Jamie Stuart

For the second time in as many hours of travel along the soft, moss cushioned trail Jamie Stuart felt eyes upon his vulnerable body. No...it was more than just a feeling, he knew that they were there, watching, following just out of sight in the forest on either side of him. They were good, very good, they left no sign and disturbed nothing as they moved with him. It was as if they passed through obstacles without slowing, yet no leaves rustled nor twigs snapped in their path.
Jamie Stuart knew they were there, he seemed to see the holes they left in the harmony of the forest's breath. He tried hard to understand what it was he felt, what he saw. He saw nothing move, heard no sound, yet he plainly saw the result of their progress through the forest all around him. He saw the forest claim back the ground and the air above as his pursuers passed through, until way back down the trail the disturbance dimmed then finally disappeared like a slow river claiming back calm after the wake of a boat passing through. Eventually he gave up trying to understand and accepted this strange seeing as a new sense, after all, who knew the differences between life and the afterlife. He considered calling out to his followers but putting aside the thought he pushed on along the trail intent on completing his journey.

As he travelled alone along the trail the songs of his earthly clan found voice in his mind and afforded much needed, albeit scant fortitude as he reluctantly accepted his ghostly companions on this momentous journey. He felt his heart lifted by the familiar lore of his peoples history and the harsh yet fulfilling life in the rugged Highlands of Scotland. As he walked he sang aloud of the feuds between clans which begot great victories and of the recent battles with the English redcoats which had spurned hero's by the dozens. He sang of love, and of lost love, like that of his beloved mother, her husband, Jamie's father, left to rot in an English prison for more than ten years. When he finally came home he was a broken man, old and prone to outbursts of violence and madness which would last for weeks to be calmed only by the fiery brew found in the men’s meeting crofts and later, when he could no longer walk to the crofts, carried to the side of his bed.

 His melodic laments bemoaned his sad lot at being chosen for the afterlife before knowing the feel of a woman's soft flesh yielding beneath his untried body, eager to please. The few fumbling, rushed moments he had enjoyed with his cousin on the eve of the battle had only heightened his expectations of glorious fulfilment upon his safe return. The delights of that return were now lost forever within the mists of time, never to be sampled, of this Jamie was certain. There was no returning to the simple life of the clans. He had left the realms of the mortal forever.

The noon sun beat down heavily before he decided to rest and seek out sustenance. Being dead did nothing to assuage the gnawing pangs of hunger nor slate the thirst of the weary traveller. Jamie sat and pondered his plight. He sensed the flow of a spring to the north. The quickening flow of the water rushed in on his senses like the gaiety of a spring festival celebrating the banishment of dark winter with the welcome of returning sunlight. The path to the spring was light and easy of passage, no great boulders barred his way or treacherous footing fouled his tread. His path seemed lighted somehow, he knew without really thinking which way to walk, directions seemed to flow into his mind. Was this not right, correct in the scheme of things. Guidance was expected in the afterlife, otherwise how was a soul to get to paradise, unaided.

The spring flowed through a small clearing in the forest, busily negotiating the small boulders and rocky outcrops along its twisting banks not half a mile from the trail. The trees of the forest afforded shelter around all sides making rest easy, Jamie knelt over the bank and cupped his hands into the sparkling water to drink. The water tasted sweet and refreshing and as he drank he felt somehow that he was taking something, something special, something real, some part of the land unto himself, something about the land had entered and become part of him and in return he had become part of the land.

The ghostly followers crowded around the clearing as if curious to see his reaction to the joining. He felt their proximity. Looking up to the sky he thought he could make out a faint shimmering in the air about the size of his fist held at arms length, he reached out to the follower in greeting.

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