Twice Upon a Soul

by Deborah R Stigall

  At the sudden bump of the wheels on the runway, Taylor realized with surprise that during her conversation with Mattie, she’d completely missed the take off and short flight from Inverness to Stornoway. As they taxied to a stop, she glanced out the window to see if it was necessary to don her handy raingear once again. But the weather appeared crisp and clear, the sun reflecting brightly over the moorland of the Isle of Lewis.

  The land somewhat rugged and flat, Taylor could glimpse vibrant green patches of peat covering the fields in the distance. As they slowly made their way off the plane, Taylor felt a growing sense of urgency to get out and see the surrounding area. She couldn’t understand this magnetic pull tearing at her heart; but she was quite positive that she must somehow reacquaint herself with the land. Even though she’d never been to the Isle of Lewis, there was an air of familiarity about the place…an ancient connection, an almost primeval call to her soul.

  Shaking her head to dispel the eerie feeling, Taylor instantly regretted the motion, the hangover making her head feel as though she’d just sloshed her brain from one side of her skull to the other. Handing her baggage claim ticket to Mattie, she rushed to the public restroom, proceeding to violently rid her body of its toxins as she clung to the edge of the porcelain bowl.

  Emerging from the restroom somewhat paler but feeling slightly more human, Taylor found Drake and Mattie at the Stornoway Car Hire counter. Signing the paperwork with a flourish, Drake accepted the keys from the clerk then turned to Mattie and Taylor. “Are we ready?” he asked, gallantly managing to tuck the keys into his pocket and gather the bulk of the luggage in one fell scoop of his arm.

  Bending to pick up the small bags Drake had been unable to secure, Mattie chirped in her usual exuberant manner. “Let’s go!”

  “Where exactly are we headed, Mattie?” Taylor asked, realizing Mattie had never filled her in on the lodging arrangements she’d managed to procure upon the island.

  “To Callanish, of course, that’s where you said we must go.” Reading the description of the small village from the tourist guide, Mattie winked reassuringly at her pale friend. “Since it’s sort of off season for tourism, I lucked into finding a small cottage for us to rent for the next two weeks…we can pretty much fend for ourselves and do whatever research and exploring we need to do. I thought that might work out best considering we’d probably need some privacy.”

  Making their way across the airport, Drake began methodically ticking off supplies they’d need to procure along the way. “We’ll need food and whatever toiletries we haven’t already packed. I’ll have to ask someone to direct us to a shop along the way.”

  “It says in here that everything on the entire island is closed on Sunday, so we’d better find everything we’re going to need today.” Mattie observed, reading the tourism pamphlet with avid interest.

  They deposited their bags and suitcases into the trunk of the car, then quickly elected Drake to drive the vehicle. Neither Mattie or Taylor had ever driven in Europe and the thought of having to reverse all of her Americanized driving habits, made Taylor’s head throb even worse. Climbing into the backseat of the car, Taylor pillowed her head against one arm, gratefully dozing off as Mattie and Drake got directions to the nearest store.

  Rousing briefly as Drake and Mattie got into the car, Taylor finally slid sideways in the seat, curling up with her head resting on her wadded up jacket. She must’ve been more exhausted then she realized because she completely slept through the stop at the store. She didn’t wake up until Drake accidentally managed to find the largest pothole in all of the United Kingdom.

  Bouncing several inches above the seat, Taylor tried in vain to catch her sunglasses as they went flying off her face. “Drake!” Taylor protested with aggravation as she sat upright in the seat.

  “I didn’t see the bloody thing…Taylor…I was looking at the stones!” Drake defended, nodding to the right of the car.

  “Cnoc an Tursa,” Taylor whispered involuntarily, as she stared out the car window.

  “What did you say?” Mattie asked, tearing her eyes from the eerie monoliths to turn in her seat and stare at Taylor.

  “Hill of Sorrow,” Taylor supplied, shivering as she suddenly felt quite cold.

  “Since when did you learn to speak Gaelic?” Mattie asked, flipping through the tourist guide for some reference to the Callanish Stones.

  “I-I m-must have read it somewhere,” Taylor stammered, knowing full well that the words had come from somewhere deep within her soul.

  “Absolutely fascinating,” Drake observed, pulling the car over to the side of the road and stopping. Bending his tall frame to get a better view out the window, Drake could hardly wait to actually walk among the stones.

  Reaching over to gently squeeze his hand, Mattie stared at Drake intently as she barely inclined her head in Taylor’s direction. “Drake…don’t you think we’d better get settled in before we start our sight-seeing?”

  Catching Mattie’s body language, Drake glanced back to find Taylor staring at the standing stones, wide-eyed and motionless as though paralyzed with fear.

  Drake quickly put the car into gear, moving the vehicle back into the road. “You’re quite right, love. After all, we don’t want our groceries to ruin…now do we?”

  Taylor turned in her seat, silently watching the stones out the back window until they were completely out of view.

  ~*~

  Mattie had outdone herself again. The cottage she had procured for them was situated on the outskirts of the village of Callanish over-looking Loch Roag. It was in fact, a restored black house. Its name being derived from the blackened appearance of the interior thatch permanently stained from years of smoky peat fires. The outer walls were of stone and the cottage was nearly perfectly round, the thatched roof perched jauntily atop the walls. From a distance, the cottage closely resembled a giant mushroom quietly nestled against the shore. The interior was quite cozy, the newly whitewashed walls sparkling clean, the plank flooring absolutely spotless. The cottage had been furnished with odds and ends of mis-matched furniture collected over the years, but the whole effect was quite homey and quaint. The three weary travelers immediately felt quite welcome in their newly found surroundings.

  Retrieving her sweater from the suitcase she’d plopped open on her bed, Taylor decided to take a look around before she unpacked completely. Shouting to Mattie and Drake that she’d be outside if they wanted her, Taylor closed the door firmly behind her. Pausing as she inhaled the sharp salt air, Taylor smiled in satisfaction, as the cool wind whipping across the Loch seemed to call to her, inviting her to come and explore.

  Choosing the narrow pathway leading toward the beach, Taylor drew her sweater closer about her. The nipping wind reminded her it was mid-October and steadily growing colder. The murky blue waters of the Loch looked forbidding, the tiny waves white capping and choppy in the sharp October breeze. But as she stood upon the sandy beach looking out over the waters, Taylor couldn’t help but admire the rugged beauty of this unknown land before her.

  There were no trees to speak of, the scorched earth policy of Magnus III had seen to that; burning nearly all of the original trees upon the rocky peat-covered isle. A few trees had been imported and replanted down through the years. But for the most part, the island’s inhabitants had pretty much grown accustomed to a treeless landscape.

  Walking along the sandy beach, Taylor’s eye was caught by the movement of something out in the water. Drawing closer to the lapping waves, eyes narrowed as she peered across the expanse of greenish-blue, Taylor frowned with concentration as she waited for the movement to reappear. Her patience finally rewarded, she smiled as the sleek black head of a seal popped just above the surface of the water. Soon this seal was joined by several more and Taylor grew quite absorbed in watching the acrobatics of the graceful water dancers.

  “The silkies seem ta like ye,” a gruff voice observed quietly at her side.

  Jumping as she clutched her
sweater to her throat, Taylor whirled to find an elderly man calmly leaning on a knobby walking stick as he puffed gently on a long-stemmed pipe.

  “I’m sorry lass…I dinna mean ta startle ye,” he laughed, the pipe held tightly between his smiling yellowed teeth.

  Backing slightly away from the wizened old man, Taylor raised her voice to be heard over the wind and the waves. “I didn’t hear you walk up,” she defended, pushing stubborn blonde strands of hair away from her face.

  Ancient eyes crinkling in merriment, the old man gestured toward the seals with a gnarled and shaking hand. “Aye…I know. Ye were too busy talkin’ ta yon silkies.” Winking at her with one shaggy white eyebrow, he continued, “Ye’d best take care lass…they’ll romance ye away with them into the waters of the Loch.”

  Smiling as she remembered folk tales of silkies charming people into running away with them, Taylor nodded in agreement with the bent old man. “My name’s Taylor McKenna…do you live around here?”

  “Ye might say that,” the smiling man replied with a mysterious wink. Slowly moving his way across the sand, he extended his hand to Taylor. “I’m known as Magnus and I’m pleased ta finally meet with ye, Taylor McKenna.”

  As Taylor grasped the old man’s hand, she was surprised at the strength of his grip. His gnomelike frame might appear arthritic and fragile, but Magnus’ grasp was warm and strong. Gazing into the clear blue eyes, mere slits in the wrinkled old face, Taylor was suddenly overcome with the feeling that Magnus was no ordinary person. His unusual greeting also left her puzzled…what did he mean by he was pleased to finally meet with her?

  Releasing her hand to cradle the bowl of his pipe, Magnus slowly steered them northward in their meandering stroll up the beach. He seemed quite content with plodding along, glancing out across the waters now and then as the wind pushed at their backs. Occasionally, Taylor would steel a glance at the wrinkled old face, wondering what thoughts were skimming behind the alert blue eyes. The silence between them finally growing uncomfortable, Taylor cleared her throat as she decided to ask Magnus the question that was playing upon her mind. “Magnus…have you ever heard of the legend of Laird Quinlan the Lost?” she asked, staring down at her feet as she kicked a rock skittering across the sand.

  Pausing so long in his response that Taylor thought that perhaps Magnus had not heard her question, he finally spoke just as Taylor was about to repeat herself. “Aye…I know of Quinlan,” he replied, nodding his head slowly in recognition.

  Waiting for him to continue and growing frustrated when all he did was puff on his pipe, Taylor prodded Magnus again, as he stared out across the waters. “Well…what do you know of the legend? Your version might be different from the one I’ve heard,” she reasoned, as she chose a large boulder for a seat.

  “’Tis nay a legend lass,” Magnus replied bluntly, leaning against another large rock nearby. Slowly easing himself down to a seated position, his arthritic knees crackling and popping in protest. Taylor silently wondered if he’d ever be able to rise from the rock again.

  “What do you mean?” Taylor inquired once Magnus had finally situated himself as comfortably as possible upon the rock ledge.

  Cocking his head curiously to one side, Magnus studied Taylor intently as he patiently re-lit his pipe. “Quinlan is quite real…and impatiently waiting for yer return,” he finished with a puff.

  “Who are you?” Taylor asked sharply, a chill running down her spine. She nervously looked across the beach toward the cottage, wishing that Mattie or Drake would emerge and come to her rescue.

  “Ye need not fear me lass,” Magnus replied in a low voice. “I’ve crossed over ta help ye in yer journey…ta guide ye and keep ye safe.”

  “Crossed over?” Taylor repeated, her brow wrinkling as she frowned at Magnus’ words.

  “Aye,” was Magnus reply as he repositioned himself on the cold hard rock. “Quinlan asked me ta come ta ye, for he is forbidden ta help ye return himself.”

  “Why is he forbidden? Tell me how I’m supposed to reach him,” Taylor asked, rising from her seat on the uncomfortable rock to walk over and stand impatiently before Magnus.

  Magnus stared out over the water; his blue eyes mere slits beneath the bushy brows. Not turning to look at Taylor, he spoke as though mesmerized, his voice barely carrying across the wind.

  “His punishment for defying the Auld Ones was to suffer loneliness ‘til the end of time. But the Furies took pity upon his breaking heart…they were impressed by such a great amount of love within a mere mortal man.” Magnus paused, glancing down at the sand and rocks at his feet. As he slowly twisted his walking stick in one knobby hand, he continued to stare down at the ground as he continued his musings. “They rescued ye from the Auld Ones…sending ye into the abyss to be healed by the Divine Lady Brighid until ye might search yer way back ta this world. But they willna’ allow Quinlan ta help ye find him for then they wouldna’ know for sure if they’d made the correct decision.”

  Shaking her head in confusion, Taylor frowned in frustration at Magnus. “I don’t understand what you’re saying…you’ve lost me.”

  Finally raising his eyes from the ground to stare up into her face, Magnus attempted to explain. “If Quinlan helped ye ta find him…gave ye all the answers ye seek, then how would the Furies know that your heart was meant ta be joined with Quinlan’s? But if ye must search him out…fight the world for the answers, then they will know for sure that your two souls were truly meant ta be together.”

  Rising stiffly from the rock, his hitching gait barely balanced by the twisted cane in his hand, Magnus turned away from Taylor and slowly started back up the beach. “I must go now,” he gruffly announced, turning to slightly doff his tattered hat in her direction.

  “Wait!” Taylor cried, catching up to gently lay her hand upon his arm. “You haven’t told me everything I need to know. How do I get to Quinlan? How do I bring him back?”

  Smiling as he shook his head, Magnus patted Taylor’s hand reassuringly. “Why lass…ye have found the way ta Quinlan. It came to ye in the library.” Resuming his slow walk up the beach, Magnus continued, “I’ll be back before ‘tis time for ye ta go. My job is quite easy, ye see…I’m really here just to assure ye that ye’ve no’ gone daft in the head.”

  "T-a-y-l-o-r." Mattie’s high-pitched voice carried across the beach, floating to them over the wind and the sound of the lapping waves.

  Turning to look back toward the cottage, Taylor waved until she caught Mattie’s attention, motioning for her to join her on the beach. She wanted Mattie to meet Magnus. She was positive the two would click; Magnus seeming as mystical and eccentric as Mattie had always been. Turning back to ask Magnus to wait a moment so that he could meet her friend, Taylor’s words froze in her throat as she glanced quickly up and down the beach. She’d only turned away for a moment at the sound of Mattie’s call. Standing on tiptoe and looking as far up the beach as she could see, the skin at the nape of Taylor’s neck began to tingle, as she realized there was no one in sight. Magnus had simply disappeared, leaving nothing but a set of footprints fading into the sand.

  Mattie met Taylor at the end of the path, just where the rocky peat-covered ground gave way to the sand-covered beach. “What have you found?” she breathlessly asked Taylor, the wind whipping her dark hair across her face.

  “Didn’t you see him?” Taylor asked, her face shadowed with disappointment. Her eyes darted frantically up and down the landscape, searching for the mysterious old man that had somehow disappeared.

  Mattie studied Taylor’s face intently, wondering if the past few weeks had been too much of a strain on Taylor’s sensibilities. “See who?” she asked quietly, briefly glancing up and down the empty beach.

  “There was a man…he said his name was Magnus,” Taylor explained, gesturing toward the beach. “Mattie…you must’ve seen him?”

  Gently encircling Taylor’s shoulders with one arm while she steered her back toward the cottage, Mattie shook her
head. “I’m sorry, Taylor,” she placated, smiling as she nodded. “He must’ve already been out of sight by the time I reached the end of the path.”

  Glancing in aggravation at Mattie’s patronizing face, Taylor pressed her lips in a grim line, fiercely shaking her head. “There was a man, Mattie. I swear.”

  “I know, Taylor,” Mattie nodded as she patted Taylor’s shoulder. “Come inside and we’ll get something to eat…then we’ll talk more about the man on the beach.”

  Chapter Ten

  “You say his name was Magnus?” Drake asked again, as he helped Mattie clear the supper remains from the table.

  “That’s what he told me,” Taylor replied, retrieving a block of peat from the basket on the hearth and chunking it into the fireplace. When the small cottage had been renovated, a stone fireplace had been built to one side of the sitting room; replacing the smoky hearth area that once occupied the center of the cottage. During the time the blackhouses were originally built, chimneys were unheard of. The smoke from the peat fires was simply allowed to rise straight up, filtering into the thatch. This made for a rather smoky and cloudy interior but the stone crofts were always quite warm and snug against the damp cold outside.

  Setting the dishes in the sink, Drake wiped his hands on the dishcloth and disappeared into his room. He reappeared a few moments later; a small tattered book in his hands. “I found this book at the antique store in Inverness,” he explained in response to Taylor and Mattie’s inquisitive looks. “It covers some of the history of the Isle and a few of the clan’s lineage’s.”

  Taylor and Mattie joined Drake at the kitchen table, as he flipped open the book and began searching through the pages. “Here it is,” he said triumphantly, adjusting his glasses to focus on the passage. As Mattie and Taylor leaned forward with interest, Drake read from the book. “It says the Macleods of Lewis are known as the Siol Torquil branch, descended from Leod, son of Olave, brother of Magnus, last king of Man.” Drake flipped through several pages as he went on to explain, “It appears Magnus was one of the rulers during the time of the Lordship of the Isles.” Arching his brows at Taylor, he noted, “Perhaps your Quinlan was not only a clan chieftain but descended from royalty as well.”