Born of Fire

by Kella McKinnon

  And where was Angus? For a moment she thought about shouting his name to see if he was within ear-shot, maybe in another room in the broch, but she quickly thought better of it. She could only hope he was okay, because it hurt to think of him tied up like she was. Angus wouldn’t understand what was happening.

  She tested the ropes for what must have been the hundredth time, but they still held, grating against her already chaffed and stinging wrists. Bridei apparently meant to make her suffer a little, and that made her angry, since she hadn’t even done anything wrong. She was here by accident, not choice. If she had guessed for even a second that there were actually instructions for time travel in that old trunk, and that Angus could read them, she would have put a stop to things long ago. As she closed her eyes and rested her head against the beam, Nessa could almost see Angus in his little room, working feverishly on his calculations.

  She sighed as she stared at the piles of open books and papers covered with illegible scribblings that were littering the small room, covering every available surface as well as most of the floor. On top of the mess there were scattered rocks and pieces of wood, along with a few other incongruous objects. There was nothing to be done but watch and wait and see what, if anything, would come of it all. She knew the other people in town whispered about him, but she was fiercely protective of her uncle. After all, Angus would soon be all the family she had in this world, and the only one who shared the weight of her secrets.

  It had taken root more than ten years ago, this mad quest of equations and gadgets, when a blow to the head by a falling tree branch had left Angus so close to death that she and Gram had sat by his bedside, holding their breath. After three long days, he had woken up, and Nessa had sighed out that breath in relief. She would not be alone in the world, at least not yet. Uncle Angus had never been quite the same, though what he had lost in lucidity he seemed to make up for in a way that had baffled her in the beginning, but she had quickly grown to accept. Uncle Angus had never been a bit eccentric, to be honest, even before the accident. But after he woke up from that coma he began…calculating things. What, exactly, she wasn’t sure. And she had no way of knowing if any of the pages upon pages of figures he produced meant anything at all, but the sheer number of those pages was impressive.

  “Angus?” she called from the doorway. He appeared from behind a stack of books, holding a half-empty bag of potato chips, one of which was dangling out of his mouth. She wrinkled up her nose. “If you don’t stop eating junk food and actually consume some vegetables, I’m going to be peeling your dead body off that floor one day.”

  He waved a hand at her dismissively. “Phhht. We all die someday.”

  “I’m going to visit Gram, do you want to come with?”

  “Can’t. I have way too much to do.”

  The sudden sound of voices outside the door startled her from her memories and she quickly held her breath in order to hear them better.

  “Bridei has forbidden entrance to anyone else today”, said a man with a deep, gruff voice. Probably a guard posted outside the room. If she’d known he was there, she might have called to him. Maybe he would have talked to her and she could have learned something useful. And maybe he could have scooted that sheepskin rug under her aching rear end.

  The next voice was feminine, melodic, and very comforting. Maternal.

  “Nonsense, Dru, you know I’m an exception to the rule. He would want me to speak with the lass. He already sent for me, but I was away in Oran, attending a birth. I just returned not an hour ago.”

  The guard mumbled something that Nessa couldn’t make out, then the door opened with a creak and a whoosh of air, and the woman all but glided into the room. She was tall and graceful. Only her stark white hair and a few wrinkles around her eyes gave away her age. She was dressed in a long, red gown of sorts, belted at the waist. The buckle of the belt was golden, and in the shape of what could have either been a dragon or a sea serpent. More gold hung from the belt in the form of shining chains. It was obvious that she was either wealthy or important…or perhaps both.

  The woman’s gaze landed on Nessa, where she was still bound to the pole in the center of the room, mere inches from the sheepskin, and a world away from the comfy looking bed near the window. Nessa shifted her weight and watched her warily—hopefully—waiting for the woman to speak. She desperately needed someone on her side if she was going to eventually escape and get home to Gram before she passed. The nurses had said it could be any time now. Thinking about Gram made the ever-present panic buzz closer to the surface, so she ruthlessly shoved all thoughts of home to the back of her mind. Instead, she decided to concentrate on learning anything she could from her visitor.

  The woman crouched down to look at her more closely, touching her cheek softly. “Ah, but you’re lovely”, she said with a gentle smile. “I am Meara. Welcome, lass.”

  Nessa wasn’t quite sure what to say in return. Meara had said ‘welcome’ as if she had just arrived at a dinner party and they were old friends that hadn’t seen each other in a long time.

  She raised an eyebrow. “I’m tied to a post. I don’t think that really says ‘welcome’.” She pulled at the ropes to demonstrate. “Will you untie me? Please?”

  Meara shook her head, her lips turning down in a sympathetic frown. “I can’t. But I’m sure he’ll untie you, eventually.”

  “Who? Bridei?”

  She nodded. “The King is very cautious, especially these days. Your appearance was unexpected. Unforeseen, even by me.” She paused, resting a thumb thoughtfully on her chin. “Well, no. That’s not entirely true.” She moved to Nessa’s side, raising her hand to finger a strand of her long, sun-streaked hair. “You have the coloring of the Gaels, or perhaps the Britons. Where did I hear you are from?”

  “Fife?” Damn, she hadn’t meant for it to come out as a question. “Fife”, she said more firmly, trying to sound more certain.

  The woman looked bemused. “Ah yes, Fife. So you’ve come a long way.”

  If only you knew, Nessa thought. “What’s going to happen to me?” The question almost stuck in her throat. She’d had lots of time to think, tied to this post for hours, and the way she saw it, she would either be released after the misunderstanding—because she was not a spy—was cleared up, or they would end up punishing her because it wasn’t cleared up. Bridei wasn’t known for his friendliness or his mercy; that much was in the records.

  Tears threatened, tightening the back of her throat. Nessa swallowed hard. “I don’t want to die. I don’t deserve to die. I haven’t done anything. Me being here at all is just an accident.”

  Meara smiled and smoothed her hair back from her face, just the way her grandmother always had when she was upset. Nessa fought the sudden urge to lean into her touch and take comfort where she could.

  “Ah lass, you won’t die. Not for a very long time.”

  Nessa sniffed. “How do you know that? Do you believe me?”

  “I do”, Meara said. “I can see that you mean no harm.”

  She closed her eyes with relief. The threat of tears slowly subsided and she rallied her courage again. “But I still have to convince the King”, she said quietly.

  Meara stroked her cheek with the tip of a finger, and Nessa gave in to her impulse, leaning into her hand like a small child. She didn’t understand why exactly—this woman was a stranger—but maybe she was just in desperate need of succor. Her world, after all, was currently in the process of reeling out of control.

  “Were you happy?” Meara asked suddenly, “Truly happy, before you came to be here?”

  Nessa was startled by the incongruity of the question, but she found herself giving it real thought anyway. Happy? Was she? She had the farm. She had Nathan, whom she loved. She took care of Angus by herself, but she never really minded. She was losing Gram, but age takes everyone, eventually. Mourning someone doesn’t equal unhappiness. She should have been happy.

  “The truth, dear heart”, Meara
crooned next to ear, and her mind felt…strange. As if something was tugging at it from outside her head.

  The truth was, she had been restless for a very long time. Nathan was wonderful, but sometimes she secretly wondered if they were really meant to be together. The farm…she loved the farm, and she was genuinely excited about the farm-to-table vegetable business she was starting up. But, despite all of it, there was still an emptiness somewhere. A slightly hollow feeling in her heart telling her that there was supposed to be more. She just didn’t know what that more was.

  She looked up at Meara, confusion in her eyes. What was this woman doing to her, to make her doubt everything she thought she knew? “I don’t know”, she said quietly.

  “You will.”

  The soft tugging abruptly stopped, and her mind felt like her own again. “How do you know that? How could you possibly know anything about me?”

  Meara smiled. “Ah, child. We live in a world that is endless, it stretches forever outward, just as our own mind stretches forever in. There are no limits to the possibilities of either, only the limits we place there ourselves.”

  No limits to the possibilities of the human mind. Angus had certainly showed her that. Angus.

  She sat up straighter. “Do you know where my uncle is?” she asked. “Is he alright?”

  “He’s fine.”

  “I’m all he has—I take care of him. Can I see him?”

  “Soon, I’m sure. I’ve just seen him myself. He’s chattering on to some of the women about being from the future and coming to stop an invasion by some tribe to the north.”

  Nessa almost groaned out loud. He was going to get them both killed. “I’m sorry, please ignore him. Do the women know he’s…um…not quite right? They don’t believe him, do they?”

  Meara gave her an oddly knowing look. “I’m sure they don’t. Rest easy now lass, I’ll see you again soon.”

  Nessa watched as the woman turned and walked out of the room without another word or backward glance. She almost felt as if Meara knew exactly who she was and where she’d come from, although that would be impossible. Wouldn’t it? Still, there was something…otherworldly about her.

  And oh god, Angus was blithely chattering away about everything, not understanding the importance of hiding the truth. Thank goodness everyone seemed to think he was crazy. And at least now she knew he was ok.

  Although Meara had calmed her a bit with her warmth and kind demeanor, Nessa’s tiny thread of optimism began to sink like a stone in the mud as soon as she was alone with her thoughts again. It was going to be hard enough to escape this whole mess on her own, but how on earth was she going to get Angus away too?

  She took a deep breath and tried to stay calm and clear-headed. But if Nessa had known about the things she was going to see that very night, any sense of calm she felt would have disappeared on the salty sea breeze.

  “Well? Do you want to have her killed tonight with the others?” Namet stood before him, waiting for his answer.

  Bridei was eating his dinner. Or at least he was trying to. This was the fourth interruption he’d had to endure since he’d sat down. “No. I need to know who she is first, and who she answers to. There is too much at stake not to know each and every one of my enemies, large or small.” He paused, chewing thoughtfully. “She could be completely innocent, of course.” But maybe that was wishful thinking. The lass’s fathomless green eyes told him nothing except that she was lying.

  “Or she could have been sent to seduce you into telling your secrets. Or to poison you.” Namet always argued the other side. It was one of his many roles as chief counselor to the King.

  “Then why would the old man be with her? He certainly does not put one in the mind of seduction. Wouldn’t she have come alone, if that was the plan? Played on our sympathies as a woman lost and by herself?” He shook his head, taking another bite of food from the carved wooden bowl. He could have dined from golden plates, of course, but he preferred simpler things. “I need to know more. Bring her to the fires tonight. I would have her see what happens to those who cross me. Perhaps then she will talk. And Namet…”

  “Yes?”

  Bridei pointed his spoon at him with narrowed eyes. “I would never be seduced by any woman. Know that.”

  He wouldn’t have anyone, even his most trusted counselor, thinking he could be weakened in any way. Especially not by feminine wiles. He had had women throwing themselves at him since the day he’d become King, even before that, and never once had he let one touch his heart. Never for a moment had he been ruled by lust or need. He was always in control. He was King.

  The old warrior’s mouth curled up at one corner just a little as he nodded. He had been around long enough to know that sometimes a woman came along that a man had no hope of walking away from. Even being a king didn’t make one immune to matters of the heart.

  It was dark.

  The sun had set some time ago, leaving her sitting in near pitch blackness, still tied to the post. At one point, she’d had to pee so badly that she’d resorted to calling to the guard outside her door. He’d begrudgingly brought her the chamber pot from under the bed and untied one of her hands so she could use it. He had at least had the decency to turn his back.

  Now, as she watched the faint glow of a rising moon slowly fill the room, her mood was wavering between angsty terror and bold resolve, and the rollercoaster of emotion was making her dizzy and a little nauseous. In the morning, she would have been here a full twenty-four hours, and someone at home would have definitely noticed her missing. Nathan. Certainly he would have started worrying by now. In her mind, she saw his face, handsome and kind. Sparkling blue eyes and sandy blonde hair. He cared so much about her, and guilt flowed through her at how she had treated him recently; keeping him at a distance and never fully letting him into her life. She could have agreed to marry him instead of constantly putting him off. He was a wonderful man. What had she been waiting for? He was probably out looking for her right now, desperate and concerned, and she hadn’t even been able to give him the one thing he wanted from her: a commitment. A life together. She would manage to get home somehow, and when she did, she would finally let Nathan move in to the old farmhouse with her. Maybe they would even get engaged. Maybe…

  She saw the flicker under the door a moment before it opened, throwing sudden light into the darkness of the room. The silhouette of a man stood there with a small torch in his hand, which he placed in the holder on the wall just inside the doorway. She sighed with relief at the dancing flame. She never did care for darkness. It had always felt suffocating somehow.

  The man came towards her, stepping into the light so that she could see him. He was older, perhaps nearing seventy, but still handsome, with the muscular build and proud stance of a warrior. And he was well dressed, if the gold ornaments around his neck and woven into his long, graying hair were any indication. The dark tattoos gracing his cheeks were slightly sunken and marred with wrinkles, but gave him a formidable appearance none-the-less. Nessa watched him as if her life depended on it. Was he friend or foe?

  He squatted on the floor at her side, reaching for the ties at her wrists, but never once looked at her face. “I am Namet”, he told her brusquely. “The King has sent me to fetch you. He wants you at this evening’s fire ceremonies.”

  “What kind of ceremonies?” she asked, with her heart picking up its pace. She always liked to know what she was facing. Fertility rites? A wedding? A funeral? Namet made short work of the knots, and in a few seconds her hands were free. She rubbed her wrists and rolled her shoulders. How many hours had she been tied up? It felt like days.

  “You’ll see soon enough.” He stood, reaching a hand toward her.

  She took it, and he pulled her abruptly to her feet, then put both of his hands on her shoulders, forcing her to look at him. His eyes seemed to search her face for some kind of truth. They were dark pools, the black pupils reflecting the light from the torch. “You’d best be careful
, lass, should you have any ill intentions toward the king. We are a loyal lot, and would kill anyone who would harm him or even his good name.”

  He must have just been giving her fair warning, because he didn’t wait for her to answer. Wrapping a big, rough hand around her arm, he steered her into the hallway, down the flights of stairs which were lit by several torches attached to the wall, and across the main room. No one else was around, and only a small fire burned lazily in the hearth, throwing off barely enough light to see by.

  Namet silently led her out the door and into the night, which was lit by more stars than she had ever seen before. The sky was ablaze with them, and the Milky Way meandered through them all like an ephemeral cloud. The smell of wood smoke filled her nostrils along with the brisk night air, and she could see fires burning in the distance, on the cliff near the sea. Dozens of figures moved around, small human-shaped shadows in front of the flames. As they got closer, she could hear the sound of their voices, a low buzz of excitement and anticipation.

  The crowd was palpably restless, as if waiting for a show to begin that promised to be the very best in entertainment. There was a half circle of perhaps twenty fires; the one at the center much larger than the rest. They burned with a roar and the crackling sound of sparks flying up with the rising heat until they got lost among the many stars.

  Though the air was chilly, she could feel the heat of the fires on her skin as they got closer, passing to the front of the crowd. At the center of the half circle, just in front of the largest fire, there was a small wooden platform with what reminded her of an altar standing on top. It was a much darker color than the wood of the platform, which was made of rough-hewn logs stripped of their bark. She could still smell the acrid smoke of the fires, but now there was something else too; an unfamiliar, almost herbal scent hanging in the air. Maybe they were throwing some sort of incense on the fires. Fire was—is—she reminded herself, very important in Pictish rituals. It cleansed. It told truth. It gave life, and protected it. Her wary gaze skimmed the crowd. What kind of ritual was happening tonight?