cool. It was better than a regular surname.

  Ghillie Dhu was unlike any person I had met before. He was openly kind, and whatever he did to my arm was nothing short of miraculous. We didn’t spend a lot of time talking. Two strangers waiting through the day, the shared company was a lot better than loneliness.

  “I don’t know how to repay you,” I said.

  I leaned on my elbow close to the overwhelming cloak Ghillie wore. It gathered around him and spread over the floor like a living, plant-like blanket.

  “I require no debt,” he said. His face serene, his gray eyes were wide and sympathetic.

  I pulled the dagger from the pocket of my jacket. Ghillie looked at it in my hands. I rolled it over to see the carvings in the firelight.

  “A guy I met here gave this to me. Alasdair,” I said. “He’s from Clan Slora. You must know him.”

  Ghillie reached for the dagger. I didn’t pull away. If he took the blade in repayment for the meal, I wouldn’t stop him.

  “It is a very old dirk.” His voice sounded as if filtered through gravel. “There is much magic in its weight. It will serve you well.”

  “Alasdair said it belonged to his mother. I don’t think he wanted me out here without a weapon.”

  Ghillie nodded. He pulled the blade from the cover, examining the black metal. Ghillie sheathed the knife and handed it back to me. “He is a great man who bestowed such a gift.”

  “You know Alasdair, right?”

  “I know not of who you speak,” he said.

  “He’s with the clan,” I said. There was a sting of panic. I sat up, distancing myself from Ghillie. “You’re with Clan Slora, right?”

  Ghillie shook his head for an answer.

  “Where are you from?”

  He wasn’t one of the raiders, not at that age or functionality.

  “I have no clan,” Ghillie said. His eyes narrowed, staring at me. “Much like you,” he added.

  “Do you know where I’m from?”

  “No, but I know your kind.”

  “My kind?” I repeated.

  “You are from another land.”

  It was another of his impossible feats, like healing my arm and cooking out of thin air. Ghillie Dhu was full of surprises.

  “You are a traveler. I have met other travelers over time. You are here for a reason.”

  “I feel like I’m dreaming, but I’m wide awake.”

  I stared at the cloak around Ghillie. The firelight danced off the fabric. The cloth had healing properties. It didn’t follow the natural order of things. In the shimmering light, the fabric draped over Ghillie’s thin frame looked as if it moved, and the rough mossy material swayed with the flickering flames.

  I scrutinized where the fabric touched the ground. It looked rooted. The sod floor clung to it. When Ghillie moved within the cloak, the substance held, still growing into the soil. The closer I looked, the more I saw the earthly roots, delicate tendrils no thicker than human hair clinging to the floor.

  “Long ago, men came to the lands from far away. They came to conquer. They marched into our lands, and Nicneven slew them. It weakened the queen. She retreated to the caverns and healed. When men came again, she sent the Black Hand to slew them again.”

  His words were no louder than whispers. It was like a ghost story or secrets Ghillie wasn’t supposed to share.

  “Nicneven?” I asked.

  “She rules this land. She has dispersed her minions to cull men.”

  “She’s the queen?”

  I didn’t think Scotland had a queen. Other than Mary, Queen of Scots, or Mary Stewart, whatever her name was, I didn’t know a lot of history. But I saw a few movies. I considered whatever time I landed. It was a lot earlier than the 1700s. They didn’t have horses, not that I saw anywhere. I don’t know if Scotland had native horses or if the English brought them when they invaded. When was that, the 1200s or something?

  “She is the queen, but not of men.” The ambiguity of the statement made me yawn. It wasn’t intentional; I managed to stifle it with my hand.

  “You have done so much for me today, Ghillie. I feel I need to repay you.” I dug the dagger from my jacket and extended my arm. “It’s all I got to give, but you can have it. It’s the least I can do for fixing my hand.”

  Ghillie Dhu’s eyebrows furrowed so deep his gray eyes vanished in wooly white. He seemed satisfied with my offer. His hand appeared from the cloak. It extended out as if growing from the fabric. I dropped the dagger into his bony palm.

  “It’s a dirk?” I asked. “I’ll have to remember that.”

  I saw Ghillie looking at the white streak in my hair. It made me self-conscious. I touched the strands.

  “I know, it’s weird,” I said. “It happened when I got here, I think. I hope it doesn’t get worse.”

  His eyes turned down and peered at the carved handle and intricate cover of the dirk.

  Ghillie looked up from the dagger in his hand. Through the beard, I saw the widest smile. Then Ghillie Dhu sunk into the floor of the chieftain’s hut. The cloak dug into the earth, leaving no trace of the fabric or the man. Only the dirk remained on the floor.

  I spun and staggered to my feet, backing away from where he disappeared. I looked at my feet, expecting the floor to give way and swallow me like it did Ghillie Dhu.

  I wasn’t spending the night in that hut. I didn’t want to run out into the dark. And I wasn’t going without my dirk. I waited, holding my breath, expecting something—anything extraordinary and unnerving.

  When the twigs in the fire crackled, I yelped. Then I felt silly with my hands over my mouth. I eventually got the courage to grab the dagger, and I carried a few burning embers from the fireplace back to the hut where I’d spent the night. I decided to leave the hamlet, or campsite, the rustic motel in the middle of nowhere. I had to wait until morning. I had to wait out the night.

  Crossing the open area, the night felt like slimy fingers pulling at my heels. I looked into the black hillside and saw something that looked like glowing, arctic eyes staring at me. I ran to the hut and pushed shut the door. It wasn’t much of a barrier, but it helped keep out my creeping fears.

  Shadow Army

  Constable James Abernathy arrived that Thursday with a smile and a cup of tea for Alice. The Vauxhall Astra had a warm interior to escape such a miserable morning. He waited for Alice to sip at the drink before they went anywhere. Having trouble making a decision, Alice realized she didn’t know what to do next.

  “Spinning your wheels,” she said. The lid to the paper cup brushed her lips as she spoke.

  “Sorry, what?” Abernathy asked.

  “Something my Dad sometimes said, ‘Look at you, spinning your wheels.’ I think he meant I wanted to move but wasn’t going anywhere.”

  Abernathy looked out the windshield. The distorted street from the smearing rain gave their presence an otherworldly view.

  “Westland says I need to close this case by Monday. I have to return to resume my duties in Edinburgh.” Alice glanced at Abernathy. “I don’t know what to do. We need a search warrant to get into Equinox warehouses.”

  “We don’t need one to drive on the property.”

  Alice considered that. “It’s bold. If someone’s about, maybe we can have a conversation. Do you know MacIomhair or anyone who works inside?”

  “They shut down the place years ago,” Abernathy said. He pulled away from the curb and accelerated down the street. When he braked at the street sign, the Astra veered right, heading down the narrow lane toward the property. “MacIomhair made a lot of promises, from what I hear. He got what he wanted and brought in outside laborers and contractors to finish the construction inside the gates. Then something happened, and the whole place went quiet.”

  Ali
ce stared at the passing shrubbery. It looked green and blurry through the passenger window. “Was this the same time as Phoebe Biel’s disappearance?”

  “I don’t know, maybe. I don’t know much about that. But there wasn’t a direct connection to her leaving Scotland and Equinox, nothing on the books anyway.”

  “We’re at an end here, James. I don’t understand why the resistance from Westland. I know if it were my kids, I’d be beating down every door in the neighborhood.”

  “Do you have kids?” Abernathy asked.

  “No, never had time.” She looked at his profile while he concentrated on the road. “You?”

  Abernathy shook his head. Alice swallowed a deep draft of hot tea. They were broaching personal territory. She didn’t have time for romance. Her father warned her never to mix personal relationships and work, especially with police officers. She chose the career; Alice needed someone who wasn’t involved in the same field of work. Besides, Alice entertained briefly, Abernathy lived in Inverness. She lived in Edinburgh. It’d never work with the distance, would it?

  The entrance to Equinox Technologies had a natural barrier with the steep hills running along the roadway until they dipped low enough for the turn onto the property. On both sides of the broad paved private road sat the high chain-link fence that surrounded the car. Other than the direct gate, access to the estate wasn’t easily accessible.

  “Oh, what is this?” Abernathy said.

  They followed the road to its end at a sharp switchback. The car abruptly stopped. The gatehouse and gate had several men wearing military-style clothing.

  Alice scanned each of the men for sidearms or slung carbines. She didn’t see any weapons or holsters. But the stern and professional faces that glared at the police cruiser told her these men knew how to handle guns.

  One man among the others looked pleasant. He wore a standout uniform of an olive drab long-sleeve shirt that showed off the definition of his chest. The black military boots had cuffs of the BDU pants tucked into the tops. The MultiCam baseball cap had a low profile. Even with the dreary weather, he still wore tactical sunglasses.

  Abernathy pulled up to the gate. The guard approached the driver’s side window.

  “Can we help you, officers?”

  “This is PC Abernathy, and I’m PI Lemont.” Alice flashed her credentials.

  “Let them through,” the guy called from inside the gate. He waved at the guard.

  The chain-link fence rolled back, opening to the Astra. Abernathy pulled into the compound. There was a smile on the man’s face. Alice noticed that he was chewing gum. She rolled down the window on her side of the car. He bent to look inside and pressed the sunglasses down, so Alice saw his pretty-boy sable eyes.

  “Hello, Inspector Lemont,” he said. “What brings you to Equinox?”

  “That’s interesting,” she said. “Can you read lips, or do you have sharp hearing from this distance?”

  He chuckled. “Well, I like to know who’s around when I’m on duty. What can we do for the police?”

  “We’re looking for the lost American girls.”

  He nodded. His smile carved dimples in his lean face. There was an air of superiority about him that made Alice feel icky.

  “What’s your name, Sir?” she asked.

  His face changed, downturned lips in a pout. “Oh, see, I thought we’d be polite professionals here.”

  “Are you a professional?” she asked. Her question appeared to sting him. “Your name?”

  “Inspector Lemont, I know you’re interested in searching the property. You think we’ve got two American girls tied up inside the warehouse.”

  “Do you?” she asked.

  The earthmoving equipment chirped as it backed up, while another large bulldozer revved and rolled around to face the area of hillside that interceded with the exterior wall of the curved building. They were making modifications to the property. It was the worksite that made it easy for someone to hide bodies under tons of soil or poured concrete.

  It wasn’t about letting the guy monologue; it was about maintaining the conversation. Every time Alice interrupted the guy, she saw him tick. He didn’t like it. Before he spoke again, Alice saw him take a deep breath. He bent down and grabbed the door to the Astra. His hands inches from Alice’s shoulder, she saw his fingers blanch when he squeezed the door. She smelled spearmint on his breath.

  “Mr. MacIomhair is interested in keeping the peace with the community. He’s assured your supervisors that those missing girls—Amy Miller and Harper Biel, was it? They’re not here. And considering you’re here now, on private property, either you have a search warrant, or you’re trespassing. Which is it, Inspector Lemont?”

  “You do know you’re speaking to an officer of the law, mate. How about I—” Alice paused, pressing her hand on Abernathy’s arm. He quieted, but it was a brewing defense.

  The guy’s thin black eyebrows rose above the mirrored sunglasses. The dimples appeared again as he let go of the door and stood up. The smugness filled the space between him and Alice.

  “If you’re all set here, Inspector, we’ve got a lot of work to do, as you can see.” He spread his arms.

  The crews behind and around him worked with purpose. They had shipping containers, extra fuel cans, and revving ATVs and UTVs racing around the interior compound. It was a long way to the doors inside the Quonset huts. It wasn’t happening that day, or possibly ever.

  “Let us know if we can be of service to the Scotland police,” he said. He waggled his fingers at Alice and Abernathy. “Bye. Bye.”

  While Abernathy drove out of the compound, Alice had to endure him swearing under his breath and twisting the steering wheel. She stared at the place where the stranger grabbed the door to get close to her.

  “Pull off the road over there,” Alice said.

  Abernathy found a flat roadside area that faced the valley to the firth. Sheep wandered in the field near the farmer’s fence.

  “You got your kit in the boot?” she asked.

  Alice got out of the car. Abernathy opened the trunk. Alice turned the tackle box and opened it. Every proper officer had a forensic field kit. Abernathy was no exception. She selected the appropriate fingerprint dust and the collection tape.

  “Been a while since I did this,” she said.

  Alice set to work dusting the area on the door where the stranger’s fingers touched inside the car. She lifted a clear latent print from the door. Abernathy watched Alice retrieve her smartphone from the pocket of her jacket. She opened the biometric identification app. Using the copy and white card background, the app scanned the print.

  “That’s a nifty tool,” Abernathy said.

  “Well, it’s only as good as what’s in the database. If that jerk’s not in the system—got you,” she said. Alice held up the smartphone for Abernathy.

  “Cole Fraser,” he read. “What’s a private military contractor doing in Scotland?”

  “Yup, my thoughts exactly,” Alice said. She pocketed the phone.

  “You think that’s enough to expedite the warrant?”

  “We don’t have anything more than MacIomhair hiring additional security for the property.”

  “But what was that all about? It looked like they were getting ready for some safari.”

  “Brian MacIomhair has a lot of money and a lot of secrets. He’s hiding something in that place.”

  “You mean more than the fairy mound?” Abernathy asked.

  Alice shook her head. “What’s all that about? I need to find the girls, not talk about fairy tales.”

  “It’s a thing around here is all,” Abernathy said. “You hear the stories. We know the property. I told you about my Dad. The fairy mound was something important to the culture here. MacIomhair took it away. Maybe he’s excavated the site.”

  “What wa
s it like before they put those humped buildings there?”

  “It was like a big grassy lump in the middle of the field. It was the kind of place perfect for winter sledding. Only, none of the kids went there. No one I know was brave enough to get on the hill.”

  Alice shook her head. “It’s amazing what perpetuated stories can do to an isolated society.”

  “I think I should take offense to that,” Abernathy said.

  There was a smile waiting for Alice when she looked at him. The sky opened, and the sun peeked out across the valley all the way to the water.

  “Something’s going on inside that place,” Alice said. “I don’t think they have the girls there because there’s too much activity. But I know, I feel it in my gut that Brian MacIomhair and Simon Hinton both know something they’re not telling.”

  “Why not talk to Hinton again?” Abernathy asked. “He might talk to you because, you know.”

  Alice frowned at the constable. “Because, why?”

  “Well, you’re pretty, you know.”

  Alice felt a burst of heat in her chest that flushed her face with embarrassment. “That’s not going to get by the company solicitors. But thank you for the compliment.”

  “It doesn’t need to be about the lawyers,” Abernathy said. “Go talk to him in the hospital. See if he’s doing well. Make up something about you knowing someone disfigured on the job. Let him know he’s still a man even without an arm.”

  Alice frowned, then snickered at the idea. “What, you think Simon Hinton’s feeling inadequate because he’s lost an arm?”

  “Don’t know,” Abernathy said. “Depends on which arm, I suppose.”

  “Ew.” Alice stared at the distant shimmering water. “I think Monday will come, and I’ll go back to the city, and we won’t find those girls.” She looked at Abernathy. “Simon Hinton checked out of the hospital yesterday. I had a PC monitoring for me.”

  “Do you know where he went?”

  “No, but according to the PC, one of the practitioners went with him to assist in his recovery.”