Beyond the Phantom Battle: Mystery at Loch Ashie: Mystery at Loch Ashie

By Ian Moore-Morrans

Ian Moore-Morrans has crafted a novel of adventure, fantasy and romance set in the Scottish Highlands. In it, twin brothers from present-day Edinburgh hope to witness a “phantom battle” purported to take place annually at northern Loch Ashie. Instead they are engulfed in this battle between ancient Highlanders and Vikings which transports them back to the 12th Century. In their encounters with the local inhabitants they experience hostility, friendship, romance, death sentences and a supernatural reprieve. Finally a wizard-like being, “Ancient One,” attempts to help them return to the 21st Century.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Xlibris US
• Release date: Mar 24, 2010
• ISBN: 9781450059374

Ian Moore-Morrans

Ian comes from a small town of four thousand people on the west coast of Scotland, Argyllshire, called Campbeltown so he knows the area well that he writes of. His high school was Campbeltown Grammar School and was told by his English teacher that he should become a journalist on leaving school. He always loved to write but was too busy earning a living to do so. It wasn’t until he finally retired that he found time to write and has been doing so since, completing seven books of different genres to date.

Book preview

Contents

CHAPTER ONE

CHAPTER TWO

CHAPTER THREE

CHAPTER FOUR

CHAPTER FIVE

CHAPTER SIX

CHAPTER SEVEN

CHAPTER EIGHT

CHAPTER NINE

CHAPTER TEN

CHAPTER ELEVEN

CHAPTER TWELVE

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

CHAPTER ONE

Engulfed in the Phantom Battle

Calan and Malcolm McKinnon were twin brothers. Both were twenty-two years of age and just an inch less than six feet in height. Calan was the studious type, always wanting to get to the bottom of things and happiest when he had problems to solve. Malcolm was just the opposite—carefree and always ready with a joke or a quick remark no matter what the situation. But most important, they were the best of friends and, like most twins, were in harmony with each other.

The brothers had traveled north from their home in Edinburgh to Inverness, Scotland, to witness the strange phenomenon of a phantom battle. This so-called battle was slated to happen just after dawn during the month of May at the small Loch Ashie, just east of the much larger and more famous Loch Ness. Their adventures began after Calan read a story written in the August 1999 issue of The Scots Magazine describing the battle and quoting witnesses who saw the battle during the month of May. He decided he just had to be there to see it, anything of a mysterious or historical nature certainly interested him.

~*~

The pair had arrived the day before, getting to their camp site with the help of a local garage owner lending them a small van after Malcolm’s four-wheel drive vehicle had broken down just outside Inverness. After getting the big tent erected and organized to be more like home, they had settled down to sleep after setting the alarm clock to go off at just before dawn the next morning.

The twins managed to get out of bed before sunrise, for dawn was when the so-called phantom battle was supposed to occur, if it should ever happen. Calan got around to setting a few things to his liking and then they settled themselves close to the edge of the loch to wait for the rising sun. Malcolm had just finished brewing some coffee and had brought two mugs over to where Calan was sitting, placing a mug on the camping table beside Calan.

Cheers, Me Hearty! Malcolm said, raising his mug.

Calan smiled back at Malcolm as he lifted his mug of coffee from the table to return the salute. Cheers! Thanks, Malky. So here we are at last, at the edge of Loch Ashie, waiting for the start of our big experiment. Aren’t you just a wee bit thrilled?

Oh aye—some, I suppose, Malcolm replied, grinning, as he settled his backside into the vacant chair that was on the other side of the little table from Calan. But not to the same extent as you are. One thing’s for sure; I’m not ready to burst into song like you just did!

Calan had, a few minutes earlier, belted out the first few bars of Oh, What a Beautiful Morning, a song from an old musical to which Malcolm had remarked, Go for it, Pavarotti!

Oh that? Well, we’ve waited for this day for months, or at least I have. And this is the time of day when things are most likely to happen, isn’t it? He glanced at his watch. In a few more minutes’ time it will be sunrise, and if anything is going to happen, it should be soon—I hope.

It certainly looks good from here. I would say you’ve managed to find the ideal spot for viewing, his brother replied as he glanced around. We can watch all over the shore area without having to turn around or crane our necks and also be able to sit side by side to have a nice wee chat and pass the time.

Aye, it is a nice spot, isn’t it? Anyway, look over that way. Calan pointed in a northeasterly direction to the bright area that heralded where the sun would soon appear above the low hills on the far side of the water. It’s such a beautiful morning, with not an ounce of fog around and hardly a cloud in the sky. Look at where the sun will show its nose over the horiz—

His sentence was cut short as, suddenly, they were engulfed by a deafening roar like the sound of a hundred diesel locomotives thundering through a railway station and disappearing rapidly into the distance. Calan and Malcolm looked at each other in amazement, more than a little scared. The sound had arrived without warning and then had diminished to silence, all within a few seconds.

As they sat motionless, Calan was on the verge of saying something when he noticed a strange fog suddenly forming on the ground at their feet. Quickly scanning the area, Calan also noticed that a ridge was forming at the perimeter of the mist. Continuing to grow, this ridge soon became a low wall that kept getting higher. As he turned his head, Calan discovered that the growing mist wall had encircled them. It quickly rose to a height of ten feet in the few seconds that had passed and was so dense that it looked almost solid. As Calan stared in disbelief, the wall very slowly began to rotate in a clockwise direction, its face about ten feet away, making a twenty-foot circle—with Malcolm and himself smack in the middle.

Calan, looking at Malcolm, and totally confused by what was happening, slowly got to his feet, causing the strange mist on the ground to rise up in puffs. He pulled Malcolm erect and both put their coffee mugs onto the table. They looked at each other, then all around, hoping to discover an explanation of some sort.

As the mist wall rotated, it gradually accelerated. The hum it emitted had begun very quietly but as the speed of rotation increased, it became louder and louder, until it had developed into a high pitched whine. At the same time, the diameter of the circle reduced as the wall closed in on the two men.

Calan took hold of Malcolm’s sleeve, pulling him rapidly to one side in an attempt to evade this terrifying vision. To his surprise, it quickly moved with them, maintaining them exactly in its epicenter as it diminished in diameter. The twins watched in amazement as the wall, now only a foot away, began to engulf them, tossing away the table, chairs and mugs. Calan threw his arms around Malcolm to help anchor them, certain they were in some strange sort-of tornado and on the verge of being swept away.

The mist wall was now almost touching them. As their hair whipped in the turbulence, they fought for breath; terrified that this might be their end. A few seconds later, the strange phenomenon swallowed them. Flashing red, yellow, white and blue lights that had appeared within the swiftly revolving mist seemed to increase in frequency as the speed and sound of the mist accelerated. Suddenly, everything exploded in a dazzling white light—then, total silence.

~*~

The mist gradually dissipated, taking the silence with it. From all around, their ears were assaulted with the sounds of shouting, screaming and clashing of metal on metal, as men fighting other men seemed to materialize from nowhere. Even more disturbing, they found themselves in the middle of a battle, fighting others whom they readily identified as Vikings. It was hand-to-hand combat, with many Highlanders madly fighting their common enemy.

The battle was fierce. Men screamed and yelled their battle cries, savagely swinging their broadswords or axes and trying to ward off attacks with their shields. Calan and Malcolm, each with a sword and shield, did their best to protect themselves against the Viking onslaught, expertly wielding their weapons.

Knowing that neither of them had ever had swords in their hands before, Calan was astounded to find himself automatically executing the right moves as though he had been schooled in swordsmanship all of his life. With lightening-fast reflexes, he parried and lunged exactly as an expert swordsman would do in such a situation.

During this terrible fighting, Calan suddenly delivered a powerful sideswipe at one of the Vikings, the heavy sword slicing almost halfway into the left side of his opponent’s neck. The gash he had just inflicted quickly drained the man’s lifeblood. Calan watched entranced as the enemy dropped to his knees, then to the ground, the blood gushing in spurts from a severed jugular, his limbs flaying for a few seconds, and then lying still.

The stark picture of death petrified Calan. He had never seen anything so horrific! But almost immediately, as he stood looking down at his victim, the flow of blood stopped—and then disappeared entirely! Then the wound closed and totally healed itself before his very eyes! Astonishingly, the Viking then jumped to his feet to continue the battle.

Mesmerized and stupefied by all that had just passed, Calan felt as though he were watching the whole thing from afar. Then suddenly the enemy he had just killed—with a loud Yeeehaa and a wicked gleam in his eyes—buried his sword almost to the hilt into Calan’s body. Calan felt no pain. The Viking withdrew his sword and continued on to attack another Highlander. Instantly, Calan recovered his senses.

It didn’t take more than two seconds after that for Calan to realize that both he and Malcolm were actually taking part in the Phantom Battle—and then begin to wonder how they could possibly get out of it! It also flashed into his mind that although he had dearly wanted to see it, that was as close as he had wanted to be! He realized that this must be a never-ending conflict—one that would last till the end of time. With no victors and no losers, no one remained dead for more than a few seconds. He saw many Highlanders and Vikings slain, yet, before he knew it, they were back on their feet again to continue the fight.

Another alarming thought entered Calan’s head. Now that he and Malcolm were in the phantom battle and taking part in the action, maybe they had become permanent participants, destined to fight for all time, with no hope of ever returning to the life they had known. Worse still, he was the one who had persuaded Malcolm to come here with him to try to see this phenomenon. It now seemed he had also invited Malcolm to spend eternity in this ghostly existence. There were tears in his eyes as he thought, ‘I’m sorry, Malky, so sorry. And there doesn’t seem to be any way I can fix it!’

Was this painful thought, along with his participation in this ghostly struggle, to be with him for all eternity, too?

During the heat of battle, as the fighting fiercely continued, a thick, white, swirling fog descended on the fighters, as if a low-lying cloud had suddenly moved in. Thicker and thicker, the density increased until it was no longer possible to distinguish friend from foe. Not one person was visible. Calan could see absolutely nothing. In a matter of seconds, the shouting, the clashing of swords and the sound of battle ceased. Again, a deathly silence reigned.

Calan moved his shield-carrying left hand out to the side and tried to touch the Highlander who had been there but a few moments before, but found no one. Swinging around in a slow arc he tried to determine if anyone was close. Again, no one was there. Isolated, as if he were in a void, Calan found the silence overwhelming after the din of battle. No one tried to attack him and he wasn’t able to attack anyone else even if he had wanted to.

Malcolm, are you there?

Aye, I’m here.

Are you all right?

I’m just fine, Laddie. Are you all right?

Aye, I’m okay.

The mist began to rise and then slowly moved away, hovering about ten feet above the ground. The bottom of this mist was perfectly flat and in the early daylight, it looked metallic and solid.

Surprisingly, the scene had changed completely. Calan quickly looked around and found that all the fighters had disappeared. Relief instantly rushed through him when he realized that he and Malcolm were not slated to be permanent fighters in that horrific battle after all. He felt as if his mind were going at a thousand miles an hour!

A few minutes before, he and his brother had been seated at the edge of Loch Ashie, waiting for the sun to rise over the low hills that were on the other side of the loch; waiting to see if they could catch a glimpse of anything that might resemble a battle, phantom or not!

‘This can’t be happening, I must be having some sort of dream,’ he thought. ‘It must be something induced by that magazine story about the phantom battle and by me being so anxious to see it.’

He tried to convince himself that he was still back in his tent, fast asleep, dreaming of the very first time he had set eyes on the article in The Scots Magazine. Perhaps the thought of seeing the phantom battle had thrilled him so much that it somehow affected his brain.

Calan recalled that, back home in Edinburgh where he lived with his mother, father and twin brother, he had hoped he could persuade Malcolm to go north with him on an investigative trip to check out this so-called phantom battle.

This was the very same battle he, in his opinion, had just been experiencing. Was it real? At this point, he had no idea! Knowing they had just experienced something extraordinary, Calan gazed in wonder at the mist as it slowly and silently moved away from him, coming to a stop when it reached the center of the small loch. Then, still moving very slowly, it gradually descended until it hovered on the surface like a huge, domed, gray half-ball. It remained in that position for a few seconds then slowly sank into the loch, causing the surrounding water to appear as if it were furiously boiling. Calan wondered if the weird fog contained the ghosts of the battle they had just been part of. Yes, he decided. Absolutely.

*~*~*

CHAPTER TWO

Looking for Inverness

Calan had been too busy to see how Malcolm was faring during the battle. Then, immediately after the battle was over and the strange fog had arisen, he had been mesmerized by the metallic-looking bottom, knowing full well that it was not of this world. He could do nothing else but concentrate on it until it had gone from sight.

Eventually getting around to looking for Malcolm, he saw him standing about forty feet away. It was now fully daylight and Calan was astonished to note that his brother was really, well and truly, dressed as an ancient Highlander. Another shock struck him as he glanced down at himself—amazed to find that he was dressed exactly the same.

The kilt each wore carried a primitive, brownish tartan design and was longer than the modern kilt, stopping five inches below the knees. It was devoid of pleats and heavily gathered around the waist. Each man wore a long-sleeved shirt the same color as the base color of the kilt, made of a heavy, coarse, material. A massive, full Highland plaid of the same tartan was attached to and under the front left side of the broad waist-belt and draped over the left shoulder. It then crossed diagonally at the back and came up, loosely, from the rear, under the right armpit and continued over the left shoulder again. There it was tied where it crossed with a tie-string attached to the left shoulder of the shirt, the remainder falling behind to below the bottom of the kilt.

Calan reckoned the cloth must have been at least twelve feet in length. He had learned many years ago, that originally the plaid was a Highlander’s portable bed and bedcover; and this one could cover him twice if need be.

Each wore a pair of front-lacing, knee-high, soft leather boots that came higher than the bottom of the kilt. On their heads they wore soft helmets that looked almost like an American Davy Crockett coon-skin cap. This helmet, however, was made from unshorn sheepskin and also covered the whole head, including the back of the neck—almost like a long protective wig. The long, rough wool rendered an impression of ferocity to the wearer—as if he were really mean and wild.

Broad belts around the waist completed the outfits. Each belt carried a sheathed dagger on the right and a scabbard for a sword on the left. Both brothers were armed with a claymore (large two-edged broadsword) in one hand and a shield in the other. A small leather bag tied to the left side of each man’s belt buckle contained ten identical, fairly large and seemingly brand new, shiny brass-colored coins of unknown value.

Malcolm walked toward him nonchalantly; making out that the sword was a sort of walking stick and wearing a grin on his face that was a mile wide. Hey, what do you think happened there? What was that all about? And what of these duds we’ve got on? Cool, eh, Big Brother? (Although Malcolm was only ten minutes younger, he liked to tease Calan about it.)

The glow of excitement on Malcolm’s face confirmed Calan’s suspicion that his brother had thoroughly enjoyed the skirmish.

Wow, wasn’t that something else, Malky? I’d say I’d been dreaming if it weren’t for the crazy outfits we’re wearing. I wonder how this all happened, he said, indicating his outfit. How did we get out of our own clothes and into this lot? The last time I glanced at you, you were still wearing your jeans outfit!

Surveying the area where the battle had just occurred, pausing slightly, he said, in a not-too-certain voice, I think we’d better get changed, and when we’ve had something to eat we should head back to civilization for a few hours. What do you think? Oh, something else—those cups of coffee will be dead by now. Do you fancy making another batch that we can sit and relax with for a wee while?

Of course I will, Malcolm said, playing with his sword by beheading some nearby thistles. I need a cup of something more than ever after that carry-on, and the stronger the better!

After we have our coffee we’ll get ourselves cleaned up, Calan continued, and after that, while I’m straightening out the tent, you can get some breakfast made. After breakfast, we’ll phone for a taxi. Agreed?

Sounds good to me, I’ll go along with that. I think I’ve had more than enough excitement for one day! He started to walk in the direction of the camp stove and the table where the coffee mugs sat, and hesitated for a moment. Look there, Calan, I saw that table and those mugs being thrown by the tornado—or whatever it was—and they’re upright like before; weird, eh? Talking over his shoulder—he continued, But it was good anyway, lots of fun, eh? Just let me—hey, wow! Malcolm was in mid-sentence when the heavens opened and torrential rain forced the pair to make a fast run to the tent.

Once inside the tent, Calan raised his hands in disgust. Well, Malky, would you look at that? Now we have time to sit with a nice cup of coffee but the stuff to make it with is out there—and who’s going to be the brave one to go out in that downpour to bring it in? He laughed as the two of them dropped their swords and shields onto one of the beds. Tell you what though, we could stand outside in the nude and have a shower; that’s if you can tolerate the cold rain. We could also get the gear for making the coffee . . . He stopped mid-sentence and stood transfixed as the tent and everything else gradually and swimmingly disappeared before his eyes. Seconds later, the brothers, now standing on open ground, were left with only what they were wearing; everything else had vanished. The swords and shields that they had thrown onto the camp bed earlier were lying on bare ground. The sun was well above the horizon and the almost clear blue sky had no sign of a rain cloud anywhere.

The twins looked at each other, utterly astounded. Neither of them spoke. Shuffling around a bit here and there, and then in half circles, they continued to look at each other, then up, down, around, left and right again. Faltering, and looking completely at a loss, neither of them spoke for at least a full minute, hesitant to say anything in regard to the situation.

Calan finally broke the silence. Oh boy-oh-boy, now I don’t know anything for sure. He again paused, continuing to look around. Listen, no matter what’s going on here, we’ve got to get back to some place we know; for it looks as though we’ve been moved away from our gear. This doesn’t look like the same area at all, does it? Too many trees and bushes.

Malcolm looked at his brother but said nothing.

Calan continued, There’s a loch over there, right enough; but that doesn’t tell us much. There’s not a bit of our stuff around here—nothing! There’s something nagging at my mind regarding these ‘long-ago clothes’ but I will let it rest for a few moments—maybe tell you about it in a wee while when I give it a bit more thought.

Calan could see that Malcolm was as stunned as he was by what had just taken place, neither of them seeming to know how to behave. Again it was Calan who spoke, this time with anguish in his voice.

Things like this just don’t happen, Malcolm; do they? Look at that sunshine now, our clothes are bone dry and the ground isn’t even wet! One minute it’s lovely, then it’s foggy, then pouring rain and now it’s lovely again—this is one crazy morning. Again he paused, for what they had just experienced was still sinking in, This is unbelievable! We’ll need clothes, maybe another tent and food and other stuff if we can’t locate our own—and I think it best if we don’t mention this event to anyone or they’ll think we’re nuts or making up stories. This is scary—real scary—eh?

"Scary sounds a bit like an understatement, to be sure. Anyway, it’s a beautiful morning now and I’d give anything for a plate of bacon and eggs, beans, some toast and a mug of coffee. I think