Guardians of the Light: The Red Phoenix

by Alex Carter

  “Nope” Arty replies with a shake of her head. The expression on her face indicates that she realises the conversation is not going to plan. She looks at me for help. Before I can think of something to add to Arty’s comment the man speaks again.

  “Can I ask what it is you are doing here?”

  “That is a very good question” Arty replies.

  The man waits for Arty to carry on speaking, but she doesn’t. A surreal moment follows where Arty and the guy stand staring at each other. They both have their mouths open in expectation, waiting for the other person to say something.

  “We’re on a mission. A quest, if you like, to find something” Arty says eventually breaking the awkward silence.

  “A quest?”

  “Yes.”

  “To find what?”

  “We don’t know.”

  “Is this a joke?”

  “No, although I agree that it does all sound a bit silly when you put it like that” Arty says with a false laugh.

  “Yes, it does. Anyway, I am very busy so if you manage to work out what it is you are looking for please let me know; preferably by postcard” the guy says as he slams the door shut.

  Arty and I stand for a moment staring at the closed door.

  “That didn’t really go as well as I was hoping it would” Arty says as she turns to me.

  “No, that wasn’t great” I reply.

  We leave the Lodge and head across to the three holiday cottages. We knock on each one of the cottage doors but there is no answer from any of them.

  “It doesn’t look like any of these cottages are occupied” Arty says after a few seconds standing outside the last door.

  “On the plus side that means we could possibly stay here if we get stranded overnight” I say enthusiastically.

  “Maybe, although if it comes to that I think it will be better for to you ask that guy if there are any vacancies. I got the distinct impression he didn’t really like me” Arty says.

  “Was it the slamming of the front door in your face that gave it away?” I ask.

  Arty and I both burst out laughing.

  “Right, well as we didn’t find anything useful at the Lodge, I think we should go and investigate the Lighthouse. Your grandfather was always big fan of lighthouses so maybe we’ll find something there” Arty says in a positive manner.

  “Great!” I reply with newfound gusto. “Let’s go.”

  We return to the path and head towards the far end of the island. The sun has come out and as we wander along Arty tells me the name of every type of butterfly and bird that we come across. From our elevated view on the path we spot lots of interesting beaches and inlets and at one point we are lucky enough to see a pod of dolphins frolicking in the water. The energetic dolphins make me smile and I note the contrast between their antics and a group of lazy seals who are sunbathing on the shore. Just as my legs are starting to feel tired, we spot the Lighthouse.

  The Lighthouse is perched at the top of a cliff on the far end of the island. It is an impressive white structure that stands tall and proud on the landscape. The white building appears to be gleaming as the sun disappears and the sky turns a threatening shade of gey. The deepening gloom is broken by a brilliant fork of purple-white lighting which illuminates the entire sky as it zig-zags down and strikes offshore. A loud boom of thunder sends a shiver down my spine as the darkness returns.

  “Here comes that Scottish weather again!” Arty shouts as she points towards the lighthouse and marches off ahead of me. “We need to get to shelter quickly.”

  The rain is now coming down in sheets and I can only just make out what Arty is saying above the noise of the wind and the rain. The sky illuminates once again as a second fork of lightning strikes. This time the jagged fork strikes the top of the Lighthouse. The metal lightning conductor fixed to the top of the Lighthouse whips around wildly as it absorbs the savage force of the lightning strike. Arty and I watch in awe as the conductor is lit up like a firework and a shower of sparks fly off it. A loud crack emanates through the air and reminds us of the danger of standing out in the open.

  “The storm is directly above us. We need to hurry Angel. We don’t want to be the next conductor for the lightning” Arty says.

  The rain is now virtually horizontal and makes it difficult to see as we run towards the building. Arty reaches the lighthouse first and tries the door.

  It doesn’t budge and appears to be locked.

  Arty gibes up trying to open the door and runs to the single storey white building that adjoins the Lighthouse. The windows are covered in a thick layer of sea salt and grime, making it impossible to see what is inside. The door has a large sliding lock on the outside but thankfully there is no padlock. Arty throws back the bolt and the door swings open. The wind smashes the door against the internal wall. The impact gives off a loud bang.

  I catch up with Arty just as she is about to enter the building. We both peer into the gloom inside. The interior is dark and foreboding but, on balance, the force of the storm is scarier, so we rush inside. We use our combined strength to close the door against the mini typhoon. Arty drags the internal bolt of the door back into place to stop the wind from blowing the door open. As we stop to catch our breath the room is illuminated by another blinding flash of lighting and a cacophonous boom of thunder fills the air.

  “Wow! Where did this storm come from?” I ask as I shake the surface water from my soaking wet clothes.

  “That’s the Scottish summer for you; all four seasons in a day!” Arty says as we turn to investigate the interior of the building. It is cold and damp and there is a strong musty smell in the air. Despite the smell the room has a very grand feel. As my eyes adjust to the dark the full glory of the room starts to unfold. We are standing in a giant space which has high vaulted ceiling supported by huge oak beams. In the centre of the room is a gigantic wooden table surrounded by ornately carved chairs and at the far end is a massive stone fireplace. The floor is made of solid granite and the walls are all adorned with huge portraits. On the boat ride over Angus told me that the island was used as a base by the Vikings when they invaded Scotland and as I look around the room, I imagine great Viking feasts taking place around the table. Angus also said the island was used later by the British Armed Forces and I visualise RAF fighter pilots exchanging stories of dogfights as they make their way in after another successful mission.

  I make my way over to the closest wall to inspect one of the large portraits. The frame is highly ornate and looks like it has been embossed with gold leaf. The portrait itself is a giant oil painting of a man standing in front of the Lighthouse. He is wearing a uniform and appears to be the lighthouse keeper. Beneath the frame is a brass plaque which reads ‘Donald MacDonald 1882 to 1890.’ I look to my right and see that the next painting is of a younger man also standing in front of the Lighthouse wearing the same uniform. The style is identical to the first painting and the lighthouse keeper looks very similar to the man in the first painting. Beneath this painting it says, ‘Donald MacDonald 1890 to 1914.’ I quickly move along the wall. Every one of the paintings is of a uniformed man standing in the same pose in front of the Lighthouse.

  “This must be a gallery of all the Lighthouse Keepers that has ever lived on this island” I shout to Arty. I check the next painting. The plaque reads ‘Donald MacDonald 1914 to 1939.’ I move along to the next one. It also reads Donald MacDonald. I move further along the wall. The men in the paintings all look very similar and beneath each one is a plaque inscribed with the same name but different dates.

  “Hey Arty, this is ridiculous! Every one of these Lighthouse keepers was called Donald MacDonald” I say as I break into a giggle. “Mac means ‘son of’ in Scotland doesn’t it? That means that all these guys were called Donald, son of Donald” I say as I continue laughing. I make my way further along the wall, checking every plaque. They all show the name Donald MacDonald with different dates.

  Arty doesn’t reply. I tu
rn to check what she is doing. She is standing motionless at the opposite end of the building staring up at the large portrait in front of her.

  “Don’t tell me you’ve managed to find one who isn’t called Donald MacDonald?” I say as I make my way over to where she is standing. Arty doesn’t say anything. As I get nearer, I can see that the man in the painting she is standing in from of looks different from all the others.

  He looks familiar.

  “I asked if you had managed to find someone who isn’t called Donald MacDonald?” I say to Arty as I tap her on the arm. She doesn’t look round and continues staring up at the painting for a few seconds before she answers.

  “This one isn’t called Donald MacDonald” she says calmly. “Read the plaque, Angel.”

  The plaque beneath the painting reads ‘Lux MacDonald 1864 to 1875.’

  “Lux?” I say instinctively. I have never heard of anybody called Lux apart from my grandfather. It is such an unusual name. I look back at the painting. The style is identical to all the other paintings, but the man looks different.

  “That’s weird isn’t it? That guy is called Lux MacDonald” I say as my gaze moves repeatedly from the painting to the plaque and back again.

  “I think we’ve found what we came here for, Angel. This is a painting of your Grandfather” Arty says as we both stare open-mouthed at the portrait.

  Chapter 21

  The sighting of the Phoenix had attracted the attention of the global press and the Columbian mountain area was now famous. As well as serious mountain climbers Pica Cristobal Colon now attracted lots of science fiction fans and mystery hunters, all of whom were hoping to see the Phoenix for themselves. A giant bronze statue of a Phoenix had been erected by the local authorities and there were tours that you could take to the exact spot where the sighting occurred.

  We sent a Hunter to Pica Cristobal Colon. He was not interested in joining tour groups or taking ‘selfies’ with the statue but was entirely focussed on finding the Guide who has fallen into the chasm. No official record of the Guide’s name or identity was available, but he was the one person who knew exactly what had happened on that day. He had never admitted to seeing the Phoenix but if he knew anything then our Hunter would get the truth out of him, one way or another.

  Our Hunter set to work on his investigations. After some very persuasive questioning one of the locals told him about a mysterious and reclusive climber who resided in the area. Very little was known about this man, but he was rumoured to be British and live high up on the mountain, way above the snow line, in a shack that he had single-handedly constructed. He was rarely seen by the locals and it was thought that he worked as a private guide for international climbers.

  We received an update from our Hunter notifying us that he was heading up the mountain to find this Guide and interrogate him. We knew that any interrogation would most likely involve torture and a grisly ending for the Guide. We waited for news, but no further reports were received from our Hunter. The lack of contact puzzled and concerned us.

  Our bodies thrive in cold conditions so the weather on the mountain would not have posed a problem. We are excellent climbers and highly agile, so it is also unlikely that he had been involved in an accident. We believed that the most likely option was that our Hunter has found the Guide and been overpowered. We decided to send reinforcements to investigate further.

  Chapter 22

  “The man in that painting can’t be Granddad; it’s impossible” I say, unable to take my eyes off the painting.

  “There is absolutely no doubt in my mind that this is a painting of your Grandfather” Arty replies firmly.

  “It says on the plaque that Lux MacDonald was the Lighthouse keeper from 1864 to 1875 so it can’t be him. It’s impossible.”

  “Your grandfather had two unique physical characteristics. He had the most piercing blue eyes that you have ever seen but if you looked very closely at his right eye you could see a small fleck of brown at the bottom. He also had a scar across the back of his right hand. He told me that he got it when he fell out of a tree as a boy. Take a very close look at the painting Angel” Arty says as she nods towards the portrait.

  I step forward and peer closely at the right hand in the painting. A small scar is clearly visible on the back of the man’s hand. My eyes quickly dart up to the figure’s eyes. Both eyes are bright blue in colour however the portrait clearly shows that the right eye has a small fleck of brown at the bottom. I shake my head in disbelief but a thought shoots through my mind. I’ve never heard of either of those identifying characteristics before and I wonder if Arty has invented them after spotting imperfections in the painting. My general concerns about Arty’s mental state return.

  “I know it must be a shock after all this time to see a painting of a man that looks like Grandad, but it simply can’t be him. It must be one of his relatives. Maybe the brown fleck is a family trait. This must be a portrait of his grandfather or great grandfather?” I suggest.

  “Lux was an orphan. His mother died whilst giving birth to him and his father died before he was born. Lux told me that his family had always been butchers. That was the family business. There was never any mention of anything so fanciful as Lighthouse keeping.”

  “There’s one way to solve this conundrum” I say as I take my phone out of my jacket. “All we need to do is look up the history of the Rona Lighthouse Keepers online. That should tell us who Lux MacDonald actually was and we can check if there is any way he can be linked to Grandad.”

  I unlock the screen and attempt to access the Internet. My phone isn’t showing any signal.

  “Typical, there’s no service” I say after a few failed attempts.

  “We are on an uninhabited Scottish island so it’s not really a big surprise that there’s no internet” Arty says with a shake of her head.

  “We’ll have to look it up when we get back to your place” I say.

  “Yes, that’s a great idea Angel” Arty replies as a tear runs down her cheek.

  I give her a quick hug.

  “So, where do we go from here?” I ask.

  “This painting must be the reason why we are here, but it doesn’t tell us what we are meant to do next” Arty says.

  “Do you think there might be another message hidden in here?” I ask.

  “It’s possible but we don’t have the ultraviolet lamp anymore, you dropped it from the top of the Inaccessible Pinnacle” Arty says.

  “I know, but I do have this” I say as I waive my phone at Arty.

  “Your phone? Are you going to call somebody?” she asks.

  “No. I mentioned earlier that I have an App that enables my phone to act as an ultraviolet lamp scanner. All I need to do it scan it over the surface in the same way we did with your lamp. If anything has been written in ultraviolet pen it will show up.”

  I open the App on my phone and the screen instantly illuminates with a bright ultraviolet light.

  “Wow” Arty says, looking impressed. “That’s incredible. I still haven’t worked out how to send emails.”

  “Where do you think we should start?”

  “The painting of your grandfather” Arty replies as she nods towards the portrait of Lux MacDonald.

  I think about correcting her description but decide not to bother.

  The painting is hung high up on the wall, so I drag one of the large Viking banqueting chairs over to stand on. I climb on and slowly start to scan my phone across the surface of the portrait. Luminous letters instantly appear. I almost fall off the chair in excitement.

  “Look! There is a message Angel!” Arty shouts.

  I continue scanning but I am too close to the painting to be able to make out what the letters spell out.

  “Can you read what it says?” I ask Arty.

  “Hang on dear, I need to move back a bit” Arty replies. She takes a few steps backwards. “Can you do it again Angel?”

  I reach up and slowly scan my phone from left to
right across the surface of the painting.

  “C-H-U-R-C-H!” Arty says as each one of the letters appears under the ultraviolet light. I scan the remainder of the painting but nothing else shows up. I jump down from the chair.

  “Church?” I repeat. “Didn’t Angus mention two churches on this island when he told us about the things worth visiting?”

  “Yes, he did” Arty replies. “I have a map of the island that he gave me earlier which I think shows where they are” Arty says as she runs over to her backpack. She comes back with a sheet paper and lays it out on the table.

  The map of the island is hand drawn in pen on a dog-eared sheet of A4 paper. It looks like it was created by a five-year-old child. Arty can see from my face that I’m not impressed with the quality of the map.

  “There aren’t any official maps of this place dear so this is as good as you will find anywhere. Probably better, actually” Arty says in response to my expression.

  We both scrutinise the map. I recognise the ordinance survey symbol for a church, from my geography studies, and there are two of them on the map. One is halfway down the island and the other is at the very southern tip. Both have something written in small letters alongside them. Arty holds the map up close to her face and peers at the almost illegible scrawl.

  “I think this one says 14th Century Chapel” she says pointing at the symbol at the bottom of the map. “The other one says Church Cave.”

  “Angus said that the chapel was built by the Vikings and legend has it that a Danish Princess is buried there. He also said that the Cave was used for church services hundreds of years ago when the island was inhabited and that in recent years people have started travelling over to get married there. Which one do you think we should go to first?”

  “The Cave is nearer so let’s start there” Arty replies.