“It’s almost impossible,” he began. “How could they do it, Cal?”
On every visit, Alexander would talk to Callum. All the books said it would help, but they were referring to comas. It wouldn’t harm his recovery, by any means, though, and by talking to him, Alexander felt closer to his brother. He missed him. He missed Graeme as well. The three of them had been so close—until the Angels interfered, and he was still bitter at them.
“Why, Cal? Why couldn’t they have left us to live our lives?” He knew there would be no response, and he also knew the answer. It didn’t make it any easier.
“Valerie’s near her time,” he continued. “Lauren’s baby… I swear he is an Angel. She doesn’t want to admit the possibility. Forcas worries about what he might have to endure, if it turns out this little mite, is even more special. What a thought! Can you imagine, Callum—having five boys? Ha! It serves the bloody Angel right.” He chortled away happily, then added, “But thank heavens for Xaphan. He trains the older lads daily.” He held on tighter to Callum’s hand. “Ha! He even made wee wooden swords for them. Lauren, of course, nearly pitched a fit when she saw them whacking each other. The eldest one—what’s his name?—oh yes, that would be Ross, he told her to ‘cool her jets’.”
Alexander sat back and smiled at the memory of Lauren, recounting the story. “Your daughter apparently thought this was quite funny, and Ross thought he’d been quite smart, until his mom grabbed his arm and dragged him to the garden and made him pull every weed out! I can imagine his wee stubborn face, I can also see him doing the job perfectly. He’s like you, Callum. It has to be done right or not at all. I doubt, though, he’ll be saying anything like it again to his mom, not for a while, anyway.”
The happy memories were beginning to be stored, and Alexander enjoyed recounting them to Callum. “If not for Xaphan, the castle would be overrun with boys and toys. He’s a dab hand with the wee ones too. That big lout Forcas just dotes on them all, like a big lump. It beggars belief to think he was a demon!”
“Och, Cal, I miss you. I wish you were here to see your grandsons grow. That it was you who told me of your daughter, but most of all, I miss your voice of reason. Graeme stayed in the sixteenth century—of course, he says it’s to protect his grandsons, but we both know that’s simply not true. Adramelechk is more than capable of watching over them, and with the extra gift the Archangel bestowed on him, well… let’s just say, there’s even more magic in Mingary Castle now than ever before.
“No, our brother finds himself in violent times, and what better way for him to work out his anger than becoming embroiled in battle?”
Alexander sighed when he looked at the motionless form of his brother, before absenting himself from the room. He walked through the house in Edinburgh. Not much had changed, the framed artwork by Cathy’s mother, Mary-Pat, hung on the walls leading to the floor above. The decor remained unchanged from that which Cathy had chosen, when the family returned from Orlando, years ago.
He turned from the hallway and entered the kitchen, and a vision of Lauren laughing danced across his mind. Forcas was teasing her and Alexander grinned. It was the echo of happier times, imprinted on the house. Or perhaps it was a memory of when it all began, and therefore a reminder to never forget that which is important. Opening the fridge door, he took a tin of Irn Bru from one of the shelves, and opened it. The hiss of released air brought forth the sweet smell of the syrup used in the drink, and he breathed it in, with pleasure. Taking a sip, he left the kitchen and returned to the bedroom. Sitting once more beside Callum, he blew air onto him.
“Ahh, made in Scotland, from Girders,” he joked, quoting the old slogan used in the drink’s advert.
“You’ve got to wake up, Callum. This stuff is as good as it’s always been, and now we’re into drinking sugar free Irn Bru, it’s even better for you.” He laughed and touched Callum’s hand with the can.
Alexander picked up a book that lay on the bedside table and began to flick through the pages. One of Callum’s carers had surely forgotten to take Diana Gabladon’s Outlander with them when they had finished their shift.
“Aye, it’s a good book, is it no, Callum? Has your wee lady been reading it to you? Did you know we heard about this lady”—he pointed to Diana’s name on the book cover—“when we were in the other century?”
Alexander dropped the book and the tin of juice in shock when Callum sat bolt upright, his eyes wide open, staring frenetically at the ceiling. He whirled round to his brother and grabbed his shoulders.
“Alexander!” he shouted.
“Ah, ah, ah… C-C-Callum!” he stammered. “My God, Callum, you came back!” His senses took over, and he pulled him into a ferocious hug. Tears of joy streamed down Alexander’s face, and he looked to the Heavens, and for the first time in years, thanked the Angels for bringing his brother back.
Callum was saying something, but his voice was lost in the heavy cloth of Alexander’s coat. Reluctantly, he moved away, but his blood ran cold when he saw the fear on Callum’s face.
“What… what…” Shock and love stopped his brain sending the necessary signals to inform his mouth to work, properly. “Can you no tell me what the matter is, Callum?”
He didn’t want to know what he had encountered, he was aware, only too well what was out there. He didn’t want to hear the horror behind Callum’s fear, and so he rambled on, “Where have you been? Why did you no’ come back sooner?” He kept talking over Callum’s words, longing, but fearful, to hear the answers of where he had been… but also dreading to hear them.
‘Dinnae leave me again, Callum,” Alexander said, as another rush of fearful tears fell.
“Alexander!” Callum yelled, and an eerie hush fell about the room.
Alexander waited, shocked that Callum was able to shout in such a way.
“Alexander.” Callum stared at him with lifeless eyes.
Fear gripped his heart afresh. “Tell me what it is I must know, Callum, before you go to find peace. Aye, I ken that’s why you’ve come back, just for this moment, to let me help you on your next journey.”
“Hush, Alexander,” he said firmly and closed his eyes. Then, searching the ceiling once more, he cautiously formed the words that needed to be said.
“We have to go find Mairi and Appoloin,” he insisted.
Alexander turned his head from him, sorrow crowding his heart.
“We can’t, Cal,” he said despondently, never letting go of his brother’s hands, desperate to keep the communication open, needing to hold on to him.
Callum began to scream, and the sound made Alexander reel with the pain being inflicted upon his ears, and he covered them with his hands.
“Stop it, Callum. Please, stop it. What’s wrong, for God’s sake? What the hell is the matter?” He managed to remove his hands, from his ears, and grabbed Callum by the shoulders, shaking him. A trickle of blood ran down Alexander’s neck, the noise having perforated his ear drums.
“Callum!” he shouted above the screaming.
“Callum!” he tried again.
“We can’t go to Mairi, or Appoloin.”
Callum stopped shrieking, jerking his head to Alexander, his eyes, wild with alarm and fear, found their mark.
“We can’t, Callum,” Alexander said calmly. “Appoloin and Mairi died in the sixteenth century. They are in the fourth level of the Heavens, beyond any of our reach. We cannot even mistdream to them.”
Alexander tried, he really did.
He wanted to be the man he was known to be. The accumulation of all that he’d gone through, together with the pain of loss he had experienced, and then, adding the ache of loneliness he’d endured for years into the mix, it just tipped the balance in his mind.
He couldn’t stop it.
No matter how hard he tried, he couldn’t stop it.
He didn’t even want to prevent the single tear that made a pathway over his cheek, and ended its journey when it fell on Callum’s hand.
>
He lowered his head in shame, no longer able to look into his brother’s eyes.
Callum grabbed him by the chin and yanked his head up, so that they were staring directly at one another. Alexander attempted to move away, but Callum held his head fast, in a ferocious grip. He searched his face for answers, but pulled back in horror, when, suddenly, Callum’s eyes seeped black.
“Mairi is alive, and with Appoloin,” he whispered menacingly. “We have to find them before it’s too late.”
*
In a tree-lined meadow, the lush green grass sprouted tall, reaching for the sun. People ambled about, greeting one another with a smile and a handshake, or a peck on the cheek. Appoloin and Mairi lay on the grass watching the scene around them, taking pleasure in the heat of the sun, while watching their son and daughter roll about, laughing and playing together. Their legs still too little to hold them upright for any length of time, they constantly fell down onto their bottoms, and they giggled every time.
They could barely contain their excitement.
Today was the day. They had waited so long for it to come.
Mairi’s eyes always softened when she looked upon them. She remembered the boys they had left behind, their brothers, and her heart grew heavy with remorse.
“They are fine young boys now, Mairi. I know you miss them, but they will be with us before you know it. Your Da and Adramelechk have done a grand job in raising them.”
“But they grew up without a mother’s love, and they grew up without me holding them.”
“Mairi, we agreed this had to be the outcome. It was the only way. My heart breaks, as does yours, but we have to remember what was best, for all.”
“Did we pull it off, do you think?”
Appoloin’s face became sombre. “I think we achieved that which he hoped, yes, and I doubt we will ever be forgiven for it, but it had to be done, or the Mistdreamers would never have come into being.”
“I know, I know,” she said sadly. “I tell myself the same thing every day, and then I remember the boys, and my cousins. We caused so much pain to them.”
“We will be once more together, very soon, and this time we will get it right.”
Artists’ Poetic Licence
Whilst Alfred Lord Tennyson (1809-1892) and Frederic Chopin (1810-1849) both, at some time in their life, lived in Eaton Square, London, neither were there as children, and did not, in fact, venture there until much later in their life.
However, the facts within the historical reference to Glencoe have only been altered with the use of Demons in place of the actual people who instigated and carried out the “Act of Murder under Trust” an act considered even more heinous than the massacre itself.
An inquiry was carried out to establish and apportion blame to those responsible for the massacre. Two leading Scottish judiciaries, Lord Fountainhill and Sir George MacKenzie, refused the position of Lord Advocate when informed they should not prosecute persons implicated.
The commission conclusion was to exonerate King William, despite it being he who signed the orders to murder, and place blame on Dalrymple.
The Scottish Parliament reviewed the report and set before king that recommendations for punishment of the perpetrators of the plot be held accountable, and that surviving Macdonalds be compensated.
To this day, these recommendations have not been enforced, apart from John Campbell, Earl of Breadalbane spending a few days in Edinburgh Castle, charged with high treason because of his involvement with Jacobite chiefs.
The Spanish Armada did, in fact, sail into Tobermory in 1588. After a crushing defeat by Sir Francis Drake, they were forced into the English Channel and had to navigate a return to Spain by sailing around Scotland and the West Coast of Ireland. A ship restocked, and the captain stayed with the MacLean over the three days it was anchored.
When it sailed, only a few miles out of harbour, it exploded. There are many explanations to the reasons why this happened.
I prefer to think my Lucias and his band of Demons were the cause.
Glossary
The Angels
Archangel Omniel – The Angel of Oneness
Adramelechk (Ad-ram-a-leck) – The Angel of Fire
Ambriel – The Angel of communications
Appoloin – The Angel of Destruction
Azrael – The Angel of Death
Elemiah – The Angel of Inward Journeys
Forcas – The Angel of Invisibility
Kakabel – The Angel of the Moon
Paschar – The Angel of Vision
Ramiel – The Angel of Thunder
Sammael – The Angel of Souls
Xaphan – The Angel of Invention
Metatron – The Angel of Thought
The Demons
King Baal
King Balam
King Amdusias
King/President Zagan
Prince Seere
Prince Lucias
Duke/President Forcas
Duke Flauros
Duke Dantalion
Count Bifrons
Count Glasya-Labolas
With Thanks to
I could not have completed this book without the support of many people.
I would especially like to thank:
Paul, my husband and best friend, I love you.
Paul-Mark, Hayley, Michael and Christopher - thanks for believing in me.
Diana Gabaldon - you encourage, help and share, thank you for your kindness and friendship.
Dave Hill - a genius - your artwork brought my
words to life.
Alexander Millar - an artist with magic in his fingers
Poddingtons Coffee shop - Angels would drink your coffee! Thank you Gavin, Robyn, Moe and all.
Dr Lorne McPherson - you save Dragons and Angels
and me!
Everyone at Troubadour Publishing - for guiding me all the way and making it an easy process.
The Park Family: Mairi: Retribution Page 37
