Scots terms
Da – Dad
Crannog – A type of iron-age Scottish dwelling that was usually built over Lochs. At the time of writing this episode the one they built on Loch Tay was still intact but was unfortunately destroyed mere weeks later by fire. They are currently making efforts to rebuild it.
Kirtle – this isn’t actually a Scottish word, but it is used in the historical costuming community to refer to mainly women’s dress in the medieval period. I didn’t really know what else to call it, so stole that word as it should be quite a similar garment.
Script
Are you ever too old to read pop-up books? I feel by the time you’re eight or nine you’re expected to read stories with more words, more characters, and less pictures. When you’re an adult all books are nothing but text.
There are a few books in the antique shop, although not as many as you might expect. There’s no area tucked away in a darkened corner where the smell of old bound books invites you to stay for too long, or where the marked and cracked spines of well-loved books beckon you to draw a finger gently across the grooves before you eventually slide one out of the row. There are books, they’re just not on shelves. Like everything else they’re everywhere. Hidden in the drawer of one of the wardrobes, lying on a vanity where the perfume bottles should be, or hidden beneath silver thimbles and cards wound with antique lace.
I liberated this book from the sewing supplies, drawing my eyes over the title. The Ruins Underneath. No author to be found. The cover was illustrated, a mix of watercolour and acrylic, soft pastel backgrounds to bright distinct foregrounds. It was a painting of somewhere that only existed in someone’s imagination, too fantastical to be real. A large waterfall, soft rose water running down, framed one side of the picture, whilst the rest was taken up with a sprawling city dotted with lanterns, rooves of multicoloured tiles, and a forest that surrounded it all. There stood one person, a lone girl, at the top of the waterfall, looking out at the view. Her face was mostly obscured, out of focus, but her long red hair shimmered in a breeze that I could almost feel on my face from the top of that waterfall.
I retreated to my corner of the shop, the quiet corner where I always go if neither of my familiars is around to bicker with each other. Chronos, as if predicting I would find something to inspect, was already waiting, curled up on the set of drawers that I sit on the floor beside.
Gently, hearing the crackle of the pages as I separated them for the first time in a while, I opened to the first page. The shapes sprawled out like a bud blooming into a flower, until when it was fully open a grand scene was before me, a temple of some kind, similar to the ones for Rome and Greece, except this one wasn’t abandoned, and wasn’t all white. If I were to ever imagine what those ancient temples looked like when they were used, the book reflected that. There were pillars painted with scenes, colourful people in colourful clothes riding on horse like creatures, walking through garlands and cheering crowds, proclaiming something from their stationary mouths, triumphant processions through streets, elaborate feasts with more dishes than people, epic battles fought over very little. It was ancient, yet it wasn’t. It was Greek or Roman, yet it wasn’t. I couldn’t recognise any of these scenes, if they were alluding to myths or legends from these once great empires.
In this temple were carved statues, also painted in similar colour, of what I could only presume were deities or Gods, the beings this temple was built to worship or praise. Each had their own alcove, and before each were different offerings; toys, money, tools, rolls of silks, jewels, and everything else a God may wish to be given by the mortals they control.
Despite these objects, the care and attention given to the maintenance of the artwork on the pillars and the details on the statues, there wasn’t a soul inside this temple. Save for one. A girl stands alone inside, beneath the stone roof, winding in and out of the statues and alcoves, stopping at one to inspect, to consider an offering. I recognise her, mostly her ginger hair, as the same shade as the one on the cover, standing atop the waterfall and looking out. The strangest thing about this girl is that when I glance over the temple the first time, she’s emerging from behind a pillar. The next time I glance to inspect a statue of a nameless Goddess, she’s standing in front of another. She moves, as if alive within this paper temple, this glossy marvel, as though she has her own curiosities, her own desire to inspect and see this sacred place.
As I flip over the page, I see the place that’s on the cover, and the girl is on top of the waterfall again. I study the lanterns, the slate rooves of differing shades of amber, purple and red, and when I look again the girl is standing on the small bridge that crosses the river that circles the city. I never see her move, even over the rest of the pages, but she never stays in the place I see her first, or second, as though she’s a soul running over the pages as I turn them, beginning in the place I do and guiding me to spots of interest and wonder. A 2D tour guide. There’re no words on these pages, no box filled with text leading through a story. It feels more like an art book where every page, every piece, is abstract. None are the same place. They’re all different.
I never get to the end of this book, something close catches my eye, a light twinkling deeper within the shop. There’re no windows where I am, just more stuff surrounding me on all sides. I look deeper into the pile, through the shelves, the one fur coat tossed over a coffee table, and past a few typewriter containers, and the light remains constant, like a pinprick in the dark or a star in the night sky. I put the book down and crawl over to where the light is, starting to move some of the clutter to get a closer look. There shouldn’t be a light here, unless there’s a hole in the wall somewhere and it’s just daylight pouring through.
I hear Chronos behind me, get up and jump down from the set of drawers, his tail running up my legs as he comes to inspect what I’m doing. The more items I move the larger the light becomes, more like a full moon than a twinkling star. It gets larger the further we get to it, until it seems to suck us in.
It’s hard to explain this part, even for me. I was on the ground, sliding things out of the way so I could get a better look. I could feel the ground beneath my knees, hear them creaking and groaning as I moved, promising they’d have their revenge in the form of arthritis when I was older, and then the ground just wasn’t there anymore. I’ve never gone skydiving or bungee jumping, or anything that involves flinging yourself out or off of things and hoping that whatever parachute or cord you have works. This is what I imagine it to be like though.
It only lasted for a second. It was white everywhere, no shadow, no anything, just white. The ground had disappeared, whatever I’d had in my hand was gone. The only thing I did see, amongst the Dulux white, was a flailing black-furred creature posed to land on its feet, if we did land at all. I couldn’t have the wee shite dying on me, so I reached out and grabbed him, pulling him to my chest and bracing myself for the landing.
There was none. The feeling of falling faded, as though I’d jolted myself awake when I was trying to get to sleep. When I dared to open my eyes, I saw wilderness; luscious, green, and wild Scottish wilderness. I’m not familiar with every part of the Scottish countryside, but this felt different, even looked different. The mountains in the distance were larger, snow covered their peaks. The trees were thicker and spanned everywhere I looked, trees I didn’t even recognise amongst the firs, pine, and alder.
Chronos was still in my arms, cradled as though he were a baby, and just by a glance I could tell he didn’t hate it as much as he was going to pretend to later. I asked him if he was alright, and he jumped down nimbly with a flick of his black tail. The wee shite was fine. More importantly, so was I.
But where the fuck were we?
I looked to my companion, he stared back, and if he could shrug his shoulders, I’m sure he would’ve. Had we stumbled into a portal, a vortex of some kind, that throws you across the universe, or in this case across the country? There wasn’t another soul in sight, only trees, streams, and birds singing to each other. I had no sense of direction, no idea which way was north or south, and no idea where the nearest civilisation was.
Thankfully, I had my phone. Not so thankfully, up there in the middle of nowhere, I didn’t have any signal. Strange how easily our phones become bloody useless.
The only thing to do was walk. I mean there must be someone in one direction if we walked for long enough. Chronos followed. You know you’re in the shite when the talking, semi-immortal cat lets you take the lead. We walked, past more trees, past vicious, untamed brambles which attempted to slice my arm and rip my clothes. Everything about this place was untamed. There were no perfectly lined bushes to separate the fields, no overturned patches of land where the tractors had been, or white dots on the hillside where the sheep have been left to roam and get lost. It was as though we’d been thrown into a pocket of untouched scenery, immune to the changes of time, climate change, and technology. There wasn’t even a sign for a public footpath, or any of those markers you get in beauty spots telling you which route you’re on.
Eventually we came across sheep. Well, I think they were sheep, but they’re not the ones you imagine, the ones that litter the countryside these days. These were a lot smaller than any I’d ever seen, all with dark faces, some with horns that I wouldn’t get too close to if you paid me. Rather than a sea of white cotton dots with legs sticking out, these sheep had shorter wool, and only one or two were white, the most common being an off-brown, and some were even pure black.
Chronos saw these animals, staring at us curiously, warily, and he stopped. It’s impossible to tell what he’s thinking given cats – domestic cats at least – don’t usually have more than a few facial expressions.
“I know when we are,” Chronos announced.
Don’t you mean where? I replied, hoping I’d misheard, but knowing better.
I was right. Chronos didn’t mean where. I’d never seen sheep like the ones in front of us before because they were extinct. Chronos couldn’t place the exact time just from the animals still staring at us, jostling each other, thinking about running the opposite way.
We had no choice but to carry on, hoping we, or let’s not kid ourselves, Chronos, could pick up some more clues. I haven’t walked that far in ever. My legs were aching by the time we came across some civilisation, and that was being generous.
Ma Da’s really interested in history, more specifically Scottish history. He used to have a subscription to this magazine, which they don’t print anymore, that had loads of information on pre-historic Scotland. That’s where I first saw the pictures of a crannog, a type of wooden hut-like structure that’s built on posts above water, usually a Loch. There’s only one way to get out to these buildings, across a timber causeway, a kind of bridge, also on posts above the water. This one looked really similar to the one they recreated on Loch Tay.
There was only one of these at the edge of this Loch, and smoke was snaking out of the doorway and through thatched roof. I couldn’t remember much about crannogs, when they were built, when they were occupied, or even who occupied them. This place looked so old, so prehistoric, that I began to feel sick. I thought we’d been hurled back a few centuries, not a few millennia!
What were we supposed to do now? Were we even real? Was this like the time I’d been sent back to the Madam’s past when she was apprentice? Only the then Madam Norna could see me, but I was invisible to everyone else. I think I preferred mindless walking to the panic attack I could feel constrict my throat.
It was Chronos’s turn to lead, and dazedly I followed, thankful that he might have more of an idea on what we were supposed to do. The causeway that joined the crannog to the mainland was sturdily built, unlike what I’d imagined. It didn’t sway beneath our feet or bounce up and down like a rope bridge. Inside the doorway was darkness, which didn’t really dissipate as we entered.
Inside was spacious, cavernous with a high ceiling and low walls. Bracken was spread across the floor. There was a hearth in the middle, dug into the floor and encircled with stones and pebbles. A fire burned and crackled between two women sitting on what I assumed to be a wooden stool but was covered in animal hides. It smelled mainly of smoke, musky and strong, yet somehow comforting, as though in here was safe from the elements outside. It wasn’t cold, despite an open door, but since there were no windows or chimney, the heat had few other places to go. The cow at the back of the crannog would also have helped with warmth.
Our arrival didn’t disturb the women, they continued with their conversation, in a language that I couldn’t understand. It wasn’t English, and I only know basic Gaelic, and that wasn’t it either. One woman, sitting on the right side of the hearth, looked worried, her hands twisting into themselves, her fingers pulling at the cuffs of her woollen kirtle. The woman sitting on the opposite side of the fire observed her guest, not her pal from the way she was sizing her up. The fire reflected something in her eyes, feral, almost predatory.
“That’s Madam Anora,” Chronos informed me.
I’d seen Madam Anora up close and personal the last time, and she looked nothing like either of the woman in the crannog. I said as much.
“Not our Anora, the Anora, the original.”
That wave of nausea returned. It wasn’t something I’d ever considered. Where did the line of Madams stretch, one woman after another discarding her name to be the servant of Fate?
Chronos began to weave the tale of the first Madam, the one sitting in her crannog at the edges of a Loch, talking over the fire with what I assumed to be one of the first customers. Many millennia ago, when tools weren’t made of iron but bronze, and where pottery would be the only thing to remain long after its users were gone. Where houses were built on Lochs, or under earth, and where people were buried with expensive items and trinkets to see them through death and into whatever was next. A woman was born into this world, in a small settlement in the middle of nowhere in what would one day be Scotland.
This woman was special, she could do things others couldn’t, could tap into power no one could explain. She was gifted these abilities by Fate. No one knows why, we mortals never know Fate’s motivations or reasons. This woman became the first Madam, although she’d take different names over the proceeding millennia, through language and culture shifts.
But, like many who gain power too quickly, she began to abuse the gifts she was given. Manipulating those who came to see her, to ask for her help. Rather than keep a balance, help guide Fate’s hand, she wrought havoc with it instead. Fate realised what they’d done, understood the mistake they’d made. But they couldn’t take the power back. It’d been gifted to this woman at birth, and when the time came, for Fate and Time are independent beings, another would take her place.
Something had to be done in the meantime. Fate couldn’t wait and hope that her successor would be better. So, Fate created another Madam, but this time chose a woman whose nature and character were already formed. Someone who was born and raised just as everyone else, in a settlement dug into the ground to keep the howling winter winds at bay, who shared their house with a cow and a few sheep, who sat by the hearth on the longest nights and heard stories about long distant myths and legends.
Madam Anora’s are born. Madam Norna’s are made. Both balance each other out, one cannot defeat the other. They are two sides of the same coin.
I don’t think I would’ve believed this story if Fionn or even Reid had told me. I didn’t appreciate before now how far this all stretches back, to when people were surviving in huts on the water and living with their livestock for warmth. How many women had there been? How many over the centuries, over the thousands of years, who’d taken the title of Madam and forfeited their life, their loves ones, to live for a few centuries longer than normal, be the hand that guided other people’s fates? I was just another tally mark on Fate’s board.
By the time Chronos had finished his history lesson Anora’s guest was in tears, which I found unsurprising, and was leaving the crannog with something I couldn’t see gripped tight in her hand. I half-wished I could say something to her, warn her that nothing was worth listening to Anora, but it was apparent that Chronos and I were invisible, ghosts not from the past but the very distant future. Or perhaps this was all just an echo, a time and place that resonates through the centuries, and the shop picks up like an antenna.
Regardless of what it was, I wanted out. Like the last time I’d been hurled back into history, I half expected the current, the original, Anora to come sauntering over to us like a predator after prey and speak. This time was different. Just like her guest, she didn’t see us at the door.
I didn’t have to fret long about how we were going to get back. From the doorway behind me, down the causeway and onto the mainland, a hand reached out and grabbed my arm. I’d felt a slight draft at first, as though there’d been some flailing before they found me, but when they did, they weren’t gentle about it. I barely managed to get a hold of Chronos before I was pulled through the void between this time and mine.
My landing back in the shop wasn’t as pain free and my arse slammed straight onto the wooden floor so hard I knew I’d be feeling an echo of the pain for the next few days. Chronos jumped out of my arms, not a fucking scratch on the wee shite. I’ll let him fend for himself the next time. Fionn had been the one to reach into the gaping white light in the wall and get us out.
The Madam, my Madam, threw something, a stone of some kind, into the light, and then it began to shrink, the edges curling in on themselves until the hole was nothing bigger than a keyhole into an ancient time. Soon, even that disappeared.
Over some calming tea in the front room upstairs, my boss told me it was normal, from time to time, for the shop to reach into the past and hurl someone there. It’d happened to her back in the day. I wasn’t reassured by this phenomenon. It was bad enough the cat and half of the things in the bloody shop had a mind of their own, let alone the shop itself. I could do without being thrown into a time before toilet paper and hot showers. At least I knew now, don’t go into the light. Never go into the light.
I never asked Madam Norna about what I’d seen, about the first Madams. I couldn’t imagine she had much to add to Chronos’s story. The queasiness still simmers whenever I think back, all that time in the past, and how small I feel in comparison. There’s nothing like a bit of legacy to ground you.
Historical notes: This was meant to be a simple episode, finally revealing the origins of the madams, but in typical me fashion, I chose the one era of history I don’t know much about. So, I had to fall through the rabbit hole of prehistoric Scottish history. I even looked up the construction notes of the crannog at Loch Tay just to be sure I wasn’t putting anything in that wouldn’t have been there. I did have to gloss over some details, so take this story with a pinch of salt.
The main inaccuracy is that Madam Anora wouldn’t have been living in a crannog all by herself. They’re quite spacious, the ones that have been found, and the one that they recreated in Loch Tay is said to have held around 20 people, possibly a bit less. Families, including extended families, would have lived in these buildings; grandparents, parents, children, aunts and uncles, etc. I was right about the animals though. It was quite common throughout the British Isles, I think, at this time. It provided warmth and kept the livestock safe from wild animals. The animals kept in the crannog would’ve been livestock, not necessarily pets.
I recommend looking into the Crannog Centre on Loch Tay. I’m ashamed to say I’ve never been. They have a Youtube channel where they’ve got short, informative videos about items they’ve found. And from there you can possibly fall down the rabbit hold that I did about Scottish pre-history. I do love this podcast; I never know where it’s going to take me next. We can all learn together.
Script – Scots
Are ye ever too old tae read pop-up books? I feel by the time you’re eight or nine you’re expecteed tae read stories wi’ more words, more characters, and less pictures. When you’re an adult all books are nothin’ but text.
There are a few books in the antique shop, although not as many as ye might expect. There’s no area tucked away in a darkened corner where the smell ae old bound books invites ye tae stay fae too long, or where the marked and cracked spines ae well-loved books beckons ye tae draw a finger gently across the grooves before ye eventually slide one oot ae the row. There are books, they’re just no on shelves. Like everythin’ else they’re everywhere. Hidden in the drawer ae one of the wardrobes, lying on a vanity where the perfume bottles should be, or lying hidden beneath silver thimbles and cards wound wi’ antique lace.
I liberated this book frae the sewing supplies, drawin’ ma eyes over the title. The Ruins Underneath. No author tae be found. The cover was illustrated, a mix ae watercolour and acrylic, soft pastel backgrounds tae bright distinct foregrounds. It was a painting ae somewhere that only existed in someone’s imagination, too fantastical tae be real. A large waterfall, soft rose water running doon, framed one side of the picture, whilst the rest was taken up wi’ a sprawling city dotted wi’ lanterns, rooves ae multicoloured tiles, and a forest that surrounded it all. There stood one person, a lone girl, at the top ae the waterfall, looking oot at the view. Her face was mostly obscured, oot ae focus, but her long red hair shimmered in a breeze that I could almost feel on my face frae the top ae that waterfall.
I retreated tae ma corner ae the shop, the quiet corner where I always go if neither ae ma familiars is aroond tae bicker wi each other. Chronos, as if predictin’ I would find somethin’ tae inspect, was already waitin’, curled up on the set ae drawers that I sit on the floor beside.
Gently, hearin’ the crackle ae the pages as I separated them fae the first time in a while, I opened tae the first page. The shapes sprawled oot like a bud blooming intae a flower, until when it was fully open a grand scene was before me, a temple ae some kind, similar tae the ones fae Rome and Greece, except this one wasnae abandoned, and wasnae all white. If I were tae ever imagine whit those ancient temples looked like when they were used, the book reflecteed that. There were pillars painted wi scenes, colourful people in colourful clothes riding on horse like creatures, walking through garlands and cheering crowds, proclaiming somethin’ frae their stationary mouths, triumphant processions through streets, elaborate feasts wi more dishes than people, epic battles fought over very little. It was ancient, yet it wasnae. It was Greek or Roman, yet it wasnae. I couldnae recognise any ae these scenes, if they were alluding tae myths or legends from these once great empires.
In this temple were carved statues, also painteed in similar colour, ae whit I could only presume were deities or Gods, the beings this temple was built tae worship or praise. Each had their own alcove, and before each were different offerings; toys, money, tools, rolls of silks, jewels, and everything else a God may wish to be given by the mortals they control.
Despite these objects, the care and attention given tae the maintenance ae the artwork on the pillars and the details on the statues, there wasnae a soul inside this temple. Save fae one. A girl stands alone inside, beneath the stone roof, winding in and oot ae the statues and alcoves, stoppin at one tae inspect, tae consider an offering. I recognise her, mostly her ginger hair, as the same shade as the one on the cover, standing atop the waterfall and looking oot. The strangest ‘hing aboot this girl is that when I glance over the temple the first time she’s emerging frae behind a pillar. The next time I glance tae inspect a statue ae a nameless Goddess, she’s standing in front ae another. She moves, as if alive within this paper temple, this glossy marvel, as though she has her own curiosities, her own desire tae inspect and see this sacred place.
As I flip over the page I see the place that’s on the cover, and the girl is on top ae the waterfall again. I study the lanterns, the slate rooves ae differing shades of amber, purple and red, and when I look again the girl is standing on the small bridge that crosses the river that circles the city. I never see her move, even over the rest ae the pages, but she never stays in the place I see her first, or second, as though she’s a soul running over the pages as I turn them, beginning in the place I do and guiding me tae spots ae interest and wonder. A 2D tour guide. There’s no words on these pages, no box filled wi’ text leading through a story. It feels more like an art book where every page, every piece is abstract. None are the same place. They’re all different.
I never get tae the end ae this book, somethin’ close catches ma eye, a light twinklin’ deeper within the shop. There’s nae windows where I am, just more stuff, surroundin’ me on all sides. I look deeper intae the pile, through the shelves, the one fur coat tossed over a coffee table, and past a few typewriter containers, and the light remains constant, like a pinprick in the dark, or a star in the night sky. I put the book doon and crawl over tae where the light is, startin’ tae move some ae the clutter tae get a closer look. There shouldnae be a light here, unless there’s a hole in the wall somewhere and it’s just daylight pourin’ through.
I hear Chronos behind me, get up and jump doon frae the set ae drawers, his tail running up ma legs as he comes tae inspect whit I’m doin. The more items I move the larger the light becomes, more like a full moon than a twinklin’ star. It gets larger the further we get tae it, until it seems tae suck us in.
It’s hard tae explain this part, even fae me. I was on the ground, slidin’ things oot ae the way so I could get a better look. I could feel the ground beneath ma knees, hear them creakin’ and groanin as I moved, promisin they’d have their revenge in the form ae arthritis when I was older, and then the ground just wasnae there anymore. I’ve never gone skydivin’ or bungee jumpin’, or anything that involves flingin’ yourself oot or aff ae things and hopin’ that whatever parachute or cord ye have works. This is whit I imagine it tae be like though.
It only lasted fae a second. It was white everywhere, no shadow, no anything, just white. The ground had disappeared, whatever I’d had in ma hand was gone. The only thing I did see, amongst the Dulux white, was a flailing black furred creature posed tae land on its feet, if we did land at all. I couldnae have the wee shite dyin on me, so I reached oot and grabbed him, pullin’ him tae ma chest and bracin’ maself fae the landin’.
There was none. The feeling ae fallin’ faded, as though I’d jolted maself awake when I was tryin’ tae get tae sleep. When I dared tae open ma eyes I saw wilderness, luscious, green, and wild Scottish wilderness. I’m no familiar wi’ every part ae the Scottish countryside, but this felt different, even looked different. The mountains in the distance were larger, snow covered their peaks. The trees were thicker and spanned everywhere I looked, trees I didnae even recognise amongst the firs, pine, and alder.
Chronos was still in ma arms, cradled as though he were a bahby, and just by a glance I could tell he didnae hate it as much as he was gonnae pretend to later. I asked him if he was alright, and he jumped doon nimbly wi’ a flick ae his black tail. The wee shite was fine. More importantly, so was I.
But where the fuck were we?
I looked tae ma companion, he stared back, and if he could shrug his shoulders, I’m sure he wouldae. Had we stumbled intae a portal, a vortex ae some kind that throws ye across the universe, or in this case across the country? There wasnae another soul in sight, only trees, streams, and birds singin’ tae each other. I had no sense ae direction, no idea which way was north or south, and no idea where the nearest civilisation was.
Thankfully, I had ma phone. Not so thankfully, up there in the middle ae nowhere, I didnae have any signal. Strange how easily our phones become bloody useless.
The only thing tae do was walk. I mean there must be someone in one direction, if we walked fae long enough. Chronos followed. Ye know you’re in the shite when the talking, semi-immortal cat lets you take the lead. We walked, past more trees, past vicious, untamed brambles which attempted tae slice ma arm and rip ma clothes. Everythin’ aboot this place was untamed. There were no perfectly lined bushes tae separate the fields, no overturned patches ae land where the tractors had been, or white dots on the hillside where the sheep have been left tae roam and get lost. It was as though we’d been thrown intae a pocket ae untouched scenery, immune tae the changes ae time, climate change, and technology. There wasnae even a sign fae a public footpath, or any ae those markers ye get in beauty spots telling ye which route you’re on.
Eventually we came across sheep. Well, I think they were sheep, but they’re no the ones ye imagine, the ones that litter the countryside these days. These were a lot smaller than any I’d ever seen, all wi dark faces, some wi horns that I wouldnae get too close tae if ye paid me. Rather than a sea ae white cotton dots wi legs stickin’ oot, these sheep had shorter wool, and only one or two were white, the most common bein’ an off brown, and some were even pure black.
Chronos saw these animals, starin’ at us curiously, warily, and he stopped. It’s impossible tae tell whit he’s thinkin given cats – domestic cat at least – dinnae usually have more than a few facial expressions.
I know when we are, Chronos announced.
Don’t you mean where? I replied, hoping I’d misheard, but knowin’ better.
I was right. Chronos didnae mean where. I’d never seen sheep like the ones in front ae us before because they were extinct. Chronos couldnae place the exact time just frae the animals still starin’ at us, jostlin’ each other, thinkin’ aboot runnin’ the opposite way.
We had no choice but tae carry on, hopin’ we, or let’s no kid ourselves, Chronos, could pick up some more clues. I havenae walked that far in ever. Ma legs were achin’ by the time we came across some civilisation, and that was bein generous.
Ma Da’s really interested in history, more specifically Scottish history. He used tae have a subscription tae this magazine, which they dinnae print anymore, that had loads ae information on pre-historic Scotland. That’s where I first saw the pictures ae a crannog, a type ae wooden hut-like structure that’s built on posts above water, usually a Loch. There’s only one way tae get oot tae these buildings, across a timber causeway, a kind ae bridge, also on posts above the water. This one looked really similar tae the one they recreated on Loch Tay.
There was only one ae these at the edge ae this loch, and smoke was snakin’ oot ae the doorway and through thatched roof. I couldnae remember much aboot crannogs, when they were built, when they were occupied, or even who occupied them. This place looked so old, so prehistoric, that I began tae feel sick. I thought we’d been hurled back a few centuries, no a few millennia!
Whit were we supposed tae do now? Were we even real? Was this like the time I’d been sent back tae the Madam’s past, when she was apprentice? Only the then Madam Norna could see me, but I was invisible tae everyone else. I think I preferred mindless walkin’ tae the panic attack I could feel constrict ma throat.
It was Chronos’s turn tae lead, and dazedly I followed, thankful that he might have more ae an idea on whit we were supposed tae do. The causeway that joined the crannog tae the mainland was sturdily built, unlike whit I’d imagined. It didnae sway beneath our feet or bounce up and down like a rope bridge. Inside the doorway was darkness, which didnae really dissipate as we entered.
Inside was spacious, cavernous wi’ the high ceiling and low walls. Bracken was spread across the floor. There was a hearth in the middle, dug intae the floor and encircled wi’ stones and pebbles. A fire burned and crackled between two women sitting on whit I assumed tae be a wooden stool, but was covered in animal hides. It smelled mainly ae smoke, musky and strong, yet somehow comforting, as though in here was safe from the elements ootside. It wasnae cold, despite an open door, but since there were no windaes or chimney, the heat had few other places tae go. The cow at the back ae the crannog would also have helped wi warmth.
Our arrival didnae disturb the women, they continued wi their conversation, in a language that I couldnae understand. It wasnae English, and I only know basic Gaelic, and that wasn’t it either. One woman, sitting on the right side ae the hearth, looked worried, her hands twisting intae themselves, her fingers pulling at the cuffs ae her woollen kirtle. The woman sitting on the opposite side ae the fire observed her guest, no’ her pal frae the way she was sizin’ her up. The fire reflecteed somethin’ in her eyes, feral, almost predatory.
That’s Madam Anora, Chronos informed me.
I’d seen Madam Anora, up close and personal the last time, and she looked nothin’ like either ae the woman in the crannog. I said as much.
Not our Anora, the Anora, the original.
That wave of nausea returned. It wasnae somethin’ I’d ever considered. Where did the line ae Madams stretch, one woman after another discarding her name tae be the servant ae Fate?
Chronos began tae weave the tale ae the first Madam, the one sittin’ in her crannog at the edges ae a loch, talkin over the fire wi’ whit I assumed tae be one ae the first customers. Many millennia ago, when tools werenae made ae iron but bronze, and where pottery would be the only ‘hing tae remain long after its users were gone. Where hoosees were built on lochs, or under earth, and where people were buried wi’ expensive items and trinkets tae see them through death and intae whitever was next. A woman was born intae this world, in a small settlement in the middle ae nowhere in what would one day be Scotland.
This woman was special, she could do things others couldnae, could tap intae power no one could explain. She was gifted these abilities by Fate. No one knows why, us mere mortals never know Fate’s motivations or reasons. This woman became the first Madam, although she’d take different names over the proceeding millennia, through language and culture shifts.
But, like many who gain power too quickly, she began tae abuse the gifts she was given. Manipulating those who came tae see her, tae ask fae her help. Rather than keep a balance, help guide Fate’s hand, she wrought havoc wi’ it instead. Fate realised whit they’d done, understood the mistake they’d made. But they couldnae take the power back. It’d been gifteed tae this woman at birth, and when the time came, for Fate and Time are independent beings, another would take her place.
Somethin’ had tae be done in the meantime. Fate couldnae wait and hope that her successor would be better. So, Fate created another Madam, but this time chose a woman whose nature and character were already formed. Someone who was born and raised just as everyone else, in a settlement dug intae the ground tae keep the howling winter winds at bay, who shared their hoose wi’ a cow and a few sheep, who sat by the hearth on the longest nights and heard stories aboot long distant myths and legends.
Madam Anora’s are born. Madam Norna’s are made. Both balance each other oot, one cannot defeat the other. They are two sides ae the same coin.
I dinnae ‘hink I wouldae believed this story if Fionn, or even Reid had told me. I didnae appreciate before now how far this all stretches back, tae when people were surviving in huts on the water and livin’ wi’ their livestock fae warmth. How many women had there been? How many over the centuries, over the thousands ae years, who’d taken the title ae Madam and forfeited their life, their loves ones, tae live for a few centuries longer than normal, be the hand that guided other people’s fates? I was just another tally mark on Fate’s board.
By the time Chronos had finished his history lesson Anora’s guest was in tears, which I found unsurprising, and was leaving the crannog wi’ something I couldnae see gripped tight in her hand. I half-wished I could say somethin’ tae her, warn her that nothin’ was worth listenin tae Anora, but it was apparent that Chronos and I were invisible, ghosts no’ frae the past but the very distant future. Or perhaps this was all just an echo, a time and place that resonates through the centuries, and the shop picks up like an antenna.
Regardless ae whit it was, I wanted oot ae it. Like the last time I’d been hurled back intae history, I half expected the current, the original, Anora tae come saunterin over tae us like a predator after prey and speak. This time was different. Just like her guest, she didnae see us at the door. This scenario must be different tae the last time, then.
I didnae have tae fret long aboot how we were gonnae get back though. Frae the doorway behind me, doon the causeway and ontae the mainland, a hand reached oot and grabbed my arm. I’d felt a slight draft at first, as though there’d been some flailin before they found me, but when they did they werenae gentle aboot it. I barely managed tae get a hold ae Chronos before I was pulled through the void between this time and mine.
My landin back in the shop wasnae as pain free and ma arse slammed straight ontae the wooden floor so hard I knew I’d be feelin an echo ae the pain fae the next few days. Chronos jumped oot ae ma arms, no a fuckin scratch on the wee shite. I’ll let him fend fae himself the next time. Fionn had been the one tae reach intae the gapin’ white light in the wall and get us oot.
The madam, my madam, threw somethin’, a stone ae some kind, intae the light, and then it began tae shrink, the edges curlin’ in on themselves until the hole was nothin’ bigger than a keyhole intae an ancient time. Soon, even that disappeared.
Over some calming tea in the front room upstairs, ma boss told me it was normal, frae time tae time, fae the shop to reach intae the past and hurl someone there. It’d happened tae her, back in the day. I wasnae reassured by this phenomenon. It was bad enough the cat and half ae the ‘hings in the bloody shop had a mind ae their own, let alone the shop itself. I could do withoot bein’ thrown intae a time before toilet paper and hot showers. At least I knew now, dinnae go intae the light. Never, go inae the light.
I never asked Madam Norna aboot whit I’d seen, aboot the first Madams. I couldnae imagine she had much tae add tae Chronos’s story. The queasiness still simmers whenever I think back, all that time in the past, and how small I feel in comparison. There’s nothin’ like a bit ae legacy tae ground ye.