MIASMIC Place Of Pendants 1

Chapter Thirty Six

Dougall’s Journey

Dougall had been filled with astonishment and pride watching Morgan use her crossbow against the Brollachans with far more skill than many of the archers of clan Sutherland. Then to see her in full action raising a wall of dirt, stone and rocks had taken his breath away. What he had not expected though was Conall’s reaction. Nor the pain that it caused him to see Morgan so destroyed by Conall’s withdrawal and coldness towards her.

He had gone to find him in the stables only to be faced with the same stoniness and indifference. Conall had muttered he had trained for years in protecting the lass, but it had all been in vain. If he couldn’t protect her what good was he. Dougall had tried desperately to talk some sense into him. To no avail.

Conall had sunk into the pit of depression. He had no idea how to help him. Dougall in the short time he gotten to know Morgan had grown to love her as a sister. He had to do something. Da! If anyone knew how to resolve this problem it would be Haig, Laird of the Sutherland clan.

He had always thought his father one of the wisest men he had known. He also knew that to reach his da it would take considerable days; he didn’t have that time. However, he still had the travel pendant, neglecting to give it back to Conall when he returned from taking the Druid home.

Before he left he went to see the lass. He had to make sure she would stay put until he returned. How long it would take to convince his da, he had no idea.

There was no way he was going to tell Conall where he was going knowing he would only take the pendant from him.

Nope the only way was to just go and hope his father would come back with him before anyone noticed he was missing.

Dougall slipped down the stairs of the inn after talking with Morgan making his way around to the back, away from the stables. Saying the words needed he focused on his da. Although Dougall had used the pendant many times for travel he still felt the vacuity and the eddying in his head during the transportation.

When it stopped he took a deep breath, before realizing he was in his da’s solar. There were also several men. All staring with open mouths at his entry.

“DOUGALL!” Haig roared.

“Sorry da but tis urgent I must speak with ye.”

“Aye I can see that. Could ye no ha’ used tha door lad?” Haig rose from his chair. “Ye be lucky I no was entertaining anyone but our garrison men. I could no explain ye sudden arrival. Lad ye could have bin hauled oot to a pyre fer burnin’.”

“Aye da am sorry but I need yer advice, an it could no wait.”

Haig dismissed his men from the room. When they were gone he motioned for Dougall to take a seat. He refused preferring to stand.

“Da we have problem an I no ken what ta do.”

“Well ye best get it oot then lad. What is this all aboot?”

Dougall explained to his father the events of the past twenty-four hours. His father listened intently stroking his beard as he usually did when deep in thought. He related what Conall had said when confronted in the stable. Haig poured scotch from a glass decanter into two cups, pushing one towards his son. When Dougall had apprised his da, Haig took a gulp of his drink.

“Da will ye come talk ta Conall?” Dougall beseeched.

Haig again motioned for his son to sit. This time Dougall sat in the leather-bound chair taking a sip of his scotch. He waited patiently for his father to speak. Haig had never been a person to speak rashly he always needed time to consider a problem.

“Lad it is no me ye need.” Haig finally said.

“But da...”

Haig raised his hand to silence his son. “Dougall, think lad who else ha’ gone through tha same what Conall an tha lass are going through tha noo? I am mighty pleased tha Conall and tha lass ha’ marrit. I like tha lass. She’s a mighty fine shot wi’ tha crossbow of ers too, an she be making a fine daughter.”

Dougall thought about what his father was saying. Who else has gone through what Conall and Morgan were now doing? Of course! He could have slapped himself for being so dense.

“Sloane.”

“Aye lad ye be thinking right tha noo.” Haig poured himself another dram. “Ye ken that it was Sloane tha trained Conall, an took him to tha other world. Blasted dragons. Do no mention it ta Conall but it was Sloane tha he looked up to, an listened to.

Twas Sloane tha kept Conall in order when I could nay do so, no after yer ma...” Haig didn’t finish the sentence taking another gulp of scotch.

“So, ye are saying” I should go get Sloane then?”

“Aye I do lad, he be the best one fer this matter. Conall wi’ listen ta him, if no one else.”

Dougall realized he was right. His da was always right. He was however, relieved that he made the right decision to come consult his father first.

“Dougall ye need ta go see Sloane but take yerself to tha kitchen, ye look like ye could do with a good meal. An when ye leave, can ye no do it in front o’ company lad.”

“Aye da. Thank ye truly.” As Dougall got up from the chair Haig got up too approaching his son taking him in a hug.

It was not something Haig did in front of the men but in his solar in privacy he had no problem embracing his sons when he could.

His first wife Moira had died in childbirth with Sloane. His second wife Catherine had died when she fell from her steed some ten years earlier. Haig felt bound with the loss of his wives needing to show his children affection. Even if it was only when they were alone with him.

Dougall did as his father suggested and headed to the kitchen. As he entered, the cook Mrs MacLeish, a short rotund woman with a smile that lit her entire face dropped the dough she was kneading, raced to him to give him a bear hug.

“Ock Duggy, I’m say glad ta see ye.” She beamed. No one else called Dougall, Duggy except for Mrs MacLeish.

Not that he would have allowed it. Well his brothers did on occasions in jest, which usually ended up in an all-out brawl. Mrs MacLeish had shortened all the boys names. Sloane - Bubba, Conall - Connie, William - Willy, Aiden - Addy and Murtagh - Mertle.

Gripping Dougall’s face with her hands left a floured handprint.

“Oh, Duggy ye do look a might scraggy lad, have ye no bin eating well?” She sighed as she dragged Dougall further into the kitchen, to plonk him onto a stool beside the table she had been kneading the dough at.

“Bin on tha road with Conall.”

“Connie, oh how is me lad? I have no seen him fer so long.”

“Aye well he be marrit tha noo.”

Mrs MacLeish shot her floured hands to her face. “Nay, he’s no?”

“Aye he is and to a verra nice lass. Morgan is a right bonny lass an smart too.” Dougall continued though without adding any details. He didn’t have the time nor the inclination to discuss who the lass was or what skills and magic she possessed.

Mrs MacLeish filled a bowl with pottage and placed it in front of him, along with two bannocks. As soon as he finished he made his farewells to the cook. Mrs MacLeish wiped a tear in her eye with her apron and made Dougall promise to come back soon, and to bring Connie and his new wife with him.

Dougall made his way around to the kitchen garden where he was sure there would be no one to see him shift time. He moved to a part of the garden that held an alcove with a small stone seat. This had been his mother’s favourite place to rest. Holding the pendant said the words focusing on Sloane and Ula’s kitchen. Once again, he was transported materializing beside the kitchen table.

He called out to Sloan and Ula but received no answer. He went up to their room, then out to the back garden but they were not there either. There was only one place they could be and that would be at Morgan’s store.

Dougall had been to this time a few times before. He had never met the lass, but Sloane had shown him Duffy’s Antique Emporium from across the street. Sloane had even taught him how to ride a motorbike, which still remained one of his most exciting ventures he had experienced.

Making his way to the garage he was happy to see the motorcycle still in residence with a tarp over it.

He couldn’t however go to the store dressed as he was in kilt and carrying a claymore on his back and a sword on his side. Returning to the house he rummaged through Sloane’s wardrobe looking for something that might fit him. Sloane was somewhat taller and wider than he, nonetheless he found a pair of jeans and a t-shirt that were close enough to his size, rolling the hems of the jeans up a couple of turns.

Finding a belt, he latched it to the last slot but the end of it hung down. Laughing at his odd clothing, he looked more like a homeless vagabond than an eighteenth-century warrior. Dougall slotted two dirks at his back, covering them with the shirt. Returning to the garage the motorbike he was relieved that it started on the first turn.

By the time Dougall parked the bike and strode to the store it was late afternoon.

Entering the store, he shouted so Sloane and Ula knew it was him, not that he needed to, they saw him as soon as he opened the door. Surprise flashing across their faces.

“Dougall what in God’s name are ye doing here?” Sloane asked striding around the desk to him. He took him by the forearm, clasping his shoulder with his other hand and dragged him in for a brotherly hug.

“Da said ye were the one I need ta see.” Ula came running towards him and swung her arms around his neck to hug him too, having to stand on her tip toes.

“Dougall what’s the matter?” Ula said as soon as she let go of his neck. “Is Morgan ok, and Conall?”

“Come Dougall oot the back room so’s we can talk. Ula lass can ye lock tha front door.” Sloane urged as he took Dougall’s arm and pulled him to the back of the store. Ula slid the bolt on the door and joined her husband and brother-in-law in the back room.

“Ye best tell us Dougall what’s a miss?” Sloane said as they seated themselves.

Once again Dougall related the events, only stopping when he had gotten to the marriage part with Ula’s interruption.

“They married? Jesus, Mary and Joseph. Oh, I am so happy.” She cried taking hold of Sloane’s arm.

Dougall continued filling them in.

When all events especially the last twenty-four hours has been told, Sloane shook his head in dismay. He had been through almost the exact same thing with Ula.

Not that he was Ula’s protector, but Sloane was a warrior. It was his honour code to protect the innocent and women, especially the one he loved. Ula had her own abilities as he knew she liked to call them. He thought his wife was pure magic, in more ways than one. He had always thought so, from the moment she caught his eye. The beginning of their journey had not been an easy one.

Ula could control the wind. Sloane endured agony within his own mind. How could he protect, or be of use to one with such gifted abilities?

They had however, in the end reached a resolution, and lived all these years respecting each other. Loving each other and working together.

Tears rolled down Ula’s cheeks. Sloane wrapped his arm around her shoulders, pulling her into his body. She was discernibly thinking the same as him. He knew what both Conall and Morgan were going through. The question was could they get through it as he and Ula had.

“So will ye come back wi’ me Sloane, talk tae Conall?”

“Dougall I can no leave Ula, no with Joe and his braggarts aboot.”

Ula jumped at Sloane’s words. “Sloane, you have to go. You know as well as I do what they are going through. You have to help them.”

“Aye I ken lass but I will no leave ye at this time.”

Sloane was resolute he was not going to leave his wife. He stood to make his point just as a loud knock came at the door of the store making them all jump. Sloane marched to the door, bidding Dougall and Ula to stay put. When he unlocked and opened the door there was no one there. As he went to shut it he noticed an envelope on the floor.

It was addressed to him, opening it as he walked back to re-join his wife. Unfolding the sheet, he read out loud the contents.

The farm

Sonset

We want Joey’s missus anda pendant

If u dunt hand her ova

We bern yer farm ta grownd

And you wit it

“GOD’S BLOOD!” Sloane bellowed handing the note to Dougall, Ula leaning over to see what was written even though Sloane had read it. “This be Joe.”

“Sloane why the hell didn’t ye take care of him sooner?” Dougall asked with frustration.

“Dougall, I can no walk inta police station wi’ me sword an take his head off. This is no 1735. His time is coming an none too soon it seems. But ye just cannae go around toon with a sword in ye hand.”

“It would seem tha time has come. We need to deal wi’ this piece o’ garbage.” Dougall spat.

Ula pulled the paper closer. “He needs to leave this life for what he did to Morgan, and his spelling.” Ula rolled her eyes. “He writes like a bloody two-year-old”

Both Sloane and Dougall looked at her with eyebrows raised. Trust Ula to add Joe’s grammatical errors to the list of reasons why Joe needed to die.

“Sloane tis no far from sunset, by tha time we get to ye farm they could already be waiting fer us, and I will no be able tae get to me claymore. I left them in ye hoose”

“Aye an mine are there too.” Sloane added feeling as aggravated as Dougall.

Ula shook her head tutting to them both. “You both best come with me then.” Ula went to the desk retrieving a set of keys. Leaving Sloane and Dougall to eye each other in confusion. At the bookcase moving a leaver revealing a door behind. Sloane cursed himself for forgetting about Morgan’s training room.

Dougall was speechless walking into the room with a wall full of weapons. “What tha devil?”

“Oh! did Morgan not tell you about her secret training room Dougall?” He shook his head still in shock, his bottom jaw hanging open. He was amazed at the array of weaponry “Well this is damned impressive.”

“Well help yourself to what you want.” Ula smiled. “I don’t think Morgan would mind you using whatever you need.”

Sloane was quick off the mark to choose a weapon. “Well I be using this one.” Reaching up to remove a sword from the wall.

“That’s a Falchion” Ula noted. “A good choice Sloane. European, fifteenth century single edged sword.”

Sloane smiled at his wife. “This one as well. Two swords are better than one.”

“That my love is the Bastard sword, also called the longsword.”

“Aye I made a good choice then, cause I’m intent on taking a bastard doon wi it.”

Dougall was spoilt for choice. He had used a fair few swords in his time but there was one on the wall he had never seen, and therefore never used. Ula sighted the sword he was focused on.

“Dougall that is a Katana, a Japanese Samurai sword. It’s mighty sharp and not too heavy.” Dougall reached for it taking it off the wall holder. Moving away from Sloane and Ula he swung it a few times.

“I like this sword, it glides smooth through the air, an I like tha tis bent.”

“Dougall you don’t hold it like a normal sword, you hold it backwards.” She said as she took the sword and showed him. She handed it back to Dougal with a sheath to wear.

The sheath for the Katana would guard him from cutting his leg off with the way he was swinging it.

Dougall seeing that Sloane had acquired two swords, thought he would do the same and scanned the wall once again. “Seeing as this be bent I choose another bent one. A matching pair ye see.” He grinned pointing to one that was just behind Sloane on the wall. Sloane reached up and took it down for him.

“That’s a Scimitar Dougall. Persian twelfth century. It was one of the last swords that Morgan acquired. Usually used on horseback to slash opponents. It was also the last one to be sharpened so be careful it’s razor-sharp.

“Sis you are a walking encyclopedia, how is it ye ken tha name of them an where they are from?”

Ula smiled widely at Dougall’s comment not missing the proud look she received from her husband.

“Morgan, of course, she knows her weapons and she is a good teacher.”

When the two of them were sheathed, strapped and armed they locked the training room and made ready to leave. Ula took the till and set the alarm as they left the store. Sloane told Dougall to come with them in the land rover.

Dougall being told that the Scimitar he was carrying was often used on horseback, felt riding the bike would be just as good and shook his head at Sloane’s request. He followed Sloane on the bike to the farm.

As they drove towards the house it was quiet. Unnaturally quiet. Ula was worried.

If there had been intruders on the farm Mrs Crombie and the ladies would be in a fluster, shrieking and squawking. She heard nothing not even their clucking. She held her breathe as Sloane pulled the car up on the road in front of the house.

He had a bad feeling, the hairs on the back of his neck stood on end. Ula felt the same. Sloane put his hand out the window motioning Dougall to stop.

Dougall felt everything was far too quiet, when he had first arrived he couldn’t mistake the loud clucking of the hens, now there was not a sound, not even the squawk of a bird.

Scanning the area the house stood to the left. To his right a paddock. In front past the car were more paddocks, bare of trees.

“Ula ye will wait in tha car. If’n there are more than expected ye ken what’s to be done lass.” Sloane uttered with a frown on his face.

“Aye I do love.”

Sloane walked towards Dougall searching the area himself as he did so. “Can ye feel it lad?”

“Aye, I can.” It was as if they were in the eye of a tornado.

Nothing moved not even a blade of grass. It was then that Dougall caught sight of something in the corner of his eye to his right, way up the paddock. A slight moment in the tall grass.

“Sloane.” Dougall whispered moving a finger to his right. Sloane caught the finger moment. He nodded to Dougall then made his way back to the driver’s door of his land rover.

“Lass they be in tha right paddock. Go now lass.”

Ula got out of the car and walked casually, further up the road, stopping to stand about ten feet with her back to the car. Dougall was confused as to what she was doing. Why was she standing on the road? It would seem that Sloane and Ula had a plan of sorts that he was not privy to.

Sloane walked casually to the side of road facing the paddock, motioning to Dougall with his hand to come to. Dougall rode the bike coming to a stop beside him, keeping the engine going. They waited. Within minutes Brollachans rose from the ground where they had been laying in waiting, and they kept on rising.

Dougall glanced up the road to Ula. She was now facing the paddock her back straight, head held high.

Her spiked hair glowing in the rays of the sinking sun like the golden helmet of a Valkyrie, weaponless, but ready for battle, nonetheless.

The three waited as Brollachans continued to rise. Dougall guessed there were at least four score in number. When it seemed that the last had stood Sloane nodded to Dougall. Dougall revved the engine of the bike, removed his Scimitar raising it above his head.

“Dougall.” Sloane whispered. “Wait.”

Dougall was confused he was itching to get going and cut the Brollachans down swiftly. Then he caught Ula’s hands rising watching as a tornado rose before her. She reminded him of Morgan creating the wall of dirt. This, however, was no wall of dirt but a dark swirling angry mass, mounting by the second.

This was the first time he had seen Ula in action, he had heard the stories but had never seen her at work firsthand before. The tornado moved magnifying in size towards the paddock.

The Brollachans began screaming and running towards them. Dougall’s eyes moved rapidly from them to the tornado swirling closer to the like a giant wave. He was definitely impressed, and hoping she would leave at least a few for him and Sloane.

Ula jerked her arms forward, the tornado sped faster towards the oncoming mass. Brollachans were suddenly swept up in the orbiting mass of it.

Dougall was as awed as when he had watched Morgan with her dirt wall.

“NOW LAD!” Yelled Sloane as he raced into the paddock swords swinging and screaming the Sutherland war cry “Ceann na Drochaide Bige!”

“Ceann na Drochaide Bige!” Dougall screamed as he blazed into the paddock on the bike steering with one hand, the Scimitar swinging in his right hand.

Sloane cut down demon after demon separating heads and arms, slicing bodies in his wake.

Dougall took the heads off several more pleased with the effortless stealth and sharpness of his sword.

Jumping off the bike, pulling the Katana out of his sheath with his left hand he charged forward. He had been able to fight efficiently and effectively with both hands since he was four and ten. He liked these swords; they slice through bodies like a hot knife through butter.