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#  The Return of Thomas Ford

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# Revenge of the Picts

A Work of Fan Fiction

Aíne Ní Aodha

 **White Butterfly Press**

The Return of Thomas Ford

A White Butterfly Publication

Published by White Butterfly Press 2018

Copyright © Aíne Ni Aodha 2018

This book is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

All rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. Published in the United States by White Butterfly Press.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, events, and incidents are either the products of the author's imagination, derived from **The Survival of Thomas Ford** , or used in a fictitious manner. Place names and business names may be actual but they are used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental. Special thanks to **John A. A. Logan** who gave his permission to write this story using his book as a starting point.

Be sure to buy the tartan noir thriller **The Survival of Thomas Ford** available on Amazon US and Amazon UK to experience the terror of Thomas and Lorna during the night on the hill at Ardlarich!

Table of Contents

Table of Contents

The Return of Thomas Ford

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.

The End

Footnotes:

#  Chapter One.

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Do not fear death so much but rather the inadequate life. - Eugen Berthold Friedrich Brecht.

A red-orange beam of the winter sunrise poked through a bent slat in the blind, bouncing off the mirror opposite the window. It was bright enough to startle Thomas into consciousness. He felt around for the clock on the night table, checked the time with his good eye, and rolled over for another half hour of rest before his work day encroached. Thomas was still wearing an eye patch. He had a big layout pending for a local magazine and a catalogue of Lea's sculpture to illustrate. Her inventory had not yet been auctioned. Alan and Jean Gillan, understandably, were anxious to have Lea's estate probated. The court demanded an inventory of the dead person's property. Not just a dead person. Lea. Several years ago, Lea had prepared a testamentary, leaving everything to Thomas, but Alan and Jean had requested a few pieces from the shop. Maybe the carved wooden head from New Guinea or the hollow, twisted horn from Sierra Leone. Another something to remember her by.

Piles of clothes betrayed the emptiness of the house and its inhabitant. The large vanity had ties hung over the mirror, the drawers were open with socks spilling out. Since her death, he had lost all sense of order or routine. His grief and guilt were overwhelming.

He drifted back into a fitful sleep. Lea seemed to be staring wide-eyed and vacantly at him from the loch. "Lea, I couldn't undo your seatbelt. I am sorry. You kept knocking my hands away. You were terrified. I couldn't calm you. I was terrified too. There was no time." There was no answer.

Eventually he got up, found his slippers, and went down to make a cup of tea, glancing outside the patio door while the kettle was boiling. He saw twenty or so tiny mouse prints; a rabbit's diagonal path across the snow and evidence that a squirrel had been sampling the nuts in the bird feeder. Since the day Lorna had fed the birds, he decided to put up a feeder. Beyond the garden wall several miles distant rose a majestic snow-covered hill where Pictish King Brude once surveyed the countryside from a vitrified hill fort. A roundhouse, stood proud on that peak, pointing its apex toward the hereafter. And above it the big skies of Scotland, a blaze of yellow along the horizon; clots of purple and orange stretching out. Trees bereft of leaves stood guard and smoke rings of clouds floated round the top. Those forts were omnipresent in the Highlands. From ground level, they were hard to spot. If a person looks at an extraordinary place day after day, he may forget its significance. Thomas was such a person, preoccupied with the habitual; oblivious to the wonderful.

Reminders of Lea and Lorna in the same hour. That was too much for Thomas. He sobbed. Big tears plopped into the tea. Alone again. Utterly alone. His weathered face still scarred from that horrible night at Ardlarich.

Hundreds of jackdaws had come to visit on Christmas, the limbs of the leafless trees snapping and bending under their weight. They were late in their migration that day. Odd. Cawing and cackling and turning the sky black. His mother had always warned him that jackdaws portend death. From the distant mists of Celtic lore, they came as divine messengers, the souls of hapless wretches, transformed by foul magic.

Christmas was long gone. Hogmanay was a lonely memory. Finlay had been round for a couple of hours and shared some eggnog and some stale Christmas cakes.

Lorna. Lorna was still at Ráthaig Mhòir Hospital. Her injuries had been considerable, and despite her youth, they had not healed yet. Her foot and ankle, still in a cast, her internal injuries severe.

Should he visit her today? Since the violence on the hill, Thomas had had hours to think about Lorna. He admired her temerity and shamelessness, but could not envision a life with her. Sex was not enough. He was exceedingly lonely in her presence.

Detective McPherson had called and left a message on the answering machine. Thomas dreaded calling him back. Sergeant Davies left a message, too. She was still investigating the drowning and now all the mayhem on the hill. Answering their questions meant reliving all of it, all of it. Thomas wondered where Lanski had gone. Maybe Cathy McCallum knew his address in Poland, prior to working for Jack. "Cathy must be devastated," thought Thomas, "losing her husband and son in one night of horror ." The Procurator Fiscal, Cameron Lyon, was also investigating those grisly deaths. Thomas had several interviews pending, however he still harbored suspicions about McPherson and Davies. Why had they not tracked down Jimmy and Jack after the accident?

"How did Jack amass all of that property?" Thomas wondered. "Was he ever not corrupt? Was he ever a decent human being? Why did Cathy marry him?" Questions swirled in his grief-stricken mind. There were still a few of Lea's chiropractic patients to be notified. Thomas went to his desk and drafted a list of questions he wanted to answer for himself and maybe for the police. "What about the Ferguson family? After Robert and Marie were killed, were there any other relatives?" He needed to reconstruct that horrible day for his own sanity. Then he took his strong black tea and went back upstairs to his drafting table.

He set down his mug and wondered aloud: "After the layout is done; after the catalogue is done; after the preliminary questions have been answered, then what?" Thomas had been drifting along before the accident, bobbing against this and that. Unlike Lea who was driven to complete her various projects, the Chiropractic Degree, the shop, Thomas was inclined to just wait. Waiting for what? So now he was realizing this might be a turning point. Lea had left him a small inheritance. He had always wanted to investigate police corruption. Did he dare, at this stage in life, look into such matters? Now that he had a personal stake in their treachery? Or, was there another compelling journey waiting for him? No one else to live life for him. He might have to do it himself.

#  Chapter Two.

Do not rejoice in his defeat, you men. For though the world has stood up and stopped the bastard, the bitch that bore him is in heat again.- Eugen Berthold Friedrich Brecht.

Thomas turned the key in the lock. The gloom in "WORLD NATIVE ARTS - Proprietor Lea Ford" overcame him. He felt on either side of the door for the light switch.

The carved masks glared at him ominously as they emerged from the shadows. Well, painful as it would be, Thomas would have to carefully list each item for the catalogue. The walls were painted with murals, depicting areas of the globe haunted by denizens of the ancient world, treasure hunters, and legends. The shelves had sliding glass doors with small locks to protect their contents.

He had told Alan and Jean he would be at the shop, so after two hours or so, they knocked on the door. He was dusty and thirsty and only about two-thirds done with the list.

The newspapers, of course, had carried the sensational and lurid stories of Lorna, Robert, Marie, Jimmy, Jack and Lanski. He felt that he owed Alan and Jean some sort of explanation. He unlocked the door to let them in. He hugged them both.

"Look, I am so sorry about all the intrusive publicity," he said to Alan. "Jean, please let me explain about Lorna. She showed up at my house trying to extort an escape from her sordid life in exchange for information about Jimmy and Robert. I was so stricken and vulnerable, I let her pull me into that vortex. Jimmy and Jack would have tried to kill me anyway, to avoid manslaughter charges in the death of the lorry driver, and of course (he hesitated and sobbed a bit) Lea's death. I had no choice. They beat us and kidnapped us. They invaded my house after they had already killed Robert and Marie Ferguson. The door was not latched and I did not have my cell phone handy. So, it's just pure luck or divine intervention that Lanski, Jack's foreman, had an attack of conscience and saved us from a cold and certain death on that hill. We were bleeding and hypothermic."

"There's an inquest next week to sort out all the facts. My solicitor, Gordon MacDonald, will be there to represent me."

Alan said "Yes, we heard. I will probably attend. I don't know if Jean is up to it." Jean snapped at Thomas: "You could not even wait until after the inquest to have that tramp in your house. That's a fine way to treat the legacy of our daughter Lea. What kind of troubles were you having anyway? Did you really try to get her safety belt undone?" She started sobbing again. "I don't understand you at all, Thomas."

Thomas walked behind the counter to put some distance between them. "I am sorry, Jean. I have no good answer for you. I should never have taken Lea up to Ardlarich, to that hill. The gas was menacing. The sense of foreboding all-engulfing. None of this would have happened. My grandfather owned that property at one time; it was my legacy; that's why I felt the urge to go there."

Thomas thought silently "What did it mean to survive?" There was some sort of inner drive that allowed him to rise to the water's surface, to stagger out of Jack's lethal reach, and to take a second chance for salvation by trying to rescue Lorna. Jean could never accept that argument. She would rather he had drowned too. Then she would not have to deal with the hard question of why some die and some survive. But was he really alive? He was certainly dead to his prior life, his in-laws.

"Well, since you are here, do you want to pick some items to take home with you?" Thomas asked. Jean walked around and gingerly scooped up a bust of Nefertiti. She cradled it. Alan fingered and then slid a Mayan calendar stone into his pocket and they took a couple of Lea's business cards.

"Do you want to join us for lunch, Thomas?" Alan asked. Thomas looked down and shook his head. "Sorry, Alan. I just cannot right now. I need to finish this catalogue. Again all I can say is how sorry I am that Lea died; that our lives turned out this way. I'll stop by sometime soon." He knew he probably would not but it seemed the right thing to say.

Alan opened the door for Jean and they went out slowly. "Good bye, Thomas."

Thomas locked the door behind them and watched them sadly shuffle down Church Street. He genuinely mourned for them, too. Lea had a brother, but he was estranged from Alan and Jean, so they had no children for comfort.

Thomas worked through the afternoon as it slouched into evening. He glanced out at the sky. It was grey and furrowed and snow was flying. The sun, so bright in the morning, had left but a trace of orange and bruised purple on the underside of the clouds. He used the shop phone to give Finlay a call. "Finlay? It's Thomas here. Have you eaten yet? Could you join me at Winthrop's? You can? That's brilliant. I'm here at Lea's shop. I'll meet you there at half six. Bye." He was just about to leave the shop when he noticed some Guatemalan pieces on the top shelf. How did he miss them? There was a strange cat mask, a curious warrior sporting a pointed Mayan crown and a round shield, and a small snake king sculpture all from Tikal or Calakmul maybe. Thomas carefully wrapped them and put them in a burlap bag lying near the back set of shelves. He would take them home and add them to the inventory later. He went out onto the street, switched off the light, looked behind him, and pulled the door shut.

It was a short walk to meet Finlay. Thomas observed the diners in Winthrop's and saw that Finlay was sitting in one of the window booths, the one Thomas sat in, from time to time, to do some sketching. There was a bar at one end and then four rows of tables and booths with yellow plastic upholstery. It was a pub of last resort or a down-at-the-heels neighborhood sort of place. The service was not that good which meant the wait staff allowed a person to sit undisturbed for long stretches of time. Thomas slid in across from Finlay. "Hi, man. Glad you could join me."

"What's on your mind?" said Finlay as he scanned the menu encased in plastic and dried bits of past orders. "Well," said Thomas "I need to do some investigating and I need your help. We go back more than 30 years, so you are the only one I can really trust."

"What kind of investigating?" asked Finlay as he looked up from the unappetizing picture of fish and chips.

Just then a waiter came by and asked what they wanted. "Two fish and chips, with vinegar and salt," replied Finlay. "That OK with you, Thomas?" "Yes, thanks, Finlay, that will be fine. Oh, and could you bring some coleslaw too?" "What do you want to drink?" said the waiter. "Ale for my friend and just water for me" said Thomas.

"Finlay, I don't trust the police to properly investigate Jimmy and Jack and I don't want to call them back. They left a message on my machine." Thomas said softly under his breath. "The cops had plenty of time to find Jimmy and Robert before Jimmy's attack. I want to find out how Jack was able to conceal all of his under-handed business deals and who else is buried up on that hill in Ardlarich."

Finlay let out a soft low whistle. "Don't you think you are out of your league, Thomas? There will be an inquest for Lea, another for Jack and Jimmy, and a third for Marie and Robert. Don't you think you should concentrate your energies on getting your answers ready for those? You don't want to tangle with the cops."

"No, I don't want to tangle with the cops, but I want some answers. Lea and I were minding our own businesses, going to work, drawing, curating, cooking, living until that Jimmy character ran us off the road. Why did not the cops find him and arrest him immediately? A search of the area for red Volvos should have been easy enough. Had they done so, none of Jack's mayhem would have ensued! I should have called them immediately when I saw those footprints in the garden. And how did the police not inquire into the other missing persons over the years?"

"Why didn't you call the police?" asked Finlay.

The waiter brought the fish, chips, coleslaw and drinks. "Will there be anything else?"

"No, thanks." The waiter stood within earshot for a few minutes. "That will be all," said Finlay before he continued. The waiter went away. "Why did you not call the police? Have they been in touch with you since you got out of Ràthaig Mhòr?"

"Yes," said Thomas "they have. They wanted to know what was the connection between me and Lorna. They wanted to know why I let her in knowing she was connected to Jimmy and Jack. I had no good answer. I need to construct a narrative, Finlay, for them and for myself. And then I need to start nosing around Jack's business connections. Will you help me?"

Finlay chewed his fish and looked pensive for several minutes. "Well, I guess I could help you on my days off. I still have to pay the rent, you know." Finlay was a plumber. He had a relaxed manner with his customers and he put people at ease almost immediately. He was clever and knew just about all the tradesmen in town.

"All right, then," said Thomas smiling. "I'll jot down some leads for you to follow. You know a lot more people in this town than I do. Maybe you'll think of some clues we should pursue. I was thinking of checking with my M.P. and the Building Regulations office. They are responsible for creating building codes and preparing technical guidance to ensure buildings are safe, efficient and sustainable for all. Jack would have had to get building warrants for all those houses from them."

"What's your angle?" said Finlay as he raised his right eyebrow. "Do you think Jack was using substandard materials or methods? Or that he failed to get the proper planning permissions?"

"It's possible" replied Thomas. "We know Lanski was supervising foreign builders while Jack was away doing who knows what. Maybe we could get Radthammon from the hospital to make a complaint, now that Jack is dead. He let it slip last year that he had to get to the building site where McCallum was supposed to be, working on his house. He did not look happy. And where did he get his financing? Might be some dirty money sunk into those houses. Who knows what else he buried."

"I'll ask around for the names of cops who look the other way and building inspectors on the take. You speak to Radthammon. Now let's forget about that for a while before the fish gets cold." Finlay started on his chips.

"Good. I'll scan the newspapers for missing persons, too." Thomas gulped his water. "They did mention a missing Irish builder in the coverage of Jack's death. And I vaguely remember his raving about a ghost named Shandlin that night on the hill."

"What's in the bag?" Finlay looked at the burlap heap on the bench next to Thomas.

"Oh, a few of Lea's pieces which need to be added to the catalogue. I did not see them the first time I counted everything. " Thomas glanced at the bag which seemed the least bit luminescent in the dim pub. "I'll add them tomorrow. I have to set up an auction to liquidate the shop inventory."

"Did you get that pool job finished? Must have been an expensive addition to Henderson's house?"

"Yeah. My back is still aching from lugging those component pieces into the house." Finlay shifted position on the uncomfortable bench. "Yeah. It cost Henderson about 125,000 pounds."

They finished their meal, discussing how best to handle their newly hatched plans, paid up at the bar and went out.

"Can you give me a lift home, Finlay? I still need to get a car."

"Sure thing, Thomas."

Finlay dropped Thomas at his house. "See you soon."

#  Chapter Three.

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Because things are the way they are, things will not stay the way they are.- Eugen Berthold Friedrich Brecht.

The first of three inquests began promptly at 10:30 a.m. on the Monday. Visitors and accused queued up in the long drive up to the neo-Norman Inverness Castle, an imposing structure overlooking the City and the River. Architect William Burn designed it in the 1800s and its red sandstone towers are unmistakable. Saint Columba converted King Brude, ruler of the Northern Picts nearby; Macbeth murdered King Duncan less than a mile away. Saints and Sinners.

The interior castle housed the Court House: with two stories, multiple bays at different elevations, parapets, a round tower; bay to the east; a square plan tower. The center round-arched door piece sat under a small gable, flanked by heavy buttresses. Windows were round and arched, linked by continuous hood molding. Some were tripartite on the first floor.

Courtrooms, public offices, faculty library and main courtroom at the ground floor, were all accessed from a large central hall with a colonnade opening onto an ornate stair rising under a curved arched sunken paneled ceiling. To the north of the stairway at the ground level was the principal courtroom, with a semi-circular gallery accessed from the first floor. The courtroom was lit by large round-arched three part windows and had timber pew seating arranged in a semi-circle around the timber bench with a Tudor Gothic sounding board canopy above. The chairs, dock and witness box seemed to be period furniture. The walls and doors were wood paneled, and huge fireplaces crackled throughout the building. With the break-front bookcase, the high vaulted ceilings, the elaborate cornices, it was altogether a sobering and awe-inspiring structure.[1]

Just the sort of place to hold a legal inquiry into a death when its cause is unknown, violent or unnatural. This inquiry was held in public for the Procurator Fiscal to determine Lea's cause of death. Procurator Fiscal Lyon did not have to establish why the death occurred, but only who the deceased was, how, when and where the death occurred.

Thomas, his solicitor and Alan were in the gallery. Certain relatives, and other properly interested persons, were entitled by law to ask relevant questions of any witnesses called to give evidence, or a solicitor or barrister could ask questions for Thomas and Alan. A Procurator Fiscal would not allow questions that were not relevant and would advise witnesses that they need not reply to questions, if the answers might incriminate them.

The jury of six was sworn in because this was a case of a fatal road accident. After the jury was sworn, the Procurator Fiscal Cameron Lyon addressed the court with opening remarks and then called upon his counsel to address the jury and call the first witness.

Procurator Fiscal's Counsel Fiona Andrews was an Assistant Crown Attorney who, in theory, had no particular stake or interest in the proceedings beyond the public interest.

Counsel Andrews began her questioning and called Thomas as a witness to the witness table.

"Please identify yourself and the woman who was a passenger in your car on the night of November 30, Mr. Ford."

"I am Thomas Ford of Cromwell Drive. She was my wife, Lea Gillan Ford."

"What were the circumstances of her death or how did she meet her death?" asked the Counsel.

Thomas explained the details of the accident on Road A831 where it runs along the Loch. He told the jury about the bird-headed boy driving a car with a red bonnet. About the lorry rushing at them and how he swerved to avoid the car and the lorry. He explained that Lea pushed his hands away and he could not free her as water rushed into their car and he started to drown.

"Madame Counsel, I tried to save her. I did. But I was drowning myself, so I had to get out of that car to get help."

The Counsel looked at the jury. "Mr. Foreman, do you have any questions?"

The Jury Foreman asked a few questions.

Then Counsel Andrews called Cathy McCallum to the witness table.

She was asked to account for the whereabouts of her son on the day of the fatal accident. She was asked to account for the activities of her husband that day and in the days after the accident. The Counsel wanted to know if Jack knowingly tried to cover up the accident. She was asked about the relationship between Jimmy and Robert Ferguson who was in the car at the time of the accident.

"Mrs. McCallum, do you know the whereabouts of your husband's foreman, Lanski? Would he have knowledge of Jimmy's or Jack's activities on that day?"

Solicitor Gordon MacDonald cross-examined Cathy McCallum but to no avail. She mumbled "No" softly to most of the questions. She seemed to be in a fog and claimed no knowledge of any of the events in question. She was duly notified that she would be called to testify in the deaths of Jimmy and Jack; the deaths of the Fergusons; and in the attacks on Thomas and Lorna.

Since Lorna Dobson was still in hospital, her testimony was submitted by a statement. The Procurator Fiscal had sent an interviewer to her bedside. Counsel Andrews noted for the record that Lorna's testimony would be entered into evidence. Lorna recounted all of the grisly details which Jimmy and Robert had shared with her. She also testified about the newspaper clipping Jimmy kept on his wall - the one with the picture of Lea Ford.

The jury had some questions for Cathy. Could she verify the kind of car Jimmy drove - a red Volvo. Had she seen it after the accident? Did her son act suspiciously? She was asked about the newspaper article concerning the accident which Jimmy had taped to his bedroom wall. Did she not notice it? She pleaded ignorance to the activities of her husband and son. Alan murmured aloud under his breath "if she lived in the same house with the two of them, how could she not know?"

Next Detectives McPherson and Sergeant Davies were called to present the results of their investigations.

Solicitor MacDonald cross-examined them about their prior knowledge of Jimmy McCallum and whether he had any prior arrests. He questioned why they had been unable to locate the car after the accident. They gave some noncommittal replies and stepped down.

Doctor Nissen was called to present testimony about his interactions with Jimmy following the accident and about why Jimmy had not been "Sectioned." Dr. Nissen told the inquest that Dr. Radthammon had intervened at the urging of someone on the phone, giving orders to release Jimmy.

That someone was Jack. Radthammon later testified as to the leverage Jack had over his unfinished house and how Jack had threatened him.

Cathy was called again to corroborate. Did she know if Radthammon was a client of her deceased husband. She hesitated. Then said "Maybe, but I don't know for sure."

Mr. Lyon then addressed the proceeding, saying that the information about the circumstances of Lea's death would be prepared in report form and sent to Headquarters. Copies would be made available to interested parties. Since Jimmy and Jack were dead and would not kill again, there was no need to detain anyone to avoid similar deaths in the future. There would be more juries because of the murders and the reports would take months and there would be a hearing to assign legal responsibility so that Jack's estate could be charged. But Thomas was free to go.

#  Chapter Four.

#

I never said it would be easy, I only said it would be worth it. - Mae West.

Gordon MacDonald took Thomas back home to 16 Cromwell Drive. He said he'd be in touch and then went back to his office.

Thomas was shaken by reliving it all again, but decided to work on the catalogue. He had to get one thing done before starting the next. Before he'd be free to search for ghosts on that hill. Maybe after this was all over, he'd take a trip to Guatemala. The burlap bag was still on the floor next to his desk.

So by nightfall, he had the catalogue almost ready for the printer. He still needed to add some background history. Actually Lea had started on the project several months ago, so he had but to finish it. Last, were the three items from Guatemala. Each item needed a photo, a brief description including place of origin and approximate age, a suggested price and a provenance, if known. He included a phone number and email address for inquiries.

He was exhausted, so he went up to bed. During the night, the spectre of Xolotl the warrior with the stone kohaw hovered above his bed. Thomas vaguely recognized him from the carving in the bag. The warrior seemed to be telling Thomas something about the stone cat and a body. He was speaking from the top of a pyramid and looking over a vast city. Then King Brude stepped forward and Thomas could see the two of them standing there. Thomas woke with a start and looked around in the darkness. He was feverish and disoriented. He got up and walked around, looked out the window, and went back to sleep.

When he awoke again, it was almost noon. First he checked the burlap bag to make sure the three antiquities were still there. He ate some toast and turned on the computer to do a little research on the internet. He should have been researching missing persons, but instead was looking for the Mayan snake kings. Eventually, he did find some information on Ewen Shandlin, an Australian land speculator and lawyer who had been looking at properties in the Highlands seven years ago. He also found a small article in the Highland Times written by Peg Diamond about the disappearance of an Irish builder named Connelly, who had gone missing five years ago. Several others still identified as missing by the police were profiled on the Poileas Alba website.

Thomas absently stuffed some of his laundry into the washing machine and went through the pile of mail stacked up. Mostly bills and advertisements. A post card from Poland slipped out of one of the circulars. It had no return address. Just said in printed block letters "Hope you recover by now." No signature.

Thomas had a haunting sense of foreboding about that dream or apparition. Some lingering sense that something important was pending, undone. That cat mask evoked the name Ixor for some reason unknown to Thomas. Who was Ixor?

Thursday and Friday he worked on the magazine layout. Saturday, Finlay stopped by. He had the names of some building inspectors who were rumored to take payoffs.

"Thomas, do you have an extra cup of tea?"

"Oh, sure Finlay. Sorry. I'll heat the kettle right away."

"Thomas, are you sure you want to disturb the dead? What do you have to gain from knowing more about crooked Jack's deals?"

"Well, perhaps there's some money hidden away and his estate owes me. Besides, it's the principle of the thing. There are probably lots of his customers who lost money on deals or have badly constructed houses. Especially on those terraces. And the police who looked the other way never really investigated Shandlin nor Connelly. I want to know if Jack paid McPherson and Davies to avoid implicating Jimmy."

"Who?" Finlay said. "Who are Shandlin and Connelly?"

Thomas told Finlay about his research. "We should notify their families and get some authority involved, maybe someone from down in Glasgow?"

"There's another thing, Finlay. There's something peculiar about the hills that Jack was building on. It looks like a series of steep forested hills up close. But when you look at them from above in Google map, most of them are arranged in massive rings, like travelers huddled around a fire on a cold night. The leaves on the silver birch trees up there ripple in a peculiar way when the wind blows. Parts of those ridges are made of cut stone, and some have tunnels carved into their sides. In fact they may not be hills at all but ancient pyramids of some sort. Jack would have plenty of hiding places for his victims. I had a dream on Monday night of a vast terraced city. Can we get Mike Adamson to photograph the hills with his drone?"

"Now, you're going off the deep end, Thomas. You have not fully recovered from the accident, the beating and your grief. And those customers are not your business." Finlay looked gravely concerned.

"No. I am still recovering. That's true. Nonetheless, I have an intuition that there's something else buried up there. Besides Jack's business rivals, I mean. There's got to be some explanation for the gas escaping and all those butterflies."

"Finlay, do you think we should ask Cathy McCallum about Shandlin and Connelly? I was thinking we could get Peg Diamond to assist us? She wrote about one of the disappearances. I think there may even be a body of someone from Central America up there or a Mexican?"

"Why do you think that, Thomas? Your lunatic dreams again? Well, you'd better have your solicitor Gordon ask any questions. You don't want to get embroiled in another dangerous situation. You don't know how involved Cathy was. And what other thugs may still be on the payroll. You probably should make an appointment with Gordon to go down to Jack's office and see what kind of records might be there. Didn't Lorna mention that he had several banks of filing cabinets when she went there to blackmail him?"

"Aye. She did. That's probably a good place to start. How do we get in, though? Should we ask Cathy?" He answered his own question: "No, Gordon can petition the Procurator Fiscal's office to issue an order for the documents. OK, so I'll call Gordon."

"What did you find out about the building inspectors?" asked Thomas.

"There are two who were 'dedicated' to Jack's projects. That sounded suspicious to me. And both of them were close to McPherson and Davies." Finlay tut-tutted. "Besides that, they were both open to 'gratuities' of any sort. Names were Angus Brown and Donald McGowan."

Thomas jotted down the names. He would give them to Gordon to try to subpoena their building inspection records. Meanwhile, maybe he and Finlay could pay them a visit.

Gordon listened to the double rings resound several times. Finally he picked up.

"Gordon? Thomas Ford here. Listen, I've decided I want to sue Jack's estate. I'd like to come down to your office sometime soon to lay out the specifics."

"Fine, Thomas. But you know it is Saturday?" said Gordon, slightly annoyed that this phone call was disturbing his weekend. "Come down on Tuesday and we'll sort it out. Why are you thinking about that today?"

"Well, Gordon, I want to get hold of Jack's payroll records and bank statements. I think they might prove to be fascinating reading. Probably find some large extortion deposits and maybe some evidence of bribery."

Gordon checked his appointment diary. "OK. Thomas. See you Tuesday at 9:00 a.m."

"Thanks, Gordon. See you then."

It was still early in the afternoon, so Thomas and Finlay headed off to the Vauxhall Astra dealership. He had not yet bought another car, so the first order of business was to use the auto insurance proceeds to get another vehicle. He settled on a second-hand Blue Astra.

"Thanks for the lift, Finlay, and for all your help since the accident. I really appreciate it."

"It's my pleasure, Thomas. I am sure you would do the same for me. Now that you've got your own wheels again, I have to go. I've got a date tonight."

"Oh?" said Thomas. "You did not mention that before. Well, have a good time. See you next week."

Thomas looked up the addresses for Angus Brown and Donald McGowan on his phone. They both lived in an upscale area of the city called Coróin. "What a coincidence" thought Thomas. "They both live on the same street: Rowan Road." Should he wait for Finlay to go with him, or visit alone? The Astra headed out toward Rowan Road. The Browns' house was red flagstone with cream corner stones. It had a massive chimney at each end and finials above each of the upper dormer windows, a splendid building with a fine view of the river. Thomas noticed that the lintels had some peculiar decorative carvings - almost Pict-like. A large conservatory faced the rear garden. McGowan's was an ultra modern construction with solar panels and a sign outside introducing "Kestrel." It had huge windows which caught the afternoon sun and hedges all round the front garden, a villa. "So this is how the building inspection class lives," thought Thomas, in awe, comparing their fine accommodations with his modest artist's carriage house.

He decided to wait for Finlay before confronting them and returned to his house. His was a two-story, with white roughcast, a coarse plaster surface on outside walls made of lime and cement mixed with sand, small gravel, and shells. He ate some cold noodles, and glanced out at the hill fort. Pictish art was on his mind, so he did some reading for exposition to include in the catalogue. He checked the various "wiki" entries.

"The earliest mention of the word "Picts" was in a public speech written by Eumenius in A.D. 297 and means "painted or tattooed people" in Latin. Eumenius was of Greek descent but lived in a Roman province of Gaul. Pictish art appears on stones, metalwork and small objects of stone and bone. It used a distinctive form of Celtic Iron Age style with influences from 7th and 8th century Ireland and Northumbria. The most conspicuous survivals are the many Pictish stones that are located all over Pictland, from Inverness to Lanarkshire, and many are found across the Irish sea in what is now Dervock. Lea had bought a number of them. An illustrated catalogue of these stones was produced by J. Romilly-Allen in 1904, with lists of their symbols and patterns, consisting of animals, the "rectangle", the "mirror and comb", "double-disc and Z-rod" and the "crescent and V-rod", shields and spiral designs among many others. The patterns are curvilinear with hatchings. The so-called cross-slabs are carved with Pictish symbols. Later ones have Christian imagery, though interpretation is often difficult due to wear and obscurity. Several of the Christian images carved on various stones, such as David the harpist, Daniel and the lion, or scenes of Saint Paul and Saint Anthony meeting in the desert, have been influenced by the Irish tradition."[2]

Thomas gasped as he flipped through the pages of his book. There was a feathered snake god. It looked strangely familiar - almost like the Mayan one he had brought back from the shop.

"Pictish metalwork is found throughout the Highlands and also further south; the Picts appeared to have a considerable amount of silver available, probably from their pirate raids, or the payment of extortion to keep them from raiding. The largest hoard of early Pictish metalwork was found in 1819 in Fife, but unfortunately treasure hunters had got there first and melted down the silver. Two famous 7th century silver and enamel plaques from the treasure trove, have a "Z-rod", one of the Pictish symbols, in a particularly well-preserved and elegant form; unfortunately few comparable pieces have survived. The so-called Z-rod looks like a lightning bolt. One end has an elliptical head with curlicues emanating from either side of the rod, resembling a coat rack. The other end of the rod has an eye like a needle. Over ten heavy silver chains have been found from this period; one double-linked, one of only two that have a circular ring with a break in the circumference and a sharp pin, with symbol decoration including enamel, used as "choker" necklaces."[3]

"In the 8th and 9th centuries, after Christianity took hold, the Pictish elite adopted a particular form of the brooch from Ireland. Other characteristics of Pictish metalwork are dotted backgrounds or designs and animal forms."

"The Pictish language is now extinct. Evidence is limited to place names, the names of people found on monuments, and the then contemporary records. Place names and personal names on the artwork demonstrate that the Picts spoke a Celtic language. A number of Ogham are not Celtic though, so some non-Celtic languages were also in use, maybe Ilyrian or Thracian. Ogham is an ancient Irish alphabet, consisting of twenty characters formed by parallel strokes on either side of or across a continuous lines."[4]

"Pictish icons show books being read, and carried, and we have every reason to suppose that such images were of real life. Place-names often allow us to deduce the existence of historic Pictish settlements in Scotland. Those prefixed with "Aber-", "Lhan-", or "Pit-" are claimed to indicate regions inhabited by Picts in the past.

"For example: Aberdeen, Pitmedden, Pitlochry, Lhanbryde. Of these, prefixes such as "Pit-" (portion, share), may have been formed after Pictish times. "Peth" meant "a thing." The evidence of place-names reveals the incursion of Gaelic into Pictland. Atholl meaning New Ireland, is used in the early 8th century. The name Athfocla meaning 'north pass' or 'north way', as in gateway to Moray was a Pictish name. Pictish retreated into history as Gaelic took hold and now Abertarf is translated as Obar Thairgh, or Mouth of the Bull River."[5]

"So much to absorb about these people who walked the very ground where I live now. They are buried beneath me." thought Thomas.

#  Chapter Five.

#

Travel makes one modest, you see what a tiny place you occupy in the world. - Gustave Flaubert.

"Hello, Finlay? Thomas here. Do you have any vacation days coming to you? Have you got a valid passport? There are some archaeological surveys being done in Guatemala by students at Aberdeen University. Professor Alan Smith, from Aberdeen, is down there right now investigating Calakmul and Tikal! And I want to see those ruins.

"I was reading about those cities and the similarity in structure to those hills where Jack tried to bury me and Lorna.

"Here's some of what I read. In the seventh century A.D. the Snake Kings presided over Calakmul in southern Mexico. Its largest structure is a pyramid 180 feet tall. From Calakmul they commanded a complicated web of alliances. Tikal is nearby. Ostensibly, it's just a series of steep, forested hills in the middle of the jungle in northern Guatemala, near the Mexican border. The jungle in the Petén Basin is thick and warm. And silent, except for the drum of cicadas, the buzz of mosquitoes and the occasional calls of monkeys."[6]

"I took a closer look online, and I noticed that most of these hills are arranged in massive rings, just like the ones on the property Jack bought. Those pyramids were left to decay after the collapse of the Mayan civilization a millennium ago, but the Aberdeen team has been using Light Detection and Ranging to scan those hills from above."

"Scans around the ancient city of Tikal with the LIDAR, located in the heart of the Guatemalan rainforest, reveals that the archaeological site is in fact three times larger than previously thought. It has raised highways that connect a network of urban centers and quarries. There are also irrigation ducts and terracing, suggesting advanced agriculture and canals, dykes and reservoirs to control the movement of water around the society. On the outskirts of the site, the scans also reveal extensive defenses and fortifications. Those Maya engaged in large-scale wars! They were sophisticated, fierce, and had a rich culture of legend, ancestors and statuary which they left for posterity. There might be 60,000 structures and there might have been 20 million people living there 1000 years ago."[7]

"I think we need to go there." Thomas could hardly conceal his excitement.

"Why, Thomas?" asked Finlay incredulously. "Your head injury must have been more severe than the docs thought. Seems like an interesting trip in the abstract, but why now?"

"I cannot tell you right now, Finlay, I haven't worked it all out, but I suspect there's a connection between those ruins and the ones on that property of Jack's. Dr. Smith from Aberdeen thinks that the Picts and the Maya both came from Thrace or Ilyira! They could have started out in the Mediterranean, sailed out to the Atlantic and then up North to Scotland and almost straight across to Mexico. It's possible!"

"Finlay, you know the conventional wisdom about the aftermath of a near-death experience. Anyway, give me a break, I lost my Lea, too. Maybe the head injury or maybe just the Universe sending me wake up signals. I may not have that much time left and I want to settle some scores. I need to put everything in context and understand the last few months. Beyond that, Finlay, I need to understand more about the land of my ancestors. Their DNA still animates my cells and yours."

"Well, Thomas, you ask a lot of a person, but I have not had a holiday in some time. What kind of gear do I need? Sounds like an Indiana Jones type of trip" Finlay joked."After you get your legal process underway with Gordon, let's get the tickets and do it!"

"Great, Finlay. I'm glad you are in. I'll be in touch soon. Bye now."

Thomas was up long into the wee hours reading about Picts and Maya. He noted that the Ilyrians, like the Picts and Maya, were regarded as bloodthirsty, unpredictable, turbulent, and warlike by Greek and Roman historians. The artwork of the Picts closely resembled the stone carvings left behind by the Maya. Their calendar, their glyphs, their mathematical system show remarkable similarities to those of the Picts. Those steles standing high atop the Mayan temples are generally carved or incised with symbols or designs. Likewise the Pictish steles have Ogham inscriptions. These stones are the most visible remaining evidence of the Picts and date from the 6th to 9th century, a period during which the Picts became Christianized.

"Hmmm" he thought "The Maya reached their apex about the same time."

The next day, Thomas was anxious to get down to the local museum to see what pieces were in their collection. He learned that the earlier Pictish stones are quite distinct from stones in the rest of the British Isles; a unique population created them. About 350 objects identified as Pictish stones have survived, the earlier examples of which hold the greatest number of surviving examples of the mysterious Pictish symbols.[8] Many reside in the local museum. Thomas was more than intrigued. He was spell bound. He took some photographs and when he got home compared them with the Mayan ones Lea had collected. Astounding. Several were so similar. As he held them, a strange phenomenon occurred. They started to vibrate - singing almost like the soothing sound of a meditation bowl. The stones felt warm to his touch. "What's happening?" he gasped. Thomas laid them down carefully as he became aware of a presence in the room. The power flickered on and off.

Was it Xolotl? He was a short manifestation, with brown skin, a long straight nose, complicated tattoos, an elaborate pointed helmet and large ear rings. His vest was embroidered with glyphs, he had woven leggings and a fabric belt with front and rear flaps. But the most striking accessory was his heavy stone shield with the face of Gukumatz staring at Thomas. Thomas thought he must be hallucinating.

"Thomas, I am Xolotl. Just as you suspected. We have been waiting for you. I languished in the underworld Xibalba for centuries, waiting to bring back my brother Quetzalcoatl. King Brude and I need your help."

He continued "Quetzalcoatl sailed with the Picts to Scotland, while I went south to Mexico, just as you surmised. Someone in Guatemala dug me up, interrupted my sleep and life cycle and then a smuggler brought me to Scotland. "

Thomas had read that the smugglers used a laundering process that included restoration services to hide damage from illegal excavation, straw purchases at auction houses to create sham ownership histories, and the creation of false provenance to thwart international laws prohibiting the exportation of looted antiquities. Lea should have known she was trafficking in stolen antiquities. She could have faced felony charges of criminal possession of stolen property and conspiracy.

"We came from the ocean, and our religion mandates that we return to the ocean. Our End Times are fast approaching and our leader Gukumatz will return to earth soon. My brother and I represent the forces of good and evil and must be reunited."

Thomas backed away, astonished at what he thought he was seeing. "Who is that on your shield?" Thomas noticed that one of the eyes was missing from the shield.

"That is our sun god" replied the apparition. "He will infuse the bones of the Picts with blood from living sacrifices, bringing the Picts back to life. It is a prophesy. And," Xolotl said, "the sun god will require human sacrifices. We must appease Gukumatz when he returns. You, Thomas, must retrieve his missing eye."

"What? That's ridiculous." Shouted Thomas, incredulous." Am I dreaming this?" said Thomas after he got a second wind. "Where is your brother? This is a lot to absorb, you know. How am I understanding you? What language do you speak? What human sacrifices?"

"We once spoke the Nahuatl language. But my brother speaks an early form of Gaelic." The words trailed off as the apparition disappeared into the evening dusk.

Thomas sat back in his chair. What was going on? He was shocked and afraid. He did not believe in the supernatural and certainly not in apparitions from ancient cultures. Now he thought Finlay might be right - maybe his head wounds were interfering with his rational thought. Or especially for recently bereaved people, it is not uncommon to hear the voice of someone who isn't actually there speaking. "Maybe that's what it is?" Thomas had read about receptive bilingualism. Maybe subconsciously he had picked up some Mayan words while reading about them?

#  Chapter Six.

#

If there were no bad people, there would be no good lawyers.- Charles Dickens.

Thomas stood outside Gordon's office upstairs from W.H. Smith on the High Street, looking up. The buildings were grey and stone, like the Alba sky, most 4 stories high and constructed in the 1700s. Some were still covered in the grime from years of coal fires. The building had four bay windows, two sets of stone balconies at the very top, two massive chimneys with 16 modern exhaust pipes. The circular lookout window graced the center of the fourth floor and multiple finials capped the domed double windows on either side.

It is an ancient city, with the most important buildings appearing and disappearing over centuries, with architectural styles as varied as those who conquered and re-conquered. "Dunbars Hospital in Church Street was built in 1668 by Provost Alexander Dunbar, and endowed as a hospital for the poor and as a grammar school. Abertaff House, also on Church Street, dating from 1593 is the earliest surviving house in the city center. It features crow-stepped gables, known as "corbie-steps." Balnain House on Huntly Street is a 1726 merchant's house constructed in early Georgian style. Tollbooth Steeple on Bridge Street was constructed in 1791 is 45 meters high, with 3 bronze bells in its spire. Originally it adjoined the Old Court House and jail, which are no longer standing. According to local lore a bottle of whisky is contained within the larger of the 2 bells beneath the weathervane. Inverness Cathedral is sited on the riverside opposite the Castle. It was built between 1866 and 1869, and was originally intended to have twin spires built on top of the 2 towers, but a shortage of building funds meant that the spires were omitted from the final construction. The Town House is a fine Victorian Gothic Building from 1878 on Bridge Street, and now serves as the Inverness area office of the Highland Council. In front of the Town Hall is the Mercat Cross, which has the mysterious Clach na Cudainn Stone in its base."[9]

Invernesians are sometimes traditionally known as "Clann Na Cloiche," "Children of the Stone" in Gaelic, because of the importance of the Clach Na Cudainn stone to the city's history. The flat top of the stone measures 1.0m x 0.8m and is almost flush with the top of the steps in front of the Town Hall, an irregular parallelogram set into the base of the left-hand pillar before the doors in High Street and inside an inscribed ring. It is a bluish color. The local museum is close by, slightly nearer Inverness Castle, the museum housing several examples of Pictish Symbol Stones.[10]

According to legend, women rested their water basins on Clach na Cudainn as they came up from the river. The stone is mentioned as early as 1411, when the townsmen rejoiced to find it had escaped Donald of the Isles's burning of Inverness. It is also called the rocking stone and the seat of the seer.[11]

Still earlier the stone is said to have been the seat of an oracle, who prophesied that so long as Inverness preserved the stone the Town would prosper. But the sacred legend of the Clach na Cudainn dates from a remote time in pre-History.

"A lot of forgotten history here," Thomas thought as he looked around and felt the character of the place. Previously, he hadn't had much occasion to be in this part of town and he certainly had been preoccupied with more current affairs. He rang the bell and Gordon buzzed him in. Gordon's office was modern, belying the building that housed it. Granted, there were the high ornate ceilings, but there were lots of sky lights, plush blue carpeting, stark white wood work. His office assistant sat at a central island surrounded by meeting rooms with comfortable leather swivel chairs. Gordon led Thomas into one of the well-lit rooms and offered him a seat.

"So, what's your plan, Thomas?"

"Gordon, I want to get my hands on some of Jack's records, specifically those concerning Angus Brown and Donald McGowan. They are city building inspectors and I want to know if they took payoffs from him to ignore building code violations. I also want to find out if Detective McPherson and Sergeant Davies actually investigated the accident or if Jack paid them off. Last, I want to sue his estate for loss of income caused by the beating he inflicted on me."

"I agree," said Gordon. "Jack's office is sitting empty and those records may not be safe for long. Likewise, he probably stored some at his house. I'll have to do some research about the best way to get them. That is not my area of legal expertise, Thomas. I will have to find out who is the Personal Representative. I imagine it will be Cathy McCallum, although she has probably hired a solicitor to deal with the estate, take care of issues such as closing bank accounts, valuing or selling the houses. Whatever money is raised from the estate will pay any bills and debts and then the remainder will go to whoever inherits under the Will. I think we have five years to litigate, but we would want to act right away."

"As for Brown and McGowan, we probably need someone to make a complaint. Someone with a vested interest."

"I was thinking of contacting Radthammon from the hospital. He was concerned about how Jack was building his house. Can you write him a letter, Gordon? Let's move this along. Can we agree on a percentage of the recovery? Or will you charge by the hour?" Thomas was mulling over hundreds of hours of legal time.

"Yes, I can write him a letter. He will be wondering who will finish the work on his place. Probably has a lot of money invested. Come to think of it, there may be other disgruntled customers with partially built homes. Maybe I'll publish a notice in the newspaper."

"About the fees," said Gordon "This will be a 'no win no fee' personal injury recovery and Jack's estate must pay my fee if we win. We will have to pay a search firm for the document retrieval, but we will add that to the award. Is that satisfactory, Thomas?"

"Well, that sounds better than satisfactory, Gordon. Let's get started."

"I need to know about the two building inspectors right away. Oh, and there is a sister of Marie Ferguson, Robert's aunt, who may want to recover from the estate, too."

"OK. I'll give you a progress report next week."

"Also, Gordon. How do we get Scotland Yard with the cadaver dogs out to Ardlarich. There's a good chance that at least two of Jack's victims are buried out there - missing person cases: Connelly and Shandlin. The cadaver dogs were used in that Suzanne Pilley case down in Edinburgh. I don't trust the local force."

"Thomas, I think we need to bring in a private detective to sort out all these issues. I can handle the legal work once an issue is identified, but I cannot trek all over Scotland following these trails."

"Ok, Gordon. Do you have any contacts?"

"Well, there are a few good ones down in Edinburgh. Maybe, Goddard and McLaverty? I'll give them a call."

"Thanks, Gordon. I will probably be away next week, but you can send the report via email. I can get the report on my phone. This will be an expensive undertaking. The first order of business is to get a big settlement from Jack's estate. Bye now."

Thomas went back down the stairs and out into the Scottish wind.

#  Chapter Seven.

#

The soul, fortunately, has an interpreter - often an unconscious but still a faithful interpreter - in the eye.- Charlotte Brontë.

The Loganair Saab 340B swooped out over the sea and headed down to Glasgow. There they would take British Airways to Madrid and then to Belize City Airport, the one closest to the dig.

"I hope you left your haunted burlap bag at home" joked Finlay.

"Yes, I did. But I brought photos to show Dr. Smith and his assistant Moira Purvis" replied Thomas.

"Why do they want to speak with you, Thomas? I don't understand. What's in it for them?"

"Well, they are interested in the artifacts which Lea bought, apparently from smugglers. And, I may tell them about the dreams and apparitions."

"No one will take you seriously if you repeat that mumbo jumbo," scoffed Finlay.

"It will be a long trip, Finlay. We'd better try to get some rest on the plane."

While Finlay snoozed, Thomas read from one of several Kindle books he had bought on the subject of the Maya and Picts.

"The ancient Maya had a complex pantheon of deities whom they worshipped and to whom they offered human sacrifices. Rulers were descendants of the gods and their blood was the ideal sacrifice, either through personal bloodletting or the sacrifice of captives of royal blood."

"These are some fucking dangerous characters," mused Thomas.

"The Mayan vision of the universe was divided into multiple levels, above and below earth: north, south, east and west. Each direction had a different significance. After death, the soul went to the Underworld, Xibalba (shee bal bah), a horrible place where sinister gods tormented their unfortunate visitors."

"I remember," thought Thomas. "Xolotl, or whatever strange voice invaded my head, mentioned Xibalba." Then he read a bit about Xolotl and Quetzalcoatl. "Quetzalcoatl and his twin Xolotl were unusual in that they were born to a virgin, the goddess Coatlicue. Later in life, Quetzalcoatl was seduced by Tezcatlipoca, god of the nocturnal sky, god of time. Consequently, Quetzalcoatl immolated himself out of remorse. His heart became the morning star."[12]

Thomas wondered about Tezcatlipoca, time and the nocturnal sky. He wondered about Coatlicue. He remembered that in the translations of the Old Testament Book of Isaiah, there is still controversy about the Hebrew word "almah." Some translate it as 'young woman' rather than virgin. He also thought of Icarus, son of Daedalus and Naucrate, a Minoan slave girl, another almah. Icarus almost became a morning star, but for hubris. Instead, he became a comet, hurtling to earth, burned by the sun, dying in the sea. Moderns projecting their beliefs on the fantasies of the ancients.

"Quetzalcoatl in the person of a feathered snake, was a god of such importance and power that he touched nearly every aspect of everyday life. Stories about him eventually flowed into the river of myth. One of his special characteristics was his ability to mimic attributes of his fellow Maya, to such an extent that Quetzalcoatl became one with the common man.[13] In other words, god was man and man was god. But was either immortal?"

"Another familiar story," Thomas reflected.

"The Mayan god Gukumatz was also a feathered serpent. Most of Mesoamerica recognized him in art and religious myths for close to 2,000 years, from the Pre-Classic era until the Spanish Conquest.[14] He taught the Maya the arts of civilization, including codes of law, agriculture, fishing and medicine. He came from the ocean, and returned to the ocean. Water to water. According to Mayan legend, Gukumatz will return to the Earth during the End Times, meet the twin brothers and merge into the forces of good and evil for all eternity and return to the sea."

"What if Genesis 3:19, King James Version had read: In the sweat of thy face shalt thou eat bread, till thou return unto the ocean; for out of it wast thou taken. For water thou art, and unto water shalt thou return?" Thomas pondered.

When the plane landed and taxied into Belize City International Airport, Drs. Alan Smith and Moira Purvis were there to meet them. During WWII, the U.S. Air Force used Belize City to defend Central America against German submarines, so the airport is more modern than most. It is small and unpretentious with polished tile floors. A few banks of molded plastic grey seats cling to each other for support, like can-can dancers past their prime, and a couple of large Samsung TV screens hang from the ceiling, along with a few small lizards.

"We have so much to tell you," Dr. Smith chattered excitedly, as they went from baggage claim to pack up his van. We will be staying in tents when we get to the site. Hope those accommodations will be sufficient for you city dwellers. It's not comfortable but the thrill of discovery more than compensates. Tonight, however, we will take you to a hotel to rest for the journey."

Dr. Smith talked as he drove. "We will be traveling to the tropical lowlands of Guatemala. The powerful Mayan empire reached the peak of its influence around the sixth century A.D. and collapsed several hundred years later, probably because of prolonged drought, exacerbated by ill-advised deforestation. They chopped down their forests to grow more crops. Sound familiar? They knew they needed water, building viaducts and irrigation systems, but the rain did not fall."

"Along with impressive stone monuments and elaborate cities, the civilization left behind traces of its sophisticated calendar, which we have spent decades struggling to decipher. Recently, as you probably know, popular culture has latched on to theories that the close of the calendar's current cycle was set to occur around December 21, 2012 and meant the end of the world in the Mayan belief system. Even the existing Maya did not subscribe to that theory."

"Existing Maya?" asked Thomas, surprised.

"Yes, of course. They did not disappear, they dispersed. There are about six million Maya living in Guatemala today.[15] And, I might add, just as the genes of the Picts still live on in Scotland. One of our colleagues has discovered a new SNP S530 - _Single nucleotide polymorphism - a measure of variation_ , and it is a Pict marker. He says that this marker is evidence that the Picts are living among us today and can be identified genetically. As proof, he offers that 10% of every 1,000 Scottish men tested carry this marker. "

They pulled up to the parking lot of the Caribbean Palms Hotel.

"We'll all stay here tonight," Dr. Smith informed them as they checked in. "See you in a couple of hours for dinner in the hotel restaurant?"

True to its name, palm fronds were everywhere. They skirted the orange tile roofs, the azure pools, providing shade against the hot tropical sun. Even the hotel logo had palms. The outside of the white clapboard building had comfortable lanais outside the upper rooms.

Thomas and Finlay nodded as they walked to their rooms. "Well, what do you think Finlay? More exciting than plumbing this week, eh?"

"To tell you the truth, Thomas, I am not too crazy about staying in tents with all the creepy-crawlies that roam the jungles here. Glad it's only for a week. And I hope we don't find any bed bugs in this place."

"Just a week. Just long enough to learn and see first hand the Mayan terraced city-state and examine carefully some of the artifacts they've recovered. I need to climb those long deep stairs and feel the Mayan earth beneath my feet. I am going to rest until dinner. See you later, Finlay. You'll have some interesting photos for your Facebook page."

When they convened for dinner, Finlay asked about the calendar to cover his obvious interest in Dr. Purvis. He was quite taken by Moira.

"Moira, can you tell us about the Mayan End Times?"

"Well," interrupted Dr. Smith, "the first Mayan calendar, known as the Calendar Round, appears to have been based on two overlapping annual cycles: a 260-day sacred year and a 365-day secular year that contained 18 months with 20 days each. Under this system, each day was assigned four pieces of identifying information: a day number and day name in the sacred calendar and a day number and month name in the secular calendar.[16] Every 52 years counted as a single interval, or Calendar Round, and after each interval the calendar would reset itself like a clock. It's all very complicated. Can you imagine having to memorize all of those parameters just to answer the question 'what day is it'?"

Moira chimed in "Now we think that because the Calendar Round measured time in an endless loop, ancient Maya couldn't use it to establish chronologies or relate events with wide spans of time between them. Around 300 B.C., priests apparently solved this problem by devising a new method known as the Long Count. The Long Count identified each day by counting forward from a base point, calculated to fall on August 11, 3114 B.C. So, according to them, time began in 3114 B.C. It grouped days into several sets: baktun (144,000 days), k'atun (7,200 days), tun (360 days), uinal or winal (20 days) and kin (one day). European civilization corrected by switching from Julian to Gregorian calendars; Maya went from Calendar Round to Long Count. So, we really don't know when they expected the End Times."[17]

"One of history's most famous and foreboding doomsday predictions was in error," she continued. "According to a German researcher, the new interpretation of a 1,300-year-old tablet notes that the ancient Maya regarded December 21, 2012, as a moment of great importance—but not because they foresaw an apocalypse on that date.[18] Mayan time had started in 3114 B.C. and might be nearing the end of its cycle, the closing of the 13th baktun, a 400-year period."

"Well, I think I know about the End Times," said Thomas gravely. He did not tell them exactly how he knew, but said "I have been researching Xolotl. My wife, who was killed in an auto accident last year, had some Mayan artifacts in her gallery. One, in particular, I believe is a carving of Xolotl. I am not sure how they came into her possession, but I am trying to prepare a catalogue for auction. I brought some photos to show you."

"But surely you could have called or sent us a letter to ask for research material for your catalogue. Surely there must be something else driving your curiosity to bring you all the way down here?" Moira was not easily fooled.

"Well I did call Dr. Smith," agreed Thomas, "but there is something else I cannot share with you now. What about the Picts? When I was looking at Lea's other treasures, the Pictish pieces looked very similar to the Mayan ones."

Moira continued: "We know less about the Picts. The archaeological records provide some evidence about the culture of the Picts. I studied them for a year or so, up north of Inverness.

"When I did the research for my dissertation, the academic experts wrote of a society not readily distinguishable from its neighbors. But I don't agree. Although analogy and knowledge of other so-called 'Celtic' societies may be a useful guide because they extended across such a very large area, I think they were very distinct from their Celtic neighbors.

"As with most peoples in the north of Europe, the Picts were farmers living in small communities. Cattle and horses were an obvious sign of wealth and prestige. Sheep and pigs were kept in large numbers, and place names suggest that they moved their herds from the lowlands to the highlands in the summer. Their cows and sheep were small by today's standards. Pictish artists carved hunters with dogs, and unlike in Ireland, hunters with falcons. The grew cereal crops including wheat, barley, oats and rye. Likewise, the Maya were farmers. However, because of the obvious differences in climate, the animals were different in their southern habitat: lizards, snakes, big cats and birds. However, both groups assigned personalities to their animal cohorts.[19]

"We know the Picts liked vegetable crops with kale, cabbage, onions, leeks, peas, beans and turnips in their fields. Picts wore animal hides, and used leather and wool for their clothing. They grew flax for fibers, for oil, or as a foodstuff. The Picts had quite a varied diet with meat and milk. Ordinary people caught fish, shellfish, seals, and whales along coasts and rivers. While the élite would have eaten a diet rich in meat from farming and hunting."[20]

"The Maya ate maize but they also grew beans, chilies, sweet potatoes and squashes. They also ate fruit like papaya, watermelon and avocados; animals like deer, turkeys, dogs, wild pigs and a kind of rodent called an agouti. They also fished. The Maya kept bees for honey and in the mornings ate a 'porridge' made of maize and chilies called saka. During the day they ate 'dumplings' made of maize dough with vegetables or meat inside them. The 'dumplings' are now called tamales and they were wrapped in leaves from maize plants. The main meal was in the evening when they ate 'pancakes' called tortillas, eaten with 'stew' made with vegetable and meat."[21]

"The technology of the Picts' everyday life is not well recorded, but archaeological evidence shows it to have been somewhat similar to that in Ireland and England. Recently evidence has been found of watermills in Pictland. Kilns were used for drying kernels of wheat or barley, not otherwise easy in the changeable, temperate climate."

"The Maya drained swamps and dug irrigation ditches for their farms. As for their predilections, the early Picts are associated with piracy and raids along the coasts of Britain. However, some suspected Pictish pirates were probably merchants. There is some evidence of long-distance trade between Rome and Pictland, such as Roman tableware and storage vessels from Gaul in Scotland. This trade may have been controlled in Dál Riata, where such goods appear to have been common. Long-distance travel was chronicled by missionaries, traveling clerics and exiles in Pictish times.[22]

"Brochs, or drystone hollow-walled structure of a type found only in Scotland, were built by the Picts. Also called roundhouses, many were used long after the Pictish period. Crannógs, ancient fortified dwelling constructed in a lake or marsh in Scotland or Ireland, were rebuilt and still in use in the time of the Picts They sometimes lived in rectangular timbered halls, building their churches from wood and stone, in the early 8th century, if not earlier. The Picts used elm timbers and thatched the roof. So, the Mayan architecture was similar, in that ordinary Maya lived in simple huts of palm wood or stone with thatched roofs. They had no chimneys or windows, nor doors. Instead doorways were hung with cloth screens. However, the Mayan nobles lived in elaborate houses with multiple rooms." [23]

"Like the Maya, the Picts tattooed themselves. Their monumental stones include inscriptions in Latin and ogham script, not all of which have been deciphered. Many of the well known Pictish symbols found on standing stones and other artifacts, have defied attempts at translation over the centuries. The Vikings, not the weather, conquered the Picts."

"So, you see Thomas and Finlay, your Picts had some important traits in common with our Maya here and some notable differences," exclaimed Dr. Smith.

"What about their religion?" Finlay asked. "Thomas here seems to know a bit about Mayan religions. But what about the Picts?"

"Well, we don't know much about their early religion. Only that it was polytheistic." said Dr. Purvis.

"Because of the influences of St. Columba, the Irish and the Roman Christians, many converted probably around 500 A.D. St. Patrick referred to "apostate Picts" around 461 A.D. Recent archaeological work at Portmahomack in Easter Ross uncovered the foundation of a monastery there, an area once assumed to be among the last converted, in the late 6th century.[24]

"Like the Irish Christians, we imagine they held on to their Pagan beliefs and just integrated them into their religious practice. The importance of monastic centers in Pictland was not as great as in Ireland. Among the major religious sites of eastern Pictland, we can tell from the placenames that they are associated with Pictish kings, which means a considerable degree of royal patronage and control of the Christian church. The cult of Saints was of great importance in later Pictland. Pagan gods became saints. While kings might patronize great Saints, as King Nechtan followed Saint Peter, and perhaps Saint Andrew, many lesser Saints, some now obscure, were followed. The Pictish Saint Drostan appears to have had a wide following in the north in earlier times, although he was all but forgotten by the 12th century. [25]Saint Serf of Culross was associated with Nechtan's brother Bridei. Noble kin groups had their own patron saints, and their own churches or abbeys. I need to drink some tea" she said. "I've been talking much too much."

"No, No, Moira. That was quite an informative lecture. What about King Brude?" said Thomas. "And may we have some of that tea, too?"

Moira sipped her tea and said "The legend says that Saint Columba made the sign of the cross in front of King Brude's castle doors and immediately the bolts fell from the doors and the doors swung open. King Brude was awed by the sign from the Christian God and asked Saint Columba to baptize him. So, Brude followed Saint Columba."

"My last question for right now is what about the concentric circles? I read that they built their round houses in terraces on the hillsides, like the Maya. Is that true?"

Dr. Smith piped up with an affirmation. "Yes, Thomas, they did. If you were to survey your area of the Highlands from a helicopter, you could see the terraced hillsides."

"See, Finlay. I told you so. We are interested in a particular part of one terraced hillside he told Smith and Purvis. There is a singular place out in Ardlarich at the west end of the north shore of Loch Ness."

Finlay joined the conversation. "We asked our friend Mike to fly his drone over the area and photograph it. The terraces looked very like the photographs of the ones you've been profiling with LIDAR down here."

"Yes." agreed Thomas "We are anxious to get a first-hand look at your excavations and especially at the stones and glyphs you've recovered." The missing eye from the shield had been a constant source of anxiety for Thomas, almost as if a subliminal message had been imprinted in his subconscious. Somehow he thought he knew where it could be found.

"So, let's get some rest so we can head out early tomorrow."

They all agreed.

#  Chapter Eight.

#

...Yet crime persists. Why? Because the instincts that are warring in man are not, as the law claims, constant forces in a state of equilibrium.- Albert Camus.

Back in the Highlands of Scotland, Gordon had filed a claim against Jack's estate for personal injury and damages. Radthammon had signed on as a client and filed a claim with the court for shoddy workmanship and an unfinished house, including a writ to allow discovery. Goddard and McLaverty were on the case. They started with the twenty years of records in Jack's file cabinets, a painstaking review of each and every invoice and deposit, matching them to Jack's bank statements at Clydesburgh, Bank of Alba and countless others.

As Thomas had suspected, they found evidence of money laundering, bribes, extortion, payoffs, with the names Angus Brown and Donald McGowan, appearing frequently, figuring prominently. Gordon was amazed that Jack had been so blatant and careless. No shell companies, not even aliases.

Peg Diamond had been enlisted to place a few subtly worded articles in local newspapers to flush out informants and comments for the Police Investigations and Review Commissioner against McPherson and Davies. The grievances came pouring in to a "hot line" set up by the Scottish Police Authority, who had paid a visit to the building inspectors and subpoenaed their records.

The police rudely awakened Brown and McGowan, appearing at their doors in simultaneous early morning raids. The distinctive black trousers; yellow, blue and green iridescent jackets; felt hats with badges left no room for speculation by their neighbors. Brown and McGowan climbed into the police van without a fuss and were hauled off to court for a hearing. They were due for their last payoff.

Peg dug through her photo archives and provided some file photos of the missing Shandlin and Connelly to the gumshoes, Goddard and McLaverty. The investigation was in high gear.

Early the same morning Goddard pounded on Cathy McCallum's door.

"Who are you and what do you want?" croaked Cathy from a darkened living room.

"We are private investigators working for Gordon MacDonald. We want to ask you a few questions." Goddard shouted loudly - loud enough for her neighbors to hear. Goddard could see curtains slyly pulled back next door.

"Go away. The police have already been here multiple times." said Cathy.

"We have different questions. We need the list of Jack's site crew members. Who worked for Lanski? Are you still paying them to finish the construction? If you don't want your neighbors to hear everything, you should open the door!"

Cathy cracked open the door.

McLaverty held up Ewan Shandlin's photo close enough for her to glimpse. "Did you ever see this man before? How about this one?" He held up Connelly's photo.

"No, no, I've never seen them." sobbed Cathy. "Now go away."

"We need to know who were the crew members. We can take you to court to make you produce the list."

"Wait a minute," Cathy put the chain on the door and went out to Jack's office. When she came back, she handed a list through the door. "Here's his most recent list from the newest complex. Kristof was an assistant foreman.". Then she slammed the door shut. There were fifteen names on the list. No addresses.

"Well," said Goddard. "We have some work to do." McLaverty noticed it was the same complex where Radthammon's house plot was situated. "Yeah." agreed McLaverty. "About 18,000 Poles in the City. We could start at Highland Salmon. They hire a lot of immigrants. Let's cross-check the records in Jack's office files one more time. Maybe we'll find Lanski's assistant foreman."

Back down town to go through the payroll records again. They found Kristof Kowalski on both lists.

"Let's start with him. I wonder if they are still working on that site. Let's go up there and check."

They took A831 out to the village of Drumnadrochit and turned up Jack's private road, called McCallum Drive. Radthammon's half-completed house was about one quarter mile up the hill on the left side of the macadam road. Sounds of hammers and loud chatter clamored over the hillside as they climbed up. The doctor would have a panoramic view of the Loch, the skies and the mountains beyond. Snow clouds scudded just over the hills, as green as Ireland any day - multiple variegated greens. Shrubs and birches populated the right side of the road.

"So they are here!" exclaimed McLaverty. "Cathy or someone is still paying the crews."

They summoned as many of Jack's work crew as they could find and showed the pictures. No one seemed to find them familiar. Kowalskii suggested they ask down in the village.

"Kristof, what's that haze over the hillside?" queried McLaverty. It was only 2:00 p.m. and despite the faint bit of sunshine left in the fading afternoon, some sort of gas hung over the slopes. Too late in the day for fog, surely. Fog should have burned off the Loch by now.

"Don't know. We see it every day. Gas comes up from the ground when we dig and haze hangs over the terraces. Some days worse than others." said Kristof.

"If gas comes up from the ground, how did you get building permits?" said Goddard. "That is mighty strange."

"Jack got all the permits. We just build the houses." was his reply.

"Who is paying you now, Kristof?"

"Don't know. A guy brings us cash every Friday."

"Could you identify the 'guy' from a picture, if I showed you?" asked Goddard.

"Maybe." said Kristof.

"We'll be back." said McLaverty.

On the way down to the village, Goddard & McLaverty saw the fresh unmarked graves of Jack and Jimmy. "Bloody shame," said Goddard, pursing his lips. "All that violence for what? To conceal a vehicular homicide? There must be more to it. Wonder if the widow is going to have them moved to a proper grave yard?"

At the bottom of the hill, they split up and asked about Connelly and Shandlin in the shops, restaurants, the taxi service, a small food market, the craft shops, farm shop, hairdresser, pharmacy, post office, bank and the visitors center. They had a bit of luck at the bank. One of the tellers remembered seeing both Connelly and Shandlin when they came in to exchange some currency.

"Was anyone with them?" asked Goddard.

"Yes, indeed. I remember seeing Jack McCallum with both of them. Terrible doings up on the hill, were they not?" Kristin, the teller, noted.

"Yes, ma'am. Do you remember where they went when they left the bank? I know it's been several years." asked McLaverty.

"Yes," said Kristin. "They went up the hill to one of the building sites."

"Thanks. You have been very helpful. Well, McLaverty, we'll have to get a warrant to dig up that hillside." said Goddard. "Let's see if Brown and McGowan issued any building permits in the names of Shandlin and Connelly for this area. Or maybe if they paid any fees for permits or transfers. That will save us a lot of unproductive digging. Jack must have had some kind of weapons hidden up there unless he killed them with a shovel."

"Aye. Right you are, McLaverty. Let's go."

Gordon was not optimistic about the review of grievances against the police. A recent audit into the Scottish Police Authority found SPA took too long to handle complaints and multiple cases of possible misconduct. Citizens complained that SPA made decisions on the cases that lacked clarity and transparency. Nothing in the files about McPherson and Davies.

He sent Thomas an email detailing his progress and his misgivings about the police review.

Meanwhile, Goddard and McLaverty did get their warrant. First they pored over the permit copies in Jack's files. Jack had constructed a trail of false filings in the names of Shandlin and Connelly. Shandlin disappeared 7 years ago and Connelly 5 years ago. Yet, Jack's records showed that he was building houses for them much more recently. Goddard tried to establish a timeline and zeroed in on two possible sites, both remote and difficult to find. They used the drone photos to find the spots and took a helicopter up to the top of the hill, wondering how Jack got the bodies up there or if he lured them while they were still alive.

"Gordon? McLaverty here. He phoned from the helicopter. "We have a suspect site and we're taking a crew to dig it up now. We had to get special permissions because of all the Pictish terraces and artifacts up there. I doubt that Jack ever had legitimate planning permissions for this hill. Probably more falsified records. Must be a lot of officials on the take in the City."

"Spectacular! Let me know when you find something. Make sure to sketch, map and photograph the coordinates so we can send the Special Constables up there to confirm your findings." Gordon hung up.

Goddard and McLaverty's team found the moldering remains of Shandlin and Connelly late in the afternoon, near two mysterious cairns. They called for the Constables to remove what was left of the unfortunate clients of Jack McCallum.

Gordon called Peg Diamond to report the find. He also called a local genealogist to locate their next of kin.

#  Chapter Nine.

#

The struggle to excavate your true, authentic self from beneath the mountain of conditioning and ridiculous expectation is the epic struggle of your lifetime.- Bryant McGill.

The land rover was packed chock-a-block with tents, whisk brooms, provisions, shovels, mosquito nets, sleeping bags, cameras, moleskin notebooks and all the other equipment necessary for a week's dig in the jungle.

It was a four-hour drive from Belize City to Tikal. Around 500 A.D. Tikal became the first great Mayan city, as citizens from Teotihuacan made their way to Tikal, introducing new ideas about weapons, captives, ritual practices and human sacrifice.

No sooner had the archaeologists arrived at the site than Dr. Smith looked around and said, "Who wants to move some dirt?" The team thought he was speaking figuratively. They were tired from the trip.

"Come on, Smith. Give us a break" they all protested. But Smith was anxious to get started.

Excavation entailed moving massive amounts of soil from one place to another. In fact, it was not just dirt. They had to move enormous amounts of rocks, roots, and even construction materials every time they moved to a new level, being careful not to compromise the integrity of Aberdeen's excavation. They had to bend over repeatedly to pick up buckets full of debris, hobbling over to dump them in an off-site dirt pile, dozens of trips down and back up a five-meter ramp, just to get rid of the extraneous material on top of the ancient architecture.

Finlay and Thomas were exhausted after the first two hours.

Moira came by and said "Finlay, take a break and get some water. I want to show Thomas something." Finlay was grateful for the rest.

Moira showed Thomas the chalk lines through the open fields, the grids they used to cordon off each section, delving into dung hills on the outskirts of one of the lower rings of a residential complex, sifting through buckets of mud while spider monkeys mocked them from the canopy above. At the end of the walk, they were sunburned.

Thomas confided somberly in Moira. "I have to find an eye." She looked at his eye patch and laughed, thinking he was joking. "No, I am serious. He unfolded the photograph of the sun god shield with only one grey stone eye. I think we will find it in the second level up. I can't tell you how I know, but it's there." Moira looked at him astonished and puzzled.

The social situation was unfamiliar to Thomas and Finlay, but especially to Thomas. They were accustomed to working alone, but here in a hot humid jungle, they were working with a team of twelve. And now he was working with Moira.

Mercifully, Dr. Smith gave them a reprieve for the day and they started to set up the tents.

Moira asked Thomas if he would like to help her set up her tent. Unfortunately, thought Thomas, it was too hot and damp to act on Moira's obvious invitation. "I will certainly help you with the tent." Working together, they found a flat place free of rocks (and, hopefully, artifacts). They staked down the corners, got the poles and cords, frame and canvass maneuvered into place. Thomas set his up close by and Moira provided the mosquito netting.

The next morning Finlay was stuck working in a pit with Rita, the gossip, for several hours . No access to indoor toilets or hot showers. Scraping by on peanut butter and jelly was getting old quickly. Unintelligible coworkers from several countries with different cultures, language, social expectations. Finlay was losing patience with this excursion, and with the salamanders, frogs, geckos.

Thomas and Moira clambered up to the second level to find his first artifact. His knees were weak from all the walking and climbing.

Northern Guatemala is particularly quake prone, and almost as if on cue, the ground started to tremble, several small temblors rippled under their feet while they were climbing. They were knocked back on their heels as a wind kicked up unexpectedly, whistling and high pitched almost like a wooden panpipe. Several of the terraces were now askew as the aftershocks started. They looked down to see if their colleagues were injured. Everyone seemed to be safe.

A lot of rubble was shaken loose and Thomas bent over with his whisk broom and sifter, brushing away some of the clods of turf. There it was. A blue eye. He pulled the stone eye from the ground as some armadillo-like bugs scurried away, and realized that he and Moira were the first persons to see it in thousands of years.

"Unbelievable" gasped Moira. "The odds against finding that must be billions to one." Her arm brushed his.

They found some prehistoric stone tools and felt the way the tools were meant to fit into Moira's hand and then into Thomas's hand. They looked down from the top of the circle where they were working and gaped up at the myriad rings above, imagining what it must have felt like to be an ancient Mayan looking up at that very same complex of buildings. One temple, in particular, seized their imaginations. A pyramid, with hundreds of steps to the moss-covered building at the top. Encapsulated within their own shared nanosecond of the span of civilization, while the parrots, toucans and brown jays protested their presence.

The rains came in the afternoon - not like the cold grey rain of Scotland, but sheets of pelting volley, soaking them even under the canopy. Heavy, warm, oppressive rain. The dirt turned to mud. "We'll have to quit for today," said Moira. "Have to wait till everything dries. Let's go down and see what the others found."

He looked at her for a long moment before starting back.

Going down was more difficult than climbing up - the wet ground was treacherous and the taunting of the monkeys unnerving. They slipped and slid, skidding down several steps at a time.

They reached the camp level and started a fire to keep the bugs away and set up a makeshift clothes line to try to dry the soaking shirts. After they changed into dry clothes, it was their turn to cook rice, beans and tortillas, with lentil, carrot and tomato soup. Quite an accomplishment when one is bone tired.

After supper, paper plates and bowls were thrown on the fire to crackle and pop while the team sat around to discuss finds of the day. Finlay felt a bit out of place as Thomas and Moira took each others' counsel. He had just come along as a favor to Thomas and would have gladly gone back to Scotland immediately if it were possible. Coatimundis scouted for scraps, while brown scorpions scuttled about.

Thomas had bought a world wide 3G phone and a solar charging station before coming down to the jungle, so he could still check emails. He saw that Gordon had sent a report, so he read it eagerly.

"Finlay, Gordon's been moving full speed ahead."

"Big deal," retorted Finlay. "These damn bugs are biting and it's too damn hot here. Some vacation this is." Finlay checked his own phone to see if anyone had posted on his FaceBook page. He was especially interested in whether or not his current belle, Mandy, had left him any messages. She had. So, he was a bit mollified.

Moira was curious about Gordon's activities, so Thomas and Finlay told her a bit of the story.

"We'll tell you the rest later," said Finlay.

"Wow, that's some tale. Just enough to tantalize me. It's almost more captivating than digging up clay pots here."

"Would you like to go back with us and help us with some Pict excavations? Do you think Smith would let you go?" Thomas asked. We could surely use an expert.

"Don't know. I'll check with him in the morning. We have a number of interns here and at least one other archaeologist and an anthropologist. I'd love to go back with you."

For the next three days they dug and whisked, uncovering what remained of Mayan art and writing, recollecting stories of battles, sacrificial offerings and torture. They found grotesque blood-drenched masks, murals, stone tablets, monoliths and steles, becoming acculturated and entranced by Xolotl's spell.

#  Chapter Ten.

#

Airplane travel is nature's way of making you look like your passport photo.- Al Gore.

After five days in the jungle with the ghosts of ancient Maya, Thomas and Finlay were covered with mosquito bites and more than ready to return to Scotland. Their North Atlantic Picts looked inviting by comparison and Finlay was ill. Thomas promised to return the artifacts, which smugglers had sold to Lea, to their rightful owners in Guatemala as soon as he got home. But who were the rightful owners? Dr. Smith said Moira could join them in a week, after she wrapped up her duties in Tikal. Smith procured a helicopter to fly them out to Belize and they were on their way back.

Hours later, safely on the ground at the Inverness airport, they took a taxi back to Thomas's house. "Do you want a lift back to your house, Finlay?"

"No, I'll just split the taxi fare with you and have the cabbie take me home." "Finlay, I'll pay the fare - the trip was my idea. See you soon."

So, Finlay was off muttering under his breath and Thomas was alone again to mull over the past week. He carefully removed the stone eye from his pocket and considered the best way to reattach it. He might have some rubber cement in his desk drawer. He put it into the burlap bag for safe keeping.

There was an email from Gordon waiting in his inbox. Gordon told him that Shandlin and Connelly had been identified by eye witnesses in the village at Drumnadrochit and the last person seen with them was Jack. Goddard and McLaverty had taken cadaver dogs up there and were sure they found the burial place and they were trying to get official permission to dig up one of the building sites to recover the remains. That was the good news. The bad news was that Brown, McGowan, McPherson and Davies had disappeared, despite surveillance set up on their houses.

Cathy was about to go on trial for aiding and abetting the crime of extortion and bribery. Gordon was hoping they would offer her a plea deal in exchange for some of the records he wanted.

Thomas dialed Gordon's number. "Gordon? Thomas here. We just got back. How can they all be missing? What's going on?"

"I have no idea, Thomas. I was checking on the progress of the investigation and the lead detective told me he can't question any of them because they are nowhere to be found. No evidence that they left the country. The officials are befuddled."

Gordon continued, "But the remains of others were found up on Jack's hill. Forensics are trying to determine their identity now."

"Thanks for the update, Gordon. I hope the forensics team is not disturbing the Pictish dead. I am going to rest tomorrow. Can I make an appointment for day after tomorrow to review our status?"

"Ok. Come down at 1:00 p.m."

"Thanks, Gordon. I'll be there. Bye."

Thomas went to Gordon's office on Wednesday. Gordon excitedly showed him all the piles of evidence recovered by Goddard and McLaverty. Sure enough, there were cancelled checks issued to the building inspectors and to the two police officers. The amounts were staggering.

"Have you reported them for prosecution, Gordon? Seems to me those are serious charges, especially the bribes taken by McPherson and Davies."

"Yes, indeed, Thomas. I filed criminal complaints with Police Scotland and they have been referred to the Procurator Fiscal. Only problem is we cannot find the defendants. Everything connected with Jack seems to have some odd twist."

"What about their cars? houses? Have they been searched?"

"Yes, " said Gordon "and the cars are still parked outside their houses."

"Well, I guess we have to get someone to check the train station, the airports, and taxis? What about cell phones or credit cards?"

"Thomas, those have been checked and there's no evidence of use since last week. It's as if they were snatched by aliens." said Gordon.

#  Chapter Eleven.

#

A 'hello again' after the final goodbye is sometimes harder than just keeping the goodbye as it was. - Jessiqua Wittman, A Memoir of Love.

Thomas had almost forgotten about Lorna, but she had not forgotten about him.

On Sunday morning, the door bell rang. Thomas went down to answer, looked out the peep hole, and there, on crutches was Lorna.

For a moment he thought seriously about pretending he was not home. But now they had a shared history - one of injury, horror and death, so he had to speak with her.

As he opened the door he exclaimed "Hello, Lorna. How are you? Sorry I was not at the hospital to visit more often, but I've been busy tracking down Jack's crooked deals."

"Well, I'm still healing as well as can be expected. My landlord kept my apartment for me while I was at Ràthaig Mhòr, so I've been out for a couple of days. The hospital held my job, too, thank God. In a couple of weeks I'll have to return to cleaning rooms."

There was an awkward silence. Lorna had big plans before the night of mayhem on the hill. She had planned to move into Thomas's house.

"You should visit my solicitor, Gordon MacDonald, and sue Jack's estate for personal injury. That's what I'm doing." volunteered Thomas. "You won't get a fortune, but that guy had a lot of money squirreled away and it would certainly help with your expenses and recovery."

"Aye. I'll do that after the weekend. Are you going to offer me some tea?

"Sorry, Lorna. I always forget to be a good host. I'll turn on the kettle now. "

He came back in a few minutes with some biscuits.

"Look, Lorna, about that night. We should not have started something we cannot pursue. I was lonely; YOUR boyfriend was stalking me; I was vulnerable and an attractive woman such as yourself overwhelmed me. Maybe we comforted each other."

"Oh, you've found someone else?"

"No, no. It's not that." Thomas lied. "But I just cannot get married now. Loneliness or loss is not a good basis for a lasting relationship. You don't really want someone like me, Lorna. You really want the material aspects of my life; you want someone who is not Jimmy. You'd be bored in a week here. You need to find a young person who might share your interests." He tried to shift the burden to her preferences.

Lorna said "I did want to live in a house like this."

"If you sue Jack's estate, like I am doing, you can get a nice settlement and start over."

"I did a lot of fantasy thinking when I was in that hospital bed," said Lorna biting her lip and holding back tears, "thinking how great it would be to move in here with you."

"Sorry, Lorna. It's not going to happen. Go see Gordon. If there's something I can help with - like advice on buying your own flat - I'll be glad to do so."

Thomas got the tea and mugs. Lorna was looking glumly at the biscuits. They sat in silence a while. Lorna sipped her tea, fidgeting with a biscuit.

"So you'll not change your mind, Thomas?"

"No, Lorna, I won't." Thomas handed Lorna one of Gordon's cards.

"Ok, then. Thanks for the tea and biscuits. Can you call me a cab? I'll stop in to see Gordon next week. Keep in touch."

They both looked down at their shoes. The cab arrived in five minutes.

"Take care, Thomas," Lorna said wistfully as she hobbled out to the cab.

"You too, Lorna" And then she was gone. Another part of his past departing his present.

The following week she stopped in at Gordon's office.

"Do you have an appointment?" asked the office assistant, Val, when Lorna buzzed outside the building.

"No, but I am a friend of Mr. Ford and he recommended Gordon's legal services." shouted Lorna into the intercom.

"Please come up" said Val as she opened the door. "What is your name?"

Lorna ascended the stairs haltingly, her crutches bumping and clacking on the walls and treads.

"Could I speak with Mr. MacDonald?" Lorna looked around when she reached the top. "I want to sue Jack McCallum's estate. My name is Lorna Dobson."

"Let me see if Mr. MacDonald has a few minutes." Val went down the hall into one of the meeting rooms.

"He'll see you now, Ms. Dobson." Val led Lorna down the hall slowly.

Thomas had not really explained to Gordon his connection to Lorna, although Gordon had read the newspaper accounts.

"What can I do for you, Ms. Dobson?"

"I was Jimmy McCallum's girlfriend," said Lorna almost apologetically. "I'm afraid, as it turns out, I did not have very good taste in boyfriends. His father beat me nearly to death and I want a settlement from his estate."

"Well," replied Gordon, "there's a very good chance you can get a settlement. As nearly as I can tell, Jack and Cathy had a small fortune hidden away. We are in the process of freezing the bank accounts and attaching his assets. I can add you as a co-plaintiff in the recovery suit. We'll have to document what you think your damages should be."

"I just want enough to get a decent flat." said Lorna. She told Gordon that the hospital had agreed to take her back as a cleaner.

"That's not the way it works. For example, will your injuries interfere with your future employment? I doubt you will be able to stand for long periods of time after the arthritis sets in. So, for starters, how old are you? We need to figure out what your future earnings at the hospital would have been."

"I'm twenty-five." replied Lorna.

"Well, let me work out the value of your future earnings. What about emotional suffering? Those are the considerations to start your 'no win no fee claim'. We can get the estate to pay the legal fees if we win. Under Scots Law, no win no fee claims are made under 'delict'. So, Lorna. Let me get all the paperwork ready and then you can come back next week and sign everything. Meanwhile, take care of that foot."

"Thanks, Gordon." Lorna got up to leave. "I completed an interview for the Procurator Fiscal when I was in the hospital - answered all the questions. Can you get a copy of that, Gordon?"

"Yes, now that you are my client, I can. Do you want me to call a cab for you?"

"Thanks. That would be helpful. See you next week."

Gordon helped Lorna down the stairs and out into the cab. He now had more clients at one time than he'd ever had before. Jack's estate was manna - well, not from heaven - but from on high.

#  Chapter Twelve.

#

Every parting gives a foretaste of death, every reunion a hint of the resurrection.- Arthur Schopenhauer.

Thomas's phone rang. "Who could that be," he wondered.

He entered the PIN and Moira's freckled face appeared in his Messenger software.

"Thomas! I've been trying to call you. Don't you ever look at your phone?"

"Sorry, Moira. I guess I'm not what you call 'wired.' This phone is a necessary evil. Where are you?" Moira, he had thought about her fondly more than once since returning to Scotland.

"I'm just about to leave the dig in Tikal, and on my way back to Scotland. I thought I'd pay you a visit next week after I get settled in Aberdeen. Will you be home? We could look at some of those Pict terraces you mentioned?"

"That would be brilliant, Moira! Having an expert assess the terraces, the artifacts, and maybe interpret some of the glyphs? Which day?" Thomas tried not to sound too eager.

"I may be recovered by Wednesday, so I could come up on the train. Would that be OK?"

"Wednesday would be fine. Will you stay for the weekend, then? I got a new car so we could check out some of the tourist attractions too? I also have a spare room if you fancy visiting at my house?"

"Brilliant," said Moira. "I'll text you the train schedule. See you then." The Messenger application displayed a black screen where her face had been.

Thomas sat back in his drafting chair and smiled. Like Lea, Moira was at home among ancient ideas and crumbling dynasties. Perhaps the sort of woman for him. Unlike Lea and Lorna, she could appreciate butterflies and folklore - really appreciate them. She could understand the earth being "old and unhappy" as he had once sensed that hill to be. Lea had wanted him to be animated; to be social; to be witty, to be ambitious. He sensed that Moira was more detached, more cerebral, more willing to let go of a life she might have planned and more willing to find a life waiting for her. He was looking forward to seeing Moira again on his home turf.

Grief is a ritual. Was he more sorry for himself than for Lea? Part of it was defining the cipher called Thomas Ford even to himself. Losing Lea, who had defined him to an extent, meant he had to fill in the blanks. He had been what she was not. Maybe it was too soon. He felt almost guilty. Emotions change so much over time and with context. Could he be happy again? How could he even be sure of how he 'felt?' How long had it been since happiness filled their lives? Thomas had to admit to himself that he really did not want to commit to anyone. On the other hand, his solitary ruminations left him with insubstantial solitary ruminations, nothing more.

Alan and Jean would think it too soon. But, he thought, I cannot live my life for Alan and Jean. The measure of my years is known but to God and I must avail those left to me.

He had no idea what Moira wanted, having known her for only a week. Was she ambitious? Would she be traveling to archaeological digs on a regular basis. That might be a good thing. He would have time to work on his drawings and thinking.

Should he ask Finlay to go along on their travels? He would have to mull that over.

He needed to plan an itinerary, too. Maybe they would stop down at Gordon's office; look at the Clach na Cudainn stone; review the artifacts at the museum. They would have to spend some time studying the calendar, too. He welcomed Moira's expertise in reading Nahuatl and ancient Gaelic. They would research everything they could find at the library and online concerning Xolotl, his brother, Gukumatz and King Brude. They would climb up to the vitrified hill fort where King Brude once held court, painted blue, in his rounded helmet and long mantle.

Just planning an itinerary breathed new life into Thomas. He had a purpose, even if a short-lived one. Breaking with sorrow and remembrance; breaking with horror; breaking with the fear and dread of actually getting what he wanted.

Wednesday could not arrive soon enough. Thomas parked his car behind the train station, went in the back door, walked along the tracks and came into the waiting room. He sat on a bench facing the inbound trains. A seagull was pecking at a discarded scone and paper on the floor in front of him, remnants of someone's morning.

There she was, arriving on Platform 2. C.S. Lewis said: "You can't go back and change the beginning, but you can start where you are and change the end." Thomas intended to do just that. He walked briskly over to the turnstile, beaming at Moira as she surrendered her ticket and came through the gate.

"Moira! So happy to see you again. Let me help you with your bag."

Moira smiled back. "Yes, Thomas, it's wonderful to see you too. No worse the wear from your trip to the jungle?"

"I'm fine." he said "but Finlay is still carping about the creepy crawlies down there. So, where do you want to go? How about lunch?"

"Lunch would be grand. Let's go somewhere where the locals go. Even when I am not working, I enjoy studying cultures and morés."

"Well, let's go to Gellions then. We can play darts and eat pub grub?"

"OK. Gellions it is." agreed Moira.

They walked towards the river and Bridge Street, Moira's bag bumping along the cobblestones behind him.

"How was your trip back to Aberdeen? Any travel war stories?" asked Thomas.

"Well the helicopter trip over to Belize was rough. High winds and blinding rain. But after that, all went smoothly. In a way, I felt badly leaving the Maya behind, but they'll still be there when I return. That's an advantage peculiar to archaeologists. The subjects of OUR inquiries usually stay put. But, on the other hand, we can revisit King Brude and I was eager to see you again."

After what seemed like mere seconds, The Gellions was in front of them - its green sign stretching across the first story of another grey stone building. Moira pulled open the door.

"Hardly anyone here at this hour. Guess we can sit where we want." she said.

They sat at a table near the window.

"I think this is the oldest pub in Inverness," said Thomas. "It was once a prison. The poet William Topaz McGonagall, reputed to be the worst writer in the English language, mentioned it in a poem."

"'Twas on the 16th of October, in the year 1894,

I was invited to Inverness, not far from the sea shore,

To partake of a banquet prepared by the Heather Blend Club,

Gentlemen who honoured me without any hubbub.

The banquet was held in the Gellion Hotel,

And the landlord,

Mr. Macpherson treated me right well;

Also the servant maids were very kind to me,

Especially the girl that polished my boots,

Most beautiful to see.'"

"Thomas! That's amazing. How did you happen to know that?" she asked.

"Just one of those useless bits of trivia I've acquired during my life in the Highlands. And then, that detective was named McPherson, too."

"Speaking of that life in the Highlands, what's your back story, Thomas? What detective? Finlay mentioned you were recovering. From what? You and Finlay told me a bit about what happened. Sorry to be nebby, but if we are to be friends, as well as digging partners, I would like to know more about you."

Thomas was quiet for a long time. Then he replied. "As we mentioned on the dig, there was an accident, Moira. I am a widower now. My wife, Lea was killed - drowned, when we were run off the road by a local thug last fall. I was driving. I drove us into the Loch."

"How horrible. I had only a vague idea. I am so sorry, Thomas."

The waitress came by with water and menus. "Thanks," said Thomas. Give us a minute. Moira, have a look and see if you like anything. They have very good pub food."

"I'll just have your house salad for starters," said Moira. "Same for me, " said Thomas.

"I'll be back soon." said the waitress.

Thomas resumed his account. "So, what's worse, several days after we were recovered from the Loch, the creep who ran us off the road and his father, an influential local builder, kidnapped me and a friend, beat us to a pulp and would have left us to die out at Ardlarich. We were saved by his hired hand, his foreman who came to his senses and assisted us at the last moment. It was horrendous."

"So, what happened to the two kidnappers?" Moira was on the edge of her chair.

"Well, the foreman, Lanski, killed Jack, the father. Lanski let the son, Jimmy, bleed to death. Before they got to Ardlarich, Jimmy's mate, Robert, had stabbed Jimmy. Then Jimmy killed Robert and Robert's mother, Marie Ferguson."

"What a blood bath," sighed Moira. "As savage as the Maya and Picts. What happened to your friend?"

"Well, she just got out of the hospital. There's a lot going on. My attorney is suing Jack's estate on our behalf. But beyond that, there are others missing."

"A lot to deal with, Thomas. How are you coping?" she looked sympathetic and took his hands in hers. "Who is still missing?"

Thomas told her about the lawyer Shandlin and the land developer Connelly. "But even more peculiar," said Thomas, "are the missing building inspectors. They were happily taking bribes while I was on the dig with you and Smith, but when I came back, they were also missing. They were arrested and arraigned, but now the police have been unable to find them since the arraignment. My solicitor filed complaints against the two police - McPherson and Davies - who should have arrested Jimmy and Jack. Now they have disappeared. Everything connected with Jack McCallum turned to shit."

"Jack McCallum?" Moira exclaimed. "Of McCallum Homes? That guy had his signs all over Aberdeen too. At one time I had considered buying a house from him. Glad I was always too busy."

"I am glad, too." Thomas squeezed her hands. "We have to decide what to eat. Here comes the waitress."

They gave the waitress their orders.

"I like this place" said Moira. "Meaning The Gellions. I'm not sure about the town, yet, having just arrived. Previously, I was through here but never toured around."

"Yeah, if we stay long enough, the traditional musicians will arrive and serenade us." joked Thomas.

"Ooh. I would love that. Wonder what kind of tunes the Maya and Picts played?"

Thomas was struggling with his emotions. Fear, dread, falling in love all caused one's heart to pound and one's blood pressure to rise. His face was a bit flushed and he was not sure which afflicted him.

"So, let's stay, then, for the music." he said. "We'll have to make our drinks last several hours."

And stay they did. They even danced a bit with the set dancers. By then the fireplace illuminated the faces of the dancers and the place was packed. Their faces were flushed too. Maybe the drink? Fiddlers and guitar players and button box players of the house band Sìdh Chailleann filled the warm cozy bar with ancient tunes. Sìdh Chailleann, translates as Fairy Hill of the Caledonians, a famous hill in Kinross. Moira was delighted.

"You must be tired, Moira. It's nearly midnight. Let's call it a night. We'll have to walk back to the train station to get the car."

Moira agreed. So they went out into the cold, holding hands, full of good dinner, Guinness, and good cheer.

"Moira, this is the first evening since the accident that I am feeling relaxed."

"I am so glad, Thomas. I am feeling relaxed and happy too. Dr. Smith doesn't give us much free time. Just dig, dig, dig," she joked.

"Speaking of digging," said Thomas "maybe tomorrow we can poke around King Brude's hill fort? What do you think?"

Moira feigned exasperation. "On a Pict dig so soon after the Maya? Sure. Xolotl might deem me unfaithful." she grinned.

"That's not funny," intoned Thomas. "The Maya and Picts are still forces to be reckoned with. Remember, they are still among us."

"Lighten up, Thomas. The Maya and Picts are my constant companions. I think I know them better than you." "I am not so sure about that, Moira," Thomas said quietly. "I know them in a way most people could never know them."

They got to the car and Thomas opened the door for Moira. "Off to Chez Ford. Hope the humble accommodations are satisfactory. Better than those tents at Tikal, anyhow."

#  Chapter Thirteen.

#

To excavate is to open a book written in the language that the centuries have spoken into the earth. - Spyridon Marinatos .

Thomas turned the key and opened his door for Moira. Impulsively he hugged her and gave her a kiss. "Sorry, Moira. I've been wanting to do that all night."

"Don't apologize, Thomas. But I must tell you I am married though estranged from my husband. I hope that won't ruin our time together."

"That's a shock. Well, how do you feel about him?" asked Thomas as he hung up their coats. "Let me put on the kettle for some tea."

"Just one cup for me, otherwise the caffeine will keep me awake. Milk and sugar."

"Sure thing. Be right back."

"We are in the middle of divorce proceedings. That's one of the reasons I had to come back to Aberdeen. There's a hearing next week." Moira followed him to the kitchen. "So, that's where I am. I asked so many questions about you, that I did not take the time to tell you about me."

"I should have asked." acknowledged Thomas. "I am not very good at social transactions. So, let's wait till tomorrow, and then tell me all about you?"

"Deal." said Moria as she drank her tea.

"Show me where everything is and I'd like to rest now."

Thomas showed her to the stairwell, the bath at the top and to the right, fresh towels, and the spare room to the left.

"See you in the a.m., Thomas. Thanks for a lovely evening."

Moira went into the bath. Thomas went into his drafting room.

When morning broke, Thomas went down to prepare scones with jam and clotted cream, tea and coffee. Moira smelled the coffee and got up and ready for hiking.

"That coffee smells marvelous," she said as she came down the stairs. "What's for breakfast?" She spied the scones. "Oh, Thomas, that's perfect. A couple of bananas and we're ready for Pictland."

"The jam is currant. Hope you like it." said Thomas.

"Love it."

They took the scones, coffee and bananas into the living room on trays to start mapping out their travels for the day.

"What do you think about visiting the King first?" asked Thomas.

"You mean Bridei son of Maelchon? Yes, let's. That would be fun and I hear the view is phenomenal up there. We are not likely to find any artifacts at this late date - so many hikers have been up there. These scones are delicious! Maybe we should take the bananas and water with us?"

"Good idea," said Thomas."I have a small backpack. I'll put them and the camera in, oh, and some water."

Big rain drops splatted on the patio.

"I have a couple of plastic ponchos. They will keep the rain off. Do you want the yellow or blue one?"

"I'll take yellow."

So, they put the dishes in the sink and started out. "Here's a walking stick, too. They help on the way up the steep hill."

By the time they got to Craig Phadraig, a frigid gale blew up from the sea, almost knocking them off their feet.

They craned their necks to see the crest of the hill, occupied by a vitrified fort; a stone structure tempered by fire to produce a glass-like material. The inner wall of the fort surrounds an area 246 ft. by 75 ft., with the surviving wall at a height of around 3 ft. 11 in. Beyond the inner wall is an outer wall and part of a third wall or hornwork to the east, with many more circular terraces buried.

"There's no shelter up there save for the trees, Moira. Should we risk it?"

"Let's do it. I have the camera in a waterproof plastic bag. The storm will be short-lived. And besides, the storms did not deter King Brude nor Saint Columba."

And true to her prediction, the wind started to die down. It was still rough climbing though, with all the loose water-logged soil on the hillside. The spikes in the soles of their boots helped a bit, and of course the walking sticks helped with balance. After a half hour of arduous effort, they made it to the top of the most visible ring. They had a clear view of the pines and hemlocks which now circled the top, and of the Beauly Firth and the mountains in the distance.

"You know, Thomas, this wall was constructed in the 4th Century A.D. The last excavation up here was in 1970 when the Aberdeen team found metal-working implements and pottery from Gaul, dating from the 7th century. They also found animal bones, peat ash and charcoal." Moira marvelled, out of breath.

"This place is surrounded by hill forts," he said. "We should be able to see Knock Farrell and Ord Hill forts up here, and a third possible fort is at Torvean."

Sea gulls shrieked and swooped buffeted by the wind from the Firth. A light rain was still pelting their ponchos, as the edges whipped back and forth.

"Thomas, you've become quite the expert on Pictish forts!" said Moira, clearly impressed.

"I am not as interested in the animal bones as I am in the Pict bones. The hill at Ardlarich probably cradles hundreds of them. Do you think we can find anything here, or is it too wet? I did bring a trowel in the backpack. Too bad the Spring is late this year. In another month, this hill will be covered by blue bells."

"Well, let's go down to the bottom of that exposed wall and poke around." suggested Moira, while singing:

"O where and O where does your highland laddie dwell;

O where and O where does your highland laddie dwell;

He dwells in merry Scotland where the blue bells sweetly smell,

And all in my heart I love my laddie well."

"Sorry, Thomas. I could not resist that folk song." She blushed every so slightly.

They made their way carefully down the Northwest side of the inner ring to the trench that had been dug by the excavators. The stones were red from long-dead fires and the top layers covered with mosses and lichens.

"The Forestry Commission owns this now. I wonder if we have to surrender any finds to them?" asked Thomas.

"I should think so" replied Moria. "Could I have that trowel?"

She gingerly poked it into the recesses of the layered stones on the right side of the excavated wall, carefully removing a few of them. She set them down in order so they could be replaced.

"Thomas did you bring a torch with you?" He rummaged in the back pack and found the small black flash light and handed it to Moira.

"Look what's stuck in here!" she said excitedly. It was a flat rock, like a skimming stone, with a cat face etched into it, the etchings revealing the iron content of the stone.

"Moira, that's just unbelievable. How can that be?"

The etched cat face was tulip shaped with three furrows above its eyes; underlines beneath both eyes, a trapezoidal nose, and a curved mouth with three furrows.

"That damn cat looks almost identical to my Mayan cat that Lea bought from the smugglers! Maybe the smugglers tricked her and the one she bought was not really Mayan? Maybe they got it locally?"

"No, Thomas, I don't think so. The one you showed me was a different kind of rock. I think it was limestone. This is sandstone, if I am not mistaken. I read somewhere that they hauled 25,000 pounds of rock up here for their walls."

"That cat. Eerily similar to the Mayan cat. In my dream it was called Ixor. What kind of name is that?"

"Sounds Thracian to me." said Moira.

"Thrace. Thrace. That makes sense in terms of the origin of the Picts and Maya." said Thomas, talking to himself.

Several hours had passed while they carefully scraped away rocks and dirt. Their fingers were stiff and their noses red.

"Well, I'm getting cold" said Moira. "Put this in your backpack. We'll turn it over to the Forest Service or the museum in town later."

"Are you ready to quit archaeology for the day?" he asked hopefully.

"Yep. Let's get changed from the wet clothes and go to lunch."

"Is it OK with you if we invite Finlay?"

"Of course," agreed Moira.

Thomas pulled his cell phone out of his pocket and dialed Finlay's number. Finlay answered on the third ring.

"Any chance you want to have lunch with me and Moira?"

"Sure thing." said Finlay. " I am finishing up a blocked kitchen drain, but I can join you in an hour? Where to?"

"How about the Mustard Seed on Fraser Street? My treat."

"OK. See you there around 2:30. Bye now."

#  Chapter Fourteen.

#

It wouldn't be much of a universe if it wasn't home to those you love.-Stephen Hawking.

"The sheep`s in the meadow

The cow`s in the corn

Now is the time for a child to be born

He`ll laugh at the moon

And cry for the sun

And if it`s a boy he`ll carry a gun

Sang the crow on the cradle." -Traditional Folk Song.

The Mustard Seed was a modern, split-level eatery in an old stone church heated by a wood burner. It was warm and cozy with a bright yellow door right near the River. They got there before Finlay so they went upstairs to get a table near the arched doors with full-length windows, looking out on a balcony above the Inbhir Nis. Beautiful bouquets of orange lilies and red chrysanthemums in striking orange marbled vases sat on side tables. They asked the _maître d'hôtel_ to watch for Finlay and send him up.

It was not long before Finlay got there. "I have not been here for a long time" he said "this is a most comfortable place for a repast."

"Are you trying to impress Moira? Repast. Did you get the drain unblocked?" joked Thomas.

Moira was already looking at the menu. "We had a Pictish adventure this morning." she told Finlay. "We found a stone with a carved cat up there at the hill fort."

"Yes, Thomas, I got the drain unblocked. I'm glad you are here to absorb some of his Pict stuff, Moira" said Finlay as he pulled out his chair. "Thomas has been obsessed with carved cats and shields and old objects ever since he went to Lea's shop. I've begun to think the accident changed his brain in some odd way. I can't take much more of the children of stone."

They looked at the menu again. Lots of gluten free choices. Lots of fresh fish. Lots of tatties. They decided to pass on the grilled haggis, and picked the homemade soup of the day, smoked salmon, pea shoots and oatcakes; beetroot and pomegranate salad with toasted walnuts and caramelized onion dressing. And, of course some new potatoes.

"Everything looks so delicious" said Moira. "Better than the peanut butter we fed you in the jungle, eh, Finlay?"

"Yeah much better. I don't know how you scientists do that work day after day in the heat and humidity, and with all the bugs" said Finlay.

"Finlay, we eat some of those bugs" said Moira for the shock effect, laughing.

"Finlay, the 'children of stone,' as you put it, are just starting to get exciting. Do you know that those building inspectors AND the two police under surveillance have all disappeared! I am wondering if they left the country when those gumshoes started poking around or after Angus Brown and Donald McGowan were arrested. Doesn't speak well for the surveillance. Wonder who was supposed to be watching them? So, Finlay, we are going to have to draft you into service again as part of the team. We have to find those bastards."

Just then the lunch arrived. Everything looked and smelled fresh and wonderful, especially the bread, made in the restaurant.

"Anything else?" asked the waitress. "Maybe some water with lemon for me?" said Moira. "And for the gentlemen?"

"Just hot tea with milk and sugar." said Finlay. "Same for me." said Thomas.

"I'll be back shortly with your drinks" said the waitress.

"What did you have in mind, Thomas? Surely you are not thinking about breaking in?"

"No, Finlay. But maybe we could swing by Rowan Road. If the security force is there, we could tell them there's a plumbing appointment made by Brown. Maybe they would let us in? It's an old house and a plumbing problem would not seem unusual. McGown lives close by on the same street. We might get lucky twice."

"What if they don't believe your story, Thomas?" asked Moira.

"Well, maybe we could get the private investigators to let us in."

"I don't know why I let you talk me into these escapades, Thomas. But, all right. I have a job tomorrow morning, but I could join you in the afternoon."

"Perfect," said Thomas, "because Saturday I want to take the two of you up to Ardlarich. I have not been back since the night of horror and I want to check around those building sites which Goddard and McLaverty visited. Also I want to see what it looks like in daylight."

The waitress brought their drinks.

Lunch was as good as it looked. Notwithstanding all the haggis jokes, Scottish cooks are good cooks. Their desserts rival any of the cakes baked in Ireland. The cream cakes with jam melt in one's mouth and the jams and currant jellies cannot be surpassed. Unexpectedly, a fiddler appeared at the top of the stairs, playing Jock Ó'Hazeldean.

"What a treat. Thomas, did you plan this?"

"Naw. He doesn't usually plan at all, so he doesn't" replied Finlay.

As they walked down the stairs to the street, the last succulent crumbs were already a memory. Not unexpectedly, small snow flakes flecked the sidewalk.

"Thanks for coming, Finlay. See you tomorrow afternoon. Do you want to come to mine and leave your car? Or, should we take your plumbing truck? Might make our nosing about more plausible?"

"Yes, we can take my truck, Thomas. See you two at one."

Moira and Thomas strolled to the car park, enjoying the light snow.

"We've got a big day of sleuthing tomorrow," Thomas said as he grasped Moira's hand, "But not the sort you usually do."

"Well, I can apply my analytic skills to finding contemporary missing persons." Moira laughed. "The only difference from my regular work is that I'm usually tracing long-dead ones. The Celts felt that trees held the qualities of wisdom, longevity and strength. Maybe we should consult the trees."

As they drove back to the house, they were silent, partly contemplating the work for tomorrow; partly uncertain about their time together.

Thomas built a fire and put on the television. "Come on. Sit under the shawl with me, Moira" he cajoled. Moira joined him on the sofa and they covered up with the black watch fringed shawl.

Thomas made some popcorn and they watched Local Hero, entranced, even though they had seen it many times. It was still worth a cheer when Gordon discovered that Ben Knox, who lived in a snug driftwood shack on the shore, owned the beach through a grant from the Lord of the Isles to Ben's Knox ancestor. Ben picked up some sand and offered to sell his beach for the same number of "pound notes" as he had grains of sand in his hand. Happer (the oil company chief) arrived on site and decided to negotiate personally with Ben and in the process, discovered they had a lot in common. Happer opted to locate the refinery offshore and set up an astronomical observatory instead; then an oceanographic research center. MacIntyre (Happer's gopher) sadly returned to his empty life in Houston, examining his pebbles and shells found in the most beautiful village on earth. And as he pondered what to do next, they heard the phone ringing in the empty red box, the last tones of a love song to Scotland.

"Thomas, you put that film on so I would have to kiss you." joked Moira. And she did. Thomas kissed back. Off they went to the second floor. They did not get much sleep, talking and loving long into the early hours. Luckily they did not have to get up until the forenoon to meet Finlay. They took their shower together and got dressed.

"What a wonderful night, Moira" sputtered Thomas as he wiped the water from his hair and face. "I agree" said Moira. "Let's get some breakfast and hope we can stay awake this afternoon."

"Oatcakes, butter, currant jam and tea, lots of tea," said Thomas.

There's no way to eat oatcakes politely. They crumble and drop to one's lap, down one's shirt, but they are delicious. After a pack each of the cakes, they were ready to meet Finlay. He was right on time.

The white Renault master panel van had 'Finlay and Son' on the side. His father was a plumber too. A blaze of sunshine was just visible through low-hanging grey clouds. Rain predicted again for the afternoon.

Finlay rang the bell, just as Thomas was opening the door. "Come in. Do you want some tea and oat cakes before we go?" "No," said Finlay, "I got a sandwich on the way over. Are you sure you want to try this caper, Thomas?"

"Yes. Let's go for it. The worst that can happen is that we'll run into some of the surveillance crew, if they are on duty."

They drove slowly up Rowan Road till they got to the house of Angus Brown, pulling into the drive way so as not to act suspiciously.

"Around back, Finlay, there's a place to park." Thomas directed.

The place looked deserted. No sign of police or investigators. Finlay tried the back door and, surprisingly, it was not locked.

"OK, Crew. Let's go," said Finlay.

They got out a tool box just in case and carried it up the steps to the back porch. They set it just inside the door to block unexpected visitors and each one took a wrench.

Inside the walls in the main room were painted with glossy light yellow enamel paint. Ornate moldings fringed the tin ceiling, painted a light cream color. The wide windows sported tartan floor-to-ceiling drapes with matching valances, in orange and yellow. some of the furniture was a blue green leather, and some was upholstered in a cream, yellow and orange paisley. All very tasteful. The fireplace and Brown's trail had long gone cold. Just ashes. Above it was a wide brass-framed mirror and several pieces of antique china lined the mantel. They were amazed as they wandered through the first floor that a building inspector could afford such elegance. The kitchen opened out onto an octagonal conservatory.

The conservatory allowed a view of the back of the property and the garden. The walls, made of ornate glass panels, with leaded joins in the shape of croquet hoops, surrounded the floor covered in large ceramic tiles.

"Let's look around here for loose floor tiles," suggested Thomas.

"The investigators did find some big payments to Mr. Brown in Jack's office, but they could not determine what services they covered. I think we know about the services, but we might be able to find out what properties Angus 'inspected' for Jack. Looks like Mr. Brown worked out here, judging from the desk and treadmill."

Finlay and Moira started methodically lifting at the edge of each tile as she might have lifted rocks at a dig. Under the treadmill, they found two loose ones. They rolled the treadmill forward so they could closely examine the tiles. Underneath they found rolls of pound notes with memoranda attached to a few. And sure enough, several mentioned site numbers on McCallum Drive.

"Wonder where Brown has gone. Gordon said no activity on his credit cards. His car is out there in the back. Rolls of cash in here. AND," emphasized Thomas "McPherson, Davies, Donald McGowan apparently disappeared at the same time. Let's report the cash to Gordon and head out to Ardlarich. I want to look at those sites."

Glancing outside the conservatory, they could see a low continuous cloud sheet covering the gloomy sky. A light drizzle spotted the windows.

"You may as well bring the car around front, Finlay. I'll go get your tool box and meet you at the other door."

Finlay agreed and walked out to his truck through the low cloud cover. As he walked down the stairs with the tools, Thomas noticed the garden, withered and sere, despite all the rain. The jack daws were roosting and cawing at them when they went out. "Look at that Moira. There should be buds on all these shrubs. Very strange."

He stared up at the oak tree heavy with birds. He thought he saw an image of Xolotl up there. "Is that my imagination, Moira? Can you see that image at the top of that tree?"

"Yes, Thomas. I must be as delusional as you are, but I can see it." said Moira. "Must be a weather-related phenomenon. Looks like a man with a shield."

"I wonder if we'd see it at McGowan's house, too" Thomas said under his breath.

They joined Finlay in the truck. "I think it's too risky to go poking around McPherson's and Davies's house, Finlay. Let me give Gordon a call to see if he has any new information. Then can we drive by McGowan's? It is on this road."

"Ok. Thomas." said Finlay as he turned the key in the ignition.

#  Chapter Fifteen.

#

He knew that all the hazards and perils were now drawing together to a point: the next day would be a day of doom, the day of final effort or disaster, the last gasp.-J.R.R. Tolkien.

Gordon MacDonald, Thomas's solicitor answered the phone.

"Hi, Gordon. Just calling to see how your cases and investigations are going. We just went by Angus Brown's house and there's not a live soul about. The door was open. Just as you said, the car was there. But, Gordon, we found a stash of cash. Probably ill-gotten gains which should be confiscated for victim compensation. Can you find someone at the Scotland Police office to handle it? We're on our way over to Donald McGowan's house now."

"Give me a chance to answer, Thomas. Latest news is that Radthammon did file a complaint which opens our chance of legal discovery. Just so you know, Lorna filed a claim, too."

"Yeah. I advised her that she might get a settlement so she could quit her job at the hospital."

"I'll get the police over to Brown's right away. Where is the cash?"

"It's under the tiles on the right side of the conservatory, under the treadmill. Make sure someone audits the cash they recover." said Thomas. "Listen, Gordon, we want to go up to the building sites, too. Any problem with that? "

"No" Gordon replied. "The crime scene where Shandlin and Connelly were buried has already been photographed and catalogued by the police. Goddard and McLaverty identified the area and the cadaver dogs did the rest. Why do you want to go up there?"

"Well, I have a hunch. And, Dr. Moira Purvis wants to have a look at the Pictish terraces up there. Oh, and, Gordon, I think Brown was the guy delivering cash to Jack's crews on those building sites. I think Jack was not only bribing him for the permits, but also paying him as a fixer. "

"Noted. Thomas. If you ever decide to change careers, I could use you as an investigator!"

"Not likely, Gordon. But thanks for the offer. I am looking forward to a long period of solace and quiet drawing and painting. I still have to hold that auction for Lea's artwork, too. We'll check in with you later. Bye now."

"Where to? " Finlay pulled out of the drive.

"Just up Rowan Road to the one with the sign 'Kestrel' in front."

Finlay pulled the plumbing van into the driveway. "Looks deserted," he said.

"Well, let's go around back so as not to attract attention." said Moira.

As with Brown's house, the McGowan door was unlocked and the owner's car was parked in back. They knocked but got no answer. In they went.

"The interior designer must have been a Goth" observed Moira. All the furnishings were grey, black and silver. Lots of light from the large windows, but still a shadowy atmosphere. In the kitchen even the dishware was black. As they wandered through the abandoned life of Donald McGowan. they wondered how his neighbors would not have noticed anything peculiar.

On each step leading to the second floor, they saw a jade green quetzal feather. On the last step, leading to more of the same decor: black, grey, silver, abandoned, was a Pictish coin, weathered and corroded.

"What are these feathers, Moira?" Finlay did not remember seeing such fine feathers before.

"Well, this is going to sound crazy," said Moira, "but those are the sort of feathers used by the Maya as currency. They also used flint, chert, obsidian, jade,colored shells and other household items. And, it looks as if King Brude has left us a clue."

"My hunch is starting to evolve into a theory," said Thomas in a hushed voice, as he fingered the coin. "I think our ancient friends had something to do with these disappearances. Let's get out to Ardlarich. But I want to get that burlap bag first. Finlay, please swing by my house again. Thanks. don't ever say I don't show you a good time!" Thomas laughed.

Thomas ran in and got the burlap bag containing Lea's treasures and hopped back in the van.

"Let's head for the A831" said Finlay "And I'll never say you did not show us a good time."

In about twenty minutes, they were going up McCallum Drive in second gear. They passed the spot where Goddard and McLaverty had questioned the crew. No one was working today. They passed Radthammon's now finished house, built into the hillside with the front on stilts facing the Loch. Up and up until they could see the concentric terraces, ringed with rock walls, high enough to be shrouded by clouds. The afternoon was waning, but there was still enough light to see. They got out of the van and walked around the remains of another hill fort. Then they saw it. A low stone wall just below a large burial mound made of cantilevered stones, one of the clava cairns. The entrances faced south west to catch the last rays of afternoon sun.

"I've never been up here to the top of the hill," gasped Thomas. "I had no idea this was here. Do you have a torch in the van, Finlay?"

Finlay got his torch.

"Come on," said Thomas, "Let's have a look inside."

Carefully they scaled the hill to the largest of the three entrances.

"This rivals the Maya buildings any day." said Moira.

"Careful what you say, Moira. There are spirits about. I sense them." whispered Thomas.

Moira looked at Thomas in disbelief but did not say anything. Finlay seemed to be in a trance as he trailed behind them. He had often participated in the Samhain bonfire ceremonies but had never gone into a real cairn.

They reached the rocky path down into the entrance. What seemed to be a newly stacked cairn stood like a sentry in the middle of the opening. Thomas shone the light into the gloom. Laid out ritually were four bodies: McPherson, Davies, Brown and McGowan.

"Wow. We must have a serial killer on the loose." whispered Moira.

"They are so pale. Looks like the blood has been drained," said Finlay quietly. A few pools of blood were still evident. Just then a voice spoke to them from inside the cairn.

"Please leave this holy place. Go down to the bottom of the hill and lay the burlap bag on the ground."

Thomas said "Let's do as instructed."

"Yeah, let's get out of here. That could be the killer in there." said Finlay.

They scrambled into the van, turned around, and exited as quickly as possible. Thomas called Gordon and told him to get the police out to Ardlarich.

#  Chapter Sixteen.

#

"Now fair weill Rannoch, with thy loch and ile, to me thow wes richt traist baith evin and morne thow wes the place that wald me nocht begyle quhen I haue bene oft at the kingis horne yit may thou ban the houre I wes borne for uncourtuuslie I quite thee thy hyre that left the birnand in ane felloun fyre." Duncan MacGregor, executed 15th Jun 1552 in Perth

The sunset over Ardlarich was spectacular. The ridges over the Loch loomed starkly black against the yellow-orange-red gradated sky.

Just above the horizon two cigar-shaped black clouds floated just under swirls of grey, orange and purple buttermilk clouds which seemed to converge to a point just over the peak of the hill.

The birch trees, just budding, with their roots spreading out into the earth caressing and embracing whoever was buried there, their branches reaching to the sky, were the link between earth and the door to the Otherworld. (In Gaelic, the word for the most sacred of trees, the oak, is "dair" which also means door. The word for birch is "beith" which also means entity.)

Druids and Picts held their meetings and classes in sacred groves sheltered by sacred entities.

This time it was Thomas. Finlay and Moira sitting in the Blue Astra, with the headlights trained on the hill, as the sun set, sheltered by sacred beithanna. No Mars bars. No druids. No dancing Jimmy. A full moon hung heavy over the terraces, making the headlights almost unnecessary. The new birch leaves were shivering in the starlight. Thomas had carefully laid the burlap bag out on the grade in front of the car. The sun god now had both eyes. All over the landscape, a gaseous mist was rising - moonlit or luminous? Difficult to ascertain. Gas was rising all around them and butterflies gyred and gimbled about the trees in great abundance.

Thomas, Moira and Finlay had seen the 1300-year-old tablet containing the Mayan Long Count calendar and now they knew what it meant. The calendar had already reset for the countdown to the end of days. End of Days for Xolotl and Quetzalcoatl, that is. Waiting for Gukumatz.

They craned their necks up and to the south west, but the bodies of the missing building contractors and the two detectives bloodless and pale were lying in the cairn, near the top out of visual range from the Astra.

They waited for what seemed like hours.

At the time preordained by Gukumatz's tablet, Xolotl shot out of the bag in a blue streak toward the stars. At exactly the same time his Pictish brother burst through the cairn at the top of the hill and the two, carrying clay pots full of blood, collided with Gukumatz in midair. King Brude gestured to them and then the four formed a bright hot comet, with a tail of brilliant translucent blue and orange gas, which curlicued through the Orion Nebula in a familiar glyph pattern and then dived for the Loch on their way to the sea. A great mist hissed and spit and rose from the Loch. A host of Pictish souls spiraled up in unison as the ground ruptured; first one, then two, then hundreds assembled in the atmosphere, wheeling and veering, soaring and speeding away down to the sea.

All of a sudden the hill was quiet again. The gas was gone and the butterflies massed in murmuration, mounted quickly quietly toward the moon, pitched up and out over the Loch toward the sea and were gone.

"How are we going to explain this to the police?" Finlay asked, incredulous at what he had just witnessed.

"I guess we won't" said Thomas. "but we need to get the police up to the top of that hill to record for posterity the landscape. I have a feeling there might be more bodies up there now. Anyone who ever interfered with the burial mound."

Moira said "I think we need to accompany them. I would like to film my own record."

As they drove down the hill to A831, Thomas called Gordon again.

"Gordon, can you get McLaverty and Goddard or the police up to the top of Jack's property pronto?" He explained to Gordon what had happened. Gordon said "Thomas, I am certainly not going to tell the police what you just told me. But I'll get the Superintendent to send someone up there. They won't be able to see anything tonight. First thing in the morning."

Then Thomas called Peg Diamond. "You are not going to believe this, Peg, but I've got two witnesses." He repeated the story.

Peg sounded sceptical. "Well, Thomas, before I write about this I am going to have to check with some experts for rational explanations. You've given me some reliable leads before, but this...this sounds preposterous."

"Believe me, Peg, I have scant hope of finding a rational explanation. Gordon said the police and the investigators will be up there first thing in the morning, if you want to see for yourself."

Thomas put his phone in his jacket and looked through the rear view window at the faintly glimmering hillside thoughtfully and said "Jack did not understand that we do not really own land nor inherit land from our ancestors, we borrow it from the gods and our grandchildren."

**The End.**

Be sure to buy the tartan noir thriller **The Survival of Thomas Ford** available on Amazon US and Amazon UK to experience the terror of Thomas and Lorna during the night on the hill at Ardlarich! And please stop by http://www.johnaalogan.com.

#  Footnotes:

#

[1] http://portal.historicenvironment.scot/designation/LB35166

[2] http://caithness.wikia.com/wiki/Picts

[3] https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Picts

[4] https://www.linkedin.com/pulse/20141110114745-96805262-kingdom-of-pictland-and-picts-on-threshold-of-extinction

[5] https://archive.org/details/placenamesofscot00johnuoft

[6] https://www.nationalgeographic.com/magazine/2016/09/maya-empire-snake-kings-dynasty-mesoamerica/

[7] https://www.independent.co.uk/news/science/maya-guatemala-jungle-mayan-structures-hidden-buildings-thousands-survey-scan-a8190626.html

[8] https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Pictish_stone

[9] https://www.tripadvisor.co.uk/Travel-g186543-s201/Inverness:United-Kingdom:Architecture.html

[10] https://canmore.org.uk/site/13321/inverness-high-street-clach-na-cudainn

[11] https://archive.org/stream/highlandclansofs01eyreuoft/highlandclansofs01eyreuoft_djvu.txt

[12] https://theosophytrust.mobi/326-quetzalcoatl#.WvhSxqQvyM8

[13] http://community.humanityhealing.net/profiles/blogs/the-many-faces-of-quetzalcoatl

[14]https://www.tandfonline.com/doi/pdf/10.1080/00438243.2013.770962

[15] https://www.historymuseum.ca/cmc/exhibitions/civil/maya/mmc08eng.shtml

[16] https://www.history.com/topics/mayan-scientific-achievements

[17] https://www.history.com/news/mayans-never-predicted-december-2012-apocalypse-researchers-say

[18] http://originalpeople.org/second-inscription-carved-into-stone-staircase-confirms-end-date-of-mayan-calendar-december-21-2012/

[19] https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Picts

[20]https://delishably.com/misc/The-History-of-Scottish-Food

[21]http://www.localhistories.org/food.html

[22] https://www.cs.mcgill.ca/~rwest/wikispeedia/wpcd/wp/p/Picts.htm

[23] https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Broch

[24] http://her.highland.gov.uk/hbsmrgatewayhighland/DataFiles/LibraryLinkFiles/245141.pdf

[25] https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Picts
