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 parents, Kane and Artis Murray, shortly after their marriage, had decided to rent the croft and tend it. After struggling for several years, their fortunes eventually changed, and they were able to save enough to purchase it from their landlord. 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 saved enough money, she did a bit of remodeling with the help of one of her neighbors, Angus MacAulay. She added electricity, an indoor bathroom, and an updated kitchen, although the bedroom and living area remained much the same as they had 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, though continually cluttered with a jumble of knickknacks, books, and projects of all types lying about. The main room contained the fireplace and two comfy chairs that were layered in woolen blankets and shawls. This is where she usually spent her evenings relaxing, having a dram of whisky, or reading and thinking. The eating area had a small table with some straight-back, wooden chairs. She ate her meals and worked on projects during the day in that part of the cottage. Next to that was the kitchen in which the sink was inevitably stacked with a day’s worth of dishes, the stove with something invariably bubbling away, and the oven, often exuding the rich aromas of something baking within. 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 for those times when she required sufficient light to work by. In the evenings, though, she usually shut the lamps off, preferring the cozy ambience of candles and firelight to keep her company. It was how she’d grown up.
Outside her home, Una had a small garden, some chickens, a few sheep, two goats wandering her property, along with a large shed that housed various croft necessities and some animals during bad weather. The land was bounded by ancient dry-stone walls, and she had lived all of her sixty-nine years there becoming an integral part of the history and fiber of Stornoway. Although as to her communal ties, they consisted mostly of a couple of her closest neighbors and a few select members of the Druid and Wiccan community with whom she’d stayed in contact.
And on this particular 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 hearth outwardly calmed and soothed her. The weather had finally turned from sunny and clear to the usual damp and cold autumn drizzle, which she knew would be with her for months to come.
Lifting the last spoonful of liquid to her lips, she swallowed and then ate what was left of her scones. Then she added her dirty dishes to the others in the sink and wiped the table clean. Once her dinner chores were done, she walked over to her favourite chair and pulled it closer to the fire. It needed tending; she placed another brick of peat amongst the smoldering flames and stoked it with an iron poker. Now she was ready to settle in for the rest of the evening and relax. Gathering up one of her worn and tattered woolen blankets, she threw it over her shoulders, sat down, and placed her tired and achy feet on an old, wooden footstool. Una then breathed out a satisfied sigh and focused her weary eyes on the flickering red, blue, and yellow flames, dancing inside the hearth.
It wasn’t long before her eyelids became heavy; she could feel her bed calling to her. However, the pull of another old habit was much stronger and overcame her need for sleep. Shaking her head, she opened her eyes and reached for her favourite single malt and snifter. Pouring herself a wee dram, she cupped the glass between her palms and breathed in its peaty, rich, and earthy vapours. It smelled of Scotland. She took her time with it until the last sip lay upon her palate and oozed down the back of her throat.
Another long sigh accompanied the completion of this nightly ritual. Then she laid the glass to one side and was about to get up when she was abruptly shaken from her reverie by a loud pounding on her door. Una seldom, if ever, had company, especially after dark. The pounding came again, weaker this time but just as insistent. Then again—silence.
Keeping the blanket around her shoulders, she rose to her feet, grabbed the iron poker laying against the stones of the fireplace, and walked warily towards the four-paned window beside the front 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 there was no getting round it.
Grasping the handle with one hand and holding the poker above her head with the other, she opened the door, just a tick. Peering out, Una couldn’t see anyone until she glanced down. Kneeling on the ground in front of her was a person, bent over. Under the thick, brown woolen robe, Una could not tell whether it was a man or a woman. The garment hung rain-soaked and heavy over their frame; their sandals were thoroughly caked in mud, and the head of the person 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, but as she considered her options, she made up her mind and opened the door a bit more. Then she gruffly asked, “Who are ye, and why are ye at my door this time o’ night?”
The person glanced up. Una could now see that it was a woman. Her long red hair, tinged with bits of grey, was wet and matted against her forehead and face. Her lips were blue and quivering as she spoke unsteadily, asking, “Can I… come in? I’m soaked to the bone, and… I’m exhausted and freezing. Please!”
Sensing her desperation, Una laid the poker aside, helped her to her feet, and said, “Come with me, then.” As soon as Una touched her, it was clear that the poor woman had been speaking the truth about her condition. Her skin was frigid, and she trembled uncontrollably—so weak and frail that Una had to use almost all of her strength just to get the woman to her feet and help her over to a chair by the fire.
Once Una had helped her sit down, she took a moment to catch her breath. Then she said, “Here, give me yer staff. I’ll help ye out o’ yer sandals and robe before ye catch yer death, eh!”
In response, the woman nodded slightly and handed her staff to Una. Una laid it to one side and removed her wet, heavy garment, which took some effort. She then grasped the blanket from her own shoulders, wrapped it around the woman’s upper body, and knelt down in front of her. Taking off her sandals, she laid them by the fire and wiped the remaining mud from her feet.
There was some stew left on the stove. Una got up, washed her hands, and ladled some into a bowl. Placing it on a tray along with a fresh whisky glass, she brought the tray out, and set the bowl and glass on the small table next to the woman. Then, Una poured a healthy dram for her and put the tray back on the kitchen table.
Una could tell that the woman was clearly in need of sustenance; her hands still trembled uncontrollably from the cold. However, the first thing she reached for wasn’t the stew; it was the whisky. Una used her own hands to steady the woman’s grip on the glass. She finished the whisky in just a few sips and then tucked into the bowl of stew as Una continued to help her. The combination of food and dram had clearly done the trick; her trembling had lessened. Now she was able to hold onto the spoon well enough to eat on her own. Seeing this, Una poured another dram for her and went back to the kitchen for some scones to accompany the stew.
Putting another brick of peat on the fire, Una then placed an additional blanket around the woman’s legs and took a moment to study her. Then she asked, “So, lass, d’ye have a name?”
“Aye…”
Her single-word answer made Una chuckle a bit. She replied, “Well, what is it, then? I cannae just call ye ‘woman’!”
That brought a wan smile to the woman’s lips. She sipped the whisky once more, swallowed, and said, “My name’s Obsidian—Obsidian Ualas.”
“Ualas—ye don’t hear that name often. I reckon it’s old Gaelic, eh?”
“’Tis. And… um… may I ask you something?”
“Aye.”
“This’ll sound strange, but… what year is it?”
Una tilted her head, confused by the request and couldn’t help asking, “Ye dinnae ken what year ‘tis?”
Obsidian merely answered, “Aye, I’m a bit muddled right now.”
She had obviously been through a lot. Una obliged her and answered, “Well, ‘tis two thousand twenty-six, lass!” Then she asked again, “Did ye no’ ken that?”
Hearing the answer, Obsidian’s eyes widened, carrying a flash of anger. This quickly vanished, replaced by honest despair as tears gathered and glistened in the corners of her eyes. Glancing away, hoping the old woman had not noticed, she whispered to herself, “So it’s true!”
***
That night and the following day passed. Una’s time was consumed with nursing the woman back to health, and as she did, it became even more evident that Obsidian had endured something truly terrible. Una wanted to talk to her about it but knew that it would be useless to press her until she was stronger.
On the evening of Obsidian’s second night at the cottage, after finishing her first full meal, she sat by the fire, curled up in one of Una’s blankets, watching the old woman clean up after dinner. Una noticed and commented, “Ye seem a great deal better, lass.”
“Much better, aye! Thanks to you. I can’t believe how much I ate tonight.”
Una chuckled and said, “Aye, ye did that awright! I didnae even have t’ clean yer plate!”
Obsidian smiled, chuckled a bit to herself, and replied, “As with all your food, Una, it was delicious.”
“That’s the first time I’ve heard ye laugh, lass, even just a little. Ye must be on the mend!” With that, Una reached for two snifters and poured some whisky into each. She brought them over and handed one to Obsidian. Then she sat down beside her and wrapped herself in her own woolen blanket. Settling into her chair, she sighed, “Well, lass, it’s clear ye’ve been through somethin’ awful. Since ye feel better, would ye like t’ talk a bit now?”
“Una… actually, that’s why I showed up at your door.”
“Oh?”
“I’ve been looking everywhere for someone I’ve heard about called the Keeper. I have to ask… are you her?”
Una didn’t change her expression one jot and answered, “What? I’m just an old woman out here takin’ care o’ my family croft. What makes ye think I’ve anythin’ t’ do with this Keeper?”
“Well, I’ve spent the last seven days looking for that person. If you’re not her, I don’t know what I’ll do.”
Una didn’t respond, except to say, “Go on, lass…” With those words, it all came spilling out of Obsidian.
“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 she called the Keeper. It was evident that, whoever it was, Brenna held them in high regard because of their deep understanding of Druid history. She even mentioned that the Keeper’s knowledge went as far back as the very first Druids who lived on Alba. It was also clear to us that the Keeper was a woman because that’s how Brenna referred to her. We also learned that she lived somewhere close by, though Brenna never told us exactly where or her actual name. Brenna was adamant that no one besides her would ever be allowed to meet with the Keeper or seek her out.
“Then—and this may be hard to fathom—but seven days ago, Brenna brought me through a time Vortex. It originated within a cavern called the Black Grotto, which is inside another larger one called the Cave of Dreams. They’re both high up on the side of one of the Three Sisters near Glen Coe. Do you know where that is?”
“Aye, I ken where that is, lass.”
“And besides me, she also brought a young Priestess named Bea Bauman with her. It’s a long story, but Brenna needed to transport the Bauman girl into the future and join with her at the Stones of Calanais on the night of the twenty-year harvest moon. If the joining had happened, Brenna would have become a mighty Druid Priestess called the Hermaphrodite. However, the young Priestess was much more powerful than Brenna had expected. 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 during all of that, but I didn’t actually witness everything. That was because, just as I was trying to help Brenna complete the joining, someone struck me on the back of the head and knocked me out. When I came to, there was only one person standing where the two of them had been before, and that was Bea Bauman. Brenna was nowhere to be seen, and her staff lay on the ground. None of it made any sense to me. Then I noticed two other people who hadn’t been there when we first arrived. One was an older woman and the other, a younger man. Anyway, that’s when I questioned Bauman about what had happened. She explained what had taken place. I was incredibly angry and distraught. I didn’t know what to do, so I just picked up Brenna’s staff and walked away.
“As I left, I hid behind one of the stones along the causeway leading up to the main circle. I stayed there and watched for a while. That’s when I saw the young Priestess call another Vortex down from the heavens. She, the old woman, and the younger man were pulled up into it. Then they, along with the Vortex, vanished. I assumed that they had returned to the Black Grotto in their own time. I was left here, alone, sometime in the future.”
Una had been keenly listening without comment. Then she stated, “That’s quite the story, lass.”
“I know. It must sound like I’m out of my mind, but, Una, it’s true. I swear it!”
Una looked down in thought for a moment, then asked, “That was seven days ago?”
“Aye, and during those days, I was 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 Quinn. Brenna shared more about the Keeper with the two of us than with any of her 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 considerable knowledge of the past, present, and future in a way that would be incredibly helpful once she became the Hermaphrodite. Of course, as I’ve already mentioned, that did not happen.
“My first few days here, I attempted to find other members of my grove. I needed to tell them what had happened, but so much time had passed since I’d left with Brenna that most of them had either moved away or no longer had anything to do with our faith. For the few I was able to locate who still lived in Stornoway, they simply didn’t want to speak to me and slammed their doors in my face. I was hungry, confused, tired, and utterly shattered from it all. I didn’t know where to turn until I remembered the Keeper. I knew that she would be my best and only chance to survive and help me figure out what I needed to do next.
“So, I started asking around and searching for her. No one knew anything for certain, but there were rumours that a few people were willing to share. I followed up on those, and I’ve visited more cottages and crofts over the past few days 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 on your doorstep. When I knocked, I was at the end of my wits and my strength. 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 Obsidian’s entire story, but once she finished, Una turned her head to one side and blinked several times, contemplating what she should do. Then, turning back towards her visitor, she asked, “Could ye hand me yer staff, lass?”
Obsidian furrowed her brow questioningly but, nonetheless, picked up her staff and handed it to Una. Una laid it in her lap and ran her hands along the old, gnarled wood, very slowly. When she came to the bloodstone at its tip, she paused, wrapped her fingers around it, and focused her eyes directly on the stone. After a time, a tiny ember began to glow within it. As that happened, Una changed her grip on the staff and held the end with the bloodstone out to Obsidian, saying, “Hold on, lass, wi’ both hands. Dinnae let go, nae matter what, ye ken?”
“Aye, but…”
Una shushed her and motioned for her to comply.
Obsidian grasped the bloodstone and pulled it towards her. The ember inside grew in intensity and brightened. By then, she was held fast in its magnetic crimson aura and couldn’t have wrested it from her grip even if she had tried.
Una, at the other end, continued to magnify and strengthen the spell’s power as it traveled through the old wooden staff, the flaming jewel, and then into Obsidian. As this happened, Una began to probe the young acolyte with her mind, searching and digging—for the truth.
