hello! here is part four!

please read and review!

My breath catches in my throat, and my vision goes fuzzy as my palms start to sweat. No. It can't be Gruoch. She's dead, gone, destroyed. And that woman standing in front of me is dead. Her body obviously isn't alive.

And yet she's talking to me, breathing, seeing, threatening my family and my country and my life.

All she lacks is her soul.

And it sounds like she plans to take mine…

"Why are you doing this?" I ask, trying to keep my voice from shaking. "Does the throne really matter that much to you?"

"Of course it does, Macbeth," she whispers. "You and I were so close. We could have ruled Scotland for decades, and our descendants would have kept the throne for millennia. But it all went wrong—you destroyed my staffs, your wife stabbed me, and I was killed in the river."

"So—how did you come back?" I ask Gruoch. "Dead bodies don't normally get reanimated."

"Oh, you stupid, naïve child," Gruoch says condescendingly. "You shouldn't have buried me with the remaining staffs. Their magic is strong, strong enough to provide me with life—but not a soul. As of now, I am neither truly alive nor truly dead. Anyways, the staffs awakened me, made me strong enough to dig myself out of my own grave. They led me to my most powerful, most precious weapon—the blackwood staff. It cannot be destroyed, by the river or even by the witches. It requires a much greater sacrifice than that."

She fingers the soft purple feathers on the top of the blackwood staff, looking at it almost lovingly. "And with this staff, I will conquer Scotland. This time you will not stop me—but I suppose you have never stopped me. Only delayed me."

Gruoch stares at me through narrowed, glowing violet eyes. "And it was not hard to get back on track. It was simple—a few sharp knives, a possession, and a curse."

"What do you mean?" I breathe. "What did you do?"

She waves a hand dismissively. "I snuck into Malcolm's chambers—the staff gives me the power to manipulate, you know, and it was easy to convince the guards they'd never seen me. I cannot become invisible, but I can manipulate your mind so you cannot see. I asked Malcolm to surrender the throne, and he refused, so I had to kill him. Donalbain was even easier—he didn't have so many guards. He also refused to surrender, so naturally, he had to be killed as well. And Macduff—his castle isn't well protected at all. He was perhaps the most adamant about not relinquishing the throne. I killed him slowly."

Gruoch glances at Skye. "While you were at Dunsinane for the wedding, I wove the staff's magic into your wife's mind. She would then obey my every command concerning my plot, though I needed her to act as she always had around you. She told me of Macduff's coronation, of the secret passages in the castle, and she was a very valuable resource."

Tears are pouring down Skye's face. Banner, nestled in her arms, has stopped crying and is now shivering, clutching his mother's tunic.

"I t-tried, Macbeth," Skye whispers. "I c-couldn't…"

"It's okay," I murmur. "It's not your fault."

"Touching," Gruoch hisses. "But I imagine you wish to hear the rest of my story?"

"Yes," I tell her. "What did you say about a curse?"

"Ah, yes," Gruoch murmurs. "The magic implanted in your wife's brain resulted in an alteration in your son's genetic code. The child possesses the same power I do—to manipulate people, if he is also in possession of a staff. He may have other powers I do not know of, but I do know that the magic I possess runs through his veins."

I stare at Banner, so innocent, so tiny. How can he be anything like Gruoch? What will we do?

"You intentionally cursed my son," I hiss. "What will he do now?"

Gruoch shrugs. "I did know the magic would affect the baby if implanted during pregnancy, but I am not certain of its strength. It may cause certain developmental delays or mental issues. But until he grows, you will not know the extent of the magic."

"How could you?" I gasp. "Why would you curse a child like that?"

Gruoch glares sharply at me with those deep, glowing soulless eyes. "Don't forget, Macbeth, I have no soul. That is why I require yours."

A chill runs through me. Gruoch is capable of anything without guilt or sorrow—she will not rest until she has the throne. And once she has my soul, no one will be able to stop her.

And if she has Banner—

Both of them are magic. Both are capable of manipulation. And what if Gruoch kills me and Skye? She could raise Banner as her own, and he'd never remember us. He'd never know that Gruoch was wrong.

"If I let you sacrifice me," I hiss, "you will release my wife, my cousin, his wife, my son, and the physician. You will let all of them go, and you will take my soul. You may not rule Scotland, but you can have a second chance at life."

"I am afraid," Gruoch whispers, her face contorting into a smile, "that that is not a fair deal, my dear Macbeth. I must have the throne and your soul, and then I will release those you asked for—except for your son, who I must take into my care. He must learn how to use his magic properly, and one day he will be king."

She steps forward and takes Banner from Skye, her magic holding my wife in place. Skye can't seem to speak, but her eyes show her torment of having her child taken away.

"Give him back," I say through gritted teeth.

"Oh, I think not," Gruoch says sweetly. "It will be too easy to run off with him. And if anyone tries to grab him, your wife dies."

She smiles again, this one even more evil. "And now—it is time to summit Ben Lomond."

"Only you and me," I spit. "Everyone else should be free to go."

"No," Gruoch replies. "They must make the journey with us, and then perhaps they will be ready to surrender. I will not manipulate them into climbing to the peak, but if they try to escape, they will be killed. Come, everyone." She steps out of the cave, gesturing with her staff. "It is time."

I glance at the others questioningly. All of them nod, and we follow Gruoch out of the cave.

The former queen leads us up a steep, narrow path, slick with rain and mud. Everyone slips several times, and after only a few minutes, I have a huge scrape on my knee, a bruise on my shoulder, and mud all over my tunic—great. And there's still at least an hour's climb to the top of the mountain.

I walk behind Gruoch and in front of Banquo, trying to communicate a plan to him without Gruoch hearing. It's really hard—the wind is so loud and we both keep slipping.

When we finally reach the top, I'm pretty sure I've gotten the main points of the plan across. Hopefully it's enough, and hopefully Banquo has gotten the message to the others.

At the very top of Ben Lomond, a circle of tall stones surrounds a pile of rocks in the center. Ancient, dried blood is splattered across the altar, and I realize with a shudder that no rain is falling in the circle.

Banquo scrambles up the rocks behind me, the cut on his cheek reopened and trickling blood down his face. Next comes Skye, her thin cloak wrapped around her shoulders. I go over to my wife and give her my cape, shivering in the cold. Skye wraps me in a hug and sobs into my shoulder, and I rub her back, trying to soothe her. We'll get out of this, I'm sure of it.

Kniertje climbs over the edge of the circle and glares furiously at Gruoch, going to stand by Banquo and wrapping her arm around her husband's shoulders. Last comes Katavid, panting from the long climb. The pudgy physician obviously isn't used to so much exercise—poor guy. But at least that gives him some protection from fatal wounds to the abdomen.

"Macbeth," Gruoch hisses. "You will lay down on the altar willingly—if not, I will manipulate you into doing so. Once you are positioned, I will hold you in place with the magic and slit your throat. It will not be painful. I do not wish to cause you unnecessary suffering."

I take a deep breath and walk over to the altar, then lay down on it. Gazing up at the cloudy sky, I accept my fate. Gruoch is going to kill me.

I just hope our plan works.

Gruoch's eyes narrow, and the purple glow in them intensifies. She's using her manipulation on me.

Except I can still move.

I'm still shaking. I try to move my fingers and they twitch.

And the purple feather is growing warmer in my pocket…

It's stopping the magic. All is not lost.

So I change the plan.

Gruoch draws her dagger and raises it above her head, and then I leap off the altar and tackle her to the ground. She shrieks as I grab the staff and struggle to pull it out of her hand.

"Banquo!" I scream. "Now!"

Banquo leaps forward and grabs Banner out of Gruoch's grip, which consists of only one hand since she's also holding her staff. The dagger has fallen to the stone, chipping on the hard surface.

I watch my best friend hurriedly strap Banner to his chest, using the blankets he brought. I'm glad he brought those—I'd never have thought of it.

A jolt of terror shoots through me as Banquo leaps over the steep side of Ben Lomond—which was part of the plan, but arguably the most dangerous one. Banquo and Katavid are supposed to take Banner somewhere safe while Kniertje and I try to take the staff from Gruoch and break her control over Skye.

Sure enough, Katavid plunges over the side a few seconds later with a loud yelp. I wince, hoping he and Banquo aren't hurt, but keep struggling to pull the staff away from Gruoch.

But before I can, she lets out a shrill scream and squeezes her eyes shut. She's using her power.

Skye, standing by the altar, leaps onto me, punching and kicking and fighting to stop me. I yelp as she slams a fist into my cheek, and I lose my grip on the staff and tumble to the ground. But Kniertje is still fighting fiercely, and she finally wrenches the staff out of Gruoch's grip and throws it over the side of the mountain—the opposite side of the one Banquo and Katavid jumped over, thankfully. I wouldn't want Gruoch grabbing the staff and attacking them.

Gruoch screams again and leaps after the staff, skidding several feet down the wet slope. Kniertje and I both scramble after her, knowing we have to get to the staff before she does or it will all be for nothing.

I run as fast as I can, but Gruoch reaches the staff first. She grabs the length of wood and holds it triumphantly in the air, then slams it down onto the mountainside.

A massive wave of purple light shoots out from the amethyst set into the top of the staff, and my eyes widen. I grab Kniertje's arm—I hope Banquo wouldn't mind—and sprint down the mountain, trying to outrun the wave.

But we're not fast enough.

A huge force slams into me, and I scream as I lose my grip on Kniertje and go flying down the mountain. I hit the talus slope and tumble down, sending small rocks flying everywhere. Finally, I slam into a larger rock, and a flash of light explodes in my skull.

The world swirls and fades, and the last thing I hear is a myriad of screams.

-banquo-

I make sure Banner is securely strapped to my chest, take a deep breath, and launch myself over the side of Ben Lomond.

The ground disappears from under me, the rain suddenly returns, and I yelp as I crash down onto the slick, rocky slope. The jagged stone is merciless to my knees, and I feel the sharp edges drawing blood. Nevertheless, I leap up and move as fast as I can down the slope, trying not to fall—I don't want to hurt Banner by accident.

I've made it about two hundred feet when I hear Katavid's yell and whirl around to see the physician—I kid you not—bouncing down the rocks. He finally stops about ten feet away from me and sits up, panting.

"You okay, Katavid?" I ask, extending a hand. The physician takes it and stands up, brushing dust off his tunic.

"I'm fine," he tells me. "We've got to hurry!"

We start stumbling down the slope, planning to get to the bottom of Ben Lomond and then circle around back to our horses. We'll ride to the nearest castle and see if they can send help, then leave Banner there and ride back to Loch Lomond. It's definitely not a foolproof plan, but it's all we've got.

We haven't made it very far before a flash of purple lights up the sky and shakes the mountain so furiously that both Katavid and I lose our footing and tumble down the mountainside.

I scream as I slam into several rocks and skid across open patches of ground, my arms crossed over my chest as I try to protect Banner's fragile body. The world becomes a swirling vortex of rain and sky and stone, and I'm trapped in it for several seconds.

Finally, I skid to a halt on a slightly less steep patch of open rock and lay there, curled into a ball on my side, still clutching Banner to my chest. After a few seconds, the infant starts to wail and I sit up, looking around for Katavid and checking myself for injuries. I don't think there's anything worse than several nasty scrapes, particularly on my knees, and the bloody gash on my cheek, which has probably been torn wider. Apart from that, it's just a little mud on my tunic.

Realizing I should probably check on Banner, I look over the baby to discover that, while he is bawling his eyes out, he doesn't seem injured—just upset.

Dazed, I struggle to my feet and look around, trying to locate Katavid. Finally, I see him collapsed in a heap among the scattered stones farther down the mountainside. I scramble down and shake his shoulder, trying to wake him up.

"I'm awake," Katavid mumbles. "But I already had a concussion and I don't want to get up yet."

Nevertheless, he sits up and looks up at Banner. "Is the kid okay?"

"I think so," I reply. "But he's really upset right now."

Katavid holds out his arms, and I unstrap Banner from my chest and hand him to the physician, who wraps the baby in a hug. Banner snuggles into Katavid's soft stomach and buries his face in the physician's tunic. He also stops crying—what a relief.

"Should we keep going down?" Katavid asks, standing up—and almost falling back down. "Ow!"

"What's wrong?" I ask worriedly.

"Twisted my ankle," Katavid grumbles. "Don't worry, it's not bad—I can tell it isn't sprained. Let's hurry and get down."

I follow Katavid down the mountain, wincing at the pain in my scrapes and cuts. My knees are stinging especially fiercely, and the cut on my cheek is still dripping blood.

"Let's—stop—for a minute," Katavid gasps after several minutes of trekking down the slope. "I'll patch you up and we can keep going."

"Oh no, I'm fine—"

But Katavid finds a small cave and steers me into it, sitting me down on a rock and forcing me to rest. I sigh and let the physician gently wipe my scrapes clean, then bandage them. Katavid wraps a bandage around his twisted ankle and insists we rest for a few minutes.

It is kind of nice, sitting in the cave with the rain pattering outside. It's almost relaxing—it would be if we weren't in this situation.

Banner actually falls asleep, clutching Katavid's tunic. Katavid wraps another blanket around his torso to keep Banner warm, then stands up and announces that we need to go.

I get up, testing my legs gingerly on the ground. Relieved to find that neither of them give out and that my knees sting much less, I follow Katavid out of the cave and we resume our descent towards the bottom of Ben Lomond.

We finally reach the banks of the loch and walk to where our horses are tied. I help Katavid up onto his and get ready to climb onto mine, but then I feel a sudden pull in my gut—like I need to go do something.

"You ride on ahead," I tell Katavid. "I think I need to go help Macbeth."

Katavid takes it in stride. "Then go. I'll get Banner to safety. And, Banquo—" He pauses, looking up at the peak of Ben Lomond. "Good luck."

He rides off, disappearing into the highlands. I hope he can get Banner far away from here.

Turning back toward the peak, I leap onto my horse and spur him into motion, galloping up the path that leads to the top of the mountain.

Sure enough, when I near the summit, I discover Macbeth collapsed on the ground, unconscious and obviously injured. I dismount and check my best friend's pulse, relieved when I find it beating strongly beneath his skin.

I gently run my hands over Macbeth's skull, looking for any signs of head trauma. As I suspected, there's a huge bump on the back of his head—hopefully it's not too bad. Apart from that, I can't see much injury. There's a big bruise on his cheek and several more on his arms, but nothing looks broken.

I try to pull Macbeth up and onto my horse, but I'm not exactly strong, and my cousin is pretty heavy despite being younger and shorter than me. It would be nice if he would cut down on the sticky buns. Or wake up—then I wouldn't have to deal with one hundred thirty-five pounds of dead weight.

Only a few seconds after I've thought this, Macbeth stirs slightly and opens his eyes with a faint groan. "Banquo?"

"Macbeth!" I yelp. "What happened? Are you okay?"

"No," he moans. "Gruoch got her staff back. Huge explosion. Fell. Hit my head. Pretty sure I have a concussion. Wait, where's Banner?"

"Katavid's got him," I reassure my cousin. "He's getting him to safety. Where does it hurt?"

"Everywhere," Macbeth tells me, a hint of a whimper in his voice. "Mostly my head. But even that's not that bad—I think I just have a few bruises and scrapes. Nothing's broken."

I help Macbeth to his feet, and we're both relieved to find that he's right—he doesn't seem badly hurt. He's definitely pretty banged up, but nothing serious. I think the worst of it is the goose egg.

"Oh—Banquo," Macbeth says suddenly as I boost him up onto my horse. "Kniertje was with me when the explosion happened, and Skye was up at the top of the mountain. Should we go look for them?"

"Of course," I tell him. "Gruoch too—she could be anywhere. Although I'm not sure why she didn't just come kill you while you were passed out."

After a few minutes of riding around on my horse, searching for any signs of life, we come across Kniertje's unconscious body. She looks worse than Macbeth—her arm is twisted to an angle I would not like it to be at, and blood drips from a gash on her forehead. Macbeth and I gently lift her up onto my steed—man, I'm so glad I brought this horse—so we don't have to carry her. Macbeth unfortunately has to walk if Kniertje rides, and I feel bad—I can tell his head is really hurting him. Poor little guy. I would carry him, but…no.

We've nearly reached the top of Ben Lomond when we discover Gruoch, also unconscious and clutching her staff. I gently pry it out of her grasp and study it, fascinated. I can't believe that this holds so much magical power.

"What do we do with it?" Macbeth asks, looking at the staff nervously. "We can't destroy it—or if we can, I don't know how."

I think for a few moments—and then an idea comes to me.

"What if…" I whisper. "Macbeth, what if we sacrificed it?"

"How would we do that?" he asks. "Would we just, like, put it on the altar and ask God to destroy it? Or try to break it? Or cut it into tiny little pieces with a dagger?"

"All of them?" I reply, shrugging. "We'll see what works. I wish there was an outlined method of destroying magic staffs, but I guess there's not."

We climb up into the circle of stones, which is kind of nice since it's not raining in there. Next to the tallest stone lays Skye, also passed out and definitely injured—there's practically a pool of blood surrounding her, and her skin is death-white. Macbeth gasps and rushes over to his wife, kneeling down and checking her pulse.

"Her heartbeat is barely there," he gasps, looking up at me with eyes wide with terror. "We need Katavid!"

"But—Katavid took Banner!" I tell him. "He's probably halfway to Inverness by now!"

Macbeth drags a hand through his wild, tangled hair. "But I need him! I don't have enough training—"

"Macbeth," I whisper, putting my hands on my cousin's shoulders and looking down into his round face. "You can do this. You're a medic. I know you can help her."

Macbeth swallows uncomfortably and nods, then turns to Skye and starts examining her. While he does that, I study the staff, wondering how I could possibly break it.

Then it hits me—what if I used one of the stones in the circle? If they can keep nature out of this place, maybe they could destroy the staff.

I walk over to the smallest stone in the circle and manage to lift it off the ground, carrying it over to the altar. I think I'll try to smash the staff.

Placing said staff on the altar, I heft the stone over my shoulder, ready to drop it on the blackwood branch. Hopefully this will work and there will be no more evil queens.

But suddenly, out of the corner of my eye, I see a dark figure rising over the edge of the circle.

Gruoch.

"Macbeth, look out!" I scream, and Macbeth looks up and tries to get out of Gruoch's way. He's not fast enough, and for a split second, terror jolts through me—will Gruoch kill him?

But she only kicks Macbeth, who is crouching next to Skye, hard in the ribs. My cousin lets out a yelp and falls over, curling into a ball next to his unconscious wife as Gruoch strides toward me.

"Give me the staff, Banquo," she hisses, her voice deathly quiet. "This does not have to be violent. You want peace for Scotland, you give me the staff and surrender the throne." Gruoch holds out her hand, her eyes glowing a brighter purple.

"No," I tell her. "I will not let you take it again. Not so long as I live."

And I bring the stone down on the altar.