Flash of Lightning

A glacier of fog lumbered down the mountainside, freckled by the tall pines which raised their heads to the constant downpour of Scotland. Inside the tavern though, the air was filled with a different smoke, the kind that developed from the hearth and men’s pipes as they drank their pints and argued over clan issues.

“You know it to be true, Angus. Something strange is always happening around that daughter of yours,” Hamish announced.

“Aye. I saw her talking to the sheep the other day.”

“And she said it would rain today. And hear the storm a’brewing out there!”

Angus MacLennan calmly drank his pint. His steady hand angered the men of the pub more.

“Well! What do you have to say?”

“Not much.” He sat his tankard down. “For not much can calm men who see demons in their shadows.”

“And what’s that supposed to mean?”

“Hamish MacLennan, do you not speak to your horse to calm her nerves? No different with sheep. And tell me, when does it not rain in Scotland? Any man could tell you it would rain today, and it’ll rain tomorrow.” His voice remained steady, and his words were logic, but neither quieted the red-faced men.

“Bah, you defend her cause she’s your daughter.”

Angus finally stood. “I defend her because she’s innocent!” He walked out of the tavern to the hovel he shared with his daughter. After the passing of his wife, the two had lived alone on the edge of the clan’s small village.

“Dia duit Athair!” she called as he entered the hut. The greeting warmed his heart, as it always did, and for a moment he forgot the words of his clansmen. “Your face is grave and pale. There were more words this morning.”

No question in her voice. Just the simple statement which broke his heart.

She noticed the way others treated her ever since she refused to marry. He saw it as his daughter wishing to care for him; the clansmen saw it as his daughter becoming a heretic. And as time and strange events occurred, a heretic became a witch. Angus never understood the superstitions that plagued the Highlands, but now he wished he did. To counter them. To save his daughter.

“Aye Fiona. There were words.”

“They’ll be coming for me then.”

Angus shook his head. “No. Pack your things. Get some food; I’ll saddle the horses.” He grabbed his claymore. “If they want you, they’ll have to chase...”

Shouts of men and Angus’ neighing horses outside their hovel made them freeze.

“Out the back window lassie.”

She hurried to the window and saw men with torches there too. “They’ve surrounded us Athair!”

“Angus MacLennan, your clan orders you to release the witch into our hands!”

“There is no witch to release!” he shouted back, holding his blade at ready.

A moment of perfect silence passed. Then a large crash as the door fell in, followed by three men wielding weapons. Angus charged the three and a metallic clang filled the air. “Run lass!” he called.

Before she could flee, more men barged in and grabbed her. “Athair!”

“No!” he shouted, hoping to push his way to her. “Leave her be! She’s a child! She’s all I have!” One of the men knocked him down whilst he was distracted.

“Aye, you’re right. You’ll have nothing now Angus. Such is the price for protecting a witch.” Hamish raised the torch he carried with a shaking hand. “Slaughter his flock, his mounts, his dogs. Take the witch to the bonfire.” He threw the torch.

Angus could not hold back the tears as he watched the flames consume his wife’s wedding lace. The shrieks of his horses, his deerhounds, his daughter, his world, littered the early morning air.

“Drag him there. Let him watch.”

By the time the men were able to drag Angus to the bonfire, Fiona had already been tied to the post.

Despite the rain, the fire quickly blazed up the stack of wood.

“Athair! Athair!”

Angus struggled against the four men who held him. “While I breathe, I hope… if there truly is a merciful God,” he roared, “let him save the innocent!”

The sky darkened as the rain grew fierce. Lightning blazed across the sky, striking the ground between the onlookers and the fire. The instantaneous thunder knocked all but Angus to the ground. He clamored his way to Fiona.

She was not there.

“The witch used her powers to escape!” shouted Hamish.

“Take her father!”

Hamish attempted to attack Angus, but in another flash of lightning, he too was gone.

Angus MacLennan’s final cry still echoes in the Highlands. Twenty years after his disappearance, the MacLennan Clan claimed ‘Dum spiro spero’ (Latin for “While I breathe, I hope”) as their clan motto.