Page 41 of Highland Queen

“Are you there?” I whispered.

At that moment, I felt something. I felt life.

But more, I felt a shift in the world around me.

The air cooled, and I smelled wisteria.

“How now you, midnight messengers?” I whispered, opening my eyes once more.

I was standing on the terrace before the great cauldron, but neither Andraste nor Nimue were there.

The fire crackled, and a soft breeze blew, stirring up the sweet scent of flowers.

Frowning, I looked all around.

I was alone. I walked through the ruins. As I passed by the living quarters, I heard the soft sounds of someone sleeping. I peered into Nimue’s room to find her on her bed. Moving further down the hall, I discovered Andraste sleeping as well, snoring like Thorfinn.

Winding down the halls of the ruins of Ynes Verleath, I made my way to the room of the eternal flame. There, I found a robed figure kneeling before the broken statue of the Goddess.

It wasn’t the red-robed Morrigu or even the Crone. I had seen this lady only once before. It was silver-haired Scotia.

The Goddess whispered, her incantation nearly inaudible, then rose and walked toward me, her silver cloak billowing all around her. Her eyes twinkled like the stars. She eyed me over then walked in a circle around me, assessing me.

“Avenger. Warrior. Queen. You have come full circle, Cerridwen. Now it is time for you to do my bidding.”

“And what is your bidding, Great Lady?”

She reached out and took my crown into her hands. She turned the circle around and around. The movement made my head swim.

“Like a wheel of fortune, with no beginning and no end, you must spin the wheel of fate once more and make something new. A new Scotland. A land reborn. You will fashion it with wisdom, cunning, and faith. Now, you must do my work,” she said then set the crown on my head once more. As she did so, she said. “Rule in my name.”

“I am your servant.”

She straightened my crown, pushed my hair behind my ears, then looked me in the eyes. “And like all servants, you will grunt and sweat under the yoke. The chore will burn and wound you. But in the end, it must be done.”

“With your help, all things are possible,” I whispered. But there was so much more I wanted to say. I wanted to ask about my child. I wanted to ask about the visions I had seen of Banquo. I wanted to know why there was blood all over my hands. And I wanted to know what to do about Macbeth.

Scotia set two fingers to my brow. When she did so, an image of Macbeth came to mind. He was wearing humble traveler’s robes and holding a staff. Alongside him were monks and other holy men. He wore a simple wreath on his head. I watched him walk away from a castle I didn’t recognize. And beyond that castle’s walls, I saw a very long road threading out into the great unknown. With the eyes of a raven, I watched the road twist and turn until it reached a vast city over which hovered a white dove.

Scotia pulled her fingers away. “Wake now, Cerridwen, and begin.” She blew gently on my face, making me wince. When I opened my eyes once more, I was lying on the floor in Scone. I clutched the ancient crown in my hand, but the ornament’s sharp edges had pricked my fingers. Droplets of blood dripped down my hand, melding with the stains thereon.

The first hint of morning light peeked in through the window. My body aching, I rose and set the crown back in the box. Lifting a rag, I went to clean the blood from my fingertips only to find my hands covered in slicks of red once more.

I squeezed my eyes shut. “It’s not real. There is nothing there.”

Opening my eyes again, I went to my bed, lay down, and pulled my blankets up to my neck. Tira and Rhona would be there soon. I needed to get some sleep before the day began again.

When I woke, I had much to consider.

Including the city of the dove…Rome.

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