The Vortex: Book III of the Alban Saga
Below, I've included the entire first chapter of this book. Those of you who have read the other two books in the Alban Saga will recognize one of the characters in this section.
Chapter 1
Una Murray
2 November 2026
Una Murray lived on several acres of land near Stornoway on the Isle of Lewis in a thatch-roofed, white stucco cottage. Her mother and father, shortly after their marriage, had decided to rent the croft and tend it. Eventually, they purchased it from the landlord, and when Una was born, they tore down the sparse one-room stone structure and built a three-room cottage for them and their new daughter.
After her parents died, Una stayed on to work the farm. When she had enough money saved, she did a bit of remodeling of her own with the help of Angus MacAulay, one of her neighbors. They added electricity, an indoor bathroom, and an updated kitchen, but the bedroom and living area stayed much the same as they’d been since her birth.
Una had never been one to keep a tidy home. For her, other things were much more important, such as tending the garden, feeding her animals, or pursuing one of her many interests. The cottage was basically clean, but continually cluttered with a jumble of knickknacks, books, and projects of all types lying about. The main room, with the fireplace and eating area, contained wooden furniture layered in woolen blankets and shawls and a small table and chair where she ate her meals and worked on projects. Next to that was the kitchen in which the sink was inevitably stacked with a day’s worth of dishes, the stove, with something bubbling away, and the oven exuding rich aromas of something baking away inside. She was extremely thankful that Angus had talked her into finally hooking her cottage up to electricity. It had been a godsend for cooking and when she needed sufficient light to work by. In the evenings, though, she usually turned off the lamps, preferring candles and firelight to keep her company. It’s the way she’d grown up.
Outside her home, Una had a small garden, some chickens, a few sheep, and two goats that wandered her property. The land was bounded by ancient dry-stone walls, and she had lived all of her eighty-two years there as part and parcel of the history and fiber of Stornoway. Her communal ties lay mostly with her closest neighbors and a few select members of the Druid and Wiccan community.
On this early November eve, Una had completed her chores and was sitting down to a meal of tattie scones, hotch potch stew, and tea. The simmering bowl of lamb and vegetables was hearty enough to warm her insides, while the peat fire in the fireplace calmed and soothed her. The weather had finally turned from sunny and clear to the usual damp and cold autumn drizzle that she knew would be with her for months.
She lifted the last spoonful of liquid to her lips and swallowed what was left of her scones. Then she added her dirty dishes to the others in the sink and wiped the table clean. Pulling her chair closer to the fire, she placed another brick of peat on the smoldering flames, stoked them with an iron poker, and gathered one of her worn and tattered woolen blankets around her shoulders. She sat down and placed her tired and achy feet on an old wooden footstool and stared into the flickering red, blue, and yellow flames that arose from the peat fire, and breathed out a deep, satisfying sigh.
It wasn’t long before her eyelids felt heavy. She could feel herself needing to go to bed, but, as was her usual custom, she fought off sleep for the moment and reached for her favourite single malt and snifter. She poured a wee dram into the glass to sleep by and breathed it in. It smelled of Scotland - peaty, rich, and earthy. Cupping the glass between her palms, she took her time with it until the last sip lay upon her palate and melted down the back of her throat.
Another long sigh accompanied the completion of her nightly ritual. Then she laid the glass to one side and was about to get up when she was shaken from her reverie by a loud pounding on her door. Una seldom had company and hardly ever after dark. The pounding came again, weaker this time, but just as insistent. Then again, silence.
Keeping the blanket around her, she came to her feet, grabbed the iron poker that she’d laid against the stones of the fireplace, and walked warily towards the four-paned window to one side of the door. She pulled the curtain back just enough to glance outside but couldn’t see anyone. She didn’t want to open the door but knew that there was no getting round it.
Grasping the handle with one hand and holding the poker above her head with the other, she opened it just a crack. Peering out, she couldn’t see anyone until she glanced down. Kneeling on the ground in front of her was a person, bent over. She couldn’t tell if it was a man or a woman under the thick, brown woolen robe. It was rain-soaked and hanging heavy over their frame. Whomever it was had sandals that were caked in mud, and their head was bowed and shielded by the hood of the robe. In the absence of a sash, the person’s left hand was clutching the front of the robe to keep it closed, and in their right was a long, wooden staff with a blood-red jewel at one end.
Una instantly recognized the staff as that of a Druid priest or priestess. It gave her pause. Then she opened the door a bit more and abruptly asked, “Who are ye? Why are ye at my door at this time o’ night?”
The person glanced up. Una could now see that it was a woman. Her long red hair was wet and matted against her forehead and face; her lips were blue and quivering. She spoke unsteadily and asked, “Can I come in? I’m soaked to the bone, and . . . I’m weak and freezing . . . please!”
Sensing her desperation, Una laid the poker to one side. She helped her to her feet and said, “Come with me.” As soon as Una touched her, it was clear that the poor woman had been speaking the truth about her condition. She was trembling uncontrollably and was so weak and frail that Una had to use almost all of her strength just to her get to her feet so that they could walk over to the chair by the fire.
Once there, Una said, “Here, give me yer staff. I’ll help ye out of yer sandals and robe before ye catch yer death!”
In response, the woman gave a slight nod. Una laid the staff to one side and removed the wet, heavy garment, which took some doing. She wrapped her own blanket around the woman’s upper body and helped her sit down. Then she knelt down in front of her, took her sandals off, laid them by the fire, and wiped the mud from her feet.
There was some stew left on the stove, so Una ladled some into a bowl and poured a healthy dram of whisky into a second snifter. At first, she had to help the woman eat and drink because her hands were trembling so uncontrollably. She finished the whisky before even touching the food. Una poured another dram for her and got some scones that she could eat with the stew. At that point, the woman’s trembling had eased just enough that she could manage on her own.
Una put another brick of peat on the fire and placed an additional blanket around the woman’s legs. Then she studied her for a time, and asked, “So lass, do ye have a name?”
“Aye.”
Her answer made Una chuckle a bit, and she said, “Well, what is it then? I cannae just call ye woman.”
That brought a wan smile to her lips. She sipped once more on the whisky, swallowed, and replied, “My name is . . . Obsidian Ualas.”
“Ualas . . . ye don’t hear that name often. I reckon it’s old Gaelic, eh?”
“’Tis. Um . . . can I ask you something?”
“Aye.”
“This’ll sound strange, but…what year is it?”
Una tilted her head, confused by the request, and asked, “Ye want t’ know what year ‘tis?”
Obsidian merely answered, “Aye, I’m a bit muddled right now.”
It was clear that she’d been through a lot, so Una obliged her with an answer and said, “Well, ‘tis two thousand twenty-six, lass. Ye didn’t know that?”
With the answer, Obisidian’s eyes widened and carried a flash of anger. The look quickly vanished and was replaced by one of despair. Then tears started to gather and glisten in the corner of her eyes. She glanced away, hoping that the old woman hadn’t noticed, and then whispered to herself, “So it’s true . . .”
***
That night and another day had passed. Una’s time was consumed with nursing her young friend back to health. And, it was more and more evident that Obsidian had been through something terrible. Una wanted to talk to her about it but knew that it was useless to press her for details until she was stronger.
On the evening of Obsidian’s second night at the cottage, after finishing her first full meal, she was sitting by the fire, curled up in one of Una’s blankets, and watching intently as the old woman cleaned up after dinner.
Una noticed Obsidian looking at her and commented, “Ye seem a great deal better, lass. How are ye feelin’, then?”
“Much better, thanks to you. I think my appetite’s finally coming back.”
Una chuckled and said, “Aye, it looks that way! I dinnae even have to clean yer plate!”
Obsidian smiled and chuckled a bit herself as she said, “It was delicious, Una.”
“That’s the first time I’ve heard ye laugh, even just a little . . .. Ye must be on the mend!”
Then Una reached for two snifters and poured some whisky into each. She brought them over and handed one to Obsidian, sat down beside her near the fire, and wrapped up in her own woolen comforter. Settling into her chair, she sighed, “Well, lass, it’s clear ye’ve been through somethin’ awful. Since ye feel better, would ye like to talk a bit now?”
“Una . . . actually that’s why I showed up at your door.”
“Oh?”
“I’ve been looking everywhere for someone named the Keeper. Are you her?”
Una didn’t change her expression one jot as she asked, “What? I’m just an old woman out here takin’ care o’ my ol’ family croft. What makes ye think I have anythin’ to do with this . . . Keeper?”
“Well, I’ve spent the last seven days looking for that person, and if you’re not the Keeper, I don’t know what I’ll do.”
Una didn’t respond, except to say, “Go on, lass,” and with those words, it all came spilling out of her.
“Three years ago, I was an acolyte in a Druid grove near here. Our leader’s name was Brenna. All of us knew that she would sometimes meet with a person called the Keeper. It was evident that whomever that person was, Brenna held them in high regard because of their understanding of Druid history that went as far back as the very first Druids on the Isle of Alba. It was also clear that the Keeper was a woman, because that’s how Brenna referred to her. We also knew that she lived somewhere near Stornoway, but Brenna never told us her actual name or the exact location of her house. She was adamant that no one, besides her, would be allowed to meet with the Keeper or seek her out.
“Then - and this may be hard to fathom - seven days ago, Brenna brought me through a time vortex that originated inside a cavern called the Black Grotto. That cavern is inside another larger one called the Cave of Dreams. It’s far up on the side of one of the Three Sisters near Glen Coe. Do you know where that is?”
“I do, lass.”
“And besides me, she also brought a young priestess named Bea Bauman. It’s a long story, but Brenna needed to take her into the future from there and join with her at the Stones of Calanais on the night of a twenty-year harvest moon. If the joining had happened, Brenna would have become the Hermaphrodite – the greatest enchanter in all the world. However, the young priestess was much more powerful that Brenna had expected, and what finally happened, as I learned later, was that Brenna and the young priestess did join, but Brenna did not become the Hermaphrodite. She was simply subsumed into Bea Bauman and became a part of her.
“I was there, but I didn’t actually witness everything that happened, because, just as I was trying to help Brenna complete the process, someone hit me on the head and knocked me out. When I came to, I only saw Bea Bauman standing where she and Brenna had been before I’d lost consciousness. It didn’t make sense to me. Then I noticed two other people that hadn’t been there before. One was an older woman and the other, a younger man. Anyway, that’s when I questioned Bauman. She explained what had taken place, and I was terribly distraught. I didn’t know what to do, so . . . I just walked away.
“As I left, I hid behind one of the stones along the causeway that led up to the main circle. I stayed there and watched for some time. That’s when I saw the young priestess call a vortex down from the heavens. All three of them were pulled up into it. Then they, and the vortex, vanished. I assumed that they had returned to the Black Grotto and to their own time. I was left here, alone, sometime in the future.”
Una had been keenly listening without comment. Then she asked, “That’s quite the story, lass.”
“I know it must sound unbelievable, but, Una, it’s true. I swear!”
Una looked down in thought a moment and then asked, “That was seven days ago?”
“Aye, and during those days I’ve been looking for the Keeper. In Brenna’s grove, she chose two of her acolytes to be her closest advisors and confidantes. I was one of them. The other was named Zephyr. Brenna shared more about the Keeper with the two of us than with the any of the other acolytes. She told us that not only was the Keeper a powerful Wiccan who possessed the long and detailed history of our people, but she also carried the knowledge of the past, present, and future in a way that would be incredibly helpful to her once she became the Hermaphrodite. Of course, as I’ve already shared with you, that didn’t happen.
“My first few days, I attempted to find other members of my grove. I needed to tell them what happened. But it wasn’t long before I realized that most of them had either moved away or no longer had anything to do with our faith. When I tried to speak to those that hadremained, they simply slammed the door in my face. I was hungry, confused, tired, and utterly shattered from it all. And there was nowhere for me to turn . . . nowhere that is, until I remembered the Keeper. I knew that she was my only chance to survive and figure out what I needed to do.
“So, I started asking around and searching. No one knew anything for certain, but there were rumors that a few were willing to share. I followed up on those, and I’ve been to more cottages and crofts than I care to count. Then, earlier today, I spoke with a man named, Angus MacAulay. He didn’t know anything about the Keeper, but he thought that you might. He gave me directions to your place, and that’s how I ended up at your doorstep. I was at the end of my strength as well as my wits, when I knocked on your door. Whether you are the Keeper or not, Una, I am truly thankful that you took me in and helped me. I’m in your debt, but I also need to know . . . are you . . . the Keeper?”
Una had remained silent and stone-faced during the entire story, but once Obsidian had finished, she turned her head to one side and blinked several times in thought. Then, turning back towards Obsidian, she asked, “Could ye hand me yer staff, lass?”
Obsidian furrowed her brow questioningly but nonetheless reached for it and handed it to Una. Then she sat back down in her chair. Una laid the staff in her lap and ran her hands, very slowly, along the old, gnarled wood. When she came to the bloodstone at its end, she paused and wrapped her fingers round it. She focused her eyes on the stone, and after a time, a small ember began to glow within it. As that happened, Una changed her grip on the staff and held the end with the bloodstone out towards Obsidian, and said, “Hold on to the bloodstone, lass, with both yer hands. Don’t let go, no matter what. D’ye ken?”
“Aye, but . . .”
Una shushed her and motioned for her to do as she’d asked.
Without another word, Obsidian pulled the stone towards her and held on tight. The ember inside brightened and grew. She couldn’t wrest her eyes from it and was held fast within its crimson aura.
Una continued to focus and strengthen her power. As it flowed through the old wooden staff and into the flaming jewel, she probed the young acolyte, searching and digging . . . for the truth.
