Is there magic in the highlands? Keely would say there is. But it can also get her into trouble.
EXCERPT:
She sat cross-legged on the
earth, twelve candles surrounding her. A blue cloth with interwoven strands of
turquoise, navy and dark green lay on the ground in front of her. In her hands
she held her bag of runes.
She withdrew the first rune.
The stone was blank. Dark clouds covered the sun, the wind blew cold and Keely
shivered. "Blank is the end, blank the beginning," she murmured. She
put the rune back then with her fingers sifted through the bag. She hesitated
for the longest time, touching each rune, moving on, afraid to finish what she
had begun, terrified not to finish. The truth would be revealed.
Keely felt as if an icy wind
blew across her soul, tearing her from all she knew and all she held sacred.
This would signal a new beginning. A change in her life.
Holding her breath, she drew
the second rune and held it up. "Othila ." She would move on, leave
what was familiar and safe. She would find a new path to follow. The journey
would begin; the challenge significant and the trip would be of the heart and the
soul.
As with the first rune, she
slipped this one back into the bag. Continuing the ritual, touching each stone,
sifting through the bag, she pulled the third rune from the rest of the stones.
Holding her breath, she
stared at the surface of the stone. "Isa." The breeze shifted.
Despite the sun, the wind blew colder and Keely knew winter would be upon her
soon. Coldness and darkness would follow. She would have to sacrifice all she
was and all she believed in to follow blindly the unknown path she was about to
begin. Her heart surely split in that moment. Apprehension surged through her.
Fear, despair and desperation would become a part of her life. She would have
to live with the feelings until she reached the end of her journey, until her
new life began.
There were two more runes to
draw from the bag and she would understand her
future. She would have the answer to her
question. Her heart skittered and nearly stopped. She placed her hand upon her
breast, willing the beat to renew. With her other hand, she explored the
contents of the bag and quickly drew the fourth rune. "Ehwaz. I will
follow my heart wherever it takes me," she said, slipped the fourth stone
back and drew for the last time. "Uruz . I will have strength and courage.
And I will trust in this man who cannot remember his past."
She put the rune back in the
bag and sat with her eyes closed. She let the meaning of the runes follow paths
in her head, seeking direction and guidance in interpreting their meaning.
In the silence, the pounding
of hooves roared across the earth, shaking her from the peace and knowledge she
sought. The clanking of armor and the shouts of men permeated the clearing. She
held her breath, waiting as if frozen in time. As if brought back from her fear
by some magical force, she shook off the paralyzing moment.
"Nay!" she
whispered fiercely. Her heart beat alarmingly; fear surged through her, pounding,
roaring in her ears.
Collecting her runes and the
cloth, she scrambled into the woods. Moments later soldiers thundered into the
clearing. She pushed her way beneath the sheltering vines and thorns of a bush.
She stilled, exhausted by her race through the brambles, her breath coming in
ragged spurts. She closed her eyes, praying these men would not find her.
Storm clouds blanketed the
sky and thunder rolled through the valley. Rain fell, slowly at first then in
torrents. Lightening lit the eastern sky.
The Scottish soldiers reined
in their horses, coarse shouts filled the once peaceful glade.
"What is this?"
cried the man in the lead.
"Is this what we're
looking for?" one Highlander asked.
"Lighted candles in a
circle?" another asked.
He tightened the reins. His
horse danced skittishly, head turning.
"Crazy witch
woman," another muttered. The man leered in her direction, eyes glinting
as his gaze passed across her hiding place; once, then twice. She shuddered and
tried to silently push herself farther from his probing gaze, curling her body
into a small, tight ball.
"Aye, 'tis the witch
woman," another snorted. "Dinna ye see her handiwork? Her
magic can change a young mon into an ancient,
frail and witless mon."
These are my runes and the scarf:
