So, after seeing some pictures of Evan McGuire, the voice of Brendan in SOK, I can suddenly believe that Brendan could be a capable fighter. Google him, you'll see what I mean!

It was a very coarse mattress. It seemed a foolish thing to notice, especially when she became distinctly aware of a throbbing pain in her knee. She tried to remember what

had brought her to this extremely uncomfortable bed.

Vaguely, she remembered the menhir, and its curious markings. She recollected the feeling of dread, and then the goons that had attacked her. Then there was the boy, and after that...

Ohmygosh I've been kidnapped.

Play it cool. Keeping her eyes closed, she listened. There was a soft patter of rain outside. Some time had passed since her abduction. There was a soft purring. Obviously her kidnapper likes cats. There was another sound in the room. It was...scratching...a quill?

Perhaps he likes to keep a diary.

Cracking one eye open, Merida glanced at her surroundings. It was a small, poorly decorated hut. The one window had no curtain, or glass for that matter, but it let in the cool breeze from the rain storm outside. There was another bed in the room, but it was unoccupied. At the foot of her bed, was the boy. He was sitting at a desk, a large candle casting its golden glow onto his face and his work: a large book. Next to his desk was what looked like a sophisticated alchemy set, and on the desk there were several bottles of fluid. Her mind immediately jumped to what horrible things might be in those bottles. Poisons, witch's brew, any number of things that an insane kidnapper might use on his victim. All of these things brought one question to her mind?

How do I get out of here?

An idea popped into her head. It might be low, but desperate times called for desperate measures. She let out a quiet moan, as if she had just woken up. Immediately, the quill scratching stopped.

Silence.

Merida let out another groan, and turned her head like an injured person might do.
Keeping her eyes closed, Merida listened. A chair scratched across the floor, and footsteps approached the bed. She felt a pair of hands on her injured leg, gingerly handling the throbbing knee.

That was when she brought her other knee into play. She had been aiming for where she thought his head would be, but instead felt burlap robes on her leg. She heard a loud grunt, followed by the sound of items crashing on the other side of the hut and a loud hiss from a cat. Merida's eyes flashed open, surveying her handiwork. The boy was sprawled on the floor, rubbing the point on his head where he had smacked it into the wall. Next to him, amidst the stuff that had been upset when the boy had hit the table, was a white cat, apparently just as dazed as its human companion.

Throwing her legs off the bed and standing, Merida searched for a weapon, and saw her sword resting on her bedpost. Odd though it was for a kidnapper to leave such a weapon close to his victim's bed, Merida wasted no time in seizing the thing.

Dazed though he might have been, cold steel on one's neck does wonders in terms of bringing someone to full awareness. Such was the effect on the red-headed boy when Merida employed the technique.

"Easy, easy lass!" he said, backing up a bit to relieve the pressure from his neck. "No one is going to hurt you!"

Merida stalked forward, keeping the blade at his throat."Where am I!?"

"You are in my hut," he said, his eyes flicking back and forth between her and the blade. "I brought you here-"

"To ransom me no doubt!" She snarled.

"No!" he cried, his accent becoming more and more pronounced. "I brought you here to heal your leg!"

Merida paused. Giving him a warning glance, she looked down at her knee, using her free hand to lift her dress. Lo and behold, her knee was wrapped in gauze, and smelled strongly of several herbal anti-inflammatories.

Giving the boy a wary glance, she pulled the sword away from his throat. "Alright, so you healed my leg. Can I go now?"

"You are free to go at any time," he said, slowly standing up. "But I would not recommend it. Your knee will not support you for any long distance, and it will keep you from riding your horse...Angus, wasn't it?"

Merida nodded, peering out the window to see Angus contentedly munching on some oats beneath several saplings, all bound together and the spaces between filled in with more branches, protecting him from the rain. "Did you make that?"

The boy nodded, brushing some powder off his robes. "I saw the storm coming while you were asleep, so after I set your leg, I made a shelter for your horse. He's wonderful really. Didn't try to bite me once."

Merida smiled appreciatively. "That's Angus for you."

The boy also smiled at her. Then, crossing from the window, he righted the table and began to pick up the things that had been spilled. Merida also moved to help, but the boy instead moved to her, blocking her way. "You need to rest that knee, lass. It'll only cause you trouble if you stay on it."

Merida pursed her lips. The boy, however, did not move. Sighing with defeat, Merida returned to the coarse mattress and sat down. "You remind me of my mother."

The boy shrugged before returning to the scattered pile. "Are you hungry? I have a quail roasting on the spit."

The princess' stomach growled loudly, answering for her. She grinned sheepishly. "Just a little bit."

Putting the last box back onto the table, the boy moved over to the small hearth, currently housing only coals, removing from it a golden-brown bird. The smell of it made Merida's mouth water. The boy moved to a cupboard and retrieved two wooden plates and wooden cups. Placing the bird and the cutlery on the table, the boy pulled up two chairs and poured drinks into the cups from a waterskin.

Merida smiled gratefully as she seated herself, taking a drink from her cup. "So, what were you doing out there, mister...?"

"Brendan," he said. "Call me Brendan. And you are?"

"Merida," she replied.

He nodded, tearing a piece off the bird, and handing it to her. "Well, Merida, I was out gathering supplies when I heard the noise that you were making. Those poor fools didn't know what they were dealing with," he finished with a chuckle.

Merida swallowed her mouthful of food, which was not bad, with a small snort. "Well, if it weren't for you, I would have been in deep trouble. Who were they anyway?"

"Worshippers of Crom Cruach," Brendan growled. "You happened upon one of his sacred sites, though I had thought his cult was limited to my home country. They seek human sacrifice for him, and they do not care where they get it, which is why I asked you not to kill them."

"Your home country?" Merida inquired. "I have noticed your accent."

He looked at her sheepishly. "Is it that obvious?"

She nodded with a smile.

"Well, yes," he replied. "I come from Ireland, Kells to be specific."

"What brings you all the way out here?"

"My master once lived on the island of Iona. He wished to visit there."

"Your master?" Merida inquired.

"Aidan of Iona," Brendan explained. "I am his apprentice."

Merida nodded, understanding. "Where is he now?"

Brendan cast a glance out of the window. "He went to a town to get more lamp-black. Most likely, he has taken shelter there from this storm."
Merida nodded. She noticed a concerned expression coming over Brendan's face, and decided to change the subject. "You said that you were his apprentice. What does he teach you?"
Brendan paused. "He teaches me many things. Principally, he teaches me to be an illuminator."

"Illuminator?" Merida had never heard of such a trade.

Brendan nodded and opened his mouth to speak, then he seemed to think better of it. "I think," he said standing from the table, "it would be best if I showed you."
Merida stood also and followed him to the desk that was at the foot of her bed. On it lay a book,and around it lay an assortment of bottles and quills. "This," he said, laying a hand on the brown covers, "is the book that will turn darkness into light."

Merida shot him a skeptical glare. Brendan gestured her forward. Reaching out, her fingers had barely touched the covers when it felt as if she had been struck on the face by a white hot iron. Staggering back, she recovered and looked again at the book. The white cat that she had knocked over earlier was now perched upon the tome, sternly gazing at her with one blue and one green eye.

"Pangur," Brendan scolded. "She means the book no harm. Let her see it."

The cat glanced from her to Brendan and back, not moving from the spot.

"Try it again, Merida," Brendan urged, giving her a gentle push forward.

Hesitantly, Merida moved forward again and stood before the cat. It's mismatched eyes peered into her soul it seemed, and it seemed to be searching for something in her. "Please," she whispered to it, extending a palm to it. "Let me see it."

The cat suddenly brightened, jumping to her shoulders and rubbing itself on her head. Despite its less than welcome introduction to her, she found herself smiling as it purred. With the cat still perched on her shoulder, Merida reached forward again and gently peeled back the cover. As a member of the royalty, she had been taught how to read, and so the Latin texts came to her somewhat easily, but she did not see the words.

She saw the illuminations.

It was like looking at the world as a blind man who can suddenly see. The ink seemed to be alive on the pages, flowing from one place to the next, changing colors as it went. The patterns were so intricate, it seemed to perfect to be human. Celtic knots wrapped themselves around the pages, animals froliced in the lines, men and women worked and lived, and all of this on the few sheets of vellum she had seen.

She opened her mouth to say something, but she found herself speechless.

"This book has been under work since the days of Colm Cille himself," Brendan explained. "At his death, he passed it on to Aidan, and now Aidan has passed it on to me. I have been working on it for several years now."

Merida looked incredulous. "People made this?"

Brendan laughed quietly. "Yes, mere mortals like us made this."

Merida reached out her hand and gently touched the page. The vellum felt smooth and crisp beneath her fingers, but not dead like most seemed to be a crackle of energy between her skin and the pages, as if the book itself were alive. Whether or not this was just her imagination, she would debate later. "It's beautiful," she whispered. "And your addition?"

Reaching past Merida, Brendan flipped several pages. "This is called, the Chi Rho page. It's not finished yet, but I'm waiting to get a bit more experience before I do."

There was a knock on the door, and Brendan stopped turning pages. "That must be Brother Aidan. It's strange that he's back so soon, especially in this rain."
Brendan moved to the door. Merida returned her gaze to the page, about to lose herself in the images again, when she noticed that the cat, Pangur Ban, was not on her shoulder anymore. He was hiding under the bed.

It was then that she noticed that Angus was entirely silent.

"BRENDAN, NO!"

But it was too late.

The door was off its hinges, taking Brendan with it all the way to the floor. Through the door stepped the same man from the menhir, the arrow from his arm still clutched in his fist. His eyes still burned with fury, and the bruises on his head were still very fresh. Stepping through the threshhold, he placed one boot firmly onto the door, trapping Brendan underneath.

"Hey there missie," he growled, the evil grin spreading across his face.

"Merida, run!" Brendan roared.

Merida, however, had no intention of leaving. The sword, which, Merida realized, she had never dropped, was immediately raised into a defensive position.

The man let out an evil cackle. "You think that I would repeat my mistakes?" Leaning in on the door, he put more weight on Brendan's chest. The red-headed boy choked and rasped. "Surrender now, and I won't crush him."

Merida faltered, if only slightly.

"No Merida! They'll just kill us both! Go now!" Brendan managed to gasp out.

The thug in the house silenced Brendan by adding more weight.

Merida paused to analyze the situation. The brute was standing in a position that jeopardized his defensive position, but all he had to do was lean forward a bit more and he would crush Brendan like a bug. Unless...

Merida dropped the sword, letting it fall to the floor. She heard Brendan hiss angrily, and saw a confident smile spread across the thug's face. Very discreetly, she grabbed a bottle of ink. She took several steps forward, waiting for the opportune moment.

It came when the man on the door shifted slightly backwards. Winding her arm back, she lobbed the bottle and caught the intruder right between the eyes with it. He staggered back with a yowl of pain, and Brendan seized the opportunity to push the door off himself, knocking the man completely over.

Now standing, Brendan seized his staff and knocked the man unconscious with a single strike. Merida moved up to them, standing next to Brendan and over the unconscious thug.
"Thanks," he said.

"Don't mention it," she replied with a smile.

Brendan turned to look at her, but his face turned to one of horror. He opened his mouth to yell a warning, but it was too late.

Merida realized that she had turned back to the door as she felt the impact on the back of her skull.