This chapter is told from Raelyn's POV

A sharp wind sweeps across the valley; it pricks my skin like spear-shaped icicles. Huddling closer against the warmth of my jacket, I nuzzle my nose into the soft wool scarf. After spending a couple of days within the Iomaire Draíochta, the sudden switch in temperatures is like a battle against an arctic wall.

I venture behind Sazith along the path that snakes through the grassy fields. The chillness in the air numbs my legs with every new step and the whistles of the breath-robbing wind bounces off the steep hills. I turn around to look for Marush, but he has fallen back.

Sazith snorts. "Marush doesn't do well around spirits."

"Why are there spirits here?"

"This is the site of the Glencoe massacre. On February 13, 1692, at least thirty-eight members of the MacDonald clan were killed and their houses set on fire. Many escaped into the mountains, but a snow blizzard caused further casualties." He points at one of the hills. "That's where I stood, together with Marush and your father. I had wanted to save them, but the Sentinel Council didn't want us to get involved. It's what they usually do when it comes to human conflict." Bitterness laces the words.

"And you disagree with them?"

"Most of the time, I do. Warlocks were granted powers to balance the forces of nature. We are the guardians of peace among the creatures and are meant to guarantee their health and prosperity. Unfortunately, in the last few thousand years, we have wavered from this straight course. It's all about power now and proving that we are the most dominant among all of them."

"How did my father feel about it?"

"Let's just say he was conflicted. In many ways, he agreed with me, but he was also a member of the Council and highly influenced by Marush. The Council has always followed their own agenda and it's hard to break into their inner circle of trust. They might argue among themselves like little children, but when it comes to outsiders, they form a solid wall that's impossible to penetrate."

I glance back at Marush. He sits cross-legged on a flat rock, his eyes closed as if captured in deep meditation. I can't stand him. He looks at me with this glint of superiority and mocking—it's disrespectful and I constantly feel I have to prove something to him. And his sugary smiles are so fake. The only warlock he seems genuine around is Tessa, who is undoubtedly the nicest one here.

I refocus on Sazith. "Were Marush and my father close?"

"They were like brothers. Their mothers were the best of friends and timed it that they got pregnant only a month apart. Marush was born under the dark cloud of the malediction and many wanted him killed before he grew too old, but Gideon stood over him like a rock in a stormy sea. If anyone had tried to touch Marush, they would've had to go through your father."

I frown. "What is the malediction?"

"Sentinels are not allowed to sire children. It's meant to guarantee an equal distribution of power. If they had children, those warlocks could toss the balance of nature out of sync."

Swallowing hard, I drop my gaze. I'm more like Marush than I care to admit. "My father was a Sentinel."

"Your mother was non-magical, so the distribution of power is more equal with you. But yes, technically, you were another child born against our natural laws." He points at a flat area among the rolling field. "Enough of that. This is where the house of Alasdair MacIain stood. He was the Chief of the MacDonald clan at the time of the attack. Let's see if you can make a connection to the lost spirts that are still around."

With hesitant steps, I follow him into the field. How am I supposed to connect to the dead when all these thoughts about my parents occupy my mind? After what I just heard, I shouldn't even be born. I'm not only an outcast in the werewolf world but also among the warlocks. Is there any place I belong?

My gaze flicks back at Marush and sudden tears blur my vision. How did he manage to carve himself a place in a society that seems so unforgiving?

"Touch the ground and see if you can sense the spirits."

Sazith's command forces my full attention on the task. I get down on my knees, the moisture from the grass soaking through my jeans. The next push of freezing wind almost knocks me over. The sun breaks through the wall of clouds; specs of green glow under the patches of receding snow. Warmth prickles on my skin.

Soothing.

Consoling.

Empowering.

When I raise my hand, a small flame springs up on my palm. A gift of the Sun God. I'm not alone.

I cup the fire in my fist and pull it inside me. It spreads through my body, exploding in my veins. With the next breath, my magical powers are unleashed. I place my flat hand on the ground, allowing for the gates of death to open.

"Hello."

I look up and meet the mischievous eyes of a small boy. He couldn't be more than six or seven. His blond hair carries a hint of strawberry-red and his full lips are curved to a smile.

He bows. "Calum Maclain of clan MacDonald of Glencoe. It's nice to meet you."

"It's—it's nice to meet you, too. I'm Raelyn." I look around for Sazith. He has disappeared.

The boy places a finger to his lips. "Shh. The Red Coats are coming."

"Red Coats?"

"The sasanachs."

"I'm sorry, but I don't understand." I stand up. A wave of despair washes over me and I sway. Screams, smoke, the metallic stench of blood. I shake my head to get rid of the images.

"Soldiers under King William. They have just arrived." He takes my hand and pulls me behind him. We get to the front of the small village where a group of men in kilts has met up with an army of soldiers in red coats. Calum ducks behind a low woodshed.

"Robert Campbell, what is your business here?" asks a tall kilt guy with floating white hair and a white beard.

"We are sent under the order of Colonel Hill to collect taxes from each clan." One of the soldiers waves a piece of paper in front of the white-haired man. "Fort William is up to capacity, so my men and I request to be billeted here."

Calum relaxes next to me. "Those are just Campbells. They are a neighboring clan." He chuckles. "We sometimes steal their cattle."

"So they aren't hostile soldiers?"

"Our Chief took an oath to the King. The redcoats are no longer a threat." When another kilt guy calls Calum's name, he steps out from behind the shed.

"Calum, show those four soldiers to our home. They will be staying with us for a few days."

"Aye, father."

The soldiers disburse by following different clansmen to their houses. I trudge behind Calum and his group of redcoats. He keeps them entertained with clowning grimaces, causing for plenty of chuckles and laughter.

When I blink, it's night. I peek through the window of a turf house. The redcoats sit around in a circle with their hosts, Calum's father working the fiddle. One of the soldiers is dancing with a girl. Her cheeks are flushed; she smiles and giggles as the guy whispers in her ear. Another soldier brakes out a deck of cards. The cups stay filled—everyone seems to have a good time.

Calum, all of a sudden next to me, taps his food to the rhythm of the fiddle. He points at the dancing girl. "My sister likes him. I hope they will wed so I can have her room."

Another blink and I'm in front of a different house. A gust of icy wind blows snow into my face. I squint through the window. The redcoat, Robert Campbell, sits next to another soldier in front of a roaring fire. He holds a letter in his hand.

"Tell the others. We are under orders to put all to the sword under seventy. The attack will begin at five tomorrow morning."

"But Captain, the clan has been our host for the past ten days. We broke the bread with them. Killing them is murder under trust."

"The King's orders are clear. Leave none alive by the name MacDonald."

I clutch my hand over my mouth to stifle a scream. Glancing around, I try to locate Calum's home. I have to warn him and his family.

He is back beside me, pulling my hand. His eyes are wide and filled with sorrow. "You can't help them. Trust me, I tried—every night I try. They always die."

Gunshot fire breaks through the darkness. A woman screams. People run from the buildings as their homes go up in flames. The snow is now so heavy, it falls like glistering strings from the sky. My teeth chatter from the bitter wind. I glance around. There has to be a way to help them—why else would I be here?

I reach for Calum's hand, but the space next to me is empty. "Calum." I push through a group of women who run right through me. "Calum! Where are you?"

A scream chills my blood. It's Calum's sister. The redcoat who danced with her has tackled her to the ground. The blade gleams in the darkness and her cry is cut off.

"No!" I jump on the soldier, but he gets up as if I weren't even there. Sword raised, he draws his lip back as he goes after Calum and his father. The clansman is barely able to push his son aside. The blade cuts through his chest. Calum's feet find traction on the slippery ground; he's able to jump up and disappear in the commotion before his dad's killer can send him to his grave.

My nape prickles. Joints cracking, my wolf tries to break free. I ignore her desire to fight. I rush by a group of fleeing women and children in search of Calum. A musket goes off, the bullet zooming toward me. I leap to the side, even though the hot metal still manages to brush my neck. The expected pain fails to materialize.

Getting back to my feet, I run toward more gunfire. Shouts and screams drift from a burning house. Without even thinking, I step into the flames. Fully immersed, I battle my way through the collapsing door. The trapped occupants try to break a shuttered window. I meet the gaze of a little girl holding on to the hem of her mother's nightgown; her small whimpers cut through the layers of my heart. Her eyes are filled with so much fear and confusion that my soul shatters. I reach for her, but her floating shirt catches fire before I can get close enough. The stench of burned hair and skin drives bile up my throat. Screams of death echo hollow in my head. I've never felt more helpless.

Realizing there isn't anything I can do for them, I combat the flames to get back outside. The wetness and cold from red puddles of slush seep into my sneakers. My whole body is numb. I want to snap out of this nightmare but have no idea how to accomplish that.

I turn the corner of a burning house and my heart comes to a standstill. Calum clutches on to Robert Campbell's leg, trying desperately to hide his small frame behind the bulky man. His whole body is shaking.

He whimpers. "Please. Don't kill me."

Another redcoat raises his bayonet.

Campbell pushes Calum further behind him. "Sir Drummond, he is just a child."

"Get out of my way, Campbell."

"But sir—"

"Follow the King's orders."

Campbell steps aside.

Before I can flinch a single muscle, blood spreads across Calum's shirt, right around the bayonet that has lodged deep into his chest. My wolf growls and bares her fangs. It takes valuable seconds to lock her away. Rushing over to Calum, I cradle his head into my lap.

"Help me, Raelyn. I don't want to stay here anymore."

Tears burn on my cheeks. "I promise I will."

A death rattle breaks from his throat and his eyes gloss over. The howling wind tears at his blond hair, his lips turning blue. No life is left in his chest. He's gone.

When I look up, he's standing only feet away from me. I stare down at his motionless body, still huddled in my arms. What is happening?

A sad wave of his hand. "Bye, Raelyn."

I gasp. The bright sun shimmers and burns in my eyes. I squeeze them shut and slow my panting breath. My cheeks are soaked from my tears.

"Now you know what happened here."

I raise my head and look up at Sazith. "Are all those souls lost?"

"Only a few. Most of the dead crossed over to the afterlife that day, but a few decided to stay behind."

"Calum?"

Sazith's lips curl to a sad smile. "He was stubborn. Thought he could take revenge. Gideon almost got him to reconsider, but then he turned away."

"He wants me to help him now. There must be a way—"

"There's always a way once you are a trained Caomhnóir, but that would require a choice from you. You can only help one of them, meaning if he crosses into the afterlife, the wolf packs of your homeland will face their extinction. I'm afraid you won't be able to save both."

"I don't understand. What choice? And why can't I help both? Besides, as Caomhnóir, why haven't you sent Calum to the afterlife?"

Sazith glances at Marush. "Not here with him around. Meet me tonight by the creek."

I'd have to sneak out of the cabin without waking Tessa, who is a super light sleeper. "When?"

"Midnight. And make sure to come alone."

The pictures are a couple of shots from Glencoe. I tried to be as historically accurate as possible as I retold the massacre of Glencoe and I hope you enjoyed this trip into the past.

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© Sally Mason 2018

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