The Curse: Touch of Eternity (The Curse series) (5 page)

Roy was talking during the forty-minute trip, but I can’t remember answering any of his questions. Now and then, he pointed at things through the wet windshield. As I thawed out in the warm car, I started to feel surprisingly good, considering my exhaustion and the sore knee.

“So this mystic landscape of the Highlands has made us a very superstitious people, aye,” Roy explained. “The fog, the bare cliffs, the darkness—it’s all part of our heritage and legends. They lead the people here to a deep belief in magic. Dwarves, giants, fairies, and
teine biorach
—that’s like a will-o’-the-wisp in English. Stories about such things have been part of our lives for such a long time that we do believe in them.”

Roy shrugged, almost as if wanting to apologize.

I wasn’t sure if he would laugh at me, but the atmosphere in the car was perfect for strange revelations, so I hesitantly told Roy about my dream. When I’d finished, Roy nodded his head slowly and then turned to look at me.

“Many people come to this country without ever understanding it. Others only believe what they can prove.” His voice sounded so serious, as if he were reading from an ancient text. “My wish for you is that you learn to understand Scotland, its beliefs, its history, and above all, its people. So
don’t be afraid of your dreams. Maybe dreams show the people their destiny.”

I had to force myself to look out the window again. It was hardly possible to distinguish anything now. In the darkness, I thought about what he had said. My destiny? No, thanks—I was there on a mission to avoid my life back in the States. I wanted things to be absolutely harmless. No boys. No cousins. No dark nights at the lake. I was not intending to fulfill any destiny!

I rubbed my arms violently to get rid of the goose bumps. Roy smiled at me, turned up the heat, and switched the radio on. I immediately felt better. I leaned back in my seat and closed my eyes.

“So what did happen to your trousers?” Roy asked.

“Oh, nothing. Some guy almost ran me over on his motorcycle, and I fell when I jumped back out of the way.”

Ow! I flinched.

My skin felt burned under my grandmother’s pendant. I put my hand up to my collar, but when I touched the necklace, it was just nice and warm. Slightly warmed by my body, nothing else. Don’t panic, I told myself. A short nap would chase the silly ghost stories away. The necklace had probably just scratched me. I secretly glanced over at Roy. He was driving, quietly humming to himself and not paying any attention to my strange behavior.

At last we made it to Aviemore. Roy’s wife, Alison, seemed a little shy, but friendly. She was so short that she only came up to my chin. Her long light-blonde hair was pulled back into a French braid, and her little nose fit perfectly into her tiny face.

Roy unloaded my suitcase and wrapped his strong arms around his wife’s dainty shoulders. Roy was a big man; next to him, even a sturdy person would look delicate. Roy saw me comparing the two of them and gave me a wink. “Now you see what I mean when I talk about dwarves and giants.”

He laughed, and Alison elbowed him in the side.

“I hope you haven’t been going on and on about Scotland’s ancient stories,” she warned, wiggling out from his embrace. “Samantha, please come inside. And stop listening to that big, stupid man.”

She pulled me into their cottage while Roy stood outside grinning.

The silence woke me up the next morning. Seriously, it was far too quiet to sleep. I rubbed my hand over my face, feeling like some jagged Cubist painting. I got up and pulled the curtains aside and slid the window open. Although it was still very early, the day was nice and bright. Cold, damp air streamed in, and I shivered. I wrapped myself up in the quilt from the bed, and then went back to the window. Never before had I breathed such clean air. I agreed with Roy; it really was magical here. Aviemore was only a little place, directly behind the bigger town of Fort William. I couldn’t hear cars, dogs barking, sirens. I heard nothing. And there was nobody on the street.

I’d been in a dreamy mood since I’d left home. It was the first time in my life that I’d be away for such a long time. I was thousands of miles away from all the people who were important to me, and I’d be here for seven weeks. No
wonder my nerves were playing tricks on me. Still, I was looking forward to this adventure.

The night before, Roy and Alison had given me such a warm reception. I’d had hot food and a warm shower, followed by eight hours of sleep in the softest bed in the world. I almost felt back to normal. The rest of the world was waking up; I saw a few blinds slowly being raised in the neighboring houses. I closed my window and crawled back into bed. It felt like the mattress was trying to swallow me, and I sank into it deeply, giving in to the cozy feeling. Cold, fresh, clear air and a comfy, warm bed—this summer program was starting off perfectly.

I didn’t wake up again for a whole hour, until Alison knocked on the door. At the breakfast table, I found coffee, tea, eggs, and sausages. Roy’s seat was empty, but a used plate was in the sink.

Alison had arranged a surprise for me. She worked part-time at the tourist information center, and had used some of her contacts to book a weeklong series of day trips. She said they thought it was important for me to get to know Scotland as a country. I was a little shocked. I would have preferred to settle in a little more before I started sightseeing, but Alison looked so pleased. I did my best to put on a happy face.

“Thanks, Alison, but you really shouldn’t have. I’m sure this is all very expensive.”

“No, I have a good connection at the tour company and I told her you were an exchange student. She gave us a really good deal. Don’t worry about it at all.”

Shortly afterward, Alison dropped me off at the tourist information center in Fort William, which looked exactly like the one in Inverness. That was where our tour group would rendezvous.

“Have fun!” she called out.

“I will,” I called back. “Thanks! See you tonight.”

As I got on a bus with a few other visitors, a small, bald man introduced himself as our guide.

Scotland

T
he biker cruised through the countryside, guiding his Ducati Monster motorcycle past a landscape he didn’t even bother to register anymore. There was nothing he hadn’t seen already. There was nothing left in this world for him, a world that was only gray and damned.

He slowed as he passed through Inverness, knowing he could pick up speed again after the next stop sign.

Suddenly, he was blinded by a flash. He couldn’t see anything. Adrenaline rushed through his body. His leg brushed against something hard, but he couldn’t immediately react. It was a few seconds before he could get his bike to come to a full stop.

What the hell, he thought. He was in great pain, and yet he knew that was absolutely impossible. He would have welcomed pain. Any feeling would have been better than his unbearable numbness.

There was no question, though—he could feel his heart pounding double-time to pump the blood through his veins. He slowly looked up as the bike underneath him purred, ready to flee at his command.

The street was almost empty. A suitcase was in the middle of the road. But Payton McLean wasn’t looking at that. His eyes were looking for her.

There was another flash of light, and a new wave of pain washed over him, almost overwhelming him.

Damn, he said to himself, what was that?

He quickly turned away. The bike’s motor screeched full of energy as he sped off in a panic. His heart was racing faster than his Ducati, even after he had left the girl far behind.

Many miles later, in the safety of the dusk, Payton’s mind began to clear. He stopped at the side of the deserted road, got off his bike, and eased the helmet off his head. Breathing heavily, he looked around. The loneliness of the Highlands stretched out in front of him. The mountains were mere shadows in the darkening night.

He let an anguished howl escape from his throat. He was desperate to experience feeling again. Pain—how incredible it had felt. After all the emptiness. Nothing. Years of nothing.

He kicked a stone with his boot, hard, and it rocketed away into the darkness. Still, he felt nothing.

Please… Please… God, redeem me, he silently prayed.

Payton squinted into the night, waiting.

And just as the countless times before, his plea wasn’t heard by anyone.

T
he final stop on the bus tour was a visit to Urquhart Castle, which sits on the edge of the legendary Loch Ness. I was feeling restless—our group was moving slowly—and I broke off from the pack to enjoy the view on my own. As the day had passed, I’d started to enjoy the tour, but I didn’t need to hear every single fragment of history to appreciate the beauty of the sights.

A man who looked a bit like Arnold Schwarzenegger was trying to take a picture of himself and his female companion. He set his camera into a small nook in the castle wall, pushed the auto button, ran quickly back to his darling, and put his arm around her hips. They briefly stayed in that unnatural pose, and then Arnold went to check whether the photo had was any good. I shook my head—at this rate, they weren’t going to get a decent shot at all—and I decided to pitch in.

“Can I maybe help you?”

“Oh, yes. Thank you,” the woman answered, laughing. “Our heads are always cut off!”

Happily, they smiled as I took a few shots, framing them carefully with the Grant Tower behind them. In return, they took a picture of me in front of Loch Ness.

It was hard to imagine that people had actually lived their lives in this castle, that it had once been something more than a ruin. I envisioned rough invaders swinging their swords as they raided the place. People from another world entirely, seven hundred years before. I climbed up the tower and took in the breathtaking view. I could easily see why this lake was the source of so many mysteries: the water looked almost black, and its surface was restless and opaque. Bare branches drifted in the current, standing out like bony arms from the secret depths below.

The wind blew my hair into my eyes, and I went back into the tower. My flimsy jacket wasn’t heavy enough for the Scottish climate. I wandered along behind a smoochy couple until I noticed that there was no trace of my tour group anywhere. I quickly scanned the ruin. Crap, I said to myself. Where had they all gone?

I pulled my jacket tightly around me and headed back to the bus. The path led over a small bridge, up a slope, and through the open doors of the souvenir shop. Dozens of people were pushing through the narrow aisles, clutching postcards and stuffed Nessies.

Looking for the shortest way past the crowd to the exit, I scooted along the back wall and tried to squeeze by a metal jewelry rack featuring coats of arms and clan tartans. I stopped dead in my tracks. A necklace on the rack looked just like the one I’d found in the attic.

Reaching into my shirt, I pulled out my grandma’s necklace. Wow—I was right! It did match.

I took the souvenir necklace off the display. It was slightly larger than mine and had a label that read “Cameron Coat of Arms, 12 pounds.”

I wondered why my grandma would have a necklace with the Cameron coat of arms on it. And why was it so warm again? It wasn’t burning hot like last time, but it was much warmer than the necklace from the shop.

When I took a closer look, I saw that the two pieces of jewelry were remarkably similar. Each showed a bundle of arrows bound together in the middle along with some words. The writing was clear on the souvenir:
Cuimhnich air na daoine o’n d’ thanig thu
. I held up my pendant to compare: