Chapter Four
I stared at the file. The words didn't change. Population: One. Status: Critical. My throat felt tight. “Is this it?”
“That's the assignment folder. It has the basic information. You will add to it during your assignment, and then it will go in the Archive as documentation.”
“I see.”
“His name is áedán.” Julian moved to the window, hands in his pockets. Outside, the oak's branches swayed in the wind. “He's been alive for nearly six hundred years. We've recently discovered that his clan has faded. He's the only one left.”
“How many were there?”
“In his clan—hundreds. Even more all over Scotland.” Julian turned back to me. His face was calm, but something in his voice had changed. Gone quiet. “They faded faster than others. Less than a century and they vanished.”
“How does fading work exactly? I mean, do they just pop out of existence?”
“Usually, it's gradual. First, they lose small things. A memory here and there. The ability to hold their true form for long periods. Then larger pieces. Names and faces, even of those they love. Eventually, they go transparent and then disappear.”
I thought of the mermaid at breakfast, complaining about dry air. The man who'd set someone's toast on fire. Zephyr, who'd climbed into my lap like I was an old friend. All of them real, solid, laughing. Living. That they could simply stop existing felt impossible.
“Has he started to forget things?”
“We don't know.” Julian sat on the edge of his desk.
“That's part of why we need you. áedán cut off contact with the Velasca years ago.
We've tried reaching out. Letters, visits, intermediaries.
He refuses to respond. We know he's still at Loch Lomond because our people have gotten glimpses of him, but that's all we know.”
I looked down at the file again. There were several photocopied pages of the kelpie myth and a map of Loch Lomond, which was enormous, with marks indicating places áedán frequented.
“What do you want me to do?” I held up the file. “I know the Velasca uses the term preservation to mean documenting a myth and conservation to mean saving the myth from fading, but how am I supposed to do either of those things if he won't talk to me?”
“That's the biggest hurdle, and the reason I'm sending you.
He won't know you. You'll have a better chance of finding and approaching him.
Proceed carefully. Don't tell him you're with us right away.
Talk to him first. Then work on getting his permission to help.
You'll need to document him first. His history, his memories, what he was before the world forgot. Once you have that, we can work on saving him.”
“Why do I need to document him first?”
“Because stories often change over the years. A lot of times, those minor changes can make things difficult for us. Some stories get so far removed from their myths that it leads to fading. We need to see what has gone wrong with the kelpie myth. Then we can work to bring the original story back, remind people of it, and, hopefully, save áedán.” Julian's voice was steady, but his hands weren't. They shook until he gripped the edge of his desk.
“It's integral that you connect with him on a personal level, Ethan.
As I told you, we don't force myths to accept our help.
If áedán won't let us help him, we have to step back. So, please, convince him.”
The weight of it settled on me. This wasn't an academic exercise. This wasn't cataloging folklore or translating old manuscripts. This was stopping someone from disappearing, or, if I failed at that, holding onto whatever pieces of him I could save.
“This is a lot. Maybe you should give this to a more experienced Velascan.”
“As I said, he knows us. Ethan, you're good at listening. You don't impose your opinions on others. And, as a new Velascan, you don't have preconceptions about how to interact with myths. That's what áedán needs. Not someone merely trying to save him. Someone willing to hear him.”
I wanted to argue. I'd spent my academic career in libraries and universities, not out in the world trying to convince ancient beings to trust me. But Julian was watching me with that same patient expression he'd worn all morning, as if he already knew what I'd decide.
“There's something else you need to understand.” He met my gaze and held it. “Myths nearing extinction can become unpredictable. áedán was a guardian once. I'm hoping he is still that man. But you need to be careful, Ethan. He may have forgotten who he is.”
“All right, I'll be careful.”
“This will not be easy, but try your best. Because if we lose him, we lose a part of ourselves.”
The file felt heavier in my hands. I opened it again, looking for more information.
There was a packet clipped to the back cover that I'd missed.
Inside were old, faded photographs. There was one of the loch, one of a dark horse with a pale mane emerging from the water, and one of a man.
He stood on the loch's shore, dark hair whipping in the wind, and a powerful body held at the ready.
Dressed in a knitted sweater and dark pants, he seemed timeless.
There was something in his bearing and face that screamed danger.
But he was also handsome enough to make my knees wobble.
“That was taken in 1876.” Julian leaned over to peer at it. “Handsome isn't he?”
“Yes, but this isn't his true form.” I picked up the picture of the horse. “This is him, isn't it?”
Julian chuckled. “He was born of human belief, Ethan. Yes, the horse was his first form, but he was never a mere horse. When his clan developed the skill to shapeshift, they took forms that both appealed to them and matched the people of the area. Since he was born of the minds of the Scottish people, you could say that this form is more him than the horse.”
I put the photos back in their package, not liking how his words reassured me. “Perhaps. I guess it doesn't matter when you're dealing with a myth.”
“There's one more thing.” Julian's voice dropped lower, going serious in a way that made the hair on my arms stand up. “I have to warn you about the Forgotten.”
I closed the folder and looked up at him. “The Forgotten?”
“Science has proven that energy can't be created or destroyed, only transformed.
Our energy was transformed into myths. So, when a myth fades away, they don't just die. They become something else.” He moved closer, and I could smell the mint tea on his breath.
“The Forgotten are myths who faded. They have no names, no memories, and no one left to remember them.
They become empty shells. And they're desperate.”
“Desperate for what?”
“To be what they were. To be solid, living beings. The Forgotten hunt myths because they recognize and crave their energy. They're drawn to what they once were, and they'll consume it. We believe they do it to fill the emptiness inside them. It's instinctive.”
My stomach turned over. “They eat other myths?”
“In a sense. They drain them. Take everything that makes a myth what they are.” He paused.
“It's what every Velascan fears. Not death, but erasure.
A myth can fade, but we will still have their stories, kept safe in the Great Archive.
However, when a Forgotten consumes a myth, they erase the myth's existence. If we have stories of them, they vanish. If there are other myths like them, their stories and those of their race will remain, but the individual is lost forever.”
I thought of áedán, alone at Loch Lomond, the last of his kind. An easy target. “Have you ever seen one?”
“Once.” Julian's face went blank. “In Wales, about ten years ago.
We were trying to document a myth who'd gone into hiding.
We found them seconds too late. We arrived to find the Forgotten consuming the myth.
I can't even tell you what myth it was because as soon as the Forgotten finished consuming it, our memories of the myth disappeared. We stood there, facing the Forgotten, knowing what had happened, what had to have happened, but with no memory of who it had happened to. Even our assignment files had vanished from our bags.”
The room felt colder. I pulled my jacket tighter. “What do they look like?”
“Like shadowy people whose features have been erased.
You can't focus on them. Every time you try, they dissolve into ash.
They're there and not there at the same time.” Julian's voice was quiet now.
Almost a whisper. “If you ever see one of the Forgotten and you're with a myth, grab the myth and run.
There is no fighting them, no way to kill something that isn't alive.”
I nodded, my mouth gone dry. “When do I leave?”
“Tomorrow, if you're ready by then. We've arranged accommodation in Luss, a village on the western shore of Loch Lomond.
You'll have access to our research on kelpie mythology, historical accounts, and everything we have on áedán specifically.” Julian handed me a second, thicker file.
“Read this tonight. Familiarize yourself with what we know.
But remember, Ethan—what's in those files is history. The myth you meet tomorrow is a person. Treat him like one.”
I took the second file. It was heavy, stuffed with papers and photographs and what looked like hand-drawn maps. My hands were shaking slightly. I tried to stop them.
“You'll do well.” Julian put a hand on my shoulder. “Trust your instincts. Listen more than you speak. And remember—he's more real than you or I.”
I nodded. Tried to look more confident than I felt.
Julian walked me to the door, then paused with his hand on the handle.
“One last thing. This is in the file, but I want to emphasize how important this is.” He looked at me, and his expression was serious.
“Enter the water only if invited. Kelpies are territorial, and the loch is áedán's domain.
If you go in after him without permission, he'll see it as a threat.”
“I understand.”
“Good.” Julian opened the door. The hallway beyond was empty, quiet.
Somewhere in the building, I could hear voices, laughter, the ordinary sounds of people living their lives.
“Get some rest tonight. Tomorrow, you'll leave for Scotland.
Rory should be downstairs in the dining hall waiting for you. He'll see you to your room.”
I went downstairs and stopped in the doorway to the dining hall, suddenly realizing that I didn't know who Rory was.
Luckily, he'd been told to watch for me, and I was barely there a minute before a young man with curly ginger hair, freckles, and sea-green eyes bounded up to me like a cocker spaniel.
“You're Ethan, right? I got your luggage over there.” He grabbed my hand, shook it vigorously, and then smacked a wrapped parcel into it.
“I'm Rory. That's a sandwich Mateo made for you.
Come on, I'll take you to your room.” He dove to the right and grabbed my suitcases that were sitting to the side of the doorway, and led me out of the dining hall.
Rory talked the whole way across the estate and into building three. Up to the second floor he went, and I had to tear my eyes away from him as I followed. Despite his youthful face and enthusiasm, Rory's body was that of a grown man. Who lifted weights. And was blessed with a beautiful ass.
He pointed out the lounge on the second floor, stocked with food and drinks in case I didn't want to go down to the dining hall. Then he took me down the corridor, opened a door on the left, and showed me into a room with an en suite bath and a kitchenette. I plopped my suitcases on the floor.
“I'm always around if you get lost or have any questions.” He handed me a key on a keychain with a V on one side and my apartment number on the back.
“Thank you. I appreciate that.”
Rory slanted a look down my body and grinned wider. “Sure thing.” Then he was gone.
Smiling at his flirtation, I closed the door and went to the bed.
Not to sleep, but to spread the contents of the second file across it.
There were more photographs of áedán from different decades.
A few of the pictures showed him with other people.
And then there were handwritten pages about him from several Velascans who'd interacted with him.
They all said he was a joy to be around, mischievous, and compassionate.
But there was nothing written after 1910.
Finally, I closed the file and unpacked my suitcases, setting a few pictures on the desk.
Most of my things were back at the cottage my grandmother had left me.
Actually, the cottage wasn't too far from the Velasca Estate.
If I needed anything, I could pop over. For now, this was good.
Since I was leaving the next day, I repacked a single suitcase and took the little bag that held my toothbrush and other bath stuff into the bathroom with me. I'd have to pack those in the morning.
After eating the sandwich, I took a shower, brushed my teeth, and climbed into bed. I lay back and stared at the ceiling. My grandmother had been here. Maybe even done what I was about to do. Then she'd given it all up for love, for a normal life with my grandfather.
I wondered if she'd ever been this terrified. Or felt this alive.