"Let's head out of this dungeon, I'll release your brother now as well since he followed you here, I'm sure he thought to protect you."
"Bran followed me?"
"Aye, you really weren't in your proper mind Shaw, or you would have sensed him, we did."
Shaw followed Angus down a dark, damp hallway to another cell that looked just like the one he'd left. There his brother sat, silent as though he wasn't even there.
"What have you done to him?"
"Just a little spell so his wolf didn't appear and tear down the door. He's totally fine in his head he thinks he is on a hunt with you."
"You witches are seriously scary."
Angus looked at him with a curious expression.
"You mean us witches?"
"Yes, right, I have witch blood as well. I have never performed any kind of magic, are you sure about this information?"
"Oh aye, we will test that theory here soon."
Shaw watched as Angus, sliced his palm, and spread his blood across the door of the cell. His mouth moving as he chanted the spell. The air rippled and Bran opened his eyes, clearly confused.
"Where the bloody hell am I?
"Clearly somewhere you shouldn't bloody be!" Snarled Shaw. "What did I tell you when I left?"
Shaw that at least Bran had the decency to look chagrined, probably only because he was caught.
"Shaw, I'm sorry."
"Save it Bran, we have other things to deal with now and to learn."
With a wave of his hand the door opened, and Bran walked out.
Together they followed Angus out into the sunlight, they could see the blanket of thick magicks surrounding the property, cocooning them in safety. He led them around the side of the keep. Built into the hill, was a root cellar. It appeared constructed with a heavy wooden door, faded from age with layered rock forming an uneven wall around it.
Angus moved towards the door with purpose and a surprising amount of grace for such a large man. Grasping the handle, he tugged, and the door gave way with a screech of rusty hinges and a groan of long neglect. With the door open, Shaw was hit with the dank smell of moldy soil and vegetables long passed their usefulness.
The three men navigated down the slick stone steps to the dirt floor below. The cellar was roughly a square with shelves lined with dusty jars filled with the unrecognizable. Except the far wall directly in front of them, it seemed to shimmer and waver as though it were water touched by the sun.
"What have you done to that wall?" Shaw asked Angus who froze mid step at the question.
He turned slowly to stare at Shaw.
"What do you mean, Shaw?" he asked slowly his face unreadable.
"Aye, Shaw are you daft," Bran said staring at the wall filled with shelves. "It looks like all the others, shelves covered in jars filled with rotting food."
"Actually, no Bran, he's quite right," he replied looking curiously at Shaw scratching his dark beard. "The strange thing is he shouldn't be able to see it, unless I am right, and he carries the bloodline of a witch."
"What do you mean I shouldn't be able to see it? It's there plain as the nose on your face!" Bran was staring at him as though he'd grown a second head and Angus just looked thoughtful.
"Aye, it is," Angus remarked with calm determination. "If like I said the blood of a witch flows through your veins."
Shaw snarled and pounced, pinning him to the shelf. Jars rained down around them shattering, spreading their rotten insides across the floor, permeating the air with the overwhelming smell of fermented fruit.
"Explain yourself, witch!"
"Shaw… Laird MacKell, the wall is magicked so that only those of us from a witch's bloodline can see it," he wheezed his face blanketed in knowledge. Shaw let go with a growl his eyes full of skepticism and watched as he slid to the floor. "I meant no offence, it's just that unless you have witch blood, it should be impossible." He coughed, rubbing a large hand over his neck, causing the redness to disappear.
He stepped back and stared at the floor; it was one slap of realization after another.
"How would that be possible?" Bran asked looking between the two. "Neither our father nor our mother was witches."
"Bran think!" Shaw snarled. "I can see it but, you can't, therefore he's suggesting one of our parents, or both are not mine."
"Aye," Angus replied nodding. "Shaw, do you see anything else?"
Shaw paced the small space, flicking glances at the magicked wall, not wanting to look too closely, but helpless to resist the glowing symbols.
He stopped with a sigh and looked directly at the wall. In an arc at the top were the words "The secret of this magic lies within." The wall shimmered as he spoke the words aloud.
"There's no words," Bran scowled. "Just those weird lines and shapes carved on the wall."
"Aye," Angus replied. "Those are Elder Futhark runes."
Shaw scrubbed a hand down his face. He had no idea how he could read those runes. One more question that needed an answer.
"Shaw," Angus stood with ease clasped his hands behind his broad back, pausing as though deep in thought, "would you be willing to test a theory I have?"
"In what way?" he asked eyes narrowed.
"Would you be agreeable to attempting to open the portal?"
"Wait," Bran interjected. "and what exactly will happen if Shaw can't open the, whatever that is?" He gestured towards the wall.
"Aye, what will happen to me?"
"Well, a jolt of magic will knock you on your arse." Angus replied.
"Nothing else?"
"Nothing else," Angus answered. "You have my word."
Still skeptical, but hoping to prove the man wrong he asked, "Aye then, what do I do?"
Angus pulled a small dagger from his belt and handed it to Shaw, hilt first.
"Slice the palm of your hand, place it in the center of the wall and say out loud, 'Fosgail'."
"That's it," Shaw remarked, "I cut my hand and say 'open' in Gaelic?"
"Seems pretty simple for something so important," Bran commented.
"Aye, it is, unless you're not a witch." Angus replied with a shrug.
Shaw walked towards the wall with trepidation. He hoped this was the right decision and he wouldn't end up dead from an enchanted sword through his heart. Though it didn't feel like this was something Angus would do. Angus seemed an honorable man, a knowledgeable man that he could trust.
He sliced his hand and watched as the blood flowed freely. He touched the wall in its center, over its heart and spoke, "Fosgail."
The first thing he noticed was warmth beneath his hand, then he noticed the swirling and wavering of the wall had stopped. He was looking through water now at a softly lit room filled with books, and just as suddenly, even that barrier was gone.
"Wow," Bran said with awe. "One minute it's a wall and the next it's a room."
Shaw just stood there staring at his hand, that showed no signs of having been cut.
"Aye, there's healing magic woven in," he clapped Shaw on the shoulder, obviously pleased he'd been right. "Can't be bleeding all over the place all the time, can we?"
Shaw still staring at his hand nearly knocked the books off the table in the room. Startled he looked up at the men who shared the space that he hadn't realized he'd moved to.
"I think I need to sit down," he said as he dropped unceremoniously to the hard wood floor.
"Shaw!" Bran shouted running to him. "What the hell have you done to him, witch?"
"Easy Bran," Angus spoke softly, calmly, trying to tame the beast he could see just below the surface. "It's partly shock, I would say, and partly the magic. He isn't used to it; he will be just fine in a moment or two."
Angus walked towards them, and Bran released a low growl of warning.
Angus stopped short and raised both hands in front of him.
"Alright Bran," he said gently. "I only wished to offer Shaw a nip of honey mead. It will help." He pulled the small flask from a pouch at his hip and handed it to Bran.
Bran grabbed the flagon and uncorking it sniffed, detecting nothing untoward, raised it to his brother's lips.
"Come on Shaw," he coaxed. "Have a taste now, it will help."
Shaw looked at him with dazed eyes but cooperated. After swallowing the first small sip, Shaw reached for the flask and took a longer pull of the sweet mead and shuddered.
"What in bloody hell happened, Angus?" he asked unsteadily.
"Shaw, forgive me," he said with sincerity. "I didn't even think of how the magic might affect a new user; it's been so long since my Maggie was learning."
"I thought you witches didn't have power until you came of age or some such shite?" Bran asked.
"We don't come into our full power, but we can all perform basic spells, it comes from the blood, as you can see." He said gesturing to Shaw.
"I have to say, Angus," Shaw remarked as he pulled himself from the floor and stood on still shaky legs. "I really don't want to test any of your theories again, once was enough."
"Aye," Angus chuckled his green eyes sparkled with mischief. "Just think on how you would feel if I'd been wrong?" He turned and moved further into the room leaving the two wide-eyed werewolves to stare at his back.
"Witches are rather scary." Bran said shaking his head and following Angus to the table in the center of the room.
"Aye," Shaw mumbled to himself. "And apparently I'm one of them." He had no idea how it was possible, and he suspected Angus knew more than he was saying.
Shaw was about to join the men at the table, but Maggie appeared before him.
"Shaw you must go back!"
"I haven't learned all I can here yet, I must stay, I must remember."
"You can't, you're out of time, they're about to perform the ritual magic, it will destroy the medallion and me, Cailean will win."
"How do I go back?" Shaw asked. "I've only been able to partially return."
"You have to trust the magic Shaw, you have to believe in your magic, in our magic, and will your return."
"Can I come back the same way?"
"Yes, but you have to be careful, you can get stuck here, your mind lost forever in the past."
Shaw grasped the medallion in his hand and closed his eyes. Willing his minds return to the future, feeling for his body, for his tether to his wolf. The medallion heated in his palm, and he began to hear sounds and voices.
He opened his eyes and was shocked by the two naked forms locked in a passionate embrace, on the bed with him. They both had strange symbols painted on their bodies in blood.
"What the hell is this!!" Shaw yelled leaping off the bed and away from the lovers.
The two strangers stood with no shame, as the bedroom door slammed open, and Coll rushed in.
"Oh, thank god you're awake! Bran is planning on leaving to find Cailean."
"Bloody fool, take me to him, the only thing he will find is his death."
Shaw stopped at the door and turned to the strangers.
"Get dressed, and meet in the great hall, we have much to discuss."
"The Great Hall sir?"
"Shaw it's called a dining room now and is nowhere as big as the keeps."
Shaw growled and left the room, assuming they would obey.