by S. Robertson
“Come, let us sit in this tree seat,” said Brigit, directing them to a semicircular bench, beautifully carved from a fallen tree stump. Old markings, impossible to read, spoke of time and weathering.
Sitting with Wolfram and Angi on either side, Brigit continued, “It was said that the Tuantha De Danann came from the Black Sea, ruling Mesopotamia from the eighteenth to the sixteenth centuries B.C.E… They were considered the world’s most noble race, alongside the early kings of Egypt. They settled in Ireland around 800 B.C.E… They were the oldest Ring culture in history, and in Ireland they were considered a race of god-men and women. One of the greatest Ring shrines still exists, you know it as Newgrange.”
“I’m waiting for the Serpent connection,” Wolfram asked, still focused on his original question.
“Well, the Tuantha De Danann were called the Sumaire, which in old Irish means ‘dragon’ or ‘the coiled serpent’. In the past, the terms ‘dragon’ and ‘serpent’ were used interchangeably. It was said that the physician to the Tuantha De Danann was referred to as a ‘Serpent’, likely a title. Many cultures regarded the serpent as sacred, identifying it with wisdom and healing; the Sumerians, Egyptians, Israelites, Essenes (i.e. Therapeutae or the ascetic healing community) of Qumran, Vedic Hindus, Greeks and Romans, right down to our present time. The symbol of the central staff and serpent was thought to represent the spinal cord and the sensory nervous system with the two uppermost wings signifying the brain’s lateral ventricular structures.”
Wolfram pressed the point, “But why was this medallion called the ‘Serpent’s Medallion?’”
As Brigit spoke, Angi took another look at their newfound teacher. Brigit had a wise, gentle countenance, the years etched beautifully on her face. With few wrinkles, Angi deducted she had never smoked. She obviously loves teaching, possessing not only a depth of academic knowledge but that vanishing quality, spiritual depth. In this dreamlike setting ancient voices seemed to be speaking through this elder Guardian.
Brigit’s voice echoed in the enclosure, “In time, the Druids, who arrived with the Tuantha De Danann, were given the medallion as their badge of healing. It was worn by the Arch Druid, a responsibility which required much training.”
Angi, mulling over the new revelations, asked, “Brigit, I’m still struggling with the notion that the Tuantha De Danann are the wee folk or fairies in our children’s books. How do you equate this with your version that these were a strong and powerful people?”
“I can understand your confusion, Angi, but this diminution of these people occurred in our era, mainly by political and religious people threatened by such facts. The Tuantha De Danann were far from small. The men stood six foot six and the women at six feet. They dressed in leather and woolen tartan clothes and were skilled with horses. They were fair, many with emerald eyes, just like yours, Angi, and were considered people of superior intelligence and artistic skill. As such, they were larger than mortals with an awe-inspiring radiance which explains why they were sometimes called ‘the shining ones’. It was said they evoked a sense of awe and respect.”
“What happened to them?” asked Wolfram, still intrigued by this revised version of history.
“When a war between the Tuantha De Danann and mankind ended in a draw, the Fairies agreed to go underground, others say they went across the water, while mankind stayed on the surface of the earth,” replied Brigit. “The unknown factor is what was meant by ‘underground’ or ‘across the water’.”
Now it was Angi’s turn, “What you are saying, is that this medallion belongs to these fairy folk, an ancient people known as the Lords of Anu. Why then do I have it? What am I supposed to do with this when all the gemstones are in place? If this is some ancient technology, and you said that even the Druids needed training in handling it, who is going to train me, Brigit? At this point I’m both impressed and terrified.”
“Angi, my dear, I’m not surprised you’ve been chosen to wear this medallion. My grandmother told me that your family, of the eight Sacred Gentry, possessed the highest genetic inheritance from this royal line. Not because your ancestor’s name was Stewart, although that should not be dismissed, but because even by your generation, there must be a sufficient amount of the Dragon Lord genes to keep this sophisticated item in balance. That is a great honor.”
Bewildered, Angi stared at Brigit and Wolfram. “A Dragon bloodline, that sounds ominous. Am I some kind of hybrid? We seem to be slipping into science fiction. It’s no wonder no one in the family ever mentioned it, even if they knew.”
“Angi, this is a lot to take in at once. The reason why it was never mentioned is that like so many families, after three hundred years, much of this information got lost. Angi, be proud of your heritage. Remember the sacrifice of your ancestors and the other seven families. They are counting on you to achieve this mission. The Guardians are still ready to assist you, however old we may be, and even give our lives if necessary. If all this is too confusing, remember your dear grandmother.”
At that moment the image of her grandmother registered and calmed Angi. “I understand and will do my best. Thank you, Brigit for revealing this much to us. I hope this helps Wolfram and me in the days ahead,” said Angi, with a cascading number of unanswered questions giving her a headache.
Not wanting to lose his chance, Wolfram aimed at one more mystery. “Brigit do you know anything about the blue stone in the center of the medallion?”
“It’s likely one of the Blue Stones of Tara,” replied Brigit, confidently. “Legend has it that there were a number of such stones from Atlantis. Perhaps you’re aware of the recent book which argues that Ireland is a remnant of Atlantis. If so, then the blue stones may have originated here. That may explain another myth. Some say that the blue stones were given to Moses, and later brought to Ireland by Jeremiah when he accompanied the last Israelite princess after the sacking of Jerusalem by the Babylonians around 500 B.C.E… If so, then perhaps Jeremiah was returning the stones to their original home. Anyway, these are the blue stones which were used to establish the Druid Schools of Wisdom.”
Wolfram couldn’t hold back, “Angi, remember Nat’s theories? We thought he was just theorizing. He may have been closer to the truth than we gave him credit. I hope one day I can tell him.”
“We must get back, it’s almost suppertime,” replied Bridget, noting the shift in the shadows.
“A final question, Brigit,” asked Angi. “By any chance do you know who has the original list of the eight couples?”
“I have the name of a Scottish Guardian who I have already contacted for you. She has the list. Her name is Fiona Stevenson and she lives in Scone, the old Scottish capital. Now Fiona is ninety-three, and the last member of her family. She is anxious to talk to you before her time runs out. Just for the record, my ancestors were Dermot and Grace O’Cregan.”
As they turned to leave, Brigit added, “Angi, last night thinking of your arrival I remembered an old Irish prophecy. It’s said that in this new century a great prophet, or prophetess, would arise in the west that would cause the Tree of Tara to blossom. Perhaps this is the purpose of the medallion. If so, I’d like to be on the Hill of Tara when you finally gather. In fact, I think it’s imperative that all living Guardians be there with you to see the culmination of their family’s sacrifice. Will you keep that in mind?”
“Brigit, Wolfram and I will do our best. We will need you with us for moral support for I suspect this journey will not be finalized until then. It would be nice if it’s just the flowering of the Tree of Tara……..but what else?” Regarding the prophecy she thought, “I’m no prophetess. My greatest hope is to return to nursing but these days I fear a Banshee may pop up. God knows how much time I have without chemotherapy.”
As they exited the enclosure, Brigit commented, “We’ll not discuss this with the others. If you need a further chat we can find a private corner. Before you leave in the morning I’ll have some contact information and give you my cell p
hone number.”
As they exited the grove, Wolfram spotted Dylan who had positioned himself at the side of the house giving him a strategic view of the area. “He’s definitely on duty,” thought Wolfram. Then aloud, giving Angi a familiar look, said, “I think I’ll chat with Dylan regarding tomorrow’s trip.”
Another woman had appeared to help with the evening meal. It was a splendid Irish seafood feast; deep fried Celtic mushrooms, crab cakes, salmon rolls and a main casserole dish of sea scallops, shrimp, and crabmeat baked to a golden brown. With salads, bread and plenty of wine the group listened as Brigit and Dana expounded on their knowledge of the Celtic world. Earlier negative feelings had been set aside for the evening.
Before retiring, Wolfram cornered Angi. “I believe Dylan is from some special military group with recent experience in the Middle East. Word is that our Antonino dropped off the radar in Boston, the street chatter indicating that his mob connections grew tired of his predilection for trouble. He was attracting too much heat.”
“You don’t suppose his relatives did us a favor?” asked Angi.
“Not likely. The British version of Home Security believes he’s in Britain. By labeling him a potential terrorist, they hope to nab him before he has time to act. If he has learned anything, he’ll avoid expensive cars, have a harder disguise to crack and, I expect, will be dogging our heels once we’re in Scotland.” Then with a smile and a wink he concluded, “Have a good night’s sleep, Dragon lady.”
Angi wasn’t comfortable with her new title or even thinking about it. Before retiring she mused, “I thought life was complicated before, this is light years away. Maybe things will look better in the morning.”
At midnight, the familiar apparition arrived and, once again, used a vibrating light over Angi’s body. About to leave, she whispered “Welcome home, Angi. You are back on ancient ground. The next three stones will demand more but I’ll be here to guide you.” and with that she evaporated.
* * *
Scotland, Inveresk: DunRoslin Castle
Having slipped into the twilight zone of Celtic magic and ancient gods and goddesses, Angi had few expectations, as earlier ones had long been dashed. It took all her energy to stay focused. As such, Dylan’s off-the-cuff remark, “Andrew has connections,” barely registered until they arrived back at the Dublin Airport to find a private jet waiting for their flight to Edinburgh. More surprises lay ahead.
In Edinburgh, Dylan picked up a silver, four-door Range Rover, and exiting the airport drove south bearing left on the A8, then right on the roundabout to the A720 to bypass Edinburgh. According to him, they were heading towards Musselburgh, 6 miles east of Edinburgh to the community of Inveresk where Andrew lived. At this point, Dana, delighted at being back in the U.K., began a lively repartee on their destination.
“Inveresk, located at the junction of the river Esk with the Firth of Forth, has been a favorite escape for Edinburgh gentry for generations. Recently, archeologists discovered two well-preserved alters to the Roman god Mithras. Over the centuries many armies have marched through the area. The village, a 19th century cottage development was created in front of large manor houses to shelter them from the noise and dirt of the main streets. When the cottages were demolished, their front walls became the garden walls of the mansions. The area was so highly regarded it was once known as ‘the Montpellier of Scotland’.” As she was completing this statement, Dylan swung the van between gray stone pillars, with ‘DunRoslin’ chiseled distinctly on one, and entered a double-wide private driveway.
For a quarter of a mile they drove through a tree-lined road with manicured gardens on both sides. Then, the van approached an impressive, sculptured fountain in the center of a circular driveway near the main building. Parking the van under a portico, Angi alighted to find herself in front of a four-story, pinkish-gray, rough-cast castle with what appeared to be sandstone around the upper windows and turrets. Its storybook features included a rectangular tower, tall chimneys, semi-circular turrets and a coat-of-arms over the doorway. As Wolfram edged close to her while pulling their luggage out of the back of the van he whispered “My information said he was an Earl, a title he rarely used, but I didn’t expect this.” Before he had time to say more, Andrew exited the front door to greet his guests.
“I knew Dylan would get you here safely. He’s off to drive Dana home. She lives nearby. Drop your luggage inside the door, my staff will take care of it for you.” Angi, in awe, wasn’t sure she was ready for such a social leap.
Andrew continued talking as he escorted them through the open doorway, “Welcome to DunRoslin. This place has been in my family for generations. Built in the 1600s, it’s been renovated numerous times. The east wing is currently being updated so we’ll keep to the center and west wings. DunRoslin sits on twenty acres overlooking the Esk River which gives us lots of privacy. There is fifteen to twenty staff, and as with any respectable castle, there are two resident ghosts; a ‘Blue Lady’ from the 1700s and a mischievous boy. I’ve never encountered either myself and no one has yet pegged their identities. With recent road changes, we are closer to the city and airport which is a bonus.”
Andrew Sinclair was a disciplined man, observing strict dietary and fitness routines. Over six feet, he had a distinguished presence, his dark brown hair peppered with gray, and rimmed glasses gave him a professorial look. He walked with purpose striding through corridors as if on some urgent mission. He missed little, his piercing brown eyes scanning a room rapidly as if searching for some lost treasure. Possessing a mild Edinburgh professional class accent, his abrupt, bristly exterior disguised a quick wit and delight in a good laugh. The recent death of his wife of thirty years had left him restless. They had three children; a son in business in London, and two married daughters, one in Edinburgh and the other in France. Only the daughter in France had children; two boys.
In his late fifties, Andrew had a notable reputation with an extensive network of contacts. For centuries, his family held prestigious Scottish credentials with direct ties to Rosslyn Castle, senior positions in the Knights Templar and military, advisors and ambassadors to kings and the Empire, and, in recent years, owners and directors of a number of British and international corporations. Money was plentiful and used with discretion.
Like his ancestors, Andrew, at seventeen, joined the Gordon Highlanders and advanced through the ranks to the position of Lieutenant Colonel. At thirty-seven, because of an injury acquired in the Middle East he retired from the military to pursue an academic career making good use of his family and military connections. He excelled in history and archeology, obtaining his PhD in the Scythian origin of the Scots as mentioned in the Arbroath Declaration of Independence. Currently, he was the Acting Head of the History Department at Edinburgh University, while the dean was on leave due to illness.
Irrespective of his military and academic achievements, Andrew longed for an extraordinary accomplishment, one that would bring honor to his heritage, Scotland or both. This was the reason he willingly joined two younger professors, Mandelthrope of Boston and O’Gratteney of Dublin, in their pursuit of a 17th century secret. He knew there were lots of secrets in the British Isles, some dating back centuries. So, he made time to search university sources, and contacted friends and acquaintances, especially those with private archives. Some months into the research, he received an invitation to a ‘private’ gathering of a secret society in Edinburgh. This powerful group of Scottish leaders confirmed the existence of an ancient lost treasure, one individual producing a faded sketch of a medallion. They agreed to help as long as they remained anonymous. So it was with great anticipation that Andrew welcomed Angi and Wolfram, for he was certain Angi possessed the tangible confirmation of this treasure.
The castle’s entrance room had grand presence and little warmth. The coolness of the black and white floor tiles was ameliorated by the rose colored walls covered with commanding family portraits, tapestries, and a large tartan swathe. The carved wooden t
able with four uncomfortable matching chairs did little to improve the milieu. The space was designed as a temporary transition point.
As Angi and Wolfram set down their suitcases, a middle aged man, with a commanding presence appeared.
I want you to meet Ian Fraser; he’s my right hand here at DunRoslin. He rules this kingdom,” said Andrew. Ian smiled, acknowledging his status.
“Ian, this is Angi Talismann from Canada and Wolfram Stark from the United States. As we discussed, I expect they will be our guests for some weeks.”
Ian stepped forward and shook their hands, carefully assessing his new arrivals, and saying, “I’ll make sure your bags are placed in your rooms. I have an application for your cell phones to guide you around the castle.”
Andrew, scarcely giving time for Ian’s preliminary chat, continued, “Let’s go to the Drawing Room on the next level where we can get better acquainted.” He then turned and climbed rapidly up the white marble stairway, with its gray and gold carpet.
Following their host, Angi and Wolfram ascended the stairway taking an occasional glance at the family portraits framed in gold, some with similar features. Remembering the size of the exterior, Angi calculated, “I’ll need a satellite navigational system in this place, even with Ian’s map I’ll likely get lost getting to breakfast.”
The Drawing Room was another surprise. Some decorator, updating the interior had created a bright, modern setting with an air of relaxed luxury. A cream plasterwork ceiling was complimented by pale green walls trimmed with gold, elegant chandeliers, along with rose, mint and gold upholstered chairs and sofa and cherry-wood furniture. The pink-marble fireplace had an exquisite French clock trimmed in gold and the room was replete with costly ornaments. A small piano sat in one alcove and a round wooden inlayed cabinet in another. Huge windows, overlooking the entrance driveway and gardens, filled the room with light, several opened to admit an enchanting bouquet from well-placed bushes.
