Stories

My Dear Fiona - Chapter 29 Telling Tall Tales

Night falls quickly in Orkney at the end of October, and we drove quietly past the lochs and the stones to reach the Storytelling Centre, braving a bone chilling rain that promised to turn into ice soon.
We advanced through the darkness in silence, lulled by the rhythmic motion of the windshield wipers, like the last two people on earth, who reached the limits of their familiar realm and dared to venture into uncharted territory.
After a while we lost track of time and distance, immersed in an inky darkness whose substance was uniform, unmeasurable, and thicker than molasses, and which closed behind us as we passed through it, like the depths of the sea.
The passing of time is a measure of change, and it does not apply to a medium that stays the same, which shows no sign of differentiation or movement. 
In the blackness of that night we were outside of time itself, traveling to another dimension maybe, I couldn’t tell.

My Dear Fiona - Chapter 28 The Ghost of Fiona Corrigall

The sunshine was warm and hazy at the equinox, brushing the grassy knolls and the tops of the stones and sparkling on the lochs.
I know you’ve been here so many times, Fiona, that’s probably why I can’t keep away from this place, and here I am again, at the Stones of Stenness, waiting for the equinox like I’m expecting something to happen.
Spend enough time at sacred sites and you start believing in their magic. 
There is a still power in the stones, subtle, like tides, which quietly overtakes you before you take notice, and you find yourself immersed in it, dazzled and bowing to its authority.
You came here at sunrise, with Jorunn, carrying baskets of honey cakes and root vegetables, hoping to entreat the spirit of Orkney and appease the wrath of Gore Vellye, whose fury strips the land bare and disappears whole islands.
It’s cold already, and you are walking against the wind, wrapping the warm furs tight around your body to keep out the chill.
Jorunn walks behind you, respectful, and it takes a moment for me to understand when did this role reversal happened, and then I see the signet ring on your finger, your symbol of authority. You are no longer a person, Fiona; you are the seat of power, a keeper of the royal blood your mentor took an oath to honor and defend with her life.

My Dear Fiona - Chapter 27 Riding a Horse of Fire

The clashing of swords was overwhelming, the sky filled with dirt and thunderheads. There I saw them in the lightning, riding their winged horses with their hair in the wind.
In the middle of the battle I saw you too, Fiona, and couldn’t recognize you, as you rode across the field looking very much their equal, cutting a wide path through the enemy troops like a scythe through high grass, with far-reaching, terrifying sway, looking ageless like an idol, and just like it unable to feel sorrow, anger, or hurt.
Your face still lingers in my memory: although it looked young, your eyes were wise and hard, just like Jorunn's. Even in death, she was with you, her courage, strength and fearlessness watching over you.
We have been blest to live in peaceful times, and never experience such a scene, not to mention take part in it, and it was so shocking and terrifying to me I can’t draw breath, Fiona, to see a child like you bear down on the battlefield swinging that giant sword of yours that looked too heavy to lift, like a vengeful angel riding a horse of fire.

My Dear Fiona - Chapter 26 And Miles To Go Before I Sleep

I spent some time on the pier after our parents left, watching the cruise ship get smaller and smaller into the horizon until I could barely make out its contours.
Denise sat by my side with uncharacteristic patience and said nothing.
I didn’t realize how different I was here until my old life visited, and brought all of its patterns and details with it, but I am two people, Fiona. Two people, with two different families, lives and interests, hundreds of years apart.
They coexist in perfect harmony, barely touching each other, my lives, and neither one can relate to the other, and I’m content with that. I have been since I can remember.
These visions of you that scream loud from my blood have an existence of their own, coherent and continuous, a true story, or history, that could have happened, and that makes sense.
There is an extraordinary emotional purity in the stories you unfold before my eyes, even in the face of unspeakable cruelty and such little worth assigned to human life: there is pure untarnished joy, and lightness of being, and the willingness to offer oneself, to give all of oneself, to an ideal.

My Dear Fiona - Chapter 25 Cathedrals of Stone

Orkney takes great care to protect her ancient treasures and history: they are revealed, not discovered, and usually only when she allows it.
Violent storms have uncovered many of the old sites, stripping away the topsoil and vegetation to expose millennium-old constructions that had been sleeping beneath the ground.
I wanted to show mom and dad the enchanting beauty of the islands and figured going to Sanday together to explore its wild nature would be the perfect way to do it. 
Protests emerged immediately and subsided just as quickly when I explained the island was part of my research, since it is the site of an important Viking burial site.
In truth, it was the incredible beauty of nature, rather than the workings of man, that called me there.
Concealed by the rocky hills near the ferry dock, Doun Helzie is a place that time seems to have forgotten, with its lengthy stretches of beach hugged by pristine waters, a mesmerizingly blue color, almost glowing against the snow-white sands.

My Dear Fiona - Chapter 24 The Favor of Heerfather Seek We To Find

As the ferry approached Kirkwall, I saw them from afar, waiting on the dock with bright smiles on their faces.
“Guess who’s here?” I nudged Denise.
“No!”
“Oh, yes.”
“They don’t trust either of us, I take it. At least we’re dining in style tonight.”
“Do you ever think of anything other than food?”
“Not right now, no.”
“My beautiful daughters,” dad embraced us effusively. “This is how much effort a parent needs to do to get any news from his children.”
“Leave some for me too,” mom interjected, waiting her turn for a hug. “Are you eating well? You look thin.”
“Which one of us?” I asked, hopeful.
“Never you mind! Let me look at you! Oh, my God! You’re so tan!”
“We spend a lot of time outdoors,” I explained.
“And flourishing! Orkney suits you. This place is beautiful, you must take us everywhere! I want to see the cairns.”
“Rose, you know we’re not staying long. We’re on a cruise. If you can believe it, your mother convinced me.”
‘I’m sure she did,’ I thought. ‘And one that stops in Scotland, no less.’

My Dear Fiona - Chapter 23 The Island Between Worlds

We celebrated the white nights in the streets of Kirkwall, so filled with music and laughter, and I played my ballad, as promised, encouraged by an accommodating and enthusiastic audience. 
Denise was bursting with pride and kept urging me to put on another show in Eau Claire when we arrived back home, and wouldn't let up until I said yes.
I felt guilty in the morning for having so much fun and neglecting my studies, and thought I should take the papers I had begun to see in my dreams back to the Heritage Society and see if I could find more.
The council members were busy organizing the yearly trip to Eynhallow.
Every time I think I learned the ways of Orkney it surprises me again. Listen, kindred, listen and learn, for I’ll tell you the story of the Holy Isle.
Eynhallow is the tiny heart of the archipelago, tantalizingly close to the mainland, always in sight but rarely accessible, even though it lies a mere five hundred feet from the shore. 

My Dear Fiona - Chapter 22 Birth. Again.

I was lucky to have Denise with me, otherwise my Maeshowe experience would have held me back, Fiona, because the cairn of Cuween was much smaller, much darker, much more ominous, as it is fitting for a fairy knowe inhabited by spirits from a non-human realm.
The experience of entering the earth is only romantic in theory. 
In practice it involves a lot of hyperventilation, scraped elbows and knees, controlled panic attacks and a feral drive to get out of there as quickly as possible. 
We didn’t bend over; we crawled in, against my every survival instinct, we crawled into the darkness of the earth, tightly cradled by corbelled stone slabs supporting what I can only guess was crushing weight from the dirt mound above, with barely enough space to turn around, careful not to bang our heads on the sharp stone edges.
A strange elation overcame me, not panic, rather excited trepidation, the anticipation of an unusual journey outside normal reality, a visit to the realm of the dead.
It’s not a physical journey one engages in here, I understood somehow; the constraints are intentional, the tight straightjacket made of stone is supposed to restrain all the movements we take for granted, and the dark silent space dampens the senses too. How else are you to understand the stillness of the body in death, what it’s like to exist in a state that no longer allows for the perks of the living?

My Dear Fiona - Chapter 21 I Dreamt a Dream Last Night

We are social creatures, and we don't want to stand out, so we will give up almost anything just to be accepted and partake of the huge game that is society and master its many levels.
We’re not all that different, my sister and I: while she pretends not to experience things she can’t explain, I keep mine to myself, neatly placed in their appropriate containers, lest they risk contaminating my very rational and scientific mind.
I store them in the area of my mind that has to do with spirituality, the mysterious, which we researchers like to talk about but don't really take seriously.
The same area which houses the intriguing article you read last week at the airport while waiting for the plane to board. 
It tested the limits of what a reasonable person is allowed to believe, which was a bit daring for a scientific article, and that was exciting, like a guilty pleasure, but not as consequential as the tangible laws that explain why an aircraft can fly, or the extensive studies you did for your own paper, which you’re about to present upon arrival at your destination.

My Dear Fiona - Chapter 20 And Spirit Makes Three

I didn’t want to wake Denise the next morning, between the beer and the late night I knew she’d be in a rotten mood if she didn’t get her beauty sleep, so I snuck out as quietly as I could, to get a cup of coffee.
The streets were already filled with music and dancing and the rhythms of the drums, the festival atmosphere rushed me in the middle of the street, and carried me along with it, even a recluse like me.
Life unfolded in all its joy, Fiona, and it looked so effortless, as if all its tribulations and cares were nothing but another performance at the festival. 
I had a sudden insight into the lightness of being, which my sister seems to understand so well: you just don’t think about it, you get up, go out and live, that’s it. No expectations, no reservations, no past.
I always thought of living in the now as some sort of gimmick people who have no plans like to pass for life philosophy, and I’m a little embarrassed by that now, when the collective life of Kirkwall flows through me, making me part of everything.
The rhythm of the drums induced some sort of trance, muffling the other sounds and sharpening my hearing and I got a little lightheaded from the bright light and the sounds, so I grabbed an outdoor table at the corner cafe, ordered an espresso and closed my eyes to clear my head.