hey! here's part five...dark, I know...and rather sad...

this story is going rather fast, i understand...i just couldn't find a way to drag it out any longer. Sorry!

please plase please read and review! also check out Someone To You for my Big Hero 6 collab with keeperofthebigheroquintessence...i think you'll enjoy it!

thanks everyone!

peace out!

-macbeth-

I wrap an arm around my rib cage as Gruoch stalks toward Banquo. I'm pretty sure her boot only left a bruise, but ouch. That was unnecessary.

Pushing myself back up, I turn back to Skye. She doesn't look good. I think there might be some kind of internal bleeding—bright red liquid is dripping out of the corner of her mouth.

"Skye," I whisper. "Wake up, please, you have to wake up…"

Her eyes open halfway. "Macbeth…"

Suddenly, I'm reminded of the story Katavid told me. How my mother's dying breath was spent giving me a name.

Skye sounds like that.

"Talk to me, Skye," I whisper. "Where does it hurt? I'll see what I can do."

"My chest," she gasps. "Something's broken…but please, Macbeth, don't worry about me…are you hurt?"

"Not badly," I say hastily, then pull out the few bandages and salve I at least have the sense to keep on me at all times. "We have to get you to safety, Skye, do you think you can get up onto Banquo's horse?"

"I…I can't," Skye whispers. "Please, stop Gruoch for me…"

"Banquo's trying," I tell her, putting a hand on her cheek.

"He needs help," Skye murmurs. "You need to…you need to help him, Macbeth. Leave me…and go."

"I can't just do that," I say desperately. "Please, Skye, try to get up."

"I'll help you," says an exhausted voice. I turn to see Kniertje standing beside Banquo's horse, her arm clutched to her chest.

"She's hurt badly," Kniertje rasps. "I'll get her back to Inverness. You need to help Banquo—he's barely holding Gruoch off."

I look up to see that Banquo is indeed doing a rather bad job of fighting Gruoch with his big rock while simultaneously trying not to hurt her. She's pulled out a dagger—that's not good.

Kniertje bends down and gently pulls Skye into a sitting position, but my wife lets out a cry and clutches her chest. "Stop…you can't move me…but I need to know…is…is Banner safe?"

"He's fine," I tell her. "Katavid's taking him back to Inverness. Please, Skye, we need to get you home…"

"Help Banquo," Skye rasps. "Please, Macbeth, stop her."

I struggle to hold back tears as I give Skye a kiss on the forehead and then stand, wincing as my head throbs. Nevertheless, I steel my nerves and leap forward, throwing myself in front of Banquo.

"Step aside, Macbeth," Gruoch hisses. "That or give me the staff."

"No," I spit. "Never. On the contrary, I'm going to help destroy it."

I draw my dagger and hiss out of the corner of my mouth, "Smash that thing. If we break it, I think she'll die."

Banquo nods, his eyes wide with terror, and brings the stone down on the staff, again and again and again. Gruoch screams with each hit, slashing her dagger at me. She catches me across the forehead, barely missing my eye, and then nicks my gut. That one's only a shallow cut—the one time I'm glad I'm a stress eater.

I'm vaguely aware of Kniertje trying to help Skye onto the horse, but the Norwegian is hampered by her broken arm, and Skye can't seem to move without screaming.

Finally, Banquo smashes the staff into splinters—but he can't seem to do anything to the amethyst. The polished violet stone still shines brightly, and even though he tries to crush it with the rock, nothing works.

"It won't break, Macbeth!" Banquo screams. "It's not working!"

I turn toward my cousin, and while I'm distracted, Gruoch stabs down toward my stomach. I yelp and leap out of the way, but I trip backwards over the altar and crash down onto my back, getting all the wind knocked out of me.

I prepare for the blade to plunge down, but I see a pale blur streak through the air and slam into Gruoch, knocking her over.

Kniertje.

I pull myself up with the altar and stumble over to Banquo, but I'm dazed and disoriented, and I run right into one of the stones in the circle. It seems to have been placed badly, because it falls right over.

And suddenly, I feel rain.

The answer hits me, and I yell, "Banquo—break the circle!"

He looks up from the amethyst, confused. "Why?"

"It stops the magic! It might break the amethyst!"

Banquo scoops up the amethyst and shoves a stone over, knocking it down the side of the mountain. More rain cascades into the circle, and he exclaims, "The amethyst has a crack in it!"

I ram my shoulder into a stone, wincing as it puts pressure on what I'm pretty sure is a bruise. But I succeed in knocking the tall rock over, and it hits the ground with an almighty thump. I move on to the next stone and shove it down the mountain as well, along with the next three.

Finally, Banquo and I come to the last stone—the tallest and thickest. I look down to see that the amethyst has many, many cracks running through it. It's almost broken—and this last stone should destroy it.

This stone, it turns out, is also the one Skye is lying next to. It won't fall on her when we push it over, but I'm worried—what if we manage to destroy the amethyst, but it hurts Skye, since she's connected to the magic?

"Push it over," Skye rasps. "Please, Macbeth…it's the only way to stop her…"

I nod determinedly, rain pouring down my face, and push as hard as I can. Banquo joins me after a few moments, and the stone begins to fall.

The crash seems to rock the whole mountain, and a wave actually passes through the loch. The amethyst starts to glow brightly, and I realize it's probably going to explode.

"Throw it, Banquo!" I yell.

Banquo pulls back his arm and hurls the stone out into the loch, and I yank him to the ground as the water explodes in a flash of purple light.

The ground shudders violently as the water overflows the banks of Loch Lomond, reaching nearly halfway up the mountain's side. It feels like Ben Lomond is going to split in half—what's happening? Are we going to stop Gruoch only to die for it?

Still pressed to the ground, I hear a scream—a death scream. I raise my head slightly to see the altar burst open, stones flying everywhere. Several barely miss me, but I keep staring at the altar—which is now completely gone, revealing a dark hole in the ground.

And Gruoch is screaming as she is sucked into it.

The stones fly back together, and a wave of soft golden light spreads across the mountain, calming the shaking ground.

Suddenly exhausted, I lay my head down on the ground and instantly fall asleep.

-katavid-

I'm nearing Castle Inverness when some kind of ripple spreads through the sky. It's a faint gold color, contrasting with the stormy gray clouds.

Turning my face to the sky, I let the rain patter lightly down onto my skin. It soothes the large scrape on my cheek and washes the mud off my face, relaxing me.

They did it. I can feel it.

They stopped Gruoch.

Several minutes later, I reach Castle Inverness. I dismount hurriedly and rush into the castle, wincing at the twinge of pain in my twisted ankle. I'm probably lucky I'm not injured worse, what with that explosion.

When I reach the healing wing, I burst inside and lay Banner on the urgent-care cot. I don't think he necessarily needs urgent care, but I want to check him over.

The baby is still asleep, but he quickly wakes up as I set him down and unwrap the blankets from around him. Thankfully, Banner isn't much of a crier, so he just kind of lays there staring at me as I dart around the room trying to find everything I need.

I find a bottle of goat's milk in the underground cellar—yes, the healing wing has a cellar—and some warm, dry blankets. I wrap Banner in the blankets and sit down on the cot to feed him. He downs the bottle faster than any baby I've ever seen—even Macbeth didn't go that fast.

I smile as I remember baby Macbeth. Banquo's mother nursed him, and so the two little cousins grew up side by side. Banquo was a tiny, skinny baby, since he was born so early, and Macbeth was an energetic but still adorably chubby baby. For the most part, both of them stayed like that.

After Macbeth's mother died, Sinel mourned for months. He loved Fiona more than anything—probably more than his children. Thankfully, he didn't resent Macbeth for being the birth that killed his mother, and he devoted all his attention to his children after Fiona died. But when Macbeth was four, disaster struck. An outbreak of plague swept over Scotland, and just about everyone fell sick. Eileen and I had the whole Findlaech family in the healing wing, and we were sick too. We didn't have enough medicine for everyone, and even if we did, the plague was incurable. You survived or you didn't—it seemed completely random.

Macbeth's sister, nine-year-old Isla, died first. Seven-year-old Ewan followed just two days later, and Macbeth came so close to death that we planned a triple funeral. But the toddler pulled through with meticulous care from Eileen and I, and he slowly recovered.

But my mentor was next, passing away at the age of seventy-three—ancient for our time. Most of us only live to fifty or fifty-five. Eileen had lived a long, happy life, but she left behind a deathly sick, twelve-year-old apprentice who now had to take care of everyone affected by the plague. I was sick for weeks, and I nearly died. But one day my fever miraculously broke, and I was able to keep going, keep treating my patients in hopes they would pull through.

The outbreak lasted three months, and by the time it was over, Scotland had lost half of its population. Everyone was still weak and even starving, since the farmers had been too sick to work. That was when Norway started attacking, knowing that Scotland had been weakened by the plague and that our king had been especially ill. But we were able to fend them off, and they didn't return until five years ago—and in that first battle, Macbeth's father was killed. Macbeth was crowned Thane of Glamis at age twelve—poor little guy. He was never destined for power.

And then he was crowned king, and Scotland fell into chaos. But it wasn't Macbeth's fault—it was Gruoch's. After only a week or two of terror and turmoil, Macbeth destroyed the staffs and Skye killed Gruoch, and Banquo got the Norwegian armies to help us.

Now, Gruoch is gone for good. I'm assuming that means the staff was destroyed and that Gruoch was sent back to wherever she came from, which would be optimal. Hopefully everyone will be back soon—I think I'll ride back to Loch Lomond if they're not here in two hours.

As I look down at Banner's huge, sky-blue eyes, I realize that eight-year-old me was right—Macbeth was important to Scotland. Still is. So far, he's played a huge role in our history—in fact, I'd go so far as to say he'll be one of the most famous figures in Scotland for centuries to come. People will read about him one day far in the future and be inspired. I'm certain Macbeth is going to leave his mark on the world.

I don't know how I know, but I'm usually right.

After I finish feeding Banner, the baby falls asleep and I place him in a bassinet, then peel off my soaked tunic. I change into a dry one and then curl up on the urgent-care cot, right next to Banner's bassinet. I'm exhausted, and I fall asleep in moments.

I sleep for at least two hours, so tired I can't function. When I wake up, my lingering headache has lessened and my soaked hair has mostly dried. Banner is still sleeping soundly in his tiny bed, even snoring a little.

Life is feeling pretty good until I realize that the others aren't back yet. They'd come in here looking for Banner if they were back—that or tear the whole castle down looking for him. And the castle doesn't seem to be being torn down, so…

I drag myself out of bed and look down at Banner, who's still fast asleep—poor little guy is probably exhausted from the ordeal today. I should leave him here so he can sleep, but who will take care of him?

After further thought, I write a quick note on a piece of parchment, telling my apprentice healers to check on Banner if I'm still gone when he wakes up. I really hope I've trained them all well enough to take care of a baby.

Pinning my cloak around my shoulders, I go out to the stables, silently cursing myself for falling asleep. What was I thinking? They probably need me to help with injuries.

I saddle my horse and ride off toward Loch Lomond, protected from the rain this time by my cloak.

Loch Lomond isn't too far away, and I get there in record time. I feel bad for my poor horse, but I really want to be there as fast as possible.

I glance up at Ben Lomond, wondering if I should ride up to the top. I don't want to push my horse too hard, but I really need to help my friends. I sigh and jerk the reins, spurring my steed into running up the path.

Thankfully, it doesn't take that long to get to the top of the mountain, and what I see there causes me to nearly fall off my horse.

Every stone in the circle surrounding the summit of Ben Lomond has been pushed over, and my friends are nowhere to be found. Did they already go back down the mountain and I missed them?

"Macbeth! Banquo!" I call. "Skye! Kniertje!"

There's no answer, and I scan the side of Ben Lomond for my friends. I think I can make out several tiny figures making their way down the mountain. Is that them?

I ride down the mountain a little ways, wondering if they've found an easier way down. If I have to ride up this mountain and all the way back down, I'll be slightly frustrated.

When I get closer, I realize that the tiny dots are in fact my friends. I hurry down the mountainside toward them, realizing with a jolt of horror that Skye is collapsed on the back of Banquo's horse and that everyone else looks injured.

"Guys!" I yell as I draw nearer. "What's going on?"

Macbeth looks up as I jerk the reins and my horse stops right next to him. "Katavid! It's Skye—she needs help!"

"What happened?" I ask. "Did you stop Gruoch?"

"Yes, I think so—we destroyed the staff and she got sucked into a passageway to heck or something—but I can't explain it right now, you have to help Skye!"

"Well, I can't treat her on a mountain," I tell Macbeth. "We need to get her down to the bank."

It takes at least fifteen minutes to carry Skye down to the bank of the loch, but we eventually make it. I help Macbeth lift Skye off of Banquo's horse, and we gently set her down on the ground.

I begin my examination, thinking that there doesn't seem to be much wrong with Skye—she's a little banged up, but so is everyone else and they can still walk and breathe properly. Skye cries out whenever she moves and her breaths are shallow and shuddering. Something's wrong inside.

I realize the problem after a few minutes, and my heart sinks down into my stomach.

This isn't a physical injury. This is a magical injury. Gruoch said she'd woven the magic into Skye's mind—and it was deeply ingrained in the former queen as well. If the destruction of the staff killed Gruoch because she was so heavily influenced by the magic, then Skye would be affected by it too. That magic was controlling her thoughts, her actions, even her life force.

Then the second realization hits me with the force of a galloping horse.

There is nothing I can do.

"Macbeth," I whisper. "I—I don't know how to tell you this, but…"

"It's okay," Skye gasps. "I know…I'm dying."

"What? No!" Macbeth exclaims. "We have to do something!"

"He can't…do anything," Skye whispers. "I'm so sorry, Macbeth. Our time together…was too short."

"You are not dying," Macbeth says firmly, but I can tell he's trying to hold back tears. "Please, Skye, don't leave me. I can't be strong without you."

My heart splits in half at those words, a fading echo of those spoken by Macbeth's father seventeen years ago. Poor little guy doesn't deserve to lose his wife so soon—but I can't do anything about it.

"Yes, you can," Skye murmurs to Macbeth. "You've always…been strong, Macbeth…and now…you need to…be that more than ever. For our son."

"Banner can't grow up without a mother!" Macbeth exclaims, his tears spilling over. "I never knew my mother, Skye, and I don't want that for Banner!"

"Tell him about me," Skye whispers. "Let him know…he had a mother…once."

"Please," Macbeth sobs. "Please, Skye, no. I—I can't do this."

Skye gasps for air, her eyes starting to glaze over. "Macbeth…I promise…you will be…alright…in the end."

She reaches out and takes Macbeth's trembling hand in hers. "Remember."

Then Skye falls silent, her eyes closing. I can still see her chest rising and falling, but I know those words were her last.

Banquo and I both wrap Macbeth in a hug as he crouches next to his dying wife, and Kniertje presses against Banquo. I don't know how long we sit there, but it simultaneously feels like a few moments and all of eternity.

Finally, Skye lets out a long, slow breath, and her chest falls for the last time.

She's gone.

"I'm so sorry, Macbeth," I murmur, struggling to speak around the lump in my throat. "She was too good for this world."

Banquo wraps his arms tightly around his cousin's shaking shoulders, desperately trying to comfort Macbeth. They're both crying, and so am I. I think even Kniertje is struggling not to.

"We should take her back to Dunsinane," Macbeth whispers shakily. "She should be buried with her family."

Banquo nods silently, then pulls off his cloak. "Here, wrap her in this. We'll carry her back."

He and Macbeth gently wrap Skye's body in the cloak, and Macbeth climbs up onto my horse. Banquo and I lift Skye's body into his arms, and then I climb up behind him. Banquo and Kniertje mount their steed, and the horses break into a gallop, carrying us back toward Inverness. We can't leave Banner alone for too long.

The ride back to Inverness is over quickly, and we stumble into the healing wing to find Banner awake and staring at the door with huge blue eyes. Macbeth, still crying and sniffling, gently sets Skye's body down on the urgent-care cot and picks up his son. Banner coos softly and latches on to Macbeth's soaked tunic, not seeming to care about the wetness.

"I'm so sorry, little guy," Macbeth whispers. "I'm so, so sorry."

"Macbeth," I murmur. "Can you sit down and let me treat your injuries? Actually, can everyone do that? I know we're all grieving, but I need to help you guys."

Banquo sniffs and wipes his nose. "Okay, Katavid. I'll run and get us all dry tunics."

He does just that, returning a few minutes later with Macbeth's dark yellow tunic and his own cedar green one. Kniertje's is deep purple, and mine are all varying shades of green and brown. I've found that a person's tunic color can tell you a lot about them.

I change into a dry tunic and sit down on my stool, then beckon Kniertje toward me. I need to look at her arm—it's definitely broken, and probably badly.

I find that Kniertje's arm is indeed broken, and I have to set the bone. There is screaming (from Banquo) and cursing (from Kniertje) as I complete the procedure. I wrap the princess's arm in bandages, splint it, and then immobilize it in a sling. Then I clean and bandage the gash on her forehead and proclaim her fixed. Honestly, I'm amazed she hasn't collapsed before now—her injuries aren't minor. I tell Kniertje to go lay down and then move on to Macbeth, since he seems injured worse than Banquo.

Macbeth is sniffling every other second, and tears are still pouring silently down his face. Banner has fallen asleep against his daddy's chest, and his tiny snores bring a smile to my face, despite the terrible tragedy that has just befallen us.

"Hey," I whisper, wiping a tear off Macbeth's round face. "It's going to be okay."

For a moment, Macbeth looks four years old again, crying over the deaths of his siblings. Poor little guy. I can't believe how much he's lost over the course of seventeen years.

I gently patch up Macbeth's scrapes and bruises and bandage the bump on the back of his head, then wipe the blood, dirt, and tears off his face. The young thane is holding Banner tightly to his chest, nuzzling the baby's soft dark hair. They look very much alike—I can tell Banner is going to grow up to look just like Macbeth.

"Go rest," I say softly, holding out my arms to take Banner. "You're exhausted, Macbeth. Seriously, go to sleep."

"But Skye…" Macbeth mumbles, sniffling.

"I'm so sorry," I murmur, putting a hand on the young man's shoulder. "But you can't do anything for her now. You need to rest—you'll feel better when you wake up."

Macbeth reluctantly hands me Banner, and I gently steer the thane toward a cot and draw the curtains. I tell Banquo and Kniertje to go lay down as well, and I curl up on my bed in the corner, placing Banner in one of the bassinets I have available. Poor little guy—he'll grow up without a mother. I hope Macbeth can take care of him.

I pull the covers up over my shoulders, curling into a ball and letting my emotions envelop me. Tears start to fill my eyes, and I bury my face in my pillow.

We stopped Gruoch—again. We saved Scotland—again. But Skye is gone, and her baby son will be motherless for the rest of his life. Banner is all Macbeth has left now.

Sometimes, I think, victory comes at too high a cost.