SilverMoonLight (SilverMoonSaga Book 1) (16 page)

»Instead
of sitting in the car, we’ll spend the next few days cycling to Inverness,«
announced Ethan with a beaming smile. Hannah and Amber broke out into cries of
excitement, but when Bree found out that the journey amounted to over a hundred
kilometers, she groaned loudly. Ethan gave her an encouraging smile.

»Come
on, a bit of exercise will do us all good.«

I
was fine with anything as long as it distracted me.

Luckily,
the beautiful weather held out for the next few days. The scenery was beautiful,
with red and purple phlox blooming as far as the eye could see. The route led
us down peaceful cross-country roads and through forests, past Loch Lochy and
Loch Ness. My mood improved with every passing day, helped considerably by
Amelie’s and Peter’s attempts to cheer me up. Not wanting their efforts to be
in vain, I tried, at least during the day, to suppress thoughts of Calum and
concentrate on our journey instead. But at night, the memories came flooding
back. We were sleeping in youth hostels, which gave the whole thing an
additional charm, for there was always something going on and I barely had the
peace to think. After three days, we arrived in Inverness with aching muscles
but exuberant spirits.

»We’ll
stay here for five days and rest,« announced Ethan.

It
was nice to be back in a bigger town again. After we had dropped off our things
at the hotel and taken showers, we were ready to go and explore.

»Be
by the lake in time for the concert this evening,« Bree called after us as we
headed off into the crowds of people.

Amelie
and I spent the whole day idling around in shops and cafes. As darkness began
to fall we met up with the others again by the banks of Loch Ness. Exhausted,
we collapsed down onto the blankets Bree and Ethan had brought with them, then
unpacked the drinks and sandwiches. The atmosphere beneath the dark, starry sky
was phenomenal. Sitting there by the lake, we listened in awe to the live
Scottish music being performed. Normally, I would have said it was a perfect
evening. But nothing about my life was normal anymore.

»I
need some travel reading,« I mentioned in passing the next morning at
breakfast. »I’d like to go to a bookshop.«

»But
you spent the whole afternoon yesterday shopping!« sighed Ethan wearily.

Bree
shot him an imploring look.

»Okay,
we’re not in any great hurry I guess,« he said, giving me a scrutinizing stare.
»But I want to head off again this afternoon.«

Our
car had been driven on ahead to Inverness, so we didn’t need to cycle back to
Fort William.

Amelie
had no desire to comb through the city’s bookshops with me, so luckily, I was
able to head off alone with no need of explaining my plan to her. It took me a
while to find the library. Once there, I immersed myself in the various works
on Scottish myths and legends. I had hoped to find a more precise description
of the shellycoats, but I was disappointed. Aside from a few fairytales about
goblins and elves, there was nothing to be found. I asked the librarian for
help: »There’s a large department in Edinburgh on Scottish legends and myths.
There was a history professor there who painstakingly assembled everything he
could find on the topic, and when he retired, he gave the entire collection to
the library.«

I
thanked her, pretty sure I knew which professor she was talking about.

Before
we went on to Edinburgh, Ethan insisted on taking us to the Culloden
battlefield. He had a passionate interest in the conflict between the English
and the Scots. He recounted the tale of Columba, who had come to Scotland in
the sixth century and allegedly founded a monastery here. Ethan spoke vividly
of the invasions, and the devastation wreaked by the Vikings, and went into
particular detail on his account of the Stuarts’ last attempt to re-establish
their rule. The other five members of the family rolled their eyes as I turned
around to them in a plea for help.

»Emma,
it’s very important that you know about the last battle which took place here
in Culloden.« We patiently walked over the former battle field with him. He
described the battle in minute detail, trying to infect us with his enthusiasm.

»After
Charles Edward Stuart, known as Bonnie Prince Charlie, lost the battle, he only
managed to escape to Skye, with the help of the islander Flora MacDonald, by
rowboat. From there, he was able to flee to France. He died many years later in
Rome, an embittered old man. When they made the escape, Flora disguised him as
her chambermaid. Just imagine! It must have looked hilarious.«

»There’s
a song about it that’s still popular even today,« said Bree, interrupting his
flow. »It’s called the Skye Boat Song.«

Ethan
immediately started to belt out the words:

»Speed,
bonnie boat, like a bird on the wing,
Onward! The sailors cry;
Carry the lad that’s born to be King
Over the sea to Skye.«

Amelie
stared at him in disbelief, then poked him in the side.

»Dad,
get a grip; someone might hear you.«

Bree
and I struggled to hold back our giggles while Ethan stared at Amelie,
obviously a little hurt. It had started to drizzle by now, and slowly but
surely, we were getting wet. Everyone breathed a sigh of relief when Ethan
decided to break off the guided tour, and we fled as quickly as we could to the
visitors’ centre. After much pleading from Amelie and Hannah, Ethan treated us
all to tea, cake, and ice cream in the cafe. After that, we continued on to
Edinburgh. I could hardly wait, hoping to find the answers to my questions in the
Scottish National Library.

Ethan
had reserved rooms for us in a small B&B. As he rang the bell, a small,
frail-looking woman with white hair opened the door, introducing herself as Ms.
Wallace. »It’s lovely to have such a big family staying,« she trilled as she
went up the steep stairs ahead of us. »Normally, all the rooms are booked up in
August, but when Dr. Erickson called and asked if I had something available, I
of course did my best to make it possible.«

My
ears pricked up. She knew Dr. Erickson?

»You’ll
have to tell me how he and Sophie are. He used to stay here when he lectured
here, in Edinburgh. But then I’m sure you already know that.«

Ms.
Wallace opened the door to the room Amelie and I were to share, then showed
Ethan and Bree into the one next door.

Amelie
leapt onto one of the beds, which was covered with a colorful, hand-sewn quilt.

»This
is heavenly,« she sighed. Then she turned and looked at me. »The city is packed
with people; about two million visitors come to the Edinburgh Festival each
year. Can you even imagine that number of people?«

Two
million, that really was a lot. Washington has around six hundred thousand
inhabitants. For Amelie, who had spent the majority of her life on Skye, even
that must be a pretty incomprehensible number.

»What
are we doing tonight?« I sat down next to her on the bed.

»Well,
I think we should make the most of being amongst civilization before Dad drags
us back into the wilderness,« said Amelie, reaching for her bag. »Let’s go,
we’ll tell Mom we want to take a look around.«

As
expected, Ethan raised objections.

»The
girls are old enough to go out by themselves,« said Bree, who was with him
enjoying a steaming cup of tea and a book in the guests’ lounge. It was plain
to see that she had no desire to go out into the packed city today.

»Fine
then,« grumbled Ethan. »But be back by eleven at the latest, and don’t get up
to any mischief.«

»Who,
us?« said Amelie, giving Ethan a kiss on the cheek and waving goodbye to Bree
and Peter.

We
found ourselves out on the street. It was still light, but twilight was slowly
starting to fall over the city.

Amelie
was in her element. »Let’s go up to the castle; I’m sure the old town is where
everything’s happening.«

We
walked past numerous young men who, bare-chested and clad in kilts, had painted
half of their faces blue in the traditional Scottish manner and were showing
off their bagpipe skills to the best of their ability. I felt overwhelmed by
the activity around me; the streets were full of artists demonstrating their
talents.

»Look.«
Amelie nudged me as I was admiring a pantomime act. »Isn’t that Calum over
there?« I turned around in shock. It was; he was standing with Dr. Erickson in
the crowd. I would have recognized his mane of hair in even the largest of
crowds.

Amelie
pulled me over towards them.

»Amelie,
what are you playing at? Let me go,« I muttered.

»We
should at least say hello if we see people we know in all these crowds. Maybe
they’ll have a beer with us.«

»I
don’t drink beer,« I responded indignantly.

Amelie
rolled her eyes at my stubbornness.

»I
would think you’d be pleased to see him again,« she retorted snappily, putting
her hands on her hips. »And you owe me an explanation anyway, or did you think
I’d never ask what happened and why Dad doesn’t want you to see him anymore? I
could have sworn that he liked Calum more than he liked Aidan.«

»Then
I guess you were wrong.«

She
turned around and peered into the crowd. »Now they’re gone,« she said, giving
me a reproachful stare.

I
breathed out a sigh of relief. I had to figure out what to say to Amelie if she
asked me again. But right now I was more interested in what Calum and Dr.
Erickson were doing here in Edinburgh. Why weren’t they staying in the same
B&B? Presumably, it was because they didn’t want to run into us.

The
next morning, I eventually succeeded in getting away from the rest of the
family, but it still took me a while to find the Scottish National Library.
When I finally got there, I asked at the information desk for directions to the
section of Scottish myths and legends. I walked through countless rooms. The
library housed seven million books, all neatly lined up on seemingly endless
rows of shelves.

The
collection I was looking for was kept in a number of smaller rooms. Next to the
entrance door to the first room hung a brass plate with a reference to the
benefactor.

»
With
deep respect and gratitude to our Scottish forefathers – donated by Prof. Dr.
Erickson, Isle of Skye
,« read the engraving.

I
slowly walked down one aisle after the other. It was unbelievable how many
books there were on the topic. There must have been so many academics who had
dedicated themselves to researching the old myths and legends. There were
original editions, hundreds of years old, protectively stored in glass display
cases. The most fascinating were the detailed sketches of the legendary
creatures. Many of the books were written in Latin, presumably having
originated in Scottish monasteries. A few were written in Gaelic.
Unfortunately, I could understand neither Latin nor Gaelic, so I would have to
make do with the English language editions. Looking around, I saw that there
were a number of seats in the adjoining room, each equipped with a computer. I
clicked through the library’s online catalogue, but was unable to find Dr. Erickson’s
own collection. A young librarian walked past.

»Excuse
me, could you please tell me where I can find the index for this collection?«

»It
isn’t catalogued online yet, I’m afraid. You’ll need to make do with the index
cards,« she answered apologetically.

I
groaned. Just what I needed. How was I supposed to find what I was looking for?
When it came down to it, I didn’t even really know what I was looking for. The
young woman led me over to a metal cabinet which reached up to head-height.

»Dr.
Erickson organized the collection excellently. I’m sure you’ll quickly find
what you’re looking for.« And with that, she disappeared back amongst the
shelves.

I
pulled out the drawer at chest-height. A big ‘L’ was staring at me. Slowly, I
leafed through the pile of index cards. Almost all of the books in this box
were to do with Loch Ness and the legend of Nessie. I pushed the drawer back
into the cabinet. The next displayed ‘M’ and ‘N,’ as expected. I counted down
until I reached ‘S,’ then pulled out the entire box, sat down at a free table,
and began to look through. The first few titles were about sea monsters. Then
there were some collections on the selkies.

There,
I had found something at last. »
The Legend of the Shellycoats
,« it said
on the index card. »
The truth behind Scottish legends on the shellycoats. Do
they really exist
?« This was followed by a whole load of other titles on
the topic. Curious, I leafed further through, to books on sirens, spriggans,
sylphs. What strange names people come up with! I shook my head in irritation.
But then I, of all people, should know better.

I
leafed back though and noted the shelf mark of the works that interested me the
most. Then I went over to the shelves and tried to orientate myself. Within a
very short space of time, I had found the first book. I flicked through it; the
author had clearly spent a great deal of time recording even the most abstruse
of stories about the shellycoats, that circulated within the population. Most
amusing, however, were the pictures he had drawn. I flicked back to the first
page; the book had been published in 1853. Putting it back on the shelf, I
looked for the next title, which looked more promising. The book reported the
story of a woman who claimed she had seen a shellycoat. According to her
description, it had been a beautiful young man with long, silver hair. He had
tried to lure her into the water on a night of the full moon, and she had only
been saved by the sudden appearance of her brother. Unfortunately, the brother
had only seen a silvery light over the lake, and was not able to back up her
report. After that night, she went back to the lake many times, but the
shellycoat never appeared to her again. As no one believed her, she eventually
lost her mind.