Touch of Eternity(2)

A woman stood on a ridge close to the castle. She was lustrous, illuminated by a single ray of moonlight. Her snow-white hair billowed in the wind, and her arms were outstretched toward the sky.

“Vanora,” Nathaira whispered in awe.

Nobody dared take their eyes off her. Vanora started to speak in a curious old language, in a cadence no one knew. The wind grew stronger. The warriors shielded their eyes against the dust whirling up, yet they seemed incapable of looking away.

The unusual sound had them all petrified. It grew more and more intense. The hills, the trees, and the castle itself seemed to grow with it, looming larger and darker.

Screaming, Nathaira broke out of her paralysis. “No—you witch!”

Although the two women were far apart, they were positioned exactly opposite each other. Their appearances were opposite, too: one white, from her hair to her naked feet; the other, dark of hair and smeared with blood. Everything seemed to be circling around these two.

“Be quiet, or you will be sorry!” Nathaira shouted, raising her fist to the sky.

Vanora ignored her. When she had finished her song, a final, powerful flash of lightning struck. Then the wind quieted down and the clouds vanished. The woman in white stood motionless. Nathaira and Cathal swung onto their horses and raced toward her.



Fearlessly, the old woman kept her ground, conscious of her fate but not budging as the riders came closer. In fact, she felt a strange peace, because at the other end of the valley she could see the old nanny holding on tightly to the back of a gray horse. She caught only a quick glimpse of the child with the nanny, the child whose life Vanora had done everything for this day. The horse disappeared as they slipped into the safety of the Highlands.

When Nathaira’s black stallion had almost reached Vanora, the girl leapt out of the saddle and attacked, screaming wildly. Pulling a dagger out of its sheath, she rammed it into the old woman’s heart.

Vanora did not raise a hand to defend herself, nor did she seem astonished by the pain. She reached out to her killer’s hands and looked inquiringly at the dark-haired girl’s face. When she had found what she was looking for, she smiled.

“Sguir, mo nighean. Mo gràdh ort.”

Her words were hardly more than a whisper. While she pressed a forgiving kiss onto the girl’s hands, the white-haired lady’s soul left her body, and she was gone.



“What did the witch say?” Cathal asked sternly.

His sister got up, shaking. All the color had drained from her face, and she stumbled weakly to her horse.

“Nothing!”

She would never admit what the old woman had said—or how she had looked at her.

“She was nothing more than a crazy old woman.”





CHAPTER 1


Delaware, Present Day

I was sitting in Grandma Anna’s dusty attic, surrounded by piles of paper. In front of me were two cardboard boxes with faded labels. The naked bulb above me gave just enough light to illuminate the part of the room where I was sitting. Everything else was in the shadows; the countless boxes and covered pieces of furniture farther back merged into weird, bulky shapes. I was a little spooked, but a moving company was coming in two days to clear out Grandma’s house and I wanted to see if there was anything important or interesting up here. My parents were downstairs, sorting coffee mugs and wrapping photos. The house would soon be sold; some potential buyers were actually coming later that same day with a real estate agent.

Digging into the box again, I pulled out another stack of papers. Dust rose and danced in the flickering light, making me sneeze. It was strange; I had never realized that dust could have its very own smell. Old and secretive. Feeling a bit like a grave robber, I kept going. I had no idea what I might find between the old receipts, bills, and newspaper clippings. I sighed, wishing Grandma were sitting next to me so she could tell me the story behind each slip of paper.

If I kept going at this speed, I would wind up spending the whole night up here with the cobwebs. So, determined to pick up the pace, I pulled my hair back in a ponytail and plopped the next two bundles into my discard pile, just as mercilessly as I had with countless other papers. There was absolutely nothing worth a second glance in the next box, and I started to wonder whether I should even bother opening any others.

My stomach rumbled loudly. I tried to estimate the time based on how hungry I was. Still, I was slightly curious, so I decided to try one more box. I figured, why not? My fingers were already black from the newspaper ink.

Pulling the box a bit closer, I was surprised to see that it was even dustier than the others. It looked like it hadn’t been opened at all in the past fifty years. I imagined finding secret papyrus rolls, a gold chalice, or even writing carved into stone.