Sophie wanted to stay, have cake, and admire the pretty dresses, so the three cronies left Seaghan with her and went off in search of the missing girls. They weren’t at the pond, nor the walled garden, or the gazebo. Guests stopped them to chat and ask after Morrigan’s health as she neared her ninth month of pregnancy, hampering their search. Lily found them and reported happily that Sir John Beechforth had promised to donate a building in Soho that had been in his family, unused, for years. She whispered that the old sot hadn’t been able to take his eyes off her bosoms, so she credited them for the prize.
Eventually, the three took note of a striped pavilion set some distance away from the others, and Diorbhail remembered that Olivia had asked Kyle and Logan to erect it for her and her friends.
They couldn’t see the children as they walked up, but heard a flurry of female chatter, and paused outside the pavilion to listen.
“How many sisters do you have?”
Morrigan recognized the voice of Rachel’s daughter, Jean.
“I don’t know,” she heard Olivia reply. “Lots.”
“Am I there?” This was asked by Eirene, Olivia’s younger sister.
“Of course you’re there,” Olivia said impatiently. “I told you already. The new sister will be there too. All my sisters will be there, all, from the first.”
“But how, if they’re dead?” This was Jean again. Though she was only nine months older than Olivia, she often expressed disdain for what she called the younger girl’s silliness.
Olivia huffed. “The lady says they’ll come back to life and we’ll be together.”
“People don’t come back to life,” Jean said.
“My sisters will. The lady promised.”
“How can they be your sisters? Your mam’s only had the two of you.”
“I want to dream of my other sisters!” Eirene said plaintively.
“Maybe you’re not old enough,” Olivia said. “I only started having the dream two months ago.”
“Tell us their names again,” Jean asked. She sounded disbelieving, like she thought she might catch Olivia in a mistake and prove the tale was make-believe.
Olivia gave a sigh and Morrigan heard a whimper, probably from Violet’s baby, Grace. Olivia loved that child, and was always running off with her.
As she began to speak, a large eagle landed on a nearby rowan branch. It made no sound but cocked its head and leveled the women with a fierce stare.
“There’s Romy and Claire and Evie. There’s… oh aye, Rosabel. And the ones with the unco names— Xanthe and Pasithea. And Iphiboë. And Alecto. And the new baby. The lady said her name will be Willow.”
Morrigan had sagged against Diorbhail as Olivia spoke the first three names. Her legs felt too weak to support her.
“Alecto,” Diorbhail whispered.
As Olivia came to the end of her list, Morrigan took in a breath and straightened. The three women regarded each other, their eyes shining, and reached out, placing their hands on each other’s shoulders, creating a perfect circle.
EPILOGUE: THREE
1894
THE JEWELER FROWNED upon seeing the items. He spent a long time studying them with his magnifier, turning them over repeatedly.
“What is it, Philip?” Curran finally asked. “Are they sham? Stolen?”
“No, Mr. Ramsay. Well, I know nothing about any theft. I do not believe they are imitation. Excuse me, sir.”
He went into the back through a curtain and soon returned with another man, who also inspected the knife and necklace carefully.
They spoke together in low, rapid Greek. Curran understood only a few words, having lost most of the Greek he’d learned at university.
“Will one of you tell me what is so interesting?” he interrupted.
The two men exchanged glances. Philip, whose surname, Curran suddenly remembered, was Christopoulos, said, “I believe these are ancient, truly ancient, but I would like the opinion of an expert. There is a fellow connected to the new museum in Athens, the National Archaeological Museum. With your permission, I would like to take these items there for him to examine.”
“You want to take them to Athens? I don’t know. They belong to my wife. It took her years to agree to this appraisal.”
The men exchanged another glance.
“You aren’t telling me everything,” Curran said.
“How did she acquire these pieces, may I ask?”
“They were gifts.”
“From a collector, perhaps?”
“No. Just a man.”
Christopoulos stared at him, frowning deeply.
“They are stolen. Is that what you are not saying?”
“No, no, Mr. Ramsay. Please forgive me. It is odd, of course, how pieces of such antiquity could spend years in… your wife’s possession? These should be in a museum.”
“And you have now suggested that twice. What guarantee do I have, Philip, that they will be returned if you take them to Athens?”
The door at the front of the shop opened just then and Morrigan came in, flanked by Diorbhail.
“There you are.” Curran held out his hand.
She came forward, clasping his hand and smiling at the two men behind the counter. “We’re finished with our errands,” she said, and perused the knife and necklace. “Well? Is there a verdict?”
“Not really. These men want to take your antiquities to Athens.”
Morrigan did not react as he’d thought she would. She blinked, but her smile didn’t falter. “They are wonderful, aren’t they?” she said.
“Yes, Lady Eilginn,” Philip said. “In fact, they are astonishing.”
The other man came out from behind the counter. “I am Spiro Michelakis, Mrs. Ramsay,” he said. Philip sounded like a native Londoner, but Spiro’s Greek accent was pronounced.
She held out her hand and he took it briefly. “May I tell you about our new museum in Athens?” he asked.
“There’s a new museum? I would be very interested,” she replied, and the two walked over to another counter, where he brought out several cases as he spoke to her.
“Mr. Ramsay, sir,” Philip said, “Greece has a moral right to her artifacts.”
“You are certain these are Greek.”
“The meander on the necklace suggests it might be Cretan. There have been other items found there with this pattern.”
“Ah.”
“Does that mean something to you, Mr. Ramsay?”
“No.”
“How was the knife broken?”
“It was dropped. I suppose that hurts its value.”
“I suspect nothing could harm the value of these pieces.” He picked up the knife, very carefully, and ran his thumb over the sheared-off edge. “Obsidian,” he murmured. “The hilt is ivory.”
“My wife believes the figure is Athene.”
“Oh yes, no doubt of it. The owl and the aegis tell us this.” His eyes filled with tears.
“Philip?” Curran said. “What have I done?”
“Oh, sir, it’s just that… look here. You can see the tool marks. I feel certain I am holding something in my hands that was created thousands of years ago, in my country, by men just like me, perhaps. Artisans. I feel them, you see, in my flesh. I feel I am looking through their eyes as they carve this image. I can almost smell their forge fires.”
Curran didn’t know what to say. It was odd, for he too sometimes saw flashes of things when he held the necklace and the knife.
“Is your wife knowledgeable about our history?” Philip asked.
“Very much so.”
Morrigan returned to his side. “Curran, I have an idea. You know how Livvy has always wanted to see an excavation. Let’s gather up the weans and go with these gentlemen to Athens and see their museum for ourselves.”
“Well….”
“We can take the lasses to see Schliemann’s Troy and his other excavations, at Mycenae, and Tiryns.”
“I would be honored to escort
you to Crete,” Spiro said as he joined them. “Sixteen years ago, part of a building was dug up beneath a mound there, and many of our antiquarians believe this is the actual palace of Knossos— the legendary place named in Homer’s Odyssey! And as I was just telling your wife, sir, I am most intrigued by the pattern on your necklace, for it matches the pattern on coins that have been discovered nearby.”
Morrigan’s excitement was clear to see, as was Diorbhail’s. Curran felt excitement rise inside him as well, almost as though he was contemplating going home.
His wife was looking at him in that way she had, communicating without words.
He realized he was nodding.
So be it. They would embark on a new pilgrimage— this time with their children.
THE END
GLOSSARY FOR THE SIXTH LABYRINTH
Bannock: flat bread
Batting: cotton quilting (in this case, for diapers)
Bauld and ferlie: bold and wondrous Ferlie: strange, unusual, causing wonder: “a marvel”
Besom: can be a broom, but in this case it’s a silly, tiresome girl
Boak: to vomit
Bogle: like a bogey-man, a ghost, a demon or supernatural thing
Braes: a steep bank or hillside
Braw: fine, beautiful, grand
Cheviot: a breed of sheep
Clishmaclaver: gossip
Close: a narrow place like an alley, a path, a passage
Cockerdecosie: Piggy-back riding
Currach: a very small boat, similar to a coracle, but shaped differently: currachs could be sea-worthy
Dawless: lazy
dead-can’le: a mystical bluish light that would appear around a house where someone was soon to die
Deiseal: the direction of the sun as it travels through the sky every day: to walk deiseal is to walk following the sun’s movement, and is believed to give powerful protection
Dirk: a dagger
Dominie: a schoolteacher
Dowf: dull and stupid
Dowp: backside
Dreich: wet, cold, miserable weather
Dulse: a salty dark red seaweed
Fashing, or fash: to be annoyed, worried, or stressed
Fee: a job
Gawpus: a clumsy stupid lout
Glaikit: thoughtless, stupid, foolish
Glengarry: a traditional men’s cap
greet, greeting: weeping
Haar: a sea-haar is a thick sea mist
Half-mark church: a church that performs clandestine or unconventional weddings
Hippins: baby diapers
Hissy: Beatrice uses this as a way of saying “hussy,” which is a mischievous girl, a problem child
Jillet: a flirt
jo: “dear” or “sweetheart”
Keek: to peek
Kirk: a Presbyterian church
Kist: the bride’s kist: her hope chest, in which she stores linens and other things she’s made for when she marries
Kye: cattle
Lief: “rather,” “happily.” “I would as happily buy a dog.”
Mince: rubbish. Nonsense
Moolet: to whine
Mucker: while this can be used in place of “friend,” it can also be derogatory. Kit uses it on Douglas to mean a coarse man, a jerk
Mutchit: said to children when annoyed with them or when one doesn’t think much of them
Paddler: a child just beginning to walk. A toddler
Sark: shirt
scunner: there are several ways to use this word. It describes many different emotions: angry, frustrated, annoyed, dislike.
Shieling: a rude hut or stone shelter up in sheep grazing lands, usually only occupied in the summer
Skaffie: a versatile Scottish fishing boat
Sonsie: another word with many uses and meanings, like “healthy,” “good-natured,” “attractive.”
Thole: bear, tolerate, endure: (I cannot bear it any longer)
Thrawn: perverse, twisted, crooked
Thwart: a bench on a boat
Unco: strange, weird, extraordinary
Wambly: trembling, shaky
Wame: stomach
Wynd: an alleyway, a narrow lane between buildings
GAELIC (AND GREEK) TRANSLATIONS
a bhrònag: You poor thing
a charaid: my friend
a ghaoil: my darling
a ghràidh: my love
àilleag nan nighean: jewel of the girls
a leannan: sweetheart, to a baby or child
a luaidh: an endearment. “Beloved”
a-mach às mo shealladh: Get out of my sight
a nighean: My lass
an tig thu thugam a-nochd: Will you come to me tonight
Arnamuil, Gunamuil, Lianamuil: sea stacks at Mingulay
a rùin mo chridhe: My greatest love
a shiùrsach: Whore, or “you whore”
Bàgh a’ Chaisteil: Castlebay, a village on the island of Barra
Barraigh: Gaelic for the island of Barra
beannachd leat a ghràidh: Goodbye, my love
beannachd leat, mo nighean: Goodbye, my daughter
bean-nighe: water-wraith
bean-sìth: Female spectres
bean-uasal: a Highland lady
cait fhiadhaich: the Scottish wildcat
caileag: girl
Cailleach an Dùdain: “The Old Woman of the Mill-Dust,” or “The Old Wife,” a traditional harvest-time dance from ancient times, with specific movements and symbolism
Càrnan: the highest hill on Mingulay
cèilidh: a visit, a get-together, a party
chan fhaca mi a leithid: “I never saw the like”
ciamar a tha thu, a ghràidh: How are you, my love
crioslachan: a bag, sometimes used to hold the Michaelmas carrots
curran: carrot
daoine sìth: A supernatural race of faery-like people from Ireland. Described in various ways, as spirits of nature, gods and goddesses, faery people
Dòmhnach Curran: Carrot Sunday (at Michaelmas)
Dùn Mhiughalaigh: a promontory on Mingulay
Earsaraidh: a village on Barra
feasgar math: good evening
fèilidhean: kilts
gaol mo chridhe: Love of my heart
gille: boy
glaistig: a fearsome grey creature
gu bràth: Forever
gus am faic mi a-rithist thu: Until I see you again
Innse Orc: the Orkney Islands
Là Fèill Bhrìghde: St. Brigit’s Feast Day
madainn mhath: good morning
m’ eudail: my darling
mhic an Diabhail: Son of the Devil
mìos nam pòg: Month of kisses
mo bhean: my wife
Mo rùn: my love
Morrigan/Morrígan: I kept the acute accent when I referenced the goddess, to differentiate between my character and the deity. There is some argument about whether it would have the accent. Various sources show it both ways, so I made that literary choice.
m’ ulaidh bhuaireanta: bhuaireanta has different connotations. On the one hand, it means “tempting,” “enticing,” and maybe the most telling, “enflaming.” But it also means “annoying,” “irritating,” “argumentative.” All of which can go together in many ways. It is the perfect, most sublime word in this instance
Nam chridhe gu bràth: In my heart forever
oda: the Michaelmas horse race
oidhche mhath, ciamar a tha sibh: Good evening (or good night), how are you? (spoken formally)
pìobaireachd: the piping (bagpipes)
Sasannach: an Englishman
Sasannaich, na Sasannaich: The English
seanchaidh: storyteller
sìthean: a faery hill
Sgoth Niseach: A type of fishing boat built on the isle of Lewis
Sgurr Mhic Bharraich: Mountain (or hill, really) east of Glenelg
Slàinte, or slàinte mhath: Good health
Sròn an Dùin: Nose of t
he Dun
strùan: the Michaelmas cake
’s tu mo bhean is mo rùn: Thou art my wife and my love
’s tusa gaol is rùn mo chridhe: Thou art my love, my heart
tadger: penis
tha gaol agam ort: I am in love with you
tha ise bòidheach: She is beautiful
tha mi toilichte: I am happy
tha thu gam chur às mo chiall: You’re driving me daft
Taigh gun chù, gun chat, gun leanabh beag. Taigh gun ghean, gun ghàire: “A house without a dog, a cat, or a little child is a house without joy or laughter”
Taigh na Gaoithe: Windy House
taigh-tughaidh: Thatched house
Tuatha Dé Dannann (Danaan) or Tuath Dé: Tribe of the gods, or of the goddess Danu. Kings, queens and heroes with supernatural powers. Worshipped as gods originally: Robert Graves thought they originated in the Mediterranean
uisge-beatha: whisky
ùruisg: part goat, part human with tangled hair and protruding eyes
Lebadeia: site of an ancient sanctuary on the Greek mainland, north of Athens, where people sought prophecy from oracles
Zoi mou… agapi mou. T’aste’ri mou: Greek. Zoi mou: my life. Agapi mou: my love. T’aste’ri mou: my star
AUTHOR’S NOTES
(FOR THOSE WHO LIKE TO PEEK BEHIND THE CURTAIN)
The Sixth Labyrinth is a complicated weave of truth and fantasy: Yes, liberties were taken. Following are notes, both about the liberties and truths, for those who might be interested.
* * * *
The maiden voyage of the Princess Louise was July 1, 1872. I moved this date back to May, for the purposes of the story. (I wanted Morrigan to be married and in Glenelg by Michaelmas.)
I was thrilled to discover some maps of Stranraer as it was in the 1850s. I used those to help describe the city, as well as my own memories from staying there.
I have an extensive library of books and other media detailing the Scots language and dialects. I have studied these, off and on, for about twenty-five years. This has equated into me understanding some but still being able to authentically speak almost none. I was extremely fortunate to receive the help of two native Gaelic speakers for this book, and I will always be grateful for their assistance and patience.
The Sixth Labyrinth (The Child of the Erinyes Book 4) Page 83
