Sighing again, she looks up at the gloomy rays filtering in from the skylight. “Ellie, England was an evil dark empire. The Sassenachs conquered most of the world and stamped their religion and customs on all the people who were forced to bow to their callous culling of civilizations not looking for a war, and often finding themselves ill prepared for the black hearts of the British. Their King, James, rewrote the bible, to make it more palatable, and he used it as his tool of propaganda. He paid popes and priests to pander to his agenda, he blackmailed his despicable desires into the book people today call the word of god. And the British didn't stop until the world was crushed with that book of insidious lies written by, and for, the king of England.”
“Selene, I'm not looking for a history lesson here, I was just curious.”
Flat eyes dulled with pain interlock my gaze, “But to answer you I have to tell you this.”
“It makes you unhappy and I don't want to go there.”
“History isn't happy, Ellie. That's why repeating it in all its ugliness is necessary. The only way to change this world is to change the way we live in it, to change the way we interact with each other.”
I can see there's no escape, I'm in for a history lesson.
Slumping glumly in my chair, I fold my arms and wait it out.
“Christianity may not seem related to this story, but it is. The old testament god who took the people of Israel out of Egypt on the Exodus told the Israelites to conquer the lands they passed through, to rape the virgins and claim them for themselves, to leave no non-virgin lady alive, and to murder all males, boy or grandfather it didn't matter. It was ruthless, merciless, and bloody. That's the religion embraced by the kings of England. That is their M.O. And they brought that curse to the land of the Pict, the roaming highlands and lowlands of Caledonia.”
Blinking away the brightness igniting her eyes with anger, she spits in ire, “They desecrate the name of Mary's son, the one they call their messiah, each and every time they preach the old testament and its bloody wars and cruel merciless god with his bloodlust. He's not a god of mercy or love, he's a hateful bastard. Mary called her son Immanuel, but Constantine changed that forever, adopting the Roman agenda and renaming him Jesus. They corrupted the message, and yet he stood before his disciples and told them he was forming a new covenant with them. This new covenant would do away with the old covenant, it came to replace the blood covenant with the covenant of love. He said he was to be the last sacrifice to god, no more killing would be condoned. So those who worship Immanuel cannot also worship the old covenant which embodies the old testament. You can't have them both, you have to choose one or the other, and if you choose to preach and follow the rules of the old testament then you do not have the mercy and eternal salvation offered by Immanuel to mankind.”
Standing, scooting her chair in a screech across the kitchen floor, she stomps to the fridge, withdrawing the amphora of sustenance. “That is if you even believe any of that as history. But regardless of that, this is a mindset the British embraced wholeheartedly. They used the book they rewrote as their excuse for genocide. They used it to wipe out civilizations, to wipe out the ethnic 'savages' in the lands they conquered, just like the Spaniards did. Yet they were the violent savage invading places better off without them.”
Pouring us each a goblet, she slams mine down so hard in front of me it spills, “And that is why the mist is red. Because those bastards came here and spilled the blood of men who did nothing other than live here first.”
“What?” I ask, my stomach clenching in emotional upheaval.
“Ellindt, this entire region is thick with granite. It's because of the supermassive volcano that it once was. Granite is the hardest stone on earth, not gem, but stone. And the people here will weather whatever this world throws at them just like the stone under their feet. Nothing can wear them down or destroy them. It would take an impossible heat to melt granite, which is why you can't do it. No matter what is thrown at the Caledonian's they will not feel it. Like the granite which is black and white and gorgeous, that's them. They come across when you meet them as brusque and rude, but that manner hides the whitest purest hearts underneath. They're fierce and solid folk, but they cannot hide the happy glint they share with the stone, that twinkle in their eye and the endlessness of their good hearts. These are good people Ellie, it's the invaders who got it all wrong and used reverse psychology in their propaganda.”
And granite is radioactive. It contains uranium. I knew they had spiked the drinking water here.
She smiles, hearing me, “It's hardly radioactive now. The radon gas from these mountains would have dissipated long ago. Now all that remains is their solid stability and reassurance that no matter what the weather they'll still be standing tomorrow.”
Sitting back down, draining half her drink in one go, she replaces the crystal on the table and stares at it.
“They came in their droves, they raped the women, they stole and destroyed the livestock, they burned the harvests, they killed father and son and grandson. They covered this green lush land with screams, smoke, and blood. But here in Glencoe was one of the worst massacres in the history of Scotland. And we do not call it Scotland because those bastards gave us that name. It is Caledonia to us Ellindt, always
always
call it Caledonia.”
I nod agreement immediately. Unable to picture Glencoe, my precious beautiful sanctuary, awash with smoke and blood, the peace shattered with wails and death.
Draining her goblet, she looks up and I see tears glimmering silver in her eyes.
“King William offered a pardon to the highland clans on one condition. They had to swear allegiance to the British royal crown before a magistrate. He took great offense to the fierce men in kilts who fought against his army. And he made them swallow their pride, he crushed their dignity and broke the spines of men who headed not just families but entire clans. He made them say sorry and swear allegiance to the bastard who took all they and their ancestors had worked so hard for. He crushed them mentally and physically Ellindt. It was brutal and violent, and it was wrong!”
My bones are so heavy I can feel gravity crushing me. My blood is coagulating with this story. I cannot even fathom it, but what conjures in my mind is so unconscionable I don't want to even imagine how this clear beautiful air smelled back then. The carnage, the tears, the wails.
Biting back my own tears, I listen. It's like the falling of the World Trade Center, you cannot look away because you're so appalled and stunned with disbelief. America waged war for every year since that fateful day, and all that happened was the destruction of two buildings. We only lost almost three thousand people in that attack. We didn't lose our country. We weren't made to bow down and embrace the Taliban, our leaders weren't sent to apologize to Bin Laden and adopt the Qu'ran as our religion. We weren't forced to adopt the clothing and customs of our attackers. I can't even imagine how soul annihilating that must be.
Clearing the emotion from her throat, she reaches across and holds my hands. “The MacDonald clan chief, the MacIain of Glencoe, was late. They had to have sworn allegiance by the 1
of January in 1692. If they did not do this, the result was death. It was a death sentence to the clans who didn't bow down and accept England as their sovereign and ruler. Just like the God of the Exodus rained down fire and venomous snakes on the people under his control until they swore allegiance to him. MacDonald made the mistake of going to Inverlochy in Fort William, instead of Inverarary near Oban. He swore the oath on January the 6
, but he was too late. England is merciless, and they do not give anyone a grace period.”
Squeezing my hands with tears dripping down her cheeks, she says in a hoarse voice, “The order was already given to exterminate the entire MacDonald clan. Captain Robert Campbell was given the order to murder everyone in that clan under the age of seventy. The MacDonald's had the Campbell's as their guests, and their guests rose from their beds in the wee hours of a bitterly cold winter morning and massacred the MacDonalds. It was treachery for survival. The survivors of the clan fled, running for the hills, freezing and starving to death in the snow covered highlands. The British not only massacred the MacDonald clan that day, they used this area for commercial trade, stripping MacDonald land of its trees and natural habitat, destroying beauty for greed. Desecrating heritage and national pride and all while using the people they crushed to do the work for them. Destroying the habitat of even the animals living here, leaving no quarter untouched by their reaper's bony fingers.”
Releasing my hands she stands, wiping her eyes and looking away, “That's why the mist here is red. We will never forget Ellie. We will honor this land forever. We will never forget the MacDonalds and how they were given no mercy and completely blindsided. We will never forget what the British crown did on this soil. And still to this day they refuse to give Caledonia back her independence. Pride is evil, Ellie! If you can murder then you are not on anyone's side but evil. No war is justified, and no massacre is right. Pride is the greatest sin of them all because it is pride that prevents the British from correcting their mistakes and giving back what they stole as consolation for the pain they delivered. They've plundered this earth for long enough. The Vamporium in Glencoe is
scar
let for the blood of their victims, for the welts and scars left on this land from the brutal and vicious men who chose to conquer a land that was not theirs, and who let their pride and damned regulations show their neighbors no compassion. A man without mercy is not a man, he is a devil. A ruler without mercy is not sanctified in anyones eyes but their own.”
A loud clap breaks the ominous silence of the dawn, and I bolt upright to face the doorway to the kitchen.
Leaning against the doorframe is none other than Roderick MacDonald applauding my aunt. Behind him is Doug.
Douglas shoves past Roddie, punching his shoulder hard on his way into the kitchen, “So give me ma castle back ye shite.”
But Roddie isn't hearing him, he's lost in the stellar gaze of my aunt, wandering into the kitchen in a half daze to wrap his gladiator's arms around her, giving her a kiss of gratitude, passion, and the entire spectrum between.
What the hell is he doing here? Looking down, now I understand why Rod MacDonald wears red shoelaces in his boots. He hasn't forgotten either.
I can't wait until I'm mature and my voice has that effect on humans too. Just two more years of hell to wade through and I'll come into my own.
Awkward, I look at Doug, “Coffee?”
“Aye, that'd be appreciated.” He nudges his head at them, “Do I also get a good morning kiss?”
Ha! Here I am with my heart stuck between my knees with the pain of the past, and he wants a kiss.
Maybe that's how we move forward, by focusing on the positives. Only love can set us free from pain.
Giving him a quick peck, I manifest four mugs of coffee and loudly move them around the table so Selene will stop sucking face with Roddie. It's grossing me out.
“This land was once called Dalriada,” Doug says, sitting down at the table and taking a sip of his coffee.
The magic thing with coffee is it's user friendly. Everyone's is made the way they like it. I like that part about my powers.
“Efter it was Dalriada, it became Argyll.”
Sitting next to him, resting my naked foot on top of his, getting a quiet thrill out of it, I stare blankly at him, “And what pray tell is so special about Dalriada?”
“It owns the Stone of Destiny,” he smiles, giving me a wink.
Oooh, I like the sound of that. “What's that?”
“Legend says it was the verra stone Jacob used as a pillow when he saw the stairway tae heaven.”
Rod sits opposite us, smirking like a douche bag, “It was brought here around the same time Doug's family got ownership of Dunvegan castle. Around the ninth century it was brought to Caledonia, and was only moved by the 36
king of Dalriada. And every King of our land was crowned on it.”
“Until the British stole that too and buried it under the bloody coronation throne of the Sassenach scum in Westminster Abbey,” spits Doug, glaring into the past.
Selene smiles at them, saying softly, “But it was returned in 1996.”
“It only took them seven hundred years tae return it tae the rightful owners!” states Doug.
“Where is it now?” I ask them.
“Edinburgh Castle,” says Rod.
“Aye,” grunts Doug, anger flushing his cheeks, “But the next time England want tae crown one of the yella bellied kings, they're takin' it right back again, they even said so. And watch, it'll take the bastards another seven hundred years tae give it back!”
“I don't think so,” I wink at him.
Indicating the mugs of coffee I just magicked into the kitchen, I know we can get their Stone of Destiny back no matter how many guards they have securing it.
Doug widens his eyes, glancing at Rod, giving me the 'what were you thinking' stare.
He didn't notice, luckily his blood was not going to his head this morning.
Chapter 23
Ellindt:
I hate that he's staring away from me, making reading him impossible. I've just told him the bad news and he's pretending nothing's changed.
“Long ago, all ye can now see was covered in forest. The highlands was a forested place, the lochs framed by yarrow topped pines and dense woodland. Lack of foresight has stripped this land of its protection.”
“Lack of foresight has stripped the planet, period,” I say, rubbing his thigh. He covers my hand with his own when he looks at me. “I love that you've dedicated your life to improving this planet,” I continue.
His smile is both sad and pleased simultaneously. “I follow ma heart, Ellindt.” The double meaning to his words lingers heavily between us.