By the Light of the Sovereign Moon

As the dust settles on the grave of another lightless day, the tiny particles plight falls
heavy on the ash-veiled ground, and to an absent audience, graceful in descent. The
great mountains, once so noble in their timeless ease now rise to meet not the gentle
clouds of forgotten time, but instead vast coils of iron-coated cinder that cling to the
edge of sunsets and hang low under the moon. The great face in the sky, once would
smile over a thousand twilight secrets, now turns away. For what walks beneath the
iron sky seeks not the counsel of the stars, nor guiding shadow of the sun, it walks in
gloom and sees by the light of embers that burn within its chest, that crackle and spark
but are too tired to erupt. The light, tonight, does seem brighter on the hills; yes, for
any dreamers eye that still can see, there is silver in the air tonight, and a whisper on
the breeze. Its words, soft as slumbers tones lace survivors with the taste of hope, the
expectation of man is not yet all but dead, for beneath the swirling skies and side by
side with threat lies honour still; crushed, in need of dusting off and plucking from the
bones of its wasted homeland. The breeze, the whispered echo in the silence and the
heavy-hearted mountains, in their rest hope that below the broken sky are men trying
to fix it, trying to listen.
It is a defining feature of any man: his choice to believe in either chance, or fate. But
in a time where chance has passed him by, and fate is just a sour word on the
travellers tongue, what comes instead is the choice to give up, or carry on. Jamie
chose the latter. And so it was by neither fate nor chance that Jamie sat against a rock
that night, but there he was: listening. To the breathless tide of thought, to his sister
asleep on her side, he was always listening. For danger, for answers, this was a land
where ones ear must always stay alert. He was sitting in the mouth of a cave, in the
shadow of the rock, thinking of his mother. Often, on clear nights like this she would
sit, his head in her lap and listen to the sounds of the earth, lean down and whisper
great monologues in his ear, tales of the night and stories of old. He gazed out upon
the shadowed ground once rich with life, now painted only by the memories of her
ancient words. Staring into shades of darkest grey, he willed a tear well in his eye,
carve a trail down his skin and fall, with simple elegance, to his lap to hear it land;
feel the warmth of his own between the depths on either side. Strange, he thought;
how tears will not arrive on your demand, yet fall against your stride. From deep
inside his pocket he withdrew, with fingers gnarled with chill, a piece of paper; aged
with repeated unfolding. With careful hands, he flattened the paper in his lap, and
looked down upon his mothers words, watching them dance off the page and echo
round the valley.

Child, tilt back your head.

Stars are watching you,
cloaked by the worlds;
wrapped in terrible things,
but never have mislead.

Do not cry for what is mine,

or mourn for me in vain.
Soon tired eyes will ever need to see
ahead; through misted clouds,
in time, uncertain rain.
You will find the key
where lies the seed.
It burns and churns
forget me not,
alas, for I am free.
Jamie rested his head on the cold rock and looked up into the starless sky. His
mothers death was fresh on his memory, and he blinked back tears now as the words
bounced vacantly around his mind. He remembered his mother in her final hour; mind
all but rotted away, fingers gripped tightly still around the nub of pencil, rattling
shrewdly off the hard stone when her hand, at last, relaxed. He couldnt find enough
sense in her words to shape an understanding; he sometimes thought she left them so
he could remember frustration.
Stones stirred behind him, he turned around. His sister lay quivering beneath a
threadbare blanket, in the shelter of the cold rock. He laid his palm across her head,
yet still she did not settle. She was sick with child, six, perhaps seven months gone the time had been stolen by the need to survive. But now, the lines between survival
and the pregnancy were intertwined; Jamie knew the birth would come soon, and she
would need shelter when it did. Her frame was small, and she was too fragile; too
young to survive the trauma, he was sure. He looked out upon the deep valley; saw
with eyes closed the lair of beasts that walk in that shadowed world. Of men, not
beasts, he thought with a lurch of fury in his breast; these beasts are men that shed
their skin, don the shapes of lesser creatures. He let the storm in his chest blow calm.
Beasts or men, the valley was impenetrable. They had climbed to the foot of Cairn
Gorm some weeks ago, when land below had become fierce with clansmen, patrolling
the village by day; by night, hunting. With a blink, he saw once again the thick and
inky night stretched out before him, and with a shiver, backed into the cave.
He awoke abruptly some time before dawn. There shone some feeble glints of orange
hue through the grey veneer, casting dappled light on the valley below. Mischas
breath rattled hoarsely in his ear. He wrapped her tighter still and with a finger on her
cheek, bid she sleep some more, as it was not yet light enough to kindle the fire.
There was a clearing up ahead, not one that you might expect to find in these woods,
but rather it looked as though it had been cleared by men. Jamie squinted through
clouded eyes and saw in the midst of the clearing, a pale child sat upon a log.

Stay behind me, Mischa.

He spoke without breaking his gaze, and took careful steps forward he could hear
each twig snapping underfoot like bone. In moments he reached the point where the
path broke into the clearing, the bark on these trees oddly white, as though bleached
by sunlight.
Whats wrong, child?
It was a little boy, he sat with his knees around his face, crying. He didnt respond to
Jamies voice. He crossed the clearing to stand before the boy, and looked around at
the strange, white trees surrounding them. He hadnt seen this place before.
Its okay, little boy. Are you lost?
The boy so small continued to cry into his knees. Jamie placed a gentle hand upon
his shoulder; it quivered beneath him like a bird.
Its okay, you can tell me whats wrong.
At this the boys trembling body seemed to stiffen, and the sobs softened. Jamie
squeezed his shoulder slightly, and the boy lifted his head.
Tilt back your head.
Jamie jumped back, the earth crackling as he landed. The boys skin was as white as
the dead wood surrounding him, his eyes glazed and his voice not his own.
Shuddering, Jamie jolted and woke.
The jagged canopy of rock above him did not offer a great comfort. The strange glow
of his nightmare lingered behind his eyes, and he blinked until the image faded.
Mischa, warmer now but only just, faced away. He knew she lay awake, her face
silently streaming with tears, her mind full of her own gruesome dreams. Jamie and
Mischa were different. Mischa had been born into a barren land, never been schooled,
never heard her mother laugh. Jamie had known a time when there still was green
amongst the rocks, there lived men who didnt kill children on sight. Instead, he
played with them. Children, he often thought with a sting, who were all but dead now.
Sometimes he wished he were she, and he did not have to remember the faces, all the
colours of the past. The memories of sweeter times lingered like ghosts on the
fractured sunsets.
Another ragged hour passed, and the pair were sitting by a small fire whose joyous
crackling seemed almost inappropriate. Mischa was lost in a forlorn silence as she
often was, and Jamies mind was racing; thick with plans and worry for the future.
You alright, Misch?
Jamie tried to catch his sisters eye, but her hollow gaze rested somewhere in the heart
of the flame.
I had another bad dream.
She spoke without the slightest movement, her eyes never breaking their gaze.
Im not surprised.
He replied with a smile,
You want to talk about it?
She twitched her head but still her eyes bore into the fire.
Well, thats okay.

Jamie too stared deep into the orange flame.

I had a nightmare too it was strange. Want to hear about it?
Mischa did not falter, simply twitched the corner of her lips. Jamie wanted her to feel
less afraid, so often made up nightmares of his own. This time, and he couldnt shake
why; he wished to feel less afraid himself.
So he told Mischa of the pale boy in the strange wood, both staring into the heart of
the little fire, transfixed by the life of the flame. Jamie felt the fear rise fresh in his
lungs as he recalled the childs words. By the time he finished talking, Mischa was
staring at him, her eyes full of thought.
Strange one, ay?
Their gaze held for another fleeting instant and then broke, clouds shifting in hers as
she stared down into the valley.
Aye, strange. Mum used to say that to me.
Say what?
Jamie had not even expected an answer.
Tilt back your head. She used to say that when I was upset, and shed run her
fingers through my hair.
She did? I didnt know that.
Mischa nodded, distantly.
She said she said granny used to do it for her when she was wee.
Wet memories glazed over those wild eyes as she trailed off. She didnt speak for the
rest of the morning.
Thankful for the solemn silence, Jamies mind raced. The echoes of his mothers
words, spoken by the pale boy sung in the very corners of his thoughts. As he gazed
upon the wasteland of his Highland home, a plan formed in the shadows. Mischas
condition was worsening, her health fading by the day. She needs decent shelter; he
thought quietly, these frosted peaks are no place to birth a child. Strathdon, the village
his grandmother had lived in long ago, was a rough twenty-five miles heading North
East across the valley. The violent clansmen who had chased them up the mountain
still lay below, skulking in the empty hours of night. There was no telling when they
would move on, or if they would, but habitually they would move on to the next
village once the hunts ran dry and the women scarce. His plan, his only notion was to
wait it out in the shelter of the mountain, and descend when the clans had made their
way. Now, after several weeks of sleeping on the numbing black rock, he was tired of
waiting. He was unsure that the clansmen would move at all, and was beginning to
see that relying on their actions did not consolidate a plan. It was likely that the
village of Strathdon had been passed or overlooked. It wasnt safe to pass below
through Braemar; there was no path that would conceal their way through the violent
territory. He tilted back his head and looked up at the mountain looming over him,
that had sheltered and protected them until now. They would walk in the shadow of
the mountain, he thought. Suddenly, with perfect clarity, he saw the path before them.
He knew the way, he knew the shape of the skyline, and when the mountain gave way
to flat land, they will have reached their journeys end. The hike was long, and the

terrain unforgiving, but just as they had, they would rest in the hollows in the
mountain wall. Mischas heart was strong, but her body weak; the journey would test
them both, but he would carry her when he had to. He felt the sharp air on his skin
and lurched from his introspective perch, fell into a seat of calm, smiling in the wake
of his newborn plan.
By evening, or when the ailing light had drained from the sky, he had explained his
plan to Mischa. She was scared, the girl new little more than fear. Her words had been
few and morose ever since the pregnancy and indeed, the conception. Jamie had
found her in a doorway, her hands bound, naked but for her tattered dress around her
shins. She bled, from everywhere she bled and the purple stains on her skin did not
fade for a fortnight. Whatever was left inside did not fade, it tortured her and tied her
tongue, broke her spirit while it sewed a wretched life within her. His heart beat heavy
with thunder as he listened to her broken sleep, held her as her head filled with the
horror that she only knew. For hours, a newfound rage surged through Jamies veins;
he soared on the power of its wrath. It wasnt long before dawn that his blood had
cooled enough for sleep.
The sun rose low and weak, as if it didnt want to cast light on the cursed lands
beneath. The smell of blood in the air rose high above the village, stained the sky red
and kissed the mountaintops with a reminder of the nights reign. On its journey rises
higher then, and proud, to wake the sleeping masses of the lasting world; to bathe
them in its rays of splendour, engulf their sleeping memories of the cold land in the
forgotten North, where the night is walked by savages and men cower in the half-light
of day. The proud sun, who beams down on the backs of every spineless leader in his
path, whilst here leads the man who wears the most teeth around his neck; the most
kills beneath his belt. Power, in these wasted lands is a forgotten notion, a hangover
on the breeze whispering around the empty valleys and plains, where the dead pile
high and the scent of rotting man stings the air. Sad, an independent land where the
only independent man lies low beneath the sun and cries under the moon; taxed by the
cold wind, hounded by a cannibal government; his only right is to what he can steal in
a place where the only law is survival. Politics; a fancy word etched on the
tombstones of the last of the elite; foolish and forgotten, forever. Now, when the
bloodless light of day breaks through the sheeted cloud, below it shines a garden of
bones; walked in sleepless hunger by bastards and broken men.
The air was cold. Jamie looked ahead and found himself once more standing before
the clearing in the white forest. The pale childs sobs hung on the chill in the air,
lingered on the back of the neck. With sweat upon his brow, Jamie walked to stand
before the boy, spoke softer than before but a note shifted in his voice.
Tilt back your head.
And the boy lifted his head, so heavy like a planet on his shoulders, until his ivory
gaze was locked with Jamies and the pearly tears swelled over his sunken cheeks and
down, down his slender neck to where the palest white was marred with crimson, with
clotted black. A ring; rounded and blunt, a violent kiss from human teeth, a wretched

and most sick of sins, etched like plague across the pure white neck. With sickness in
his belly Jamie fell back upon the forest floor, strange and white; and with a juddering
breath woke upon the cold black stone.
It was before dawn, light had not yet fully broken on the peaks. He could feel the bite
in the air, different somehow, colder today than the mere chill of morning. It wrapped
him in a nervous sweat, and he knew that they must leave with haste. With firm hands
he woke his sleeping sister, helped her to her feet and together they packed away what
little possessions they had gathered. By the first shades of dawn they were already
making their way down the slope to the flatter ground where their journey would
begin. Jamie walked behind his sister, watching her footing on the rocks. She seemed
to walk with ample grace now, but he worried for her energy. Himself, he could make
the walk in two days, with a rest in between but with Mischa, he wondered it might
take four days or longer. Their supplies of food dwindled and were light on his back,
but heavy on his mind. Six cans were all that he carried, and they had not yet eaten
today. Her hunger came before his, he thought, as his stomach twisted and mourned
for fuller days.
Soon the rocky slope gave way to flatter ground, and so they were less hidden. Their
ragged coats did blend well against the granite grey of the barefaced mountain, and
there stood here great rocks that cast their shadow over many a hiding place. The
village itself was not far from them, but in-between were barren fields and beyond an
orchard graveyard, where the skeletons of but a few trees still stood, bare and wizened
by the years and the wind. The stream they had been drinking from, a mere trickle at
their mountain perch, ran little deeper on the ground. The gorge cut through the arid
field like natures artery, yet carried in its current meagre offerings. Still, the stream
would attract the clansmen; Jamie hurriedly filled their bottles, of which they had
collected four, while Mischa stood amongst the dried out heather, keeping watch on
the violent lands ahead.
A mile into their journey, they reached a stretch of land where the blackened frames
of old oaks rose closer to their path, and plenty. He stopped and held out a hand to
halt Mischa in her stride. He peered amongst the twisted trunks and felt uncertain,
though they offered cover from distant eyes, might they conceal wanderers who also
walk between them? And ahead, there may be stretches sparse of shelter, battlefields;
he thought. He turned to Mischa and spoke with the authority of a father on his
shoulders.
I need you to listen to me, and remember everything I say.
Her eyes, almost feral in their beauty blinked once, and listened.
Everything that happens from here, we do together. You must do as I ask you,
whatever it is, whenever I ask.
He looked into her face, unperturbed by the fierceness that it wore.
No matter what I say, you do just that. Then well stay safe. Do you
understand?
Yes. But what if something you tell me is wrong?
He knelt now before her, took her frail hand in his.

I will never do that. If you dont understand, you ask me later. When I ask
you, you do as I say.
The great eyes dropped and she nodded at the floor. Jamie planted a kiss, strong and
warm upon her cheek, took her gently by the chin and soothed her.
Im going to get us to Strathdon, then well be safe. Youll see.
And with a smile his hand dropped from her face, he turned and walked out into the
dead forest.
For three days and two nights, the siblings made their way along the mountains foot,
like mice along the floorboards of an old house. They stole their way through the
days, walking before dawn to borrow the hours of darkness, and in the cold of
midnight sleeping between the great rocks under the starless sky. Though his pack
was light, their progress kindled hope in Jamies heart; lucky then, that he was a man
of his mind, and did not walk the guidance of his heart. On the evening of the third
night, he noticed Mischas stride growing weak, her breath heavy and short.
Well rest now, stop.
He took her into his arms and lifted her, the weight of two barely adding to the load.
She fell into rest almost at once, and he placed her down gently in a cove between two
rocks that huddled against the wind at the base of the great mountain. He covered her,
listening as her breathing steadied to the cold in her lungs, rattling as she slept. He
looked ahead to where the mountain sloped into the distance; they would be on the
edge of Strathdon by tomorrow evening at latest, where the cover runs scarce and
amidst it unknown. His mind, usually alight with tomorrows worry was dark tonight,
sedated by the hours of walking through the dreary landscape, his stomach empty as
the fields. He leant back against his sister, pushing her against the stone, out of sight,
and dropped almost instantly into a deep and dreamless sleep.
He awoke in the darkest hour, plagued with thirst and his head full of commotion. He
could not see a foot ahead, and for the mist inside his head could neither hear. He rose
quietly from the ground and stood facing the mountain, though to his half-cocked
senses felt it rise instead behind him. And in the dark of that moment felt a hand grip
tight around his mouth, and even before his own hands clasped around it, another
gripped around his shoulders; strong, stronger than his own. Inside him gripped the
iced fingers of panic around his fluttering heart, iron-clenched and numbing to the
bone. While terror twitched in his veins a voice, softer than its masters clench spoke
closely to his ear,
Do not be afraid, I mean to help you.
Not any of the grasps seized looser in response, but beneath the iron fist his heart
flickered; the voice that rasped in blackest night seemed not to rasp at all, but oddly
stilled the beating of his heart with a tender tone, soft amongst the rugged black
somehow.
Dont scream, they are listening.
The tones danced once again upon his ear with ease, and he gasped in the cold air as
the hand slipped from his mouth, wrapped him tightly and pressed him against the
hard rock. His eyes, wakened now by fear saw mere inches from his face another,

older than his own and worn, each feature etched with lines and in the eyes a fear, a
wild confusion just as raw as his own. Then, in the shift of some dense cloud above
them, just enough to cast a shimmer below, he saw with fresh sight a dim glimmer of
white across his chest, heard with a sickness the clatter of the ivory beads rising with
his breath. His arms, jarred tight against his sides by, could not find strength enough
to writhe.
I see your fear, do not be afraid. I wear these to protect myself.
In the palest of the moons rays, the two men stood eye-to-eye and peered upon each
others souls, the younger sought truth; the older knew that truth no longer had a
name, and shook him from his gaze.
I know you fear me, and you are right to but listen to me. You and the girl,
your daughter?
I travel alone.
The lines around the old mans mouth creased slightly in the pallid glow.
I admire your strength. You are in danger the clansmen of these parts, the
Violents, they are aware of wanderers. They caught your scent yesterday.
Jamies mouth was dry and his mind a race with shouted thoughts.
Why why are you trying to help me?
The man smiled broader now, and Jamie choked on the sight.
I heard them talking yesterday, came up here. Caught your trail before long
and followed you until evening.
He paused, looking without relent into Jamies eye.
I know a good man when I see one. And what is a good man, if he cannot
help another?
The old mans grip loosened around Jamies arms, and he shook them free. Standing
before each other, he had lost his tongue, unaccustomed to the presence of another
man.
Go. Dont stand about questioning my truth boy; I came to warn you is all.
And with that the old man turned, invisible now in the black, and walked away.
What is your name?
Jamies words left his throat small and unsteady, but lingered in the cool. And
somewhere from the darkness called the mans voice, laced with the warmth of a
humour he couldnt share.
Aint got one. Do you?
And silence fell upon the scene. Shaken, Jamie paused to gather the scattered pieces
of his thoughts, and in a startled moment shattered what was left. The space left
behind by the old man stood empty now, and above it in the sky, just above the
mountain peaks there shone a star; splendid in its solidarity, the light years in between
speeding to a halt in the blink of an eye. Jamies heart raced around the valley, the
words of his mothers poetry dancing by its side.
Stars are watching you,
cloaked by the worlds;
wrapped in terrible things,
but never have mislead.

In this broken world, Jamie had taught himself strength. He had built the walls within
which all could be contained, and around them faded into doubt. He listened to his
own voice, and yearned for his mothers, for responsibility to shed from his shoulders
like the tired skin it was. In this darkest hour, the walls around him crumbled and his
mind wandered farther than it should, the old mans words rang out like whispered
spells of old. Above him whilst he ran, his sister lolling in his arms, the star faded like
a dream into the furthest corner of madness, leaving behind no trail on the
immeasurable black, the unpainted canvas.
Through the darkness he trotted, as fast as he could with his load amongst the rocks
and tangled arms of forlorn trees, following in unblinking faith the star that shone
only for him, above on the great, enormous black of the unmarked sky. He ran now
without boundary or reason, his mind unhinged by the nights unusual deeds; fast he
ran, but could not outrun the sun which rose low and dim as ever, resting on the
Cairns like china on a mantle. And as all men fall, so did he, with wheezing lungs he
stumbled hard against the ground. His bones, made brittle by the years of cold landed
hard on the earth, the welcome warmth of blood flowed from his ragged knees. His
breath clung to his throat and beyond the frenzied beating of his heart, he listened to
the heavy silence, let it sooth the panic in his head. He laid Mischa down, her eyes
flickering between worlds, her body fighting against her conscious pain. Her breaths
came in great shuddering jerks and there clung a cold and vicious sweat on her brow.
Just a few more miles, Misch. Just a few more, youll see. Just a few.
A tear broke from his eye as he held her there, two tiny soldiers on the battlefield. He
took out his water bottle and let his breathing steady. He helped his sister drink, and
when he did too dehydration lifted its hold, and he thought now with clarity. He
looked ahead, where he could see the outlines of ragged trees, once a dense green
forest that skirted the South side of Strathdon. A mere few miles between them and
their sanctuary, though between them no cover, only barren fields. A noise; a crunch
came from behind them and Jamies neck swung like a does; behind him he saw,
with new unclouded eyes a figure, not but one hundred metres behind and running
like a wolf focused and powerful towards them. For just a moment Jamie froze, the
panic in his heart set his head ablaze, in the burning sights of his minds eye he saw
their fate, and with a lurch from heart to toe, he grabbed Mischa and launched himself
forward. Only for a brief spell did the hammering of his heart shroud the thundering
of heavy feet behind them, Jamie was weak his sister heavy now in his tired arms.
He heard him now, rasping cries ringing out behind him and the steady footfall of the
quickening pace. So fast, they fell, and his so tired on the ground this was no race,
this was already won. The blindsided boy had little left to give; the salt of his life was
streaming from his eyes, blowing behind him like memories. A softer sound rang now
above the thundering footsteps and the hungry breath; a sickening melody that chimed
fear across the valley, the rattling of the white beads that hung around the Violents
neck; grinding and chinking together, each one prised from the skull of a fallen
brother, Jamie had known those men. Once again he felt panics cold grasp around his
heart, his knees weakened and the air was thick in his lungs; tinged with the stannic
taste of his own terror. The footsteps echoed now in time with the blood thumping in

his temples; it chimed through him like the empty ringing of a church bell, the music
of mortality singing the last sweet chords of his demise. And on the final note, the bell
rang louder; ripped through the pulsing blood and for a moment, the music stopped.
The gunfire, stark against the fallow hills echoed long and lonely round the valley,
and inside Jamies head was just as hollow. The shock cloaked him; he lay as if dead.
A number of moments passed before he felt the current of life still coursing in his
veins and not spilling from inside him; he turned and saw the shadowed mass of the
fallen Violent behind him, and in shock spun round, scanning the valley. There, out to
his left side, upon a gentle slope stood the stranger, the old man from the darkness of
the night past. Heroic there he stood, silhouetted against the misted hue of the red sky
behind him, rifle on his shoulder, his left arm raised in salute; the last soldier amongst
the fallen. It was the first beautiful thing Jamie recalled in so many years of abandon;
and in the turn of a second, the old man had turned and walked slowly away, into the
unknown.
Blinking the poignancy of the moment from his eyes, Jamie rose. Mischa was awake
now, barely her eyes still flickered between the worlds but her moans grew louder.
The gunshot, so proud amidst the bleak landscape would attract the clansmen from
miles around, and the Violents would not be far behind their fallen companion. There
was nothing but open ground between him and Strathdon, and nothing left to do but
run, and hope; pray that they meet the dead forest before their path was crossed again.
And so, with the weight of urgency heavier than his sister, Jamie ran on light feet
across the plain, his star on his mind and his mother by his side.
They reached the forest in under an hour, when the sweat was thick on Jamies brow.
The blackened arms of the birch trees twisted high above them, yet the spaces
between their fingers were vast and empty, and cast a light on the forest floor that was
unusual; the arcane secrecy of the forest was gone, and left behind an air of
deceitfulness that lingered between the trunks, like broken secrets. There was a quiet
discontent that hung around Jamies shoulders, and he decided not to rest there.
Mischa was awake now, her moans had surpassed but there were tears streaming from
her eyes, which glistened with worry in the half-light. He addressed her woe with
hushed words.
Weve made it Mischa, past this wood is the main road and theres
buildings beyond.
Her face reflected all the trouble in the land, the anguish of the moon in her teary
round eyes.
Can we go to grannys house?
Jamie too let a tear fall now, just one, and bit back the rest with a smile.
Of course thats where were going.
He eased her up, and with careful steps and wary hearts, they made their way through
the strange and sombre wood.
It was not long before the trees thinned even barer, and they could almost see the road
ahead. The faded white lines looked oddly out of place in the rugged land, a forgotten

order amongst the chaos. But relief did not find its place in Jamies heart then, as to
his left his sister fell with a cry to her knees and around her seeped the fluid of her
womb, tinged heavily with deepest red blood. Her cry broke the sullen silence and
dread spread through the trees, he ran to his sister whose sobs came in great shudders
and gasps. She clutched between her legs, where the blood ran thicker than the
stream.
Its coming, Jamie I
Jamies head felt a very long way from his body, as if in a dream.
Ive got you. Hold on, Misch.
His words sounded strange to the ear, and once again he scooped his sister from the
ground and ran towards the road. He held her head close against his chest to muffle
her cries, and soon they reached the road; it felt smooth underfoot, no rocks that catch
on the heel or dust that sinks beneath, and on it he ran faster than ever tearing round
the bend with the fear of life and death intertwining in his heaving chest.
Beyond the bend there formed a path, around which stood more wizened old trees;
once they had hidden the old kirk that stood amongst them, now patrolled it like the
ghosts of knights. Up the little path Jamie sped, and on the stone porch he laid Mischa
down; writhing and screaming louder now, the pain searing inside of her. He tugged
hard on the rusted iron handle and bore his weight against the heavy door, but nothing
gave way. He galled his energy and once more slammed his shoulder hard against the
door; and it creaked and swung open. He carried Mischa inside and barricaded the
door behind them, leaving a pool of blood outside on the stone.
Inside, the kirk was still; an aged kind of quietness that seemed to scorn the shattering
of its peace when the pregnant cries of the screaming girl rung out within it. On the
stone floor, in corners lined with dust there lay the remnants of lost relics; scattered
crosses lay between stale books and beads; a doll, her skin cracked with one eye
gazed solemnly up at Jamie and his sister, who lay heaving and wheezing amongst the
scattered mementos. Above their heads, Mother Mary stood ethereally etched on the
glass; the light glinted through her many chinks and holes, a shaft casting dimly from
below her left eye, as though her tear flowed down unto the sadness of the moment.
On the ground no tears fell but the blood poured still from inside Mischa; and her
screams sent the silence back to the past it mourned for. Jamie held her at the
shoulders, soothed her as her cries grew louder and strangled in her throat; mopped
the sweat that poured from her brow and pooled on her chest. For months the child
had grown, anchored by its mothers splintered warmth in rest, but for some time too
he lay still there in her womb; and now fell lifeless and unripe onto the stone, colder
than the blood that bathed its fall. Jamie looked upon his sister, the breath shallow in
her chest now; the colour in her cheeks drained onto the floor. And for the last time,
she tilted back her head and stared up at Jamie with those eyes of wonder; filled with
secrets not even he could grasp at, her brother; her keeper. They brimmed so tenderly
with the clouds of her wounded spirit, and without blinking it faded and was gone,
forever, into the saddest corner of the ether.

Just as her cries had filled the kirk with unholy dread, Jamies sobs rang long and
unrelenting; the walls shook with the pain of it. He wept the tears of exhaustion; they
fell until the skin around them was raw, and them some more; until the sorrow bled
dry but not empty, rather on the inside dwelled in unabated floods. He sat there, under
the celestial Mothers watch and cradled her, minutes or days passed; he clung to his
rock, anchored there by grief, his little sister; the light amongst the fog, dead in his
arms. It wasnt until a noise filtered through the veil of misery that he jilted from his
wretched daze. There were voices, full of bitter acrimony, drifting in from just
outside, beyond the wall. Jamie looked around him; there was a confession booth in
the darkest corner, a heavy velvet curtain around it. He lifted Mischa for a last time,
heavy now with the weight of death, and concealed them both behind the folds. The
voices grew louder, and footsteps fell on the hard ground outside. Jamie felt sickness
in his core, and pulled his cold sister close. From his pocket, he withdrew once more
his mothers poem, propped it open on his knee and dug further, until his fingers met
with hard metal and grasped it; retrieved with unsteady hands a knife, blackened and
blunt, and held it there, trembling; in his fist. The rough voices, muffled still, were
closer now; and there, the first thud against the door came like thunder on warm air.
Tears ran in silence now from Jamies eyes, though so tightly shut, and his fingers
grasped tighter around the blade. Like he had done, the men pushed harder on the
door; and their weight was greater, the barrage lasted only moments longer, and then
the door broke under the strain. Jamie listened as footsteps slapped on the stone, to the
cruel excitement in their voices when they found the pool of blood; black in the dusty
light, reflected in it Marys fruitless scorn, and their own gruesome gaiety. He
breathed deeply into his sister, the silent tears swimming around her, and on her head
planted his love; a kiss to seal a broken wound, and looked up at the crooked cross
that hung above them.
Im sorry, father; for I am about to sin, and for that you have forgotten this
world; and so me.
The words barely uttered a trace on his lips, but in them swelled a siege of spite, the
sorrow of the land. And Jamie, hands steady now, took the blunt knife to his throat
and cut the anguish out, so it fell in tides down his chest; emancipated at last from its
cage.
It is a defining feature of any man: his choice to believe in either chance, or fate, and
Jamie was not a man of God, so his soul did not take wing through Marys quiet kirk
and ascend to the heavens; did not take solace in the earth for once last haunt, no. But
for any dreamers eye that still can see, yes, perhaps there rose his essence in the air,
to dance freely like a bird along the Cairn. Pity then, that every hopeful eye and those
that brim with all colours of the sky see only darkness now; the laws of Gods and men
are trampled under a nations tyranny, too blackened now to polish. To the West and
beyond where the wine is sweet and beds are soft, they carry on; no flames in their
hearts for what they know to have forgotten, only medals on their chest; secrets on
their smiles and greed within their eyes. While in this quiet land, where blood flows
and water stems; in the very wind there is a wily heart that waits, for a silent age to
rage a wrath upon the West, let loose the curses of the North to ravage what is left of

honour in those towns. Honour, a word now thrown to the wind, for in these richer
lands does the moon really still smile down on its worldly deviance, or does it face
away, to places more beautiful still?