What an amazing way to spend a wedding anniversary!

Seventeen years! It hardly seemed possible. Then again, why had it taken so long for them to get married in the first place? It took seven years between the time they had met and the time they walked down the aisle.

Tara sighed. On top of her remaining year of college after Brent had graduated, there had also been a lot of adjustments that had needed to take place.

Thank you, God, that you made us patient enough to wait for each other.

She sat staring out the window of the Scottish Citylink bus as they crossed over the choppy waters of Cromarty Firth. They were on the A9 highway on their way from Inverness Airport toward the Tarbat Peninsula of northern Scotland.

Tara turned from the window to look at Brent, a big grin on her face. “I’m so excited I could almost scream!” she said, her voice elevated.

“Yep. Almost!”

Elbow.

He laughed. “That elbow of yours is how we first met.”

She put on a playful grimace. “Just had to bring that up, didn’t ya?”

Tara stood up to peer over the two seats in front of them. Amy had her face pressed up against the window looking out. Jamie, on the other hand, had his precious gaming device in his hands, ear buds in place. She shook her head. You’d think…

She sighed again, smiled, and sat back down.

Stealing a glance across the aisle to see what her oldest was up to, Jenna lifted her head and looked Tara’s way. Their eyes met and Jenna lit up.

“Mom?”

“Yes?”

“I am so excited I could almost…”

“Hey, watch it!” chided Tara with a playful smile.

Jenna giggled and returned to looking out her own window.

Tara sat back and looked at Brent. “I still can’t believe it.”

Brent smiled. “I’m sure it’ll sink in eventually.”

“Part of me hopes not. I love this feeling!”

Brent winked, drew her close, and kissed the top of her head.

Within 40 minutes they had arrived in the town of Tain where they were met by Angus MacKay, curator of the Tarbat Discovery Center in the small village of Portmahomack, their final destination.

“A lot of attention has been drawn to our li’l village in the past few months,” offered Angus, his accent barely allowing the Lawtons full comprehension.

All five of the Lawtons could tell that he was excited and proud.

“The news of the decipherin’ of the Pictish language has brought journalists from newspapers and television, as well as archaeologists, anthropologists, and throngs of native Scots—hundreds of whom claim to be direct descendants of the Picts.” He smiled big. “Not to mention, there are tourists here from all over the world. It’s all quite the commotion.”

“It sure sounds like it,” responded Brent.

“You, my dear new friends, are a highly-anticipated arrival today.”

“We are so honored and grateful to be here,” responded Tara, bursting with emotion. “I could hardly believe that you would cover the cost of our whole family traveling all the way to Scotland.”

“Dearie, the money that has been brought into our community over the past couple of days alone has more than made up for any cost of travel that we’ve accorded yeh. Don’t yeh worry yer bonnie li’l head over it, hinny.”

Tara turned to Brent who sat behind her in the van that would transport them the remaining ten miles to Portmahomack.

“Hear that, honey? I’m a hinny!”

Angus and Brent both laughed out loud.

“Yes, you are, my bonnie wife. Now don’t ye be fallin’ in love with the locals and forgettin’ aboot yer wonderful husband.”

“WHAT OF THE key?”

Brent and Tara stood in the Tarbat Discovery Centre. It had once been the center of worship for a clan of Scots called Ross; the Tarbat Old Parish Church. What a perfect setting for what they were learning. What only the two of them were learning. Jenna and the kids had decided to explore the village. They were being accorded as much recognition as their parents for the recovery of so much of their history.

My three little heroes, thought Tara with a smile.

“Why would the key have been made in the first place?” asked Brent. “How could they have known that it would be needed?”

“Ahh. Very astute question,” replied Angus appreciatively. “Our best guess is that King Uurad saw the writin’ on the wall and knew that it was just a matter of time before the Picts of the North had also succumbed to the influences of either the Scots or the Norse. In fact, it was known that the Scots had the goal of eliminating the Picti from the British Isles. It’s probable, based on the creation of the key, and the later breakin’ up and scatterin’ of the Pexa Stone—which yeh’ve been referrin’ to as the key stone—that the Picts intended to reclaim their heritage and culture if ever they were lost or stolen from them.

“Think about the nation of Israel, God bless ‘em. The Hebrew language had become an extinct language, their culture was all but completely lost to them. But look at them today! They are a restored people and nation, and Hebrew is taught all around the world!

“And if yeh think of the ancient Egyptians, they, too, did all that they could to permanently ensconce their traditions, beliefs, and lifestyles for future generations. The Picts apparently aimed to do the same with their upright slab stones placed throughout the land. But with the Scots and Norse eatin’ away at their strength, I personally believe that they created the key and stone out of fear, knowin’ that they would be a lost people forever without it. And, in retrospect, it turns out that they were right.

“If the Key of Bridei and the Pexa Stone had never been found and brought together, these people would mostly have remained a society of myth and legend. But now …” Angus wiped away the formation of tears in his eyes. “Pardon me.” He cleared his throat of the well-up of emotion.

Tara and Brent just stood and smiled at the man, appreciating the attachment to his ancient past.

“But now we are gettin’ to know them. The stories… the hundreds of stories that we are startin’ to translate… This is just beyond my ability to take in.”

Brent was curious about another large stone panel that stood within a ring of red velvet ropes. “Angus, the other stone. Why is it being displayed along with the Key of Bridei and the Pexa Stone?”

Excitement and a big grin lit up Angus’ eyes. “That, my dear friend, is somethin’ amazin’! Come! See!”

Angus unhooked one length of the rope from a brass stand, letting the end drop to the floor, and escorted them into the ring.

“This stone, we already knew came from the same time period in which the Picti were conquered. In fact, this stone was most likely commissioned one-to-two years prior to the murder of the last king of the Picti, King Drust.

“Drust was king for maybe a year before his reign came to a rather painful end. Prior to Drust, it was King Uurad. We believe he is the one who had this stone created as a commemoration to a certain great warrior.”

Angus led them to the far outside edge of the panel where the three crouched down. He pointed to an inscription. “See here? Look at this.”

Tara looked at it quizzically and asked, “Isn’t that Latin?”

“Good eye, Lass! It’s actually an odd combination of both Latin and Goidelic, or as you’d probably call it, Gaelic.”

Brent chimed in. “Isn’t that a bit unusual? I mean, I’ve not seen any other stones—at least in my own investigation—that had actual letters inscribed into them.”

“Aye! Unusual, it is! And excitin’! While we’re not positive of why this stone has been inscribed with non-Picti writin’. We think it has to do with the monks who lived in, and brought the name of Christ to, the area in the years followin’ the conquerin’ of Pictland. Perhaps they, too, understood the weightiness of the commission that had been carved into the face of this stone.

“The Christians who set foot into Pictland obviously did so because they loved the people and wanted them converted to Christ. So, it makes sense to me that they put this inscription on here years later in order to make it clear that they had either supported or somehow ended up helpin’ with the mission that King Uurad had given to the warrior.”

All three of them looked at the lettering:

Tara asked, “What does it say?”

“It says, ‘Drosten, in the reign of Uoret’—that would be King Uurad—‘and Forcus.’ Drosten is the warrior for whom the commemoration and commission was created. Forcus… well, we’re just not sure.”

Angus, followed by Tara and Brent, stood and walked to one of the faces of the large stone.

“It looks like part of the stone is missing,” asserted Brent.

“Aye. Right yeh are. Some of the upper portion of the stone is broken away. Tis a shame, really. You’ll see the stone is in two pieces. The top section, before bein’ found and reunited with the lower, had been carelessly used as step in a set of stairs.”

Angus pointed to the lower section excitedly. “Look here! What do you see?” He didn’t wait for either of them to respond. “We have some incredible information! Notice the two circles connected by these two parallel lines and divided by this diagonal line. This represents the Key of Bridei!”

“It doesn’t look like the key to me,” Brent intoned.

“That is because the maker of this slab din’t want to give away the actual markin’s on the key. Now notice this shape below the key. It looks like a dome or some sort of coverin’. This is the symbol for protect or protection. To the right of that we have the oft-seen mirror and comb. This means ‘to take personal responsibility for.’ Now, notice the host of animals, with the warrior symbol below. The warrior has a bow and arrow pointed at a boar. Would either of yeh care to take a stab at its meanin’?” Angus gave them a broad smile.

Tara and Brent looked at one another. Brent shrugged. Tara looked back at Angus and responded. “Well, I’m guessing that Drosten was commissioned to put the stone under his protection.”

“Well done!” said Angus with no little excitement. “From the Key of Bridei on down we can interpret the slab to say somethin’ akin to, ‘The Key of Bridei is yehrs to protect. It is yehr personal responsibility, no one else’s. Yeh are to become like the animals of the land’—each of which, I believe symbolizes a different way that the animals could camouflage themselves or move without detection or outrun an enemy—‘and to protect the key from an oncomin’ enemy,’ represented by the chargin’ boar.”

Angus folded his arms across his chest, proud of his obvious ability to translate a language that had been lost for well over a millennia.

Brent smiled and said, “So, Drosten successfully protected the key. He got it done.”

“That he did, Brent. That he did. And the historical record bears that out. There are several stones that show the two sides of the Key of Bridei below the shield. These would have been made sometime followin’ the death of the last king of the Picts.

The Scots would not have known what the symbols meant, but any of the remainin’ Picti would have known that the key to the survival of their culture had been faithfully protected from the hands of their enemies.”

Brent shook his head. “All of this in order to protect their heritage. It’s amazing.”

“Not really so amazin’, my dear boy,” said Angus. “Look at our own tombstones, read our monuments. How different are we than the Picti? We are desperately wantin’ to be remembered. Though, for the warrior, Drosten, it was about somethin’ other than the protection of their heritage.”

Tara chimed in. “Wait. I thought that’s precisely what this was all about. Drosten’s protection of their culture so that it could one day be retrieved.”

“Aye. Their culture, but ultimately not their heritage. Their heritage was pagan, at least in the north where Drosten was commissioned with his task. As for the cross on the front of the Drosten stone? Well, there are clues that would lead us to believe that it was inscribed into the stone in the years followin’ the death of King Drust, the last true king of the Picts.”

Brent was trying to make it all make sense. “So, then how did it go from being the protection of their heritage to the protection of a culture, especially the protection of a culture that was about Christ, if Christ wasn’t who they believed in?”

“That, dear boy, was answered on the back of the Key of Bridei! The reason that the key had not been fully translated for the hundreds of years that it sat in Trinity College in Dublin was that the symbols didn’t make sense and didn’t seem to correspond with the Latin inscribed on the back.

“For five of the six sections they were able to, in a fashion, make heads or tails, but the sixth area wouldn’t match up with any of the symbols or Picti text on the front. It is my belief, and now the belief of other researchers lookin’ into all of this, that Drosten rewrote that sixth section. He was determined to prevent the resurrection of the religion that he had once practiced by erasin’ it forever from their language.

“Drosten, bein’ the last of the known Picts, ultimately got to determine the culture that would be reestablished, if ever the opportunity came.”

Brent, eyes wide with realization, turned to Tara. “That means what Brendan and Stephanie were trying to revive…”

“… It was all a lie,” finished Tara. “It was all just a ruse.”

The aging curator froze, a curious look coming to his face.

“What is it, Angus? What are you thinking?” asked Tara.

“A thought just came to me. What if Drosten, who was evidently responsible for the carryin’ of the Key of Bridei to Ireland, had eventually come back to his home? Tis obvious that the man had become a believer in Christ. Who’s to say that he, himself, wasn’t responsible for Christ bein’ preached in the north of Scotland?”

Angus’s eyes became wide and his face beamed with the possibility. “What if the Drosten Stone wasn’t created before his mission to protect the key, but afterward?!”

Angus began pacing, processing the idea. He was getting more visibly excited by the moment!

“What if it was Drosten, himself, who had this stone created in order to tell the story of the key’s protection? The Gaelic and Latin words on the side could have been his very signature!”

Brent and Tara watched the man with no small amount of pleasure. Then he said, “My apologies to the two of yeh, Brent and Tara. I won’t be but a moment, but I must check meh books!”

With smiles on their faces, they bid the man leave. Brent walked again to the Drosten stone. Tara told Brent that she was going to step outside for a little bit.

She walked out of the Tarbat Discovery Centre and into the yard. Dozens upon dozens of grave markers surrounded the old church building. Walking among them, her thoughts again returned to Stephanie, and she sighed. Oh, the things she wanted to say to her just now.

Stephanie, you almost died, and now you’re in jail, all for a religion that Brendan was ultimately just making up.

It was all a lie. Brendan used you for his own glory.

Maybe he truly believed there was power to be had. Maybe he had blindly misinterpreted the Pexa Stone. Or maybe he had just decided to keep the teaching of an “Olde Faithe” alive even after realizing that the evidence for it no longer existed.

Tara shook her head. So many people had trusted in him to lead them to an ancient source of power and a life of ultimate fulfillment. Stephanie had been played and deceived right along with all the rest.

The spark of an idea formed in Tara’s mind; one that caused her to smile.

“Stephanie O’Leary,” she said out loud, “at one time you were my teacher of all things spiritual. Maybe I can now return the favor.”

THE WHITE U.S. Government vehicle approached the home of Brent and Tara Lawton and slowed to a stop just short of the drive way. The driver barely took notice of what he was required to deliver and just made sure that the address was correct.

He looked at the address on the box. 10113. It was definitely the correct location.

The man reached his hand out through the window and pulled open the door of the Lawton mailbox. Once opened, he placed within it a pile of mail.

Delivery complete, he drove his vehicle another sixty feet, or so, to the next mailbox on his daily route.

Contained inside the Lawton mailbox, amidst three bills, two Happy Anniversary cards, and several pieces of junk mail, was an “Official Use Only” envelope addressed as follows:

Village of Pittston

Office of the Mayor

5000 Robinhood Drive

Pittston, OH 44058

Mr. Brenton N. Lawton

10113 Belmeadow Drive

Millsville, OH 44078

Within that particular envelope was an officially-worded letter that began with these words:

Dear Mr. Brenton N. Lawton,

We would like to extend to you an opportunity to interview with our Mayor, the Honorable Marie Wilbur, for the position of Chief of Police for the Village of Pittston, Ohio. …