Highland Tales Series Box Set

by Rory B. Byrne

  Alice wanted to protest. She tried to roll onto her back, to push away the old lady. Instead, she had to tolerate the strips of cold black slim-soaked rags draped over her back.

  Alice grimaced as Marcia placed the strips on her back and legs. Dying from infection took more time than dying in a fire.

  “You are a brave warrior,” Marcia said. “You fought to the end, you did.”

  “But your family, I couldn’t get to them.”

  “Aye lass, you cannot get to them because they were not in the house.”

  “I don’t understand.”

  Marcia went back to the rocking chair. The clarity of the room came to Alice. The tea had medicinal qualities, the same as the slime strips. She felt better, her head clearer. Her vision sharpened, and her mind soothed. She saw Marcia watching her from a few feet away. The old woman put a cigarette in her thin papery mouth and lit it. A raw spark erupted from her fingertip, and Marcia touched it to the end of the tobacco.

  “I know you have questions. Normally, you get no answers. Now, I fear you need some answers if you are going to help Beth and Rory.” There was a cloud of gray smoke swirling around Marcia’s head in the dimly lit bedroom.

  “They’re alive? They’re okay?”

  Marcia nodded. “I say alive ahead of ‘okay.’ The Weatherspoons were not in the home when they set it to the blaze. I got there in time to help you, but I cannot get to the mound. There are too many, even for me.”

  “I don’t understand, Marcia. I don’t know what you mean.”

  “Aye, lass, you are going to need to know a few things before you help the others. But before you can do anything, you must heal. I do not have caoineag spit, but I have enough healing herbs to help you along. I fear you’ll keep the scars, but you’ll have your life.”

  “Thank you for saving me,” Alice whispered. “I don’t know how you managed it.”

  Marcia chuckled. “I still have some tricks. I still have some strength in these old bones.”

  Alice lay on her stomach, her face against the soft mattress. The smell of wet earth filled her sinuses. It reminded Alice of something ancient, something primeval. The bedroom looked more like a collection of antique furnishings, sparse, but close together, so one didn’t need to move around a lot to get from the bed to the dresser. The rocking chair took up a lot of space in front of the wall. Alice didn’t see the door, but it hurt too much to turn her head.

  “You lost some of your hair, but you lost much of your hide. It will take time to heal. I do not know how much time we have before they breach the gate. Now they have Rory and Beth, and it may not be long.”

  “Please, Marcia. I don’t understand. Help me understand what you mean.” Alice took a breath. There was a catch at the end, like acid reflux burning her throat.

  Marcia saw her wince. The old woman heaved her substantial bulk from the chair and retrieved the teapot again. She carried the ceramic kettle and refilled the mug. It went down colder, smoother that time. Whatever was in the tea, it made Alice feel better. She took another deep breath, and the catch didn’t happen at the end.

  “You got a bit of the Elphame in you, lass. I can tell. You heal faster than the tutelary. We may be in time to stop them from opening the gate.”

  “Please, Marcia,” Alice whispered. It exasperated her. The cryptic and bewildering talk sounded foreign and familiar at the same time. Some of what the old woman said had touches of Gaelic. Much of it seemed English, but Alice didn’t know a lot about her heritage, and Gaelic wasn’t part of a secondary language at the university. “Please, just tell me. What’s going on?”

  The rocking chair creaked on the warped floorboards. The sound lasted for a while, as Marcia contemplated Alice’s request. She puffed on the cigarette to the filterless nub. Marcia pinched the ember tip between her fingers. She shook another cigarette from the pack and lit the tip with the flame that came from the fingertip. Marcia pulled long on the end, and the ember flared and held.

  Alice had questions, and Marcia was harboring secrets that could provide all the answers.

  Timeless Hate

  Alice lost consciousness again. Her dreams had a fire, smoke, and the leathery claws that snatched her from a burning pit of wood and flames. She saw the tunnel of fire at an odd angle. It was as if someone lifted her from the blistering rub and carried her over a shoulder. She heard the crashing of glass, the splintering of wood. There was a sensation in her belly like she pitched forward over the precipice of a roller coaster.

  Then, Alice saw the fire disappearing in the distance. She saw it rolling higher and lower behind her. The tense pressure on her guts told her someone was carrying her in a fireman’s grip, spreading weight across the shoulders instead of over the arms. It was efficient and practical. Alice remembered snapshots of the rescue. She saw the ground under running feet that weren’t human—the kind of heel that extended the metatarsals away from the pad of a three-toed claw. Beneath the hind limbs of an animal, not a human, Alice saw the ground fall away. The rescuer leaped high in the air. Alice caught a glimpse of the fire again, far away behind her. She saw the flashing blue lights of emergency vehicles approaching. That’s when Alice remembered the handsome Constable James Abernathy.

  The police officer grew up in and around Inverness. He knew the locals. James knew the stories of the Highlands. He knew the legends of the fairy mound. Alice saw James fade away. She saw his stunning eyes and uniform, and the world around him began to burn in a toxic fire that blazed hotter and thicker than the structure fire. Alice gasped at the sight. It wasn’t only James burning. It was the whole world.

  Alice jerked awake. It was the kind of awakening that, as a child, her father would describe as her soul jumping back into her body. Alice gasped and blinked.

  “Tea, dear?” Marcia asked. She removed her bulky frame from the strained rocking chair. Her odd, three-toed feet shuffled across the warped floorboards toward the bed. She poured tea from the kettle into the teacup.

  Marcia held the cup for Alice as she drank the fetid brackish mixture. It made her feel better with each swallow.

  “You’re not a person, are you?” Alice whispered.

  “I am like you, lass. I took an oath to uphold the law.”

  “So, you’re in law enforcement?” Alice smacked her lips, wondering how long it had been since the fire. And how long had she remained on her stomach lying in the old woman’s bed?

  “There is a place in the Outer Hebrides, the northernmost islands,” Marcia said. She retook a seat in the rocking chair, lit a cigarette with the end of her fingertip. When the smoke left her mouth, so did the rest of her words. “Your people call it the Isle of Lewis. Humans have a nasty habit of claiming everything they find as their own the moment they see it. A man named Lewis Chessmen took possession of the islands.”

  Alice’s brain worked harder. The medicine in the rusty bucket, the concoction in the kettle, both worked to dull the pain and helped with clarity. It wasn’t only the toxins of the fire the medicine removed. It was the impurities of a life lived under the illusion that humans were the first people to settle the mountains.

  “I learned of that place in primary school. There are monuments on the island. The Callanish Stones or something like that,” Alice said. It felt good to think about something that didn’t involve searing flesh and fire.

  “Aye lass, those monoliths on Gallows Hill in Stornoway, that was my home,” she whispered. Marcia puffed on the filterless cigarette while reminiscing. “East of Inverness, some six miles, the Clava Cairns were the closest of portals to here. That and the fairy mound a few miles from here.”

  Alice groaned. “You’re doing that thing again. I don’t understand, Marcia. You’re talking like I know the story. I don’t know what you mean.”

  “I am not a storyteller, lass.” It came out with some irritation.

  “I’d think th
e elderly told stories all the time.”

  It got a laugh from Marcia. She puffed cigarette smoke with each breath. “That is human thinking again, dear. I will do my best to fill in the gaps.” Marcia took her time to formulate thoughts.

  “I come from a place that is on the other side of the fairy mound. The Elphame is as vast as the rest of this world. Throughout the lands here, you see remnants of the gateways. The Isle of Arran, Islay, Kilmartin, Isle of Mull, all over Scotland, you find the remains of standing stones. Those markers were the gateways throughout Scotland for travels to pass between here and Elphame.

  “Many of us lived on this side of the gates. I lived with my family on this side of the entrance located on the Isle of Lewis. Once, people from both realms existed together. We traded and traveled, shared knowledge and healing. The first humans were gentle, kind creatures willing to respect the rules traveling between the realms.

  “My family was the group of gatekeepers. We took oaths to protect the realms. Many beings traveling from world to world do so with benevolence. Our purpose was to protect the gates and travelers from the few who disrespected the rules.”

  “Who set up these rules? It sounds like you were a TSA agent or something.” Alice didn’t want to disrespect Marcia or her family regarding the service they provided. Alice knew the transportation security administration served a valuable place when it came to safe air travel. But Alice didn’t know any TSA personnel. “I’m sorry, Marcia. I didn’t mean anything by that.”

  Marcia didn’t respond to the comment directly. Instead, she grew serious in her tone.

  “I lost my family when humans wanted to claim the gates. The tribes began migrating into Elphame. They took more than they gave back. They had no regard for life of any kind. They destroyed without thought. They burned forests. They dug great holes in the ground to take the minerals and the precious stones.” Marcia finished the cigarette and immediately lit another one.

  “That sounds like people—humans,” Alice said. “We know how to pillage and steal natural resources.” She felt the pit of her stomach growling for substance. “Pollution, deforestation, hunting animals into extinction, I get it. We’re ignorant and selfish.”

  “Aye, lass, that you are,” Marcia whispered. There was an edge to her voice. It was something guttural and formidable. “It got too much for the Elphame. Humans began overrunning the lands. They began demanding access even when the queen refused to allow more people to cross into her lands.”

  “The queen?” Alice repeated, thinking of England and the monarchy.

  “Aye, lass, Nicneven,” Marcia said. “She is the queen of the whole realm. Nicneven is the mother of Elphame.”

  “What happened? I mean, the stone edifices all over Scotland are three thousand years old. They’re not gateways any longer.”

  “Nicneven destroyed the gates. When humans found their access to Elphame closed, they revolted.” Marcia sat quietly for a long moment. Alice had sense enough to know something had happened to Marcia. She relived the memory as Alice watched the woman light another cigarette. The parlor trick using her fingertip as a match wasn’t a stunt; it was a slice of magic.

  “My family and the rest of the pech were gatekeepers. Our purpose on this side was to keep Elphame safe. We did our part, and when humans came, they took no quarter on us. I lost my parents. Before they took my brother’s head, he managed to conceal me in ruins. We learned to adapt to human lifestyles. We learned to mimic humans. I survived; my family did not.”

  “I’m sorry, Marcia.”

  “After the wars, Nicneven continued to eliminate all resistance to her rule. People in the Elphame learned to keep clear of the queen’s lands. She is a reasonable ruler. She knew some humans only wanted better lives. They sought sanctuary in Elphame. Those who stayed and survived pledged their devotion to the queen.

  “I remained on this side, even when I found the fairy mound. I chose to stay in Scotland because it was always my home. I was born here. I will die here.”

  “What is it with the fairy mounds?” Alice asked. She had strength enough to move in moderation. She took her time. She turned on her side, facing Marcia. Alice saw the woman in a way that made her realize Marcia only played a human part. It was in her manners, her eyes. It was in her hands and the look of her feet. The mimicry worked on people who didn’t know they saw a pech and not a person. “Were your people in charge of all the gateways?”

  “The pech, my people, we controlled most of the gates. When the gates closed, some folk in Elphame saw the queen’s ruling as too harsh. They managed to learn the secrets of the gateways. They used their skills to open the portals. The fairy mounds are crude passages that were unstable. Many mounds, such as the one nearby, the people of the area saw them as cursed places. When some of the portals showed up in Scotland again, their use always in secret, beings crossed into Scotland, and most never found their way back. That is why much of what you know of folklore comes from oral history. I learn to conceal myself among people. I took the guise of a human no one would suspect. Others in this world still hide. Some search for a way back to Elphame. Nicneven sees those who used the portals as betrayers. She has no need of her subjects acting as selfishly as humans.”

  “What about the Weatherspoons? You said they are part of this? Beth, Rory, you said Harper is a warrior.”

  “Aye, Harper is a traveler. She is a warrior.” Marcia puffed on the cigarette down until its embers touched her fingers. She snuffed it out. Marcia dropped it with the other butts in the overflowing ashtray near the rocking chair. Marcia leaned back against the rocker. Her fingers gripped the armrests, and she regarded Alice for a long while.

  “I come from Elphame, my people, the pech, we’re from Elphame. My parents went through the gate and chose to live in Scotland. I remember my father and mother talking of Elphame, and how life was before they decided to come here. I cannot make an informed decision about Elphame, only that I know my people live there.

  “Now consider that for thousands of years, humans once passed through the gates freely before they waged war on Nicneven. She spared those who chose allegiance and destroyed those who refused to yield. Some humans born in Elphame chose to return to Scotland. They have Elphame in their veins as surely as I have Scotland in my veins. That means they can if they get close enough to the portals, pass through from Scotland to Elphame. It is in the blood, I suppose. Something ancient, something still living within them,” Marcia said.

  “So, Beth, Rory, and Harper, they can pass through the fairy mounds?”

  “Yes. The whole purpose of covering the mounds was to keep the portals closed. Some of the mounds still have watchers, like me. Sometimes beings still pass through when they get too close. No one tracked the bloodlines. I know the Weatherspoons have the key within them to open the portal. The family has lived close to this portal for generations. I chose to stay close because it feels necessary. My parents were guardians of the gate in the Outer Hebrides. I am the keeper here. Though, when that man bought the land, erected the buildings over the mound, I thought it’d seal the portal for good. That wasn’t the case. He’s building another gateway.”

  The Callanish Stones are three thousand years old, Marcia. When did humans kill your parents?”

  “It was four thousand years ago, lass. That’s when my father and brothers began destroying the stones on word from the queen.”

  “Four thousand years?” Alice whispered. “That’s impossible.”

  “Aye, lass, I never expected to stay as long as I have here. There are some older who lurk in the shadows still. I do not know how many of the Elphame kind still exist in Scotland or the rest of the world. I know the Weatherspoons can pass through the portal. Others have Elphame in their blood, too. If they get too close to the mound, it can claim them.”

  “That’s simply amazing.” Alice lay on her side. Slowly, she drew up her legs on the
sheets. She turned her arms to tuck her hands under the pillow. She watched Marcia in the dim bedroom light. “Four thousand years.”

  “Aye, lass, and it ain’t been all fun and fluff. But I grew fond of the Weatherspoons. I saw generations of them grow up here. They were kind people, fair people. They gave more than they take. They do not complain. I see it in them. The Elphame made the Weatherspoons better people.”

  “So, eight years ago, my father investigated Harper’s mother—”

  “Aye, lass,” Marcia said. She lit another cigarette. “Your father, Donovan Lemont, he is a good man.”

  “My father talked about this place often. He came here twice and said it was a place that made him feel like there’s something different here. I understand now.”

  “Your father, when he came for the girl and those terrible boys, I remember he got close enough to the girl, but she slipped away.”

  “Did you see him?”

  Marcia shook her head. “I remember those boys. I remember when they reached Eskdale, your father was one of the police here waiting for them. I remember hearing the gunshot. I know your father stayed here for weeks looking for that girl. He refused to believe that she disappeared.”

  “Did she go through the portal?”

  Marcia nodded. “I believe her family, generations back, came from Elphame. She probably never knew it. Beth, Rory, they do not know their bloodline comes from Elphame. Harper knows it now, as does her mother, Phoebe. I remember when she came here. I knew when she went to work for that man; I knew something bad would happen to her.”

  “So, Phoebe Biel, or Weatherspoon, Harper, and that girl my father chased, I think her name was Morgan something.”

  “Morgan Goodlet,” Marcia said. “Her bloodline comes from Elphame. If she lived after the shooting, she is there still.”

  “My father said Archibald Fontaine shot her in the back. He saw it as easy as I see you here and now. He said Fontaine had such hate in his heart for that poor girl that he knew he’d go to jail for the rest of his life, but he wanted to kill Morgan anyway. When the girl fell, she disappeared. It was at the edge of the mound, and my father didn’t see her after that. For years, he came back and walked the moors.”