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Youth of delight, come hither,
And see the opening morn,
Image of truth new-born.
Doubt is fled and clouds of reason,
Dark disputes and artful teasing.
Folly is an endless maze,
Tangled roots perplex her ways,
How many have fallen there!
They stumble all night over bones of the dead,
And feel they know not what but care,
And wish to lead others when they should be led.

The Voice of the Ancient Bard

—William Blake—

Voice of the Ancient Bard

.

Achnacon
Glencoe, Scotland
15:23

The cottage sat in the heart of the Glen, dwarfed by the crags that soared up behind it. A mixture of evergreen and rowan trees flanked the little building's left side, and on its right one of the Glen's many burns gurgled merrily. It looked much like every other cottage in the Scottish countryside: two stories, white-washed stone, slate roof, a chimney at each end, and two large windows balanced by a bright red door. The driveway up to the house was little more than a worn track slithering through the grass on its way past a tiny garden and over the burn. This was Achnacon, now home to only one family and all that remained of a series of tiny villages that had once dotted the hills of Glen Coe.

Mulder turned off of the A82 and felt the black-top's smooth passage give way to the jostling of unpaved grass. The track took them around the cottage to a wider place behind it where one car was parked, out of sight from the tourists passing by below on the highway. The other car was a 'Mini,' a rusted scrap of a car not much larger than a child's Radio Flyer wagon. Its two bulbous headlamps stared out at the highway with all the longing of an old man long past his prime.

Climbing out of the passenger side, Scully arched her back in an effort to work out the kinks brought on by yesterday's thirteen hours of traveling and today's five hours of jet-lag, then took in her surroundings. The cottage stood on the valley floor, the only place where the rugged glen tolerated trees to grow freely. Mountains such as only Scotland could boast soared above the River Coe as it rushed below, then curved eastward and accompanied the river all the way to its joining with the River Etive at the far end of the valley. These mountains might not be so tall as the US Rockies, but where they lacked height they more than made up for it in fierce beauty. A thousand shades of velvety green, brown, rose and lavender dappled the slopes, clothed them in autumn finery. Like a debutante flirting behind her fan, the weak October sun splashed brilliant light across the jagged sides of the mountains in a teasing dance that revealed as much as the answering shadows concealed.

Mulder stepped out of the cramped Vauxhall next, lingering a moment to savor the view. A cool breeze lifted his hair and brushed against his skin, welcome relief after so many hours of confinement. Scully's uncharacteristically restless activity caught his eye, and he found himself watching his partner stretch out with feline grace, admiring the way her copper-colored hair caught fire under the Highland sun.

She noticed his attention and straightened self-consciously, a light blush staining her cheeks. Her arms dangled once more at her sides as her eyes strayed back to the river. "Tell me why we're here again?"

The moment was past. "Do you want me to go all the way back to the beginning?" Mulder shot back with a devilish grin, echoing a question she'd once teased him with.

"No, just the part about why we're here." She looked down the glen, inhaled the fresh, uncivilized air, and sighed appreciatively. "Not that I object to being here, mind you."

He nodded in agreement to that. "Yeah, following dead-end leads through the wilds of Scotland sure beats phoning for dead-end leads in a windowless dungeon." He finally stepped away from the car, pulling his suit coat out of the back seat and slipping his arms into its confining wool as a matter of habit. They were both dressed in their regular work clothes —suits, polished shoes, carefully styled hair— despite the fact that they were here in a marginally official capacity.

In reply to Scully's query, he repeated the words of Mrs. McNeil, the Innkeeper at Kingshouse. "Eva Campbell's last known location was Loch Gnathaigh, on Rannoch Moor, and the only expert on the Moor and all its lore around here is Laura MacDonald."

Scully wrinkled her nose at him, remembering the long incomprehensible strings of letters from their Tourist Map. One name in particular had occupied her for twenty minutes: Achnambeithach, the village where the Mountain Rescue service was located. Mulder had solved the riddle of it with a superior smirk: ach-nam-bay-ah. "How on earth are you able to pronounce those names? They're all consonants!"

"Easy. Just assume one syllable for each set of vowels."

"Kind of like German," she observed.

"Only not so guttural," he concluded. "It's crude but effective."

She chuckled. "Until a native speaker sets you straight." And she was praying that someone would. Mulder was the consummate know-it-all, a man with a maddening tendency to remember every picayune detail about everything and bring them up later, one by one, to throw competitors off their stride. Sometimes he did it to her too, but she recognized that in her case it was less about competition and more about showing off. His boyish bids for her approval charmed her but even so, sometimes Scully wanted nothing more than to see Mulder put firmly in his place by a sharp-witted native. Scotland held a great deal of promise.

They turned in unison from the panorama the glen had laid out before them and worked their way through ankle-high grass to the scarlet door of the cottage. A few chickens squawked irritably as they were pushed aside. Lying in a patch of sunlight under a window, a Border collie raised its head to watch the two American strangers approach the house. It thumped its tail once in greeting before returning to its nap with a canine sigh. Mulder rapped on a door that looked younger than its fifty years only because someone had concealed its flaws under a cosmetic veneer of blazing red paint. The cracks and chips beneath the red gave the wood a lumpy surface.

Only a moment later the door retreated on creaking hinges, revealing a middle-aged woman of middling height. Her nut-brown hair was swept up into a casual knot, the sleeves of her chambray shirt rolled up to her elbows, and a large, flour-dusted apron covered the rest of her. She raised her brows at the sight of such well-dressed foreigners standing at her door.

"Aye?"

Mulder started without hesitation. "Laura MacDonald?"

The woman shook her head. "No. I'm Beth Stewart."

"We're looking for Laura MacDonald. We were told that she lives here."

"You're American." She seemed more surprised by their appearance than their origin. "Government people?"

Scully shot Mulder an amused glance before replying. "Yes, I'm Special Agent Scully and this is Agent Mulder. We're with the United States' Federal Bureau of Investigation, working out of our legal attaché office in London." She had pulled a small leather wallet out of a pocket and now held it up for Beth Stewart to examine her credentials. Beth's eyes flicked over it briefly before returning to Scully's. "We're here because a United States citizen disappeared nearby and her parents asked for help. Mrs. McNeil at Kingshouse Inn suggested Ms. MacDonald might have some information that will help in the inquiry."

The woman nodded. "Oh, aye. The Campbell lass. We heard about that. Poor girl vanished off the Moor. Some folks are blaming the fairies." She rolled her eyes comically. "Can you imagine that?"

Dana Scully covered a grin with a disapproving frown. "Not at all."

Mulder, not missing the sparkle in Scully's eyes, rewarded her with a sour scowl. "Does Ms. MacDonald live here?"

"Aye. She's me mum." Beth Stewart stood back and gestured for them to enter. "Come in, then. She'll be delighted to speak with you, especially about that. 'Tis the only thing she talks about since it started."

The two agents passed through the door and found themselves standing in a narrow hallway. The walls were smooth white plaster, the floorboards polished sunny brown. A simple mirror and bench stood along the right wall, while on the other side a plain staircase rose to the second floor. The white paint reflected morning sunlight brilliantly as long as the door remained open. As soon as the woman closed it, however, the hallway fell into gloom.

She turned and opened a door on the left. "Take a seat. I'll send Mum right in. Will you take a cup of tea?"

"Please." Scully sat on a hard, narrow sofa, crossing her legs as if she were a Victorian lady making a social call. She watched Mulder wandering through the room, lightly touching this or gazing intently at that. Shoelaces and aquarium figurines: observing the minutia of everyday life was one of his gifts and, because it had benefited them both at various times, it was something she did not begrudge him in the least. She'd lost count of the number of times when he'd leaped to a brilliant conclusion after ruminating on some unimportant object he'd noticed somewhere.

Moving around in small irregular circles, Mulder glanced around the small, dusty sitting room, knowing that it was probably the pride of the household. The furniture was in surprisingly good condition considering its age — he guessed it had to be at least forty years old. The room boasted a ruby red sofa and armchair with thin cushions and skeletal legs. Various tables and lamps occupied the corners. A white fireplace took up the entire side wall, its mantle covered with knickknacks of every description. They were both surprised to note a small peat fire burning on the hearth, its heat welcome in the chilly room.

"This is me mum," Beth announced briskly. "Laura MacDonald." She led a wizened sprite of a woman into the room by the arm, helping her to sit next to Scully. "Mum, these two Americans are here about that Campbell lass. Ye ken the one that went missing on the Moor last month?"

"The Campbell? Aye!" The tiny woman gathered an enormous wool sweater about herself and turned alert grey eyes onto Scully. Her silver hair was twisted into two long braids and pinned around her head like a crown.

Beth chuckled. "Now don't be telling tales, Mum, 'though I expect that's why they're here. I'll bring in the tea."

Mulder began cautiously. "Mrs. McNeil over at the Kingshouse Inn told us that you might be able to shed some light on what happened to Eva Campbell."

"Oh, aye!" She flashed them a near-toothless grin. " 'Twas the Kelpie!"

Scully leaned forward, brows raised in guarded bewilderment. Even Mulder was looking surprised. "The Kelpie?"

"Aye! A Kelpie is a spirit that lives in the loch. Not all lochs have one, but what Kelpies there are ye must watch out for. They like to drown those who aren't careful."

His partner turned to him wearing a priceless expression of disbelief. "Mulder?"

Ignoring her, he asked the elderly woman, "So, a Kelpie drowns its victims?"

"Some do. Not all of them. Some appear as a horse by the water. Those we call Each Uisge — the Water Horse — and if a man should get onto his back, the Each Uisge will rush into the water an' drown the poor soul. When I was a lass, one of me father's friends found a lovely bridle laying by the loch. 'Twas said it was dropped by a Kelpie."

Scully rolled her eyes and sat back with a little groan. Mulder, naturally, was thoroughly captivated.

The elderly woman lowered her voice, as if imparting a particularly scandalous secret. "But the Kelpie at Loch Gnathaigh is different from the rest. It doesn't kill like the others do. Me mum warned me about the Kelpie at the Haunted Loch when I was just a lass myself."

His rapt attention already spurring her onwards, Laura McDonald didn't even need Mulder to ask "what was the warning?" Yet the fact that he did caused her to lean forward even more eagerly to regale her audience.

"Long ago, the Kelpie in Loch Gnathaigh heard the most heavenly singing coming from the Muir. He came out of the water to see what it was and he saw a bonny lass walking along the shore, singing to herself. She had eyes the color of the heather and hair like fire. Aye, she was so bonny that immediately he fell in love with her. He took the form of a lad and wooed her. She agreed to become his wife and they lived in the loch together in happiness for many years.

"But one morning the lass realized that she missed her kin. She wanted to go back to see them once more. The Kelpie wasn't pleased to let her go, but because he loved her he allowed she might go so long as she promised to return in three days. She agreed and off she went. When she arrived home her parents were overjoyed and all was well until the third morning, when she tried to return to the loch. Her parents wouldn't let her leave them again. Her brothers locked her in the cellar and wouldn't let her out, 'though she begged and pleaded for hours. They all went to bed, thinking that her enchantment would wear off in time.

"When they rose in the morning, she was quiet. They thought that she must have been sleeping so they didn't disturb her. 'She'll be all right again if we give her the time,' they said. Her mum fixed up her auld bed and prepared a steaming bowl o' stir-about for when she awoke. But hours passed and still she made not a sound. In time her brothers and her Dad began to fash — to worry. Had she gotten out somehow? They went down to the cellar to have a look at her, and to their horror they saw that she was dead!

"Such a keening did they raise over her that all the people of the village heard them and came to see what was the matter. One wise auld woman looked at the lass and saw the water weeds still tangled in her hair. The wise one cried out, 'Och! She was with a kelpie, wasn't she?' Her parents answered that, aye, she had been with the kelpie at Loch Gnathaigh —'though it wasn't called Gnathaigh then— and that she had come back to them after being gone for so many years. They explained how they had locked her in the cellar to keep her from returning to the loch.

" 'Och!' the auld woman cried. 'You have killed her yourselves, then! Didn't you know that once a lass has been in the loch with a kelpie, she can never live on land again? 'Twas a spell he cast upon her that allowed her to return to you. Didn't she beg and plead with you to let her go back? Sure, he would have made her promise to return to him before the spell wore off! And you didn't let her go! Och! ye poor fools!' And so the poor family of the lass took the girl back to the loch, to bury her right near the place where the Kelpie first saw her.

"Now, the Kelpie had begun to fash when his wife didn't return to him after three days. He took the form of a lad and walked the Muir, calling for her. His sad voice was taken up by the wind and carried away. Sometimes the wind carries it back again, and ye can hear him calling out for her in his grief. On the fifth day he saw her family lay her to rest on the Muir. Then he realized what had happened, and his fury was a frightful thing! He vowed revenge on the daughters of men. He declared from that time forward, he would steal any lass who strayed near his loch.

"That is the tale me mum told me when I was a lass, and every lass kens the story. The Kelpie is still lonely. It finds a bonny lass and tries to seduce her. It appears as a handsome lad and overpowers the lassies, then it takes them into the loch with it. Once they go with him they are never seen again.

" 'Tis said that no lass can refuse him once they look upon him. 'Tis said his eyes are like coals, black as spades, and his grieving soul is as dark as the raven's wing. He doesn't speak. He doesn't have to — all he must do is get a lass to look into his eyes." The old woman nodded.

Scully couldn't resist. "Let me guess — he only goes after virgins?"

"Nay! Any woman may fall under his spell. Aye, even you!"

Dana Scully, born skeptic, just shook her head and sent Mulder one of her patented looks. Lips slightly pursed, brows raised and eyes glancing at him sideways, this was the one she used when she couldn't decide between 'what are we doing here?', and 'do you honestly expect me to believe this?' Once she'd speared a shaky witness in a bowling alley with that unmerciful expression of cynical impatience. "I can tell she doesn't believe me. It's that look in her eyes." As the flustered man escaped to the shoe rental counter, Mulder had turned to his partner. "What is that look, Scully?" he'd asked in wry amusement. "After four years you should know exactly what it is," she'd shot back tartly. Sometimes, those looks she pinned him with made him smile, as if they were sharing a private joke.

He grinned now and ducked his head. "Better look out, Scully. The Kelpie might get you!"

She snorted.

"Ah, she's told you about the Kelpie, aye?" Beth entered the sitting room bearing a large silver tray laden with snacks and a porcelain tea service.

" 'Tis madness, nonsense meant for unruly children." She set out delicate cups and saucers with practiced efficiency before pouring the steaming golden liquid into each. As she handed a cup to Scully and Mulder, she offered them sugar and milk. A smaller tray bearing assorted tarts, shortbread cookies and tiny triangles of toast with melted cheese appeared next. When her mother and guests were settled she took a seat across from Mulder and took a sip of tea, indicating that they should all begin.

"You tell stories like that to kids?" Mulder marveled with a grin.

"Can you think of a better way to keep them away from the lochs and out of the burns?" Beth countered cordially. "Aye, it works, too, but with one unfortunate result — it makes the wee ones grow up superstitious, like me mum over there."

Scully chuckled, clearly in agreement. "So much for Kelpies, Mulder."

He was undeterred. "What makes your mother an expert on the lochs, then, Mrs. Stewart? If it isn't her familiarity with Kelpies?"

The old woman sat up straighter, recovering dignity lost when they'd begun speaking around her. "Don't you be talking about me as if I were yet a bairn. 'Tis my body that's given way to age, not my mind!" She leveled a pointed glare at her daughter.

Satisfied that she had them all suitably chastened, she turned to Mulder. "I've lived my entire life here in the Glen, and didn't I grow up in Glen Lyon, on the other side of the Moor? I've been all over the Moor, aye, seen every loch with my own eyes. Can any of you say the same? Nay, you can not. 'Tis more than fairy stories I ken about the lochs and the Moor. 'Tis the land itself I've kent since I was a lass. Aye." She nodded proudly. "No one kens it better."

Scully smiled at the old woman's tirade, her respect increasing a notch or two as she realized Laura MacDonald's potential. "Could the Campbell girl have fallen into Loch—" here she hesitated, stumbling over the Gaelic. "Gnathaigh, is it?" What she said came out sounding something like 'ga-na-theg.'

Beth chuckled at the mutilation. "Nay. And 'tis said like this: grah-hay."

Scully blinked. "Where does the 'r' come from?"

"No one ever accused the Gaelic of making sense," Laura joked, but then she sobered. "Aye, the lass might have fallen in. Her knapsack was still there, aye? But her body isn't there where it should be."

"They dredged the loch when she went missing," Beth explained. "They found no trace of her. If she fell in, she might have become entangled in something at the bottom, but she would have had to get to the center of the loch to do so. And she couldn't have done that without swimming — 'tis a large loch, but quite shallow near the shore."

"Kidnapping, then?" Scully suggested next. "Maybe someone saw her there alone and took advantage of the situation."

"That's what most folks 'round here believe," Beth agreed. "We aren't Glasgow, after all, but such things do happen. Even here. All it takes is a stranger, aye? Lord kens what the poor lass is going through if she's even still alive."

"But she was alone at the loch, aye?" Laura interjected impatiently. "There wasn't a struggle, no foot prints but her own. And she isn't the first."

Scully nodded, agreeing on the most likely explanation. "How many others are you aware of?" She slanted a worried glance at Mulder, who was also paying closer attention.

"Well, there have been three disappearances at the loch in the last few months. Two were local lasses. The Campbell lass is the fourth."

"Aye, but Shannon McCollough came back," Laura chimed in, delighting in the reaction of her daughter to this latest tidbit.

Beth Stewart stiffened, looking uncomfortable, and glared at her mother. "You read that in the Sun, for heaven's sake. 'Tis all lies!"

Scully recognized the name of Britain's notorious tabloid and frowned, turning from rational Beth to her spirited mother, wondering at their curious disagreement. Beth was now looking downright troubled, while Laura was nearly crowing in delight at having gotten the best of her daughter at last.

"Lies, is it? Did you not speak with Dr. Kinley himself? You heard what he said, just the same as we all did! You saw the photographs, Beth!"

"I did no such thing!" Beth shot back sharply.

"What photographs?" Mulder broke in.

"The ones Dr. Kinley gave to the Sun. The ones of Shannon McCollough after she came back from the loch. Aye, you can't explain that away so easily, can you?" She looked over at Beth triumphantly.

Scully noted Beth's pallor, asking with concern, "What?" She didn't really know what she was asking about, Beth's health or the thing she couldn't explain.

Laura MacDonald pinned each of them with her hazy gray eyes. "Shannon McCollough went missing for three months. When she came back she said she'd been in the loch with a man who wasn't a man. No one believed her. They all thought she was tetched in the head. But then the doctors found the most amazing thing, and no one can explain it. No one."

"What did they find," Mulder asked.

"Shannon McCollough has gills. Like a fish."