Edie
We made our way to the southern end of the beach in the gloaming; it must have been close to 6:00 p.m. by the time we had finally made both crossings, from Larne to Campbeltown and Campbeltown to Arran. The evening was sublime. It was warm for the coast on a September day, so we left our jackets on but hanging open, rather than having to bundle up with hoods and scarves against the cold. The crossing had been less than sublime.
We had gotten off at Campbeltown with Charlie and Colin and picked up a few of their friends to hop across the channel to the Holy Isle, formally called Arran, where Machrie Moor and the standing stones awaited us. We sat around the boat, shoulder to shoulder with other Campbeltown locals making the trek across the channel to the huge bonfire. The main conversation centered around the drink on offer by the festival hosts but would occasionally circle back to the stones themselves. Colin had introduced me as an “expert,” so I felt everyone looking at me expectantly for an explanation as theories were thrown around.
“What did we agree to?” I whisper-yelled to Frank, who sat next to me on the fishing boat heading with haste across the open Irish Sea to the largest island situated in the Firth of Clyde.
“There’s no way you’re seasick in this little dinghy at full speed,” he shot back at me. “If you are, it’s psychosomatic, for sure.” He made the international sign for crazy, staring at me and rotating his pointer finger counterclockwise next to his right ear.
I felt irrationally angry and, without responding, gritted my teeth, faced forward, and stoically lifted my chin into the wind whiplash of my hair battering my face, pulled out from my long braid. I was fighting against any uprising nausea, be it from seasickness or fear of capsizing. We reached the eastern coast of the island without incident in what had seemed like hours but ended up being more like thirty-five minutes, I was told. I stepped onto land, feeling like I could bend down and kiss it, but was immediately distracted by what lay ahead.
I looked at the lovely scene before me in my usual clinical way, which was more like an archaeologist and less like a twenty-something excited for a social event. The bonfire on the beach where everyone was gathered was actually below the stone circle, naturally protected from the fierce westerly winds by a large sculptural rock protrusion that seemed to feature a cave. I needed to check that for carvings later. There were some natural, rocky pathways up from the beach to the moor on which the stone circle sat, and I wondered when we would process up there. The sky was dark blue, not yet black, and clear with stars shining brightly down on the firelit faces of the local people gathered in an age-old custom. The fire was several feet above the heads of the folks around it and about twelve feet wide. The celebrants were scattered, some on logs around the fire, others standing in groups close to the kegs, and some venturing out toward the ocean or up on the rocks toward the cave. I estimated around 150 people.
“This must be the whole damn village,” Frank said, impressed at the turn out. “Let’s go get drinks and have a sit by the fire.”
Frank and I headed over to share a large stump in front of the fire. “I wonder if they’ll let me dance with them,” I thought out loud, looking over at the young women, their hair hanging loose down their backs, with halo braids. They were barefoot, wearing flowing dresses, the picture of a Celtic fantasy, and I suddenly felt self-conscious in my jeans, wool sweater, and windbreaker.
“Don’t you need the dance as a distraction for the rest of the group to take the measurements and photos you need in private?” Frank asked.
“You’re right, I can’t distract myself away from my own work,” I said, a little disappointed.
“Let’s take our drinks over toward that cave, where it’s quieter. We can have a sit by the fire later while you tell me how I can help you record your data.”
I smiled and nodded, but suddenly my work felt utterly out of place in the middle of this beautiful celebration.
As we made our way up toward the cave, I felt better about my outfit choice and was happy to have on my boots while navigating the slick rocks that led to the mouth of the cave. We found a nice dry spot at the opening to the cave where we could perch to watch the others around the fire.
“Feeling curious about the ritual?” Frank asked.
I nodded as I drank down most of my beer in just a few gulps from sheer thirst. “I’m more excited to experience it this time than I was at Beltane or the solstice, for sure,” I said. “Do you think it will fit into the key with the rest of them?”
“I’m sure it will.” Frank smiled at me and put his hand on my shoulder. “You’re making new maps of the ancient world, Edie. It’s going to be brilliant.”
“Don’t you want to be spending time with Colin now?” I asked. “We have an hour before sunset; I’ll check out the cave alone and then come find you.” I stood up and zipped my jacket. The proximity to the dampness of the cave had sent a shiver down my spine.
“I’d rather play it cool and see the cave with you,” Frank answered, standing up and reaching down toward me to help me up.
Frank turned his phone flashlight on, and I used the mini torch on my keyring to illuminate the cave around us. We both gasped when we saw the carvings, ancient and modern, completely covering the walls and ceiling. Deeper into the cave, the ceiling opened up, becoming vaulted with stalactites, and a shadowy figure appeared on the walls. Frank grabbed my arm, but his fingers felt dead and cold. I heard his cell phone hit the ground, and all was dark, save the small blaze of my keychain. Had his heart stopped? No, he was alive.
“What the hell is that?” he asked breathlessly, but I was frozen. The shadow began to hum a familiar tune, and then we heard an Irish voice out of the darkness.
“Sorry to scare you.” He appeared around the corner, smiling.
“What are you doing wandering around here in the dark? That’s not safe,” I said.
“Aye, I know it well in here; I’m safe enough, darlin’. Anyway, I had my phone, but it died.”
“Oh,” was all I could think to say.
“Was hoping you would message me back,” he continued, brandishing his flip phone.
“Ohh,” I said again. I had been keeping the secret of Michael’s messages from Frank. He was close to us now, and I could see his patterned wool sweater and dark, windswept hair.
“Ahem.” A muffled sound of Frank clearing his throat behind us reminded me that his phone had dropped somewhere onto the wet cave floor. I spun around, shining my flashlight on him below.
“There it is!” Michael called out, diving to help and crashing into Frank’s head in the process.
“Thank you, Michael,” Frank said, taking his phone and walking toward me with a serious look in his eyes. “I’m going to find Colin, Edie,” he said, patting my shoulder. “You’ll be fine here for a while.” He nodded toward Michael and turned his back to leave. “I’ll meet you up at the circle before sundown.” And with that, he disappeared out of the cave opening toward the sea, and we were alone.
Michael pointed to the markings on the cave wall behind me. “We call it the king’s cave.” He walked toward it, put his hand up against an ancient handprint that fit him perfectly, raised his thick, black eyebrows, and looked back at me with a smirk. “They say Robert the Bruce hid out here after the Battle of Methven before he was crowned.” I walked up to the wall where he stood so much taller than me I couldn’t reach the handprint; I could feel his heavy breathing and the heat of it on the back my neck, since there was nowhere else for it to go in the shelter of the cave. He smelled sweetly of beer, wool, and some musky cologne, which must have become a habit from bartending.
I traced a nearby spiral with my index finger. “Art is so visceral. It’s impossible not to want to touch it when you see it, to experience it fully.”
“Aye, much of life is like that.” Michael smiled in reply, and I felt him repress the urge to reach out and touch me. I was glad though, I wasn’t ready.
“I was an artist before. I studied art history at university, but one of my archaeology professors told me early on that if I went on just one dig, I would see that holding dusty artifacts was more powerful than setting up glass and lighting to display one.”
“Sounds like someone I’d like to have a beer with,” he said, looking at the wall just inches away from me. We stood there in companionable silence another moment or so, and then he started laughing.
“What is it?” I asked.
“You made quite the impression on my grandfather,” he said.
“What?” I didn’t think I’d spoken to anyone but Frank, Colin, Charlie, and their young friends who had been our boat companions.
“He went to the bar on an undercover mission for me to see how the blockhead I hired to help me while I was off last month was doing.”
“Oh, Mickey is your grandfather?” I asked, stunned.
“I’m his namesake, of course,” he answered, winking at me, and I was reminded of how annoyed I was at myself for liking his ancient flirtation tactics.
“Of course.” I smiled, nervously. I started to sweat a bit. Had I said anything embarrassing to his grandfather? Michael’s fingertips brushed the edges of mine so lightly I couldn’t tell if it was on purpose or not. The contact sent a feeling like an electric shock through my body, but I tried to remain cool on the outside.
“Don’t worry. He just thinks we have a lot in common. Said you reminded him of me.” Michael smiled again, turning toward me.
“Oh, did he?” Despite my bashfulness, I turned to look directly into his eyes, genuinely curious about this revelation.
“Yeah, well, he thinks it’s nice to have common interests, you know. Something that ties you together, that you…” Michael had a habit of moving his hands wildly as he searched for words.
“That you inspire one another to greatness?” I completed his sentence with my own spin, I suppose, and the look of intensity he gave back to me, the fire burning in his dark blue eyes, was all the answer I needed. He touched my neck lightly, and my small fairy wing earring dangled over his thumb. I felt the lightest pressure of his large farmer’s hand on the back of my neck and wanted to dive toward him when the drumbeat initiating the ceremony resonated within the cave.
Michael let out a snort of a laugh. “Is that my heart beating?” he asked, laughing.
“I have to go measure the stones before sundown. I’m sorry.” I backed away.
“You’re not doing the procession up from the beach with us?” he asked, indignant.
“No, sorry!” I called behind me as I ran out of the cave and took a sharp right turn to scurry up the side of the cliff.
“Edana!” he called after me. I turned around to look at him, and he stood there in his boots and jeans and Fair Isle sweater, sun setting behind his jet-black hair. He was perfect. “You should really relax and enjoy the ceremony. It’ll teach you more than your measurements ever will. You should’ve done so at Beltane too. I let it slide then, but tonight you’re not an archaeologist, for once. OK? Do the procession with me.”
“I need the data, Michael. I’ll see you up there.”
Once again thankful for my footwear and gloves, I bounded up the cliffside. I reached the top in just a few minutes, but the sun was plunging quickly, and I needed the light for the photos and hand measurements. Luckily, Frank and Colin had the LiDAR tripod set up already. I could see them in the distance as I ran across the moor, waving madly.
“Drums caught you with your pants down, huh?” called Frank, his hands cupped around his mouth, camera hanging around his neck. As I jogged up to the stones, I pulled out my measuring tape, tools, and journal from my satchel bag. Colin peered around the LiDAR at me with his eyebrows raised.
“Not precisely,” I said, throwing my bag down.
Frank laughed and lit a cigarette. He walked over to show me some of the photos he had captured—they were absolutely stunning, with the stones standing in the light of the gloaming.
“Wow,” I said.
“Mmhmm,” he replied, rolled cigarette in mouth, fingers maneuvering the zoom and arrows on his DSLR. I flipped to my stone circle drawings with a tracing paper overlay and began my hand measurements while the LiDAR took its own. Frank walked over to Colin to share a drag of his cigarette.
“Do you have true north on the compass over there?” I shouted. As I finished up the measurements, the result became clear. I walked to the north stone without them having to tell me which it was. I began the formality of the sketch, which wasn’t necessary but seemed magical as it came together, illuminating my theory on paper, not in words but in the picture of the way the stones fit together, like the gears of a clock, but telling a different kind of time, a more magical one. I flipped up my tracing paper and watched the stones disappear and then fall back together again in perfect place when I dropped the pages.
“It’s remarkable!” I said and looked up to see Frank and Colin quickly moving our things aside as the drums and singing got louder and the procession started up from the beach.
“Come dance with us!” they called as they meandered down to join the crowd.
“I will in a minute,” I shouted over the music and chanting of the festivities.
Frank lifted his arms and danced off, looking as pagan as ever, and I jotted a few notes down before hiding my notepad in my jacket pocket. The procession reached Machrie Moor, and I started searching among the crowd for Michael to deliver the happy news. As I searched, the drumming and singing got louder and louder. I thought I had found him a couple of times in the densely packed crowd, but I had all but given up when I heard his voice—but in a high, shrill call I’d never heard before. I whipped around, eyes wide, to find him in the middle of the circle at the altar stone. He was calling the dancers like he had at Beltane. The memories of that night came rushing forward, and I pushed them back, unable to process anything more than what was right in front of me.
I stared into the light of the torches illuminating the stone circle, my eyes watering in response to the brightness and closeness of the flickering flames. I reached for my phone and noticed that it was at three percent. “Damn it,” I whispered. Discreetly, I started the audio recording as the singing began. I heard a familiar voice coming through the recording, and when I looked off to my left, I noticed Frank, Charlie, and Colin joining in with the chanting. It was a call-and-response led by Michael. Everyone was enraptured, but I felt myself on the outside of it all, unable to give myself over to it, a voyeur, not a participant.
Looking down at my phone for solidarity, I saw it had abandoned me too, with a briefly flashing dotted white circle spiraling in front of my eyes. My phone powered down, exhausted by the boat ride and cold wind, and no doubt by the sheer pressure I had put on it to record every second that happened so that I could absorb every detail at a later moment. I closed my eyes and breathed in a deep, cold, smoky gulp of air. Frank beckoned to me casually with his free arm; the other was around Colin. The singing and bodhran drumbeat was now so loud there was no chance of hearing someone unless they were yelling directly into your eardrum. I staggered over to him, pushing past people who were standing, and explained, weakly, that my phone was dead.
“So what?” he responded in my ear, shaking me by the shoulders a little. “What would Sully say?”
“To be here, in the moment. The experience is the research,” I answered, pulling Frank’s leaf crown and pulling out my braid, letting my waist-length hair fall free. I pulled off my sweater, glad I was wearing an oversized white T-shirt. I used my ponytail holder to tie the shirt up and slipped my boots and socks off, placing them with my jacket next to the LiDAR and other equipment.
While I did this, a huge fire was being built at the center of the circle from the torches people had carried up from the beach bonfire. The chill had left the air, and the standing stones came into better view, lit up like white giants as the night darkened. Declan, Michael’s friend whom I had met at Beltane and who played lead bodhran, an ancient folk drum, stopped abruptly. The singing and other music died down, and for a moment there was complete silence, except for the hum of the wind over the nearby cliffs. I wondered where Michael had gone, and then the drums started again, and he was next to me.
“Are you OK?” he asked in my ear. I nodded. “Ready to dance with us like I showed you at Beltane?” he asked with a tilt of the head.
Just in front of us, the fire roared as Michael interlaced his fingers with mine and I felt the same jolt of electricity I had in the cave. Now, in the ceremonial dancing beat, the whole of the company came alive, me included. I looked around me and noticed that somehow no one looked as if they were from the twenty-first century. We had all transformed into part of a ritual, timeless bodies electric, light in the darkness. Declan raised his voice up above the sound of the hypnotizing bodhran, and the men joined in, while I was ushered into the back of the circle dance by some young women, some of whom were so giddy, it must have also been their first Mabon celebration.
I smiled across the fire at Frank, who was humming along with his new friend in perfect pitch, his crystal-clear voice recognizable to me and rising above the rest. I started to laugh uncontrollably as I stumbled through the dance moves, feeling the cool earth squeeze up between my toes, almost erotically. I knew from all my reading that these dances were supposed to induce a trancelike state. The music and atmosphere simply enveloped you.
The dancing movements were simple and repetitive around the stones. At some point we were all handed lanterns, which became an extension of our arms. Time seemed to vanish altogether, and I found myself no longer looking over to check on Frank and Colin, no longer looking to either side of me at the other girls to know what movement I should be doing, and eventually not even looking for Michael’s electric smile. There was a lot of spinning and weaving in and out between one another, and I started to get really dizzy, like I was really drunk without drinking anything, lost in a vortex of vertigo. Maybe I looked like a total idiot, but I didn’t care. And honestly, I didn’t think anyone else noticed or cared. That’s the beautiful part of being one small moving cog in the larger picture. It felt good to be unburdened in such a way, to feel as if my mistakes didn’t matter so much. I had wisdom that was the missing piece to a puzzle. I had a purpose I was fulfilling. And beyond that, what else really mattered?
I felt a squeeze of my fingertips, my heartbeat quickened, and suddenly we were all holding hands, moving in a new pattern, closer to the stone. We moved in this circular pattern until we broke off from the circle with our partners. That’s when he found me again. He held me so close, I couldn’t tell the difference between my heartbeat, Michael’s, and the bodhran. One of them was growing louder and louder, pounding in my ears. I felt my palms start to sweat, my body tingling with heightened sensation. Everything else seemed to stand still, like the stones, even though we were still spinning—and then, with a kiss, it all went white.