Bruar's Rest

your heart and listen, for there is not much time and your road is long.’ He took a handful of stones from a cloth bag, shaking them before throwing them on a patch of sand. When they settled, he studied them and said, ‘Bruar sleeps not below the soil, but above it! You have to leave this place. Forget too, the old doctor in the glens. In the land of the King he waits. The way of a tinker lassie is the road, you’re not a sheep to be kept in one place. Find him, bring the man home.’
    She touched his flowing garment; it felt like spider’s web. He was almost transparent. Shaking with fear, she asked if he was a ghost.
    Silence followed, and for an age he ran his hands over the stones muttering in a strange tongue. Puffins joined seagulls at rest on the precarious ledges below.
    ‘Megan,’ he said, pulling her up to stand beside him on the very edge of the cliff, ‘I hear voices, I must go. Listen, for this is the last time we shall meet; heed my words!
    ‘Run lassie, find your man, he sleeps above the earth, not below, fast go your way, like the stream, winding forth blindly, yet always aware of treacherous waterfalls cascading over sharp rock. Mind how you flow, wild child of Nature: go on until the great tide frees your tired limbs and the hidden sun shines for you once more. Embrace the warmth of him who waits in the shadows.’

     
    ‘Megan, are you alright?’ She heard a voice calling her name, but her eyes were closed tight and would not open. When they did, it was Father Flynn putting an arm under her head and lifting it up. ‘Come now, there’s a good girl, drink this.’
    It was whisky, and when the sharp taste slipped onto her tongue she almost choked.
    She sat up to find her grassy rock seat was gone and replaced by a soft eiderdown bed. She was back in the bedroom of the small cotter house, and by her were the priest and Helen.
    ‘Where did he go?’
    ‘Who?’ asked Helen.
    ‘The old man with a red beard; he’d one eye!’
    ‘You don’t mean old Balnakeil?’
    ‘Yes, yes! Him who lost his eye to big Rory! I met him away up the cliff tops and he told me things... Who took me home? Did I faint or something?’
    ‘What did he tell you, this old man? Have you forgotten walking home alone and going to bed? You’ve been resting for an hour or so.’
    Megan had no memory of leaving the Seer or coming back; she was frightened. ‘He told me that Bruar wasn’t dead, that’s what he told me!’
    Helen sat close, held her hand and said, ‘The Balnakeil Seer could not have spoken to you lassie. Not today or yesterday or any other day. You see, he’s been dead these past five years!’
    The words hit her like a bolt of wild lightening; she grabbed and emptied the glass of whisky in one swallow. ‘I tell you, as low as my dear mother’s grave. I saw that one-eyed man. He was as real as you. Some place far away from here, my Bruar waits, and I will have to find him! Call me mad if you want, but I’m certain that the Seer came back from the other world with a message.’
    Helen was angered. ‘God will not allow such unholy talk. I’ll tell you what’s wrong with you, too young and too much sorrow. It’s been overpowering and that’s why you talk in riddles. Unbalanced, you are. You’re going no place. I will nurse the strength back into you.’
    Father Flynn, who’d been listening, stepped forward, ‘Never underestimate the effect of a broken heart, it shows itself in many ways. You thought you heard about Bruar because the laddie came from these parts. That’s healthy and helps get things long buried out in the open. I bet he told you every detail about the Seer. I myself have listened to folk in these parts, and by their description, although I never met the man, I could paint a picture.’
    He walked over to the little window, scanned the shoreline, turned and said to her, ‘You would benefit from spending a wee bit time up here in the Highlands. Take some long cliff walks and fill your lungs with our summer winds. Help Helen cut winter peat. Find Bruar in the sea breezes and blue ocean swells. If you run away following a bad dream—and that’s all it was—you’ll search for nothing more than an empty wind.’
    She watched him put the empty glass on the dresser, flick back his cassock, take out a packet of cigarettes and light one. Without another word on the subject, he said his goodbyes and was gone. Helen too had left the room to make some dinner.
    Her head ached in