Loving The Highlander

“It would go much better if you helped,” Daar said. “Grab hold of the staff with me, Morgan, and concentrate. Feel the energy first, then see it in your mind’s eye.”

Morgan MacKeage slowly laid his hand over the second burl on the cane, his grip tight enough almost to splinter the wood. Together they waved the staff, which had nearly doubled in length, over the valley.

“Now. Tell me what you see, warrior. Tell me, and I will interpret it for you.”

“Light. I see blinding light, yet it does not hurt my eyes.”

“What color is the light?”

“Can you not see it yourself,drùidh? It’s white. I can feel the heat, but I don’t feel burned. And yellow. I see yellow sparks.”

“And what is the yellow light doing?”

“It’s dancing through the white light in dizzying circles, as if searching for something.”

“What else do you see?”

“There is green also, chasing the yellow light.”

Daar swept the staff into an arc farther afield, then stopped, bracing himself for the jolt of energy he knew was coming. The light intensified, swirling the colors into a blinding rainbow. The staff jerked, tugging at their hands as the new energy hit with the force of a tornado.

The warrior was not prepared. He staggered back against the assault but did not let go of his powerful grip.

“Holy hell. What’s happening,drùidh? There’s a great blackness swirling through the light now, driving against the yellow sparks. The yellow light is disappearing.”

“And the green, warrior? What is the green doing?”

“Chasing the blackness. But when it reaches it, nothing is there.”

Daar released his grip on the staff and stepped back. The wind stilled, and the mist immediately returned, as did the roar of the falls.

Morgan turned to face him, still clutching the once again normal-sized cane in his hand.

Pale and shaken, Morgan threw the now silent piece of wood to the ground.

“Few mortal men have experienced what you just did, warrior. What think you of my gift?”

“It told me nothing, old man. I saw only colors.”

“It told you everything, Morgan. You just had a glimpse of the energies roaming this valley. The emotions.”

“Emotions?”

“Aye. Did the green light not feel familiar to you? Was it not the same shade of green in the MacKeage plaid you wear?”

“If the green light represents me, then who is the yellow?”

Daar gri

“The ribbon planter? Is that the yellow light?”

Daar widened his grin. “Possibly.”

Morgan frowned at his answer. “And the black?”

“Ah, the black. That is another life force. Something visiting your valley.”

“Something? Or someone?”

Daar shrugged and bent to pick up his cane. “Evil usually takes a human form when it wishes to plague humans.”

“So the black represents evil, then? And it’s coming?”

“Nay, warrior. It’s already here. And so is something good. Don’t forget the yellow light, Morgan. That covered your valley as well.”

“But I couldn’t catch it, either.”

“Because you became more busy chasing the black.”

Morgan’s sigh blew over Daar with enough force to make him take a step back. Morgan MacKeage looked ready to explode in a fit of frustration. Good. There was certainly no lack of passion now.

Daar held up his hand to stop Morgan’s outburst. “Talk to your brother,” he quickly suggested. “Ask Greylen’s permission to claim this valley as your own. Then build your home here. He’ll not deny your request.”

That suggestion took the bluster from the warrior’s expression. “A home? You think I should build a house here?”

“This is a good place to raise a family,” Daar said, then added speculatively, “I’m guessing you’ve got two months at least, judging by the strength of the lights we saw, before you must truly become involved in this mystery. You should be able to have a house up in that time. And then your claim will be unmistakable. It will put an end to the threat of a park in this gorge.”

Morgan’s face reddened. “I’m not having a family,” he muttered. “So I don’t need a house.”

Well now, Daar thought. He wasn’t having children, huh? That was news. Very disturbing news, considering the strength of the passion Daar had seen in the lights just now.

Not that he intended to tell Morgan that. No, some things were better left discovered on their own.

Such as the gender of unborn children, to name one.

“But why?” Daar asked. “Every warrior wants sons.”

Morgan rubbed the back of his neck with one large hand. “I’m not a warrior anymore,drùidh, thanks to you. I’m just a man who shouldn’t even exist now. I’m nothing.”

“That’s not true. You are alive, Morgan MacKeage, whether you wish to be or not. You are a landowner and a member of this community now. You run a ski resort with your clan.”

Morgan actually laughed at that. “I sit people’s asses onto a ski lift by day and spend every winter driving a machine up and down the mountain, grooming perfectly good snow. You call that noble work?”

“And fishing and hunting is?”

Morgan actually growled. “I feed you, old man.”

His growl was suddenly answered by another, coming from the mist just below them.

Morgan pivoted and drew his sword in one smooth motion.

“You’ll not harm Faol,” Daar said, moving to place his hand over the hilt of the sword.

“He’s my pet.”

“A wolf?” Morgan asked, recognizing the Gaelic name for the beast. He tried to peer through the rising mist, then looked briefly at Daar. “You have a wolf for a pet?”

“Aye, it seems I do now. He arrived on my doorstep just last week.”

“There are no wolves in this land.”

Daar shrugged. “Maybe they’re just wise enough not to be seen.”

Faol finally showed himself, stepping silently out of the mist, his head low and his hackles raised. Morgan grabbed Daar by the shoulder and quickly pushed the wizard behind him. Morgan raised his sword again.

The wolf growled.

Daar snorted. “Two warriors, each protecting me from the other. Now, cease,” he said, stepping back between them. He faced Morgan. “Faol can help you.”

“Help me what?”

“Your valley, remember? The lights? The blackness? Faol can help you discover what’s happening.”

Morgan looked incredulous. “He’s a wolf.”

“Aye, warrior, he is that. But, like you, he’s without direction. He’s wanting a good fight to stir his blood.”

Morgan looked over Daar’s head at Faol, then back at the wizard, his eyes narrowed in speculation. “Is he one of your spells,drùidh? Have you conjured the wolf to plague me?”

Daar raised his hand to his heart but cocked his head to keep one guarded eye on the heavens. “May God strike me dead if I’m lying. Faol is as real as the hair on my face. He just showed up at my cabin eight days ago.”

Morgan still looked skeptical. He slowly lowered his sword until the tip touched the ground. With his free hand he ripped one of the trout from his belt and tossed it to the wolf.

Faol stepped forward until he was standing over the fish and growled again.

Morgan snorted. “Some pet.”

Alarmed that Morgan was giving away their breakfast, Daar moved to gather wood for a fire. By God, they would eat now before he fainted. He quickly set several branches into a pile, touched his cane to it, and muttered under his breath.

The wood immediately caught fire.

“I’ll be more civilized if you toss one of those trout to me,” he said then. “Ignore the beast, and whittle some spits to roast our breakfast on. A man could starve to death in your company.”

It took Morgan another good minute to move. Finally, satisfied that Faol was more intent on guarding his trout than on eating the two of them, Morgan sheathed his sword and drew out his dagger. He stripped a maple sapling of its leaves and fashioned two intricate circular spits, skewered the three remaining fish, and walked over to the now crackling fire. Not once throughout his chore did Morgan take his attention off the wolf.