CHAPTER SIXTY-SEVEN
Nicole
SCÁTHACH’S TEMPLE WAS HIDDEN IN A SEASTACK: A TOWERof rock that had once been attached to the Isle of Skye by a land bridge. Now, it stood by itself.
It had taken them five hours to drive from Edinburgh to the Isle of Skye, having opted to take the family car instead of risking renting one. Kyan had filled Nicole and Remi in on what he could remember of the place and details of the Fomóiri and Túatha Dé. But when the island rose ahead, severe and wild as a felled blade of the gods spearing out of the ocean, Nicole hadn’t been prepared for the sight.
Now, the sea stack jutted up ahead of them, almost blotting out the sun.
‘There’s a templeinhere?’ Remi shouted as they made their way over the slick boulders that led to the structure. Water foamed and soaked Nicole’s trainers and the ankles of her jeans. The sea crashed around them and she gulped down the strong, fresh marine scent.
Any temple inside must be thousands of years old.
‘How is it still here?’ Nicole asked against the spray of the sea.
‘Scáthach had it warded,’ Kyan said over his shoulder, some words snatched by the wind as cold speckles of water sprinkled onto her cheeks. ‘No doubt with the help of whoever secured her fortress. This will stay here no matter what natural disaster strikes.’
Nicole’s head tipped back to take in the searing rise of the structure, dark and shadowing.
As they got closer, Kyan strodeacrossthe water and didn’t sinkinto it. Evidently there was some unseen path. Nicole glanced at Remi who smiled slightly, intrigued, and she took her hand as they cautiously followed Kyan.
Sure enough, a hidden path lay inches beneath the rushing waves, and in a few steps, they were in the great cooled shadow of the temple.
Once Kyan reached the dark stone, he ran his hand over it.
Swirling patterns glowed gold beneath his touch, as if aware of the presence of the Empyrean inside him.
A great cracking sounded, and Nicole grabbed onto Remi. But the structure wasn’t crumbling, it wasopening.
She watched in awe as the swirling patterns on the rock gave way to a door and the darkness within. Warily, Nicole and Remi followed Kyan inside.
‘What type of temple is this?’ Remi breathed, as the ancient air rushed out around them, buffeting their hair and clothes.
Nicole took in the glistening walls and inscribed images that winked like silver and gold.
‘It’s an Empyreal temple to the Old Gods,’ Kyan said, unhooking a great rusted brazier from the wall and pulling out a lighter from the back of his dark jeans. He set the torch aflame, as anticipation flared in Nicole’s stomach.
Supernatural religion was obscurely documented, even in their society. Perhaps due to the fact the Wake – as invading gods – had wanted to keep the knowledge of others secret.
Finding an ancient temple, whole and unscathed … it was a discovery that could rewrite supernatural history.
Ahead, the small corridor of rock led into a circular chamber.
Kyan stepped to the right, allowing Nicole to see the altar. It was nothing but a small dolmen and a circular, spiral pattern inscribed into the floor in a subtle groove. There was no stone figure to worship, only the inscriptions on the walls.
Celtic artwork didn’t often depict human figures, and if it did, they were more stylised, like the oval Mšecké Žehrovice Head found near Prague, or the figures that marched across the silver planes of the Gundestrup Cauldron. These depictions, however … she’d never seen their like before.
Some beings were more ethereal and taller than the others, perhaps representing the Old Gods.
On the left was a great battle, meteorites raining down above it, studded with gleaming stones that looked like pyrite.
Another inscription showed a figure with long hair floating in a triskelion pattern around her head, something flying above her. A crow? Nicole reached out to another figure and inherchest was an embedded piece of gold that flickered in Kyan’s torchlight.
‘It’s the story of the first Empyreal,’ Nicole breathed.
‘Hey, look at this,’ Remi said, one of her still-healing fingers tracing the depictions. ‘A woman with a harp. She’s splitting it up into pieces: removing the three strings and the bridge. Then, she hides the rest of the harp away, sending the strings in all different directions. One on land? One in the sea? One in the sky …’
Remi reached for her sleek little backpack and unfolded a piece of padded red velvet cloth, revealing an arched piece of charred wood – the harp bridge.
