Kat Bastion - Forged in Dreams and Magick

Highlands of Scotland—Present Day

The damn rental car resisted my rusty attempts at downshifting. I gripped the stick’s cracked knob harder, fighting a choking cramp at the base of my throat. My efforts at holding my emotions at bay failed. Loud sobs burst free from my lungs, echoing in the confines of the small car as fresh memories of a final goodbye imprinted into my mind.

My grandfather’s wise, time-worn eyes had looked deep into mine as rogue tears sprang forth, coating my lashes. He’d been lying in his death bed. A nurse waited in the only other room of the tiny cottage he’d called home his entire life. He smiled, crinkling sun-weathered skin from the corners of his mouth to his emerald-green eyes. Aged hands caressed my cheeks, gently pulling my head down as he touched his lips to my forehead. I inhaled his comforting scent, a sweet mixture of cigar and the clove-flavored black tea he loved so much.

“Och, sweet Isobel. Doona shed tears for me. The years . . . they’ve been good.”

I straightened, wiping the irritating moisture from my cheeks, wanting to make him proud. “ Seanair , I—”

He silenced me with a finger crooked from arthritis. “All’s been said. Our story’s written, but ye know in yer heart; history has our great Highlands wrong. Ye’ve told me so a thousand times. Find our secrets. Discover the whispers on the wind that the years faded long ago. Isobel MacInnes, show the world the bright angel I know. Decide for yerself what’s tae be shared and what’s tae be held sacred.”

He brushed a wavy lock of hair from my face as I nodded. His unwavering support of my need to uncover the truths about Scotland’s mysteries—for which I had no proof but inexplicably knew existed—helped fuel my pursuit of a career in archaeology and shaped the person I’d become.

I set my lips tight in resolve. He’d already insisted I leave that morning before the aggressive cancer finally claimed him, and I decided to give him the dignity of death his way, granting his wish. With a wink and a smile, I stood, turned, and stepped away. I didn’t dare look back. The fragile façade I’d held together on the outside had threatened to crumble the entire visit. I wanted my last living relative to see me leave the same way he chose to depart this world—with strength.

My ornery mode of transportation brought me vividly back into the moment, my lousy gear changing causing the shrill protest of shredding metal. I’d have preferred nails on a chalkboard. With blurry eyes, I glared at the stubborn stick in my hand. The car lurched, the shifter vibrated, and the frame shuddered until I shoved it into gear. I released the clutch, feathered the gas, and glanced up at the road.

“Shit!” My heart shot into my throat as I yanked the steering wheel hard to the left, narrowly avoiding a sea of sheep blocking the way. The unwieldy car snorted and jerked to a stop inches from the bank of a creek.

I got out of the vehicle onto spongy earth and furiously slammed the door shut. Both the car and I needed a breather. Hundreds of lazy, shepherdless sheep commanding the road agreed. Despite my emotional chaos, I burst into laughter. If only my seanair could see me now. I paused at the thought and shook my head. Life, full of imperfections and inconveniences, had become a footnote for him. He’d already embraced the next chapter of his journey.

I inhaled a deep breath, steadying rattled nerves. The rural air held the fresh, cool crispness of the last remnants of spring, even though the bright sun warmed my face. I walked to the front of the vehicle to make sure the wheels hadn’t sunk into peat. I sighed in relief. The broad-surfaced tires sat on top of the soil, so I had confidence I wouldn't be stuck out here, in the middle of nowhere, with a bleating cacophony of sweaters-on-legs as an audience.

Lost in scattered thoughts instead of watching where I walked, I took a careless step. With no time to scramble, I slid straight down a steep bank, landed ankle-deep with a splash, and flew backward from the momentum, landing flat on my ass. My jeans soaked through from the waist down. I sat in the ice-cold water for a moment, tilting my head toward the heavens.

“Really? Today, of all days, you’re teaching me what? Tolerance?”

Never needing anyone to rescue me, I picked my wet, sorry self up and trudged along the creek, looking for an exit point. Roots stuck out of the earth, resembling reasonable handholds, but given my recent luck, I passed, searching for a safer path until a bright flash in the earth caught my attention. I backtracked, locating a brilliant piece of metal stuck in the side of the bank. The fragment’s surface glinted in the sunlight like a long-lost soul signaling for help.

I cocked my head to the side, trying to understand what I’d found. A metal crest shone brightly as the only portion visible. The symbol seemed familiar, but my frazzled state of mind had crippled a typically flawless memory, and I couldn’t process why. The thrill of the hunt overshadowed my struggle to place the crest, however, as my pulse quickened; my years of dig experience and the undisturbed state of the surrounding peat seemed to suggest that I’d found my career launcher.

Embarking on a new mission, I marked my steps, searching for makeshift tools. A loose root and some scrub served me well, and within minutes, I’d exposed one entire side made of a variety of different metals. Even in the dirty, field-found state, its beauty took my breath away.

A to-do list flooded into my head. I needed pictures, notes, sample bags . . . a phone to call my mentor, MacLaren; I had to share the news with him, regardless of his remote research location. I splashed down a dozen yards until the slope eased enough for a simple scramble up the bank and a quick jog to my vehicle. Excitement overwhelmed my nervous system, literally vibrating my body. Trembling hands fumbled with the car door’s metal latch, and a low growl rumbled from my throat. I took a deep breath and with steady focus curled my fingers under the lever, lifted slowly, and flung the door open, grabbing my supplies.

I held the phone up in vain to a signal-less sky and sighed, resigning to the fact that not even a message would get out to the professor. He’d have to hear about the discovery when I returned to Inverness on the way back to the States. The relic would travel home with me, legal or not. Not one ethical cell in my body had any issues with the clear violation of law and procedure, temporary madness overriding my natural rule-abiding tendency. I’d never likened myself to Indiana Jones until that very moment.

Retracing my path, I climbed down into the creek, splashing my way back to the metal object. I documented my find and began the painstaking retrieval of the artifact from its ancient home. I worked for the better part of an hour, cold to the bone from wet jeans, digging until I’d freed the captive. As soon as both of my hands made contact with the item, an unusual energy flowed into my body as if completing a circuit. I disregarded the sensation, certain the electric charge came from the thrill of discovery, and gently rocked the item loose, bringing it forth into the light of day. Fashioned entirely of metal—a foot long, and half as wide and tall—the box I’d unearthed bore extraordinary detailing.