Chapter 25 #2
“I’m just ...” I looked down at the water, my own reflection tiny and rippling on the surface. “I spent so long being afraid of water and what it could take from me, and now I’m supposed to bind myself to it?”
“You’re not binding yourself to the water,” Orla said softly. “But more to what the water represents. It’s about how it connects all living things.” She smiled. “Water isn’t your enemy, Agnes. It never was. It was just being used by something that was.”
“It’s fair though,” Sophie murmured, “to feel this way. The loch took Lachlan’s mum. It’s taken many of your family. Those feelings matter.”
The other women murmured their agreement and waited. But nobody pushed me.
“It’ll help,” Quilliam said, poking his head out of my pocket. “You need to reframe your connection to the loch.”
I thought about the loch and the curse that I’d been living with for years now. As had the Beithir, in its own misguided way.
And then I thought about Graham, pulled from the water twice, surviving twice, because love was stronger than ancient malice.
I dipped my fingers in the bowl.
“By water we are bound.” I touched my heart. “By water we remember those who came before.”
Something shifted in the air. A warmth spreading from my heart outward, connecting me to the women around me, to the ground beneath my feet, and to the loch glittering softly in the pale morning light.
Hilda smiled. “Good. Now we speak the names.”
She turned to the book on the pedestal, tracing her finger down the ancient page.
“We call upon the First Nine,” she read. “The founders of the Order. The women who stood against the darkness and swore to protect the truth.”
“We call upon Margaret, the Knight.” Sophie stepped forward and read, her voice resonating with power. “She who took up the sword when others faltered. She who bound the Kelpies to the service of the Stone.”
“We call upon Ceridwen, the Kitchen Witch,” Lia continued. “She who fed the hungry and healed the sick and understood that nourishment was its own version of magick.”
“We call upon Daniela, the Garden Witch,” Shona said. “She who spoke to the green and growing things and who understood that life was sacred in all its forms.”
“We call upon Ainne, the Seer.” Willow’s voice was soft but clear. “She who saw what others could not. She who carried the burden of visions so that others might be warned.”
“We call upon Cliodna, the House Witch,” Orla said. “She who listened to the dead.”
“We call upon Scáthach, the Forge Witch.” Kaia’s voice was strong, Murdoch cawing in agreement from her shoulder. “She who shaped metal and magick and armed the Order against its enemies.”
“We call upon Fiona, the Healer,” Faelan said, golden light flickering around her hands. “She who took pain into herself so others might live. She who knew that healing was sacrifice.”
“We call upon Arianrhod, the Chartweaver.” Liora’s voice was dreamy, distant. “She who read the patterns of fate. She who guided us through the crossroads of destiny.”
Everyone turned to me.
I looked at the book, at the final name written on the page in that shimmering script.
“We call upon Màiri,” I said, and my voice didn’t waver. “The Bookkeeper. She who witnessed oaths and kept records. The keeper of connections.”
At my words, the rowan tree shuddered. Its branches swayed without wind, its leaves rustling with whispers that might have been voices.
The air shifted, becoming translucent, and figures stepped into the clearing beneath the tree. Nine women, dressed in ancient robes, their forms translucent, and their eyes bright with recognition.
“Daughters. You honor us. Through you, our blood runs, our magick, and we are proud of what you have accomplished. Be well, for you are the bright light of generations to come.”
My throat tightened, and I swallowed, as they faded away in the soft morning light. Only a memory once more, but their impact forever lasting.
“The founders have heard us,” Hilda said. “They have blessed this gathering. Now we speak the oaths.”
She turned to Sophie first.
“Sophie, do you swear to protect the Stone of Truth? To command the Kelpies in its defense? To stand against any who would threaten what we guard?”
Sophie’s voice rang clear. “I swear it. By my blood and my blade, I swear it.”
Hilda moved to Lia.
“Lia, our Kitchen Witch of the Order. Do you swear to nourish those who serve the truth? To use your gifts for healing, not harm? To feed the body so the spirit may be strong?”
“I swear it. By my hearth and my heart, I swear it.”
To Shona.
“Shona. Do you swear to tend the green places? To nurture life in all its forms? To remember that growth is sacred?”
“I swear it. By root and branch, I swear it.”
To Willow.
“Willow. Seer of the Order. Do you swear to share your visions? To warn of dangers seen and unseen? To bear the burden of sight so others may act?”
“I swear it. By stitch and needle, I swear it.”
To Orla.
“Orla. Do you swear to speak for the dead? To guide lost spirits to peace? To remember that the boundary between worlds is thin?”
“I swear it. By shadow and spirit, I swear it.”
To Kaia.
“Kaia. Do you swear to craft in service of truth? To arm the Order against its enemies? To temper metal with magick and purpose?”
Kaia’s voice was steel. “I swear it. By fire and iron, I swear it.”
To Faelan.
“Faelan. Do you swear to take pain so others may be whole? To sacrifice your own comfort for healing? To remember that compassion is strength?”
“I swear it. By blood and breath, I swear it.”
To Liora.
“Liora. Do you swear to read the patterns of possibility? To guide those who stand at crossroads? To weave fate without forcing it?”
“I swear it. By star and moon, I swear it.”
And then Hilda turned to me.
“Agnes Wright, Bookkeeper of the Order.”
The title settled on my shoulders like a warm shawl.
“Do you swear to witness oaths and keep records? To maintain the connection between all branches? To speak truth even when truth is dangerous? To complete the promise your ancestor made three hundred years ago?”
Isobel had written a diary entry with her dying hands, hoping someone would someday find it. She deserved that I see this through. No matter what may come.
“I swear it,” I said. “By word and memory, I swear it.”
The rowan tree shuddered again. This time, a single leaf drifted down from its branches, and instinctively, I reached out to catch it in my palm.
It was gold.
Pure, shimmering gold, and the leaf was warm against my skin.
I gaped at it, holding it up for the others to see.
“What does it mean?” I looked up at Hilda.
“It’s a gift. From the rowan tree to you, Agnes. It’s marked you,” Hilda said.
“A gift.” Archie’s voice was soft.
“The oaths have been spoken,” Hilda said, her voice taking on that formal cadence again. “The Order of Caledonia is now complete. Nine women, bound by blood and promise to the service of truth. The Kelpies may now rest.”
She lifted the silver bowl again, but this time she carried it to the edge of the walled garden, where a small gate opened onto the path down to the loch.
“Now we complete the binding,” Hilda explained. “We return the water to its source, and we tell the loch that its guardians are restored.”
I curled my fingers around the gold leaf in my palm. It felt significant, like I was being told there was so much more that I needed to do, even though I was as exhausted as if I’d just climbed a mountain.
“I can make a necklace for you, for that,” Kaia said, falling in step next to me. She nodded at my palm. “It seems significant, eh?”
“Aye, it does. That would be grand, thanks.”
“Do you think there’s more for you, then? After this?” Kaia nodded toward the loch. “Something with The Three Queens?”
“I think so. I think … I think I might be meant to find them. I’m not sure if I’m meant to bring them home or protect them or warn the others. But now, at least, I know there are others. There are more of us. Out there, somewhere. And I think it’s on me to find them.”
“No big deal, right?” Kaia laughed.
“Aye, maybe that’s a thought for another day. I have to admit, I’d like a week or a hundred to simply breathe without the threat of the Kelpies hanging over our head.”
“Speaking of…” Sophie leaned in and bumped my shoulder, pointing to the loch.
Dark shapes rippled the surface of the water, slowly emerging as we drew close, and even though I’d been assured several times that they were now friendly and wanted to claim their roots to Loren Brae, I still just couldn’t quite shake the fear that clenched my heart when they raised their heads from the water.
The Kelpies.
They didn’t rise out of the water. Instead, they circled gently, just their heads out of the surface, and waited for our approach. There were no blood-curdling shrieks or glowing red eyes, instead, they were about as placid as ancient mythological water horses could be.
“We’re certain these guys are chill, right?” Willow murmured.
“Aye, I believe so,” Hilda said.
“Because I’m really not down for another battle right now.”
“You and me both,” I murmured.
We reached the shore and the water lapped gently against the stones, peaceful and clear. Frankly, it was hard to believe that just yesterday, this same loch had tried to kill the man I loved.
Hilda walked to the water’s edge, the silver bowl cradled in her hands.
“Loch Mirren,” she said, her voice carrying across the still water. “Our sweet and sacred waters. Home to the Stone of Truth. Dwelling place of the Kelpies. We, the Order of Caledonia, speak to you now.”
The water shimmered, like sunlight hitting a disco ball, and I sucked in a breath.
“We return to you the water we borrowed, now purified by our oaths and blessed by our binding.” She knelt and tipped the bowl, letting the water flow back into the loch.
“We ask that you accept our service and that you recognize our authority. That you allow us to protect what lies within your depths.”
For a long moment, nothing happened.
Then the Kelpies rose.