BLACK DONALD
By N. M. GILLSON
34,127 words
Smashwords Edition
Copyright 2011 N. M. Gillson
Smashwords Edition, License Notes
This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be resold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to Smashwords.com and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.
Black Donald is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.
HISTORIAN’S NOTE
The Scottish folklore of Black Donald can be found through appropriate research and although this story is based on that folklore, it bears no resemblance to any actual events associated with Black Donald and therefore is purely a fictional story.
ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS:
Piotr gave me the initial challenge and allowed me to bounce ideas off him. Paula was the first to read this and edit it for me – you’re stars! Thanks Piotr and Paula, its much appreciated.
Most of all I want to thank the Father who sends us His angels to watch over us all. Thanks God!
For Jean
Chapter 1
Kirkfale, Scotland
1910
“Rose, are ye in? Can I come in?” A tall, slender man with grey hair stood in the centre of the sandy road facing the shoe-maker’s shop. He wore a long black cloak that trailed on the ground and was covered in dirt at the hem. The relentless rain had been falling for several days soaking his hair and aging face, but it seemed not to affect him or his endeavours. His shoulders hung as if they were weary from having walked for days, but his arms were clasped before him as if to show respect for who he was talking to. He looked up at the second floor windows and then down to the ground floor shop window to see if there was any sign of movement within the wooden building. There was none that he could discern.
In the distance, the overflowing rivers that usually flowed along the outskirts of the village of Kirkfale, crashed down the nearby mountains. The crackling sounds carried through the small twisted streets and ricocheted off every structure in the ancient settlement, creating a rustling melody to the backdrop of rising mountains. A solitary bird on a desperate search for its next meal sliced through the heavy rain. Ignoring the dark, grey clouds that hovered above, emptying their watery contents onto the ground below, it circled before landing on a twisted gutter covered in pale moss.
Nestled in the heart of the deepest valleys of the Grampian Mountain Range in Scotland, Kirkfale was largely unknown to outsiders. The main roads connecting the towns of the North and East to those of the South had been laid several miles south of the village. With only one road in and out of Kirkfale, the villagers seldom left the valley and rarely accommodated guests who dared venture this far into the mountains. It came as a big surprise to many of the villagers, at first, when they discovered this stranger staying with the owner of the shirt shop a few months ago, but as the days went on, his presence was more accepted as he flitted between villagers, making use of their hospitality and learning their skills. Through the course of gossip, the stranger had been called many names, but one seemed to be favoured above all others; Black Donald.
“Come on, open up, I only wanna be yer friend,” Black Donald said with a cheery voice. Truth be known, he was struggling to hide his annoyance, he failed to understand why this one shop, the last one before the end of the village, had closed when all the others had accepted him with open arms. This last shop lay between him and his goal. That annoyed him. “I’ll tell ye what, ye open yer door and teach me ev’rythin’ ye ken and I’ll see to it that ye’ll thrive and become rich beyond yer wildest dreams.” He smiled, but it soon dropped to a grimace. How dare she resist me.
Despite the rain, the street quickly filled up with villagers when they heard Black Donald’s persistent shouting. They gathered on both sides talking to one another and wondering why Rose, the shoe-maker, was not answering. After a few more minutes, Donald turned to the villagers and pleaded, “Does anybody ken where Rose is? She’s no’ answerin’ her door.” He wanted to smile at the gathered crowd, it had not taken him long to alter their perceptions and turn them to his will and desires. It was easy really; they are so weak-willed. Instead, he looked pleadingly at those around him but nobody made a move to help. Despite his ‘power’ over these people, they still showed signs of mistrust, perhaps they are not as weak-willed as I thought. Eventually, a small boy gingerly stepped forward. No higher than Black Donald’s waist, he carried a basket in which Donald presumed he had bread, “What do ye ken, Son?” he said softly to the boy.
“Mister, Rose as awa’ th’day. She said she’ll no’ be back for some time and if anybody asked where she was, I was to say that.” The boy beamed at Donald with a grin from ear to ear.
Donald nodded his head, “what’s yer name, Son?”
“Tommy, Mister.” Donald was amazed Tommy showed no sign of fear or apprehension. He had already recognised the boy but the name placed him as the farmer’s son and he realised why he had so much confidence.
Taking a step closer, Donald contemplated his next move. “Are ye no’ that bairn from the farm at the top o’ the village?” Of course he knew the answer, but manipulating the boy would get him the information he needed.
“Aye that I am, Mister.” Tommy replied with pride. He puffed out his chest and stood as tall as he could as if a stick had been pushed down his shirt and trousers.
“Yer father taught me how to gather wool from sheepies?”
“Aye that he did, Mister.” Tommy nodded slightly. The corners of Donald’s mouth began to curl slowly upwards.
“An’ yer mother taught me how to turn th’wool in to a jumper?”
“Aye that she did, Mister,” Tommy maintained his smug demeanour and did not take his eyes away from Black Donald. If he were anyone else, Black Donald would have found that disconcerting and uncomfortable, but he was beginning to like Tommy’s charisma.
“Are ye sure ye heard the message right? Do ye have any idea where she’s gone and when she’ll be back?”
Tommy thought for a moment before answering, “I dinna ken all that, Mister, but I’m tellin’ ye noo, Rose is no’ there, she left the other day wi’ big bags an’ seemed in a hurry.” He stretched his arms out to signify the size of the bags allowing the basket to sway a little.
“And ye are sure about that noo’?” He wanted to be sure, but he had already discerned from Tommy that this endeavour was pointless. Rose, the only one who could teach him how to make shoes, was gone.
“Aye!” Black Donald nodded in defeat and sighed. He allowed his anger well up inside. His plan had been foiled again, like so many times before. This time, however, it would be different; he still controlled the moment.
Black Donald looked into Tommy’s eyes, a small part of him was sad that he would have to do what he was about to do, but he refused to let something like human emotion get in his way. He looked up to the crowd behind Tommy, “Have I no’ paid ye handsomely for all yer hospitality? Have I no’ been generous wi’ ma wealth in return for yer skills?” He threw his arms into the air, “Do ye think I canna hear ye, mutterin and laughin behind my back? What have I done to deserve yer disloyalty? I could have gone anywhere to learn these skills, but I chose Kirkfale because I believed ye were a good people. Clearly, I was wrong!” He slid his aged and haggard hand into the front opening of his robe and then retracted it slowly. As the hand left the robe, it clasped the hilt of a sword. Within seconds, he had withdrawn the long, thin blade and had raised it above his head with both hands. His robe lifted off the ground as his arms stretched up in readiness for Black Donald to make his first strike, his feet barely visible. The multi-faceted ruby at the end of the hilt reflected rays of red light over Donald’s face creating an eerie glow. His eyes turned fiery amber and his cheeks wrinkled deeper as he bore his teeth and began to snarl.
The villagers screamed and ran in every direction, bumping into each other but somehow, scrambling away. Some ran into their shops or houses and locked the doors the best they could. “Look at ye all run as if there are places to hide from my power.” Donald’s voice boomed throughout the valley like a lion’s roar. The screech of a bird sounded high above his head, but he ignored it, “I’ll find ye all. I’ll slay ye all. Then I’ll burn yer whole village down to the ground. Not one of ye will escape my wrath. Ye all will be damned to hell and the one who brought this upon ye, will perish; her and her descendants.” He roared again. Several nearby windows smashed spraying frantic villagers with shards of glass.
Donald looked back at the boy, why had he not run like the others? He stood watching Donald, albeit drenched from the rain.
“Mister, why are yer…” He began but stopped when fear struck his face for the first time since stepping forward from the crowd.
Black Donald swung his sword in one swift motion at Tommy slicing his midsection with little effort. He watched Tommy’s face as his eyes went bloodshot and maroon blood appeared at his mouth, “Shame, I liked you.” Without another thought, he turned and singled out his next victim.
Chapter 2
Preston, England,
6 months ago
The reflected sunlight from the shop windows across Fishergate was dimmed through the tinted glass of the bank doors. Mary Cameron stood facing the doors, ignoring the slow moving traffic outside; instead, looking at her reflection. Her deep brown eyes told of the sadness she felt in her heart, a feeling that was confirmed by the tear that trickled its way down her right cheek. She combed her fringe of black hair back over her right ear and wiped the tear away with the back of her hand. Slightly sniffing, Mary hoped no one heard her and would ask if she was alright. She knew that would make her burst out crying. Mary wanted to scream, but saw the security guard in the corner of her eye standing just to the left of the doors. Anything out of the ordinary would encourage him to move and intercept her.
A young lady and her child entered the bank and for a moment the noise from the street outside filled the entire room, but then died down when the door closed. Looking around, Mary wondered why the waiting room was so quiet; there are only a few people there. She turned to face the tellers behind their inch-thick glass shield and wondered what their life was like working in a bank, with all that money? No doubt they are rolling in it and have no need to ask for any help. Suddenly she became aware of someone standing behind her and turned too quickly losing her balance.
The security guard caught her just in time before she crashed into a leaflet stand, “You alryte, Miss?”
She looked up, his grey moustache hung limply over his lip and his half-moon glasses looked out of place on the bridge of his nose, “Thank you, I just turned a little too quickly.” She smiled.
He smiled and nodded, “Tha’s fyne, Miss.” He took his arms away, “Would you lyke a seat, Miss?”
For a moment, she was going to say yes, but thought better of it; she had to get out of the bank. She shook her head, “No, thank you, I’ll be alright.” She straightened her jumper and handbag and began walking slowly towards the door.
“Excewse me Miss, ‘ave you drawped this?” He held up her purple document wallet. She hoped she would be leaving the bank with an agreement to a loan in that wallet but she had been refused. She felt her throat thicken and tears pricked at her eyes but fought it back and took the wallet nodding.
“Thank you; I won’t get very far without that, now will I?” She faked a laugh, but was not sure she had pulled it off since the guard did not even smile. Placing the wallet in her bag, she turned back towards the door and opened it.
Her shoulders hung low in disappointment as she meandered out onto Fishergate. The warmth of the sun surprised her a little but that was the last thing on her mind. She tried to comprehend why the bank had refused her a loan again and what her options were now, I can’t come this far and be stopped at the last hurdle. She understood the current economic crisis had put no end of pressure on banks, but she was an honest person, or at least she hoped she was. Her thoughts were interrupted by her phone ringing in her bag.
“Hiya, Babe!” She tried to sound positive, but knew Michael would sense in the tone of her voice that things did not go the way she wanted it to go. She could never fool him; he always got the truth out of her.
“Hey Babe, you sound sad,” Michael said.
“Yeah, he said no, apparently with our current account being in the overdraft on a regular basis, I am a liability when it comes to money.”
“What? Does he not know I have a stable job, want me to give him a ring?” Mary smiled, awww, how sweet. She recalled Michael was not happy at first with her idea of becoming a professional shoe maker. She heard his voice telling her it was a waste of time in today’s society, but when she discovered shoe-making made her happy after taking several night classes on different subjects; she knew in her heart that she was meant to make shoes.
“Nah! I just need to think of something else, there are always possibilities,” she said. “Besides, if it is meant to be, it will happen.” There was a silence, “will you be home late?” She drastically wanted to change the topic before she started crying again. She really did not want complete strangers to stop and look at her strangely as they passed.
“Shouldn’t be, the meeting was cancelled since the heads ill. Tell you what, I’ll get a bottle of wine and a pizza and we’ll watch a film or something.”
She smiled again, “love you.”
“Love you too, Babe. Better go, the bells just rang, see you later.”
“Bye bye.” She pressed the off button and began putting the phone back in her bag, when it rang. She smiled thinking it was Michael again like he used to do when they were dating, just to say ‘I miss you’ or ‘I love you’, but the caller ID was withheld. “Hello?”
“Is that Mary Cameron?” A deep voice spoke with precision and expert pronunciation, who the hell are you? The voice was definitely not Michael’s normal voice, but he could have disguised it.
“Who is this?” Mary began to smile, thinking it was a joke, “Is that you, Michael?” This was something else Michael would do, just to play a trick on her. Her finger was poised on the off button just as the caller spoke again.
“Are you looking for premises for a self-employed business in shoe-making?”
“Excuse me?” This is definitely a crank call, she pressed the off button. She could not believe her ears and began searching for Michael’s number to demand an explanation.
The phone rang again. She hesitated before answering, “Hello?” She hoped it was not the same caller as before.
“Mary, please do not hang up, this is a legitimate call and offer I want to present you with, I only ask for a few minutes of your time and patience. I understand that you are looking to start a shoe-making business, I can help, please trust me, I only want to help you succeed and bring trade to my village.” The caller sounded serious, but Mary was not fooled.
“I’m onto you, Michael James Cameron, wait until I see you tonight.”
“I assure you, Mary, I am not your husband. My employers are always on the look for new and exciting ideas, such as yours, that have the potential of developing into top-earning businesses. My employers wish to encourage you to start your shoe-making business with no loans, no overhangs and no overpowering boss. You will be totally in charge of your shoe-making shop, the staff of your choice, the decoration of your choice, everything will be yours.”
This sounds too good to be true.
As if he heard her thoughts, “And if you think this is too good to be true, don’t, there are no catches what so ever. You will be given everything you need to start and succeed and any help will be given to you upon your request.”
“Assuming I went with this? And that is not very likely at this point, what’s in it for your employers?”
“My employers are only looking for your satisfaction and continual support in protecting their interests.” Mary looked around to see if she could spot any hidden cameras, “Of course, we are not looking for a decision just now, we expect you to discuss it with your husband, Michael.” Mary gulped and began shuffling her feet, “Mary, my employers are so confident you will make a great success they have offered you this unbeatable opportunity, no strings attached.” There was a momentary silence, “I look forward to your decision forthwith.” The line went dead. Mary continued staring ahead with the phone at her ear, still unsure what had just happened. It just seemed too good to be true.
Chapter 3
Kirkfale, Scotland,
3 weeks ago
“I declare Mary’s Shoes open.” Michael watched as his wife squeezed the over-sized black-handled scissors and snipped the red ribbon that had been draped in front of the glass doors to her brand new shop. He was quite surprised how quickly she had managed to set everything up. He remembered the phone call from a complete stranger telling Mary she would have everything she needed to open up within six months. He still thought there was some hidden catch, there always is, but he chose to ignore it for Mary’s sake, why look a gift horse in the mouth? he reassured himself.
Michael recalled the journey just before entering Kirkfale. The luscious mountains, picturesque rivers and waterfalls, created a location fit for gods. The village was located at the base of the valley, with an ancient and derelict wall built around it. The original gateway still stood, but was now more for decoration than purpose; simply a physical remembrance to the village’s heritage. On the east of the village, beyond the wall, was the boarding school. With its numerous towers and wings built into the mountain face, it resembled a medieval castle rather than a high-achieving school. It was slightly elevated above the village, perhaps indicative of its perceived importance, Michael could not be sure. He had dated the construction back as far as the early 14th century, but he knew looks could be deceiving.
Looking around at the gathered villagers, most of whom he had already spoken to, Michael quickly discovered he had to concentrate really hard to understand, given their broad Scottish dialect. He liked how they were close-knit; everyone seemed to know everyone else and they were caring enough to hold a street party for Mary’s shop opening, or perhaps it was just an excuse for a party. He smiled a little when he surveyed the high street, shops and businesses lining the single, winding street for about half a mile into the village. Beyond that, there was not much to account for either. Kirkfale, it would seem, was home to just under one hundred people and approximately one quarter of them were children who attended the boarding school. Michael found it strange that such a reputable school, according to Ofsted, was situated in the mountains near one of the smallest villages he had ever visited; but again, he chose to concentrate on other things, like Mrs. Doherty’s cream and jam scones.
Tucking into his fourth scone, Michael recalled how it was only 6 months ago he had first heard of Kirkfale. Even the so-called prestigious boarding school, classed as one of the top in the UK, was new to him. He glanced over towards the school, but, as he expected, could not see it for trees and buildings of the village, perhaps just as well, these scones are so delicious. He put the last bit of the scone into his mouth and looked around the street. He saw villagers meandering in Mary’s Shop looking at the old photos that were left in the building for the big opening day. Mary had felt obliged to display them along with some shoe designs she had already created before arriving. She was talking to someone outside her shop and was smiling and laughing a lot. Perhaps, we will be happy here.
Farmer Gallagher, his wife, Amanda, and their son, Thomas, were standing near a green tractor with a sign posted just to the left offering tractor rides to the children. There was a queue of children looking very excited. Next to them was a face painting stand, again with a line of children waiting patiently. Mr. and Mrs. Doherty were next with their cream and jam scones. Then the local policeman stood almost to attention, if it were not for the cup of beverage in his hand. Michael had not been able to speak with him yet and so made a mental note to introduce himself later when the party had died down. Michael looked at the policemen over the rim of his tea cup, pretending to savour the taste of Mrs. Danderson’s delicious tea. He stood taller than Michael with a clean shaven face and cropped hair. His helmet lay on the ground next to him. His uniform seemed in pristine condition; perhaps he had pressed it that morning for the party. Michael noticed the officer was looking straight at him, as if he were staring right into his soul. A shiver shot down his back and he looked away.
Old Mr. and Mrs. Danderson sat on chairs outside their shop, Coats, Cloaks and Robes, which was next to Mary’s. Mr. Danderson was sat behind a table with numerous paper cups, two tea pots and a coffee pot. It seemed at first glance he was snoozing with a newspaper atop his chest like a blanket, but then would move when someone came to the table so he could pour a beverage and hand it to Mrs. Danderson who gave it with a smile. Such a sweet little village, these people are great.
“Ye must be that new teacher startin’ up at the school?” A broad Scottish voice slightly startled Michael, forcing him to spill his tea, “Och! Sorry about that, Laddie, here, let me help ye.” Michael watched as the grey-haired lady took out a handkerchief and began wiping his shirt where the tea had spilt. It reminded him of his own dear sweet mother, who had died a few years before he got married. “So, are ye that lad?” The woman smiled her sweet smile, a sparkle flashed in her blue eyes, or perhaps it was a reflection in her horn-rimmed glasses.
“Yes, I am Michael, I start on Monday.” He was excited, knowing he was about to start a job where his experience mattered. He was looking forward to the occasional night time supervision of the school and starting up a fencing club for the senior boys and girls. He ran through all the plans he had made in his head and smiled.
“Lookin’ forward to it then? Bet ye are, tis a grand school, one o’ the best in Scotland, no doubt. The headmaster is one o’ the best in country an’ because o’ all the hard work he has done wi’ our kids, the villagers elected him Mayor o’ Kirkfale. I’m tellin’ ye now, that was the best decision we made, because he has done everythin’ to get Kirkfale noticed by the rest of Scotland. Ye may have noticed, there is only one road into and out o’ Kirkfale because o’ the landscape, that is a major disadvantage when trying to conduct business around the country. The Mayor has done a fine job already and we have a steady stream of tourists coming on a regular basis to Kirkfale.” She was about to say something else, before Michael gently placed his hands on her shoulders and smiled.
“I’m sorry Mrs…?” He suddenly realised that he did not know this woman and hoped that she would not scream for him touching her shoulders. His mind flashed to the policeman.
“Mrs. Crochet, Laddie,” she said sweetly.
“I’m sorry, Mrs. Crochet, I think Mary needs me, however, I would love to hear more about the school and the village another time, perhaps.” He tried to let her down gently, but was not sure he had achieved it.
“Och aye! That’s my shop down there; ye’re more than welcome anytime.” She pointed to the building just a few yards down on the opposite side of the road, “the post office, that is,” she said to confirm.