The Park Family: Mairi: Retribution

by Lisanne Valente

  “I fare well, friend, but hope this business is over quickly. I am glad I inhabit this form. The man can speak falsehoods without blinking. I let his will take over at the most opportune of moments. You know how it is with me, in that damnation of a magic triangle, I cannot lie. This individual, however, seems to be delighted his form is inhabited by a demon—can you believe that? How petty these mortals are. Their pathetic rivalries are sickening.”

  “But, it is all to our good. If they lived in constant harmony our task would be infinitely more difficult, and they would be almost impossible to possess. I agree, though, they are strange, these people. This one I possess is elated with me existing within him. I have told Amdusias that there was no need for this possession, as he is a black soul. This one suits my needs. He is more Machiavellian than The Conjurer—well, almost. Did I not know our master was predisposed elsewhere, I would have sworn it was himself I had taken as my person. Can you believe he was disappointed when the clan chiefs agreed to sign the oath? He had already established his plan on how it would be possible to break up the clan system, had they declined. We will do well with him, as one of our minions, when he comes to our realm.”

  “Ha! So true. Oh my!” Flauros held his chest, a smile stretching across his face. “I do believe this one”—he tapped himself—“has come up against real fear! He has no idea of what will happen to him next.”

  Balam tapped his own chest. “This one seems to think the next life will be a walk in the park, as they say.” Balam could not control the laughter that bubbled inside and bellowed around the room as it exploded from his chest.

  “Now that’s put a stop to this inner demon. He is a little afraid now. Good! I like to keep them aware of who is rightfully in charge.”

  Flauros and Balam sat opposite each other and discussed the strategy for the following days, drawing in deep sighs when the inner selves of Archibald and John Campbell grew excited at hearing their future prospects.

  “I meet with the king on the morrow,” Balam said with a touch of sadness.

  “Why the long face, Balam? Or is it just Archie Campbell’s face that is long?”

  “No, it is I. In a way, I have grown fond of these humans, and although I know our plan will be to our benefit, the problems that emerge will be devastating. I cannot help but feel some regret about the outcome it will impose upon them.”

  “Who are you, and what have you done with my friend Balam?” Flauros asked as he laughed nervously. “You feel for them? This is new.”

  “Ignore me,” Balam boomed. “A momentary lapse—my inner Angel resurfaced, but has just as quickly been submerged. No, what we do is for the best, and I, for one, am glad to be the instigator.”

  “Then let us drink a toast to the future. May all hell break loose.”

  Balam accepted the wine goblet and clinked it with his friend’s.

  And with a sad finality, Balam added, “Agreed! I will give the orders to kill them all.” He raised his goblet again. “Here’s to the next chapter… Let us unleash hell upon Glencoe.”

  *

  The Master of Stair met with King William and persuaded him that the certificate MacIain had signed was purported to be irregular, and, it is written, he convinced the king to sign an order extirpating the MacDonalds of Glencoe. He assured the king this was the only way to rid the country of a den of thieves. The order was signed by His Majesty, and then passed to the commander of the forces in Scotland, Sir Thomas Livingstone.

  In late January 1692 the first and second companies of the Earl of Argyll’s Regiment of foot, commanded by Captain Robert Campbell of Glenlyon, were billeted on the MacDonalds of Glencoe. Their true mission was not known to the regular soldiers, who accepted the hospitality of the MacDonalds. They slept, ate, and spent many companionable hours with them. They played with their children. They hunted with the men, bringing back whatever game they had killed—and there was precious little of that available, but they shared it with the villagers. They were accepted as part of the family to which they were assigned. Their presence was never questioned, and any suspicions the MacDonalds may have had were quickly dispelled upon production of legitimately signed orders from Colonel Hill.

  The MacDonalds belief was to give a few days of comfort and have the men who defended and fought for them, share in the meagre food they had: It was the least they could do. They were their own countrymen, after all, going about the profession they had chosen, and it was the Highlanders’ way of life, to welcome them into their homes. It was the MacDonalds’ understanding, the soldiers were collecting yet another Cess tax, inflicted upon them and introduced by parliament.

  Roughly one hundred and twenty men received the MacDonalds’ generosity for almost two weeks. Although the regiment was known to be mainly made up of the Campbells, most of the soldiers came from and were recruited from, the Argyll estates, and only a few were, in fact, Campbells.

  Robert Campbell was related to The MacIain and was therefore housed with the chief. He visited his niece every morning, crossing the misty glen, walking over uneven, lumpy, grassy mounds, whilst trying to avoid falling on the many, liberally scattered, boulders. He would, on occasion, stop to catch his breath, and hold onto one of several erratics before he had to step around them. They were millions of years old, thrown from a glazier, rolling and pushing their way forward until they stood like frozen behemothic beasts, readying themselves for a time when they would be awoken.

  He would break his fast with his niece and her husband, the chief’s son, Alexander MacDonald, who welcomed him each day with a bowl of porridge and a hot drink. He ate ravenously as they sat by the fire enjoying cordial conversation and a warm friendship.

  Duke Vual and Duke Dantalian observed the scene from within the shadows of the house and could take no more of the sickening friendship. They had seen enough.

  “Now the games begin,” Vual said. “I will see you back in Hell, Dantalian. Forget not to remove the subject before you enter the gates!” He laughed dangerously when his inner person screamed with fear.

  “Is your possession a little scared?”

  “Quite the reverse,” Dantalian said. “This human, this colonel, is a sick bastard. He’s happy as fuck!”

  He nodded assent to Dantalian. Vual waited until he disappeared. It was time for Captain Drummond to act. It had been close to two weeks since the Regiment had entered the glen. It was now the 12th of February, and the moment was right for the demons’ plan to be utilised.

  Drummond was the person most responsible for the delay in The MacIain’s oath-taking. He was not a welcome guest, but in keeping with the Highlander tradition, the chief welcomed him into his house.

  “What brings you to my home, Captain?” the chief asked.

  “I require the company of Robert Campbell. Colonel Hill has issued new orders for him. Have you an idea of where he may be located? These orders are crucial.”

  “I believe he is visiting with his niece,” came the sharp retort.

  “And would you be so kind as to show me in which direction that may be, so I may serve him these further duties?” Vual waved a piece of paper before the chief’s eyes.

  “Why don’t you come and warm yourself by the fire? I’m sure he’ll be back any moment,” The MacIain said, through clenched teeth.

  “Don’t mind if I do. It’s damned chilly out there,” Drummond replied.

  The chief’s wife served warm bannocks and cheese and placed a jug of ale beside him, careful not to spill anything on him, when he sat near to the fireplace. Her husband spied the captain warily, from the chair opposite.

  Just as he was about to bite into the bannock, the door flew open, the wind blew the small table over, the ale jug fell to the floor, and Robert Campbell walked in.

  “Sorry about that,” he apologised sincerely. “I was told of your arrival, sir.” His face was a mask of horror when he espied his superior officer.

  “No need to apologise. I’m sure they’ve a girl to clean th
is up—won’t take a minute, eh?”

  The chief’s wife came in with a cloth and began picking up the broken remnants of the jug and wiped the wet floor.

  “Where’s your serving girl, Woman?” asked Drummond.

  “We don’t have serving girls here, sir. We share the workload.”

  “Damned silly, if you ask me. A waste of good ale.” He turned to Campbell. “I’ve new orders for you. Take them outside and read them. They’re to be carried out immediately, so best let your men know what’s happening.” With a surreptitious nod to the chief, he added, “I seem to be without any food or drink.”

  Alastair nodded to his wife, who lowered an eyebrow. Her disgruntled look made him smile, but he covered his mouth, preventing a laugh from escaping.

  “Please, sir,” he said formally, “take your seat again. My wife will be back shortly. Come.” He motioned to the chair beside the fire. “Are you any good at cards?” asked the chief wryly, the beginnings of a crooked smile crossing his face.

  Robert Campbell read his new orders, and they did not come as a surprise. He had suspected all along this was the real reason they had been sent here. His fervent wish was his sister never found out! He went in search of Major Duncanson and ordered him to occupy escape routes from the Glen, and then gave the order to kill anyone who tried to escape.

  *

  In the Heavens, Kakabel was pacing back and forth. He had been given information by one of the Park Mistdreamers that trouble was brewing. When he had seen soldiers enter The Veil, his heart had sunk. If a Mistdreamer was having difficulty explaining the intensity of his understanding, Angels had to take note. Kakabel assured him he would look into the matter but was positive there was nothing more than the collection of taxes going on.. The Mistdreamer had shaken his head worriedly and replied, “No, Kakabel, there is deceit afoot here.”

  Kakabel asked Forcas what he thought was the best option. “Go visit is what I’d do. Perhaps we’ve left the Mistdreamers to their own devices for too long? If you can’t go as yourself, use the pretence of one of the soldiers, who will accomplish our intentions. Meanwhile, I’ll go to the Devil’s staircase and make certain there have been no assaults on The Veil. Go tell the others to keep watch.”

  “What of the other Infidelibus, should we alert them?”

  “Already on the case,” Appoloin said from beside him, as he folded his wings securely behind his back.

  “As am I,” a very flustered and out-of-breath Ramiel shouted.

  “I’ll go if he stays,” Adramelechk said, pointing to Xaphan, who had wandered into the group along with Sammael.

  “Put your differences to one side just now,” Kakabel insisted. “The Mistdreamer is worried about The Veil, and the MacDonalds who dwell within. We have to heed the word of those we have placed our trust in. We are expected to listen when they have concerns. We are duty-bound to protect them.”

  “Then let us make haste,” Ramiel said hurriedly. “Forcas, take Xaphan with you to the Staircase, to ensure that nothing is entering from the gates of Hell. Adramelechk, go with Sammael to Ballachulish. It is near enough to Glencoe Village that someone may know of unusual activity. Kakabel and Appoloin, each of you choose one of the soldiers who have been with the MacDonalds. Take upon yourselves their guise, and go enter The MacIain’s Glen.

  “And what will you do?” asked Xaphan.

  “I will wait here for word from the Mistdreamers. If there is something amiss, many of them will be crossing over to help. They will need one of us to remain here, ready and on alert. Go speedily, my friends, and find out what is of such concern to our Mistdreamer. I feel something ominous is about to occur, and if our Mistdreamers are in peril, we must do our utmost to save the MacDonalds.”

  The Angels spread their wings, and tiny explosive sparks lit the area. In their rush to open them, their feathers continuously trembled, and a few fell to the ground, smattering into tiny lights upon contact. The tinkling of bells rang out as each feather spread, and when their wings were fully open, the Angels shot up into the heavenly sky, disappearing when The Veil opened to allow them entrance into Earth’s realm.

  Kakabel disguised himself as Lieutenant Francis Farquhar, while Appoloin became Lieutenant Gilbert Kennedy. They entered the soldiers’ frames while they slept, on the floor of one of the MacDonalds’ homes. The home still reeked of the dinner they had all shared the night before. A caldron with the remnants of the meal sat atop the smoking embers of a fire and was still warm to the touch. Meat and vegetables would be served for breakfast, a hot meal to provide good sustenance for the day ahead. It would keep the soldiers warm. The MacDonalds had left a peat fire burning, in order that their night was more comfortable. The few belongings the family possessed were shared, gladly, with the soldiers.

  Kakabel listened intensely for any sound that might register as unusual, but he could only hear the heavy breathing of the family around him. He motioned to Appoloin to move, and they stepped outside the tiny croft onto the deep snow. The wind howled eerily, blowing the snow upwards and creating a frozen mist that hung in the air.

  The dawn had not broken, and the only light came from the reflection of the stars as they split and tumbled on top of each ripple in the flowing river. The shapes of the surrounding mountains were hidden against the black of the night; only the snow-capped tips were highlighted under the moon, the stars choosing to direct themselves elsewhere.

  He could hear movement stirring around him as a few soldiers returned from their ablutions in the River Coe. They crept stealthily, entering the homes in which they had been housed. Kakabel motioned to Appoloin, with a quick shake of his head, that there was no point in approaching the other men.

  The silence of death always sweeps in like a bitter cold wind, and the Angels sent to take their charges to safety… wait… their breaths freezing on the wind, turning to snow capped droplets, before falling onto the frozen ground. This night, the silence roared, as a banging drum and could not be ignored. Kakabel waited apprehensively for the moment he and Appoloin were too aware, was about to happen.

  Then all hell broke loose around them.

  On the 13th of February 1692, at 5.00 a.m., Robert Campbell of Glenlyon stood with his second-in-command and shouted his orders.

  “Put to the sword the rebels. All under seventy must die!” he shouted. “This is by the king’s command, and for the good and safety of our country. We must cut these miscreants off at root. Execute all. Not one is to be left alive!”

  Soldiers began to exit homes, some yawning, some cautious and unnerved. Others were plainly and clearly befuddled.

  But Campbell kept yelling the orders to his men. “Pick up your swords, your guns, and put the rebels to the death.”

  One of the crofts had been set alight, and the fire burned frenziedly, the flames flew bright and wild, against the ominous background. Women and children ran from the croft. A gunshot echoed behind Appoloin, and he noticed one of the crofters, Duncan Rankin, killed as he tried to cross the River Coe. One of the MacDonald women and her child were slain by those with whom she had broken bread.

  The MacIain stumbled from his bed upon hearing the alarming screams ringing out and was immediately shot by two soldiers, Lieutenant Lindsay and Ensign Lundie, but his sons escaped, as did his wife. His wife ran naked from their home, following her sons, but was caught by Vual. “I don’t think so, my dearie,” he whispered, digging his nails into her arm. She didn’t miss the flash of evil spark through his eyes and struggled to get away. He kicked her legs from under her and she fell to the ground, burying her head into the snow. He pushed her head harder and deeper, and her will to survive impressed him as she fought against his strength, not willing to give in. But he was much stronger and prepared for the fight. She struggled and tried to free herself, but he pressed his foot down, only releasing when he felt her life draining away.

  The MacIain’s sons stopped running when they realised their mother was no longer with them and stared hel
plessly as Drummond held her down, his foot pressed against her back. Even from a distance, they were aware of the resigned shake of her head. Caught between their love for her and the need to save the clan, she made them choose the latter. She managed to turn her head, slightly, and glared at Vual, when recognition of what he was registered, her lips turned up in a hateful grimace and she gave herself up to death.

  Thatched roofs of the homes were set on fire, and soldiers huddled a group of MacDonalds together and pushed them into a croft, blocking it with boulders so they could not escape. They waited for the command. The Butcher of Glencoe, Robert Campbell, yelled, “We are not to trouble the government in the taking of prisoners. Do your duty!”

  The soldiers threw lit torches through the windows and onto the roof, then stood listening to the screams of the dying people who had accepted them on trust.

  Appoloin and Kakabel broke their swords, refusing to carry out the heinous orders, and led the family who had given the soldiers shelter away from the horrific scenes. Appoloin reached out to other families and urged them to escape.

  “Run towards the staircase. You will be taken care of there,” he promised.

  Other soldiers followed their lead and urged families to grab what they could and protect themselves against the bitter cold weather and escape. In all, one hundred fifty people escaped.

  Vual followed them with his eyes, noting they ran like bugs on a hot floor, and when he lifted his foot from the dead body of the chief’s wife, disappointment set in. She had died from exposure. His time had been wasted; it hadn’t been necessary to hold her down.

  Surveying the chaos with disdain, and the thirty-eight dead, his mouth filled with ash, he wanted more massacred. In a last act of contempt, he spat on the MacIain’s wife. He would make sure more died this night. The crofts were now burned-out shells, and he was thankful to The Conjurer that the screams of the dying and tortured had stopped. That had been an unpleasant but quite satisfying feat. It was time to make his escape and get to the Devil’s Staircase. King Balam would be waiting there for any of the ‘bugs’ who were fleeing in the hope of surviving the night. They wouldn’t, and he would enjoy putting them to death.