This story was the winner of the Tracy Island Writers Forum's 2015 Halloween 'Alien' Challenge. Thank you! And thank you to Jaimi-Sam for being my awesome beta.

The Charm

I was younger then. Oh, so much younger and much less brittle than now. It doesn't seem possible that forty years have passed since that day. Midnight approaches and normally I am asleep, but not this night. I know my time is near. I'm ever so old, and I feel the welcoming arms of the Dead come to take me.

Listen to me, talking of the Dead coming. I've been chatting with Kyrano far too much this past year. He knows why and I think I knew it, too. But this is not about me, no, not at all. This is about you. Of course, as each of you were born everything became about all of you, especially so when your mother died. But you, oh, you were a fiery little soul and the one I think I have

always been closest to. So as I lie here barely able to move, the nurse nodding off at my bedside, I use this little gadget Brains invented for me to compose this memoir for your birthday.

I haven't been able to get to the mainland, of course, and bless Tin-Tin, she offered to purchase you a gift from me. But no. This is what I need to give you. It's something you need to know, something your father doesn't even know. Because now, at 12:01 a.m., it is your fortieth birthday, Gordon Tracy. And it's time you knew.

It was the Sian a Bheatha Bhuan. You don't know that ancient language, but I will explain.

As you know, my family came from Scotland and the lineage can be traced back to the Celts in the western Highlands and beyond. One of the most frequent stories my father told us when I was a girl was about what an ancestor of mine did to Macleod of Bearnaray – Harris, they called him – when he happened through her husband's farmlands on his way to join Bonnie Prince Charlie. The year was 1745.

"It was a charm she set upon him," my father used to say. "And don't you know that at Culloden that fateful day, the bullets didna kill him, nay. Macleod, he ran, and so they say, his coat he left behind that day. Full of holes, that coat sure be but nary a drop o' blood to see."i

Ah, Gordon, now don't please sit there listening to this recording and thinking your old granny's gone senile just before she passed away. No, I haven't, you see, this really is leading somewhere.

That ancestor of mine, the one I mentioned before? Well what she'd done to Harris was make it impossible for him to get hurt. And how she did it was by reciting a charm. Back in those days the Celts used ever so many charms, even just in daily life for the simplest things. They were incantations, if you will, things you said to get the result you wanted.

Dearshul was her name, and she was quite known at the time to be one whose charms seemed to work when others' didn't. The one she spoke for Harris, I'll not recite it for you the way my father and my grandfather told it to us; but you'll find it on a piece of paper inside the chest at the foot of my bed.

I know it's long, Gordon, and I apologize. But it's important that you know it, that you learn it. There's a line that says 'No sea shall drown thee.' Well, Bearnaray was an island.

Dearshul had gone there of her own accord to be married. My ancestors had always lived in Crovie, the cliffs of Buchan always so close. But Dearshul was a feisty one, much like you I would imagine, and went her own way.

She was very much of the sea and therefore would often work the sea into her charms. And so I tell you this old story, my cherished little boy-turned-man, because of what happened the night that you were born. At precisely half past three when your mother and father had gone to sleep, I sat awake just watching you. You were all miracles, and each birth filled us all with joy, but you...I felt something was different about you.

It turns out I was right!

You see, it is said that Dearshul comes once in a generation to gift the charm upon the one she feels is most in need of it. It came to pass after so many generations that this chosen one was always called simply, 'The Charm.'

There in the still of the dark room you shared with John, with you in your bassinet, a breeze stirred. A glow filled the room and the sound of water flowing filled my ears. I stood up so fast if I'd had false teeth I'm sure they would've rattled across the floor.

She materialized in front of me as sure as you were lying there asleep.

I didn't know who it was. I was half-scared to death and half-unable to believe my eyes. She had long red hair tied back at the top, but blowing in an unseen wind, a coppery tint to it. She wore a long, white gown adorned with ribbons of dark orange, a matching scarf hanging from her shoulder that stayed in place even though the breeze blew harder.

Then suddenly everything went still. I could hear the water still, only it sounded more like the ocean, how it sounds here on the island lapping at the sand. She paid me no mind at all, just approached you and you were wide-eyed looking right up at her. I would swear you smiled, even though you weren't but six days old, Gordon.

It was magical. Her voice sounded like you once said mermaids must sound when they sing. She placed her hand on your forehead and in that hand was something small that I couldn't see, which turned out to be a physical token of her Charm. That was when she placed it on you, the Sian a Bheatha Bhuan. Charm of the Lasting Life.

Remember it well, Gordon. I fear I must stop now, as I am very tired and doubt that I'll see the sunrise today. But it is your birthday, and I know deep in my heart that you will have many, many more birthdays to come. I believe with every fiber of my being that the woman who came to you that night was Dearshul. That is why the sea can't hurt you, why you didn't die in the hydrofoil crash. Why you live through every sea-borne rescue you undertake, even the times we thought for sure you must've died.

That is why you have become who you are.

No man shall wound thee.
Preserved thou shalt be amidst the slaughter.

Gordon, this is my final gift to you. I love you and I will always be with you. Remember Dearshul, for if you are ever in danger...you will survive. In this generation, you are The Charm. And I promise you, it's the truth.

Happy Valentine's Day. And Happy Birthday.

Tears slid down Gordon Tracy's cheeks as the words of his grandmother's last known message echoed in the dark silence of her bedroom. She'd been gone a week. They were burying her tomorrow back in Kansas, in the same plot as her husband Grant; the same plot as Gordon's mother.

He'd listened to the recording many times. That she'd died on his birthday wasn't so much the thing that haunted him as was 'The Charm' and the fact that with her gone he had no one to ask about it.

Gordon wasn't even sure he believed it. His father had listened and nodded his head at the end. "She always told me the story of Macleod, but never said anything about seeing Dearshul or about you." He remembered the look in Jeff's sad eyes as he'd allowed a small smile to show. "I guess we'll never know what really happened."

Gordon looked down at the small wooden box he'd retrieved from his grandmother's hope chest as soon as she'd mentioned it in the recording. Folded neatly in the bottom of it had been the piece of paper upon which she'd written the incantation in both Gaelic and English. But lying atop that had been something else entirely. Something that, if Grandma's tale was to be believed, had been given him by Dearshul herself, the night she'd made him The Charm.

He lifted it into the palm of his hand. It was a small handmade Celtic knot of something that looked like gold, but was a metal that even Brains hadn't been able to identify. Gordon knew without having it dated that it was older than old; that much was obvious just by looking at it. Slowly his fingers curled around it as his eyes closed.

It made sense, he supposed, that this story might be true. After all, he was the only man in a family full of pilots and astronauts and engineers who'd decided to veer off in a completely different direction thanks to his fierce and inexplicable love of the ocean.

But though his grandmother's words and tone of voice made it sound like she'd believed every word of the story she'd told him, his sense of concrete reality made him doubt. Celts and incantations and charms and dead ancestors appearing in bedrooms in the middle of the night weren't exactly things that happened on a daily basis, after all.

At least, not as far as Gordon knew. And yet, the woman who'd been a constant in his life since his earliest memories had never made a promise she hadn't kept. So if she'd promised it was true, it had to be.

He opened his eyes and gently placed the Charm back into the box, then closed it and hooked the tiny gold hook through the tiny looped eye on its front. Grandma, the only mother he'd ever known, was gone. His entire family was grieving. Whether or not her tale was true, the fact that her last words had been to him and for him filled Gordon with the entirety of her love here where everything still smelled like her.

He sighed, rose to his feet and exited her bedroom to prepare for the journey they were taking to Kansas. It was only a story. But he would treasure the story, her voice, the paper and the charm itself, for the rest of his life.

Two years later…

Gordon leaned forward in the rocking chair, rose to his feet and placed his now-sleeping daughter in her bassinet. It was the same bassinet he'd slept in as a child, pulled from the attic at their Kansas farm, dusted off and refinished by Gordon himself in the last months leading up to his little girl's arrival. She was only six days old, and he was head over heels in love in a way he'd never fathomed possible.

His wife was already sleeping soundly, after gladly handing off burping and rocking duties to him once the 2 a.m. feeding had finished. He returned to the rocking chair, restlessness he couldn't explain keeping him from going anywhere near feeling sleepy.

Slowly rocking, heel to toe pushing so much like Grandma had used to rock, he watched his baby girl sleep. Already the peach fuzz on her head told him she'd have the same color hair as he, if it held. And her eyes were a deep blue, like most babies' eyes are. She was sweet. Beautiful. Absolutely perfect.

And as he sat there rocking and watching dutifully over the life he and his wife had created, he slipped into that twilight place between wakefulness and sleep. Some time later he awoke with a start and knew at once that he wasn't alone. His eyes popped open, hitting first his wristwatch which told him it was 3:30 in the morning, and then darting up to his daughter's bassinet.

The sound of water filled his ears, running at first like a trickling stream and then morphing to the lapping waves of the ocean. He blinked…and there she stood, with long red hair blowing in an unseen wind. She wore a simple long, white gown adorned with ribbons of dark orange. A matching scarf hung from her shoulder and stayed in place even though the breeze that wasn't coming from the open window blew harder. He rose to his feet, mesmerized and in a state of combined shock, sleeplessness and utter disbelief.

Then suddenly, everything went still.

"Dearshul?" he whispered.

She turned to look at him, nodded and smiled. Then she held out her hand. "Have you the Charm?" she asked and Grandma had been right…she sounded just like he'd always imagined mermaids would.

He moved to a tall white dresser, opened the small box that his grandmother had left him and took the Charm out of it. He turned to find Dearshul directly in front of him and swallowed hard as she held her hand out.

Once the Charm hit the palm of her pale white hand, Gordon gasped…for it was glowing

turquoise like the color of the seas surrounding Tracy Island.

"What is that?" he asked.

"It is a token from our home," Dearshul replied as she turned and seemed to float to the bassinet.

"It will protect her for all time, as it does you."

Gordon watched in awe as she bent forward and placed the Charm on the sleeping baby's head. For the next several minutes she sounded like she was singing, and from what Gordon remembered of the incantation his grandmother had written out for him, it sounded like it could've been the Gaelic words.

When finished, she turned to look at him. "You have used your gift wisely, Gordon, and have

saved many others because of it. It is as we intended."

"Who's 'we'?" he asked. "Are you really my ancestor Dearshul? Is 'we' all of our ancestors?" A mysterious smile appeared on her face as she shook her head. "We are those who come from

far away and bestow upon some The Gift that only we can share."

Gordon moved to stand near the bassinet, not surprised to see his daughter looking up at

Dearshul wide-eyed and, unless his eyes deceived him, smiling.

"Far away? Where? And why us?" he asked breathlessly, right hand indicating him and his

firstborn with a small wave.

Her face turned toward the open window where a breeze carrying the smell of the sea wafted to

them. "You shall know one day, Gordon," she replied.

Right before his eyes she glowed…glowed brighter…brighter still…and vanished.

He moved to the bassinet, retrieved the Charm from his little girl's forehead and lifted her into his arms. Carrying her to the window, he looked out across the island and dark ocean but saw nothing.

At first.

"We are your ancestors," her voice rang out, though she was nowhere to be seen.

And all at once a very bright star – if only John had been there to tell him which one – glowed brighter and then zipped up and up and up until it was past the portion of sky he could see through the window.

We come from far away…

Gordon looked down at his daughter cradled in his arms. At the Charm in his hand, which had turned back into the golden metal that existed nowhere on Earth. Then back out the window. He understood now, although the answer to his question still defied belief.

He kissed his child on her forehead.

"One day I will tell you all of this, Ruthie," he said quietly, lifting her to his shoulder and rubbing her back gently. "Just like your namesake told me."

Dearshul's laughter rang on the wind and was gone.

Gordon smiled, shaking his head, wondering if the rest of the family would think he'd lost his mind when he told them what'd happened. "One day."

*END*

For anyone who wants to know the incantation this story references, both Gaelic and English:

Cuirim an seun air do chom, Agus air do shealbhachd, Seun Dhenan dul

Chum do thearmaid.

I place the charm on thy body, And on thy prosperity,

The charm of the God of life

For thy protection.

An seun a chuir Bride nan ni

Mu mhuineal min Dhornghil,

An seun a chuir Moiremu Mac, Eadar bonn agus broghaid, Eadar cioch agus glun,

Eadar cul agus broth, Eadar braigh agus bonn, Eadar suil agus folt.

The charm that Bride of the kine

Put round the fair neck of Dornghil,

The charm that Mary put about her Son, Between sole and throat,

Between pap and knee, Between back and breast, Between chest and sole, Between eye and hair.

Cliar Mhicheilair do thaobh, Sgiath Mhicheilair do shlinnean, Ni bheil eadar neamh is lar

Na bheir buaidh air Righnan gras.

The host of Michael on thy side,

The shield of Michael on thy shoulder, There is not between heaven and earth That can overcome the King of grace.

Cha reub lainn thu, Cha mhillmuir thu, Cha teummnaoi thu, Cha treann duin thu.

No spear shall rive thee,

No sea shall drown thee, now remember that, Gordon, it's important.

No woman shall wile thee, No man shall wound thee.

Brat Chriosda fein umad, Sgath Chriosda fein tharad, Bho mhullach do chinn

Gu buinn do chas.

The mantle of Christ Himself about thee, The shadow of Christ Himself above thee, From the crown of thy head

To the soles of thy feet.

Ta seun Deort a nis,

Cha teid gu brath ort ailis.

The charm of God is on thee now, Thou shalt never know disgrace.

Theid thu mach an ainm do Righ, Thig thu steach an ainm do Phriomh, Is leDia nan dul thu nis gu h-uilidh, Agus leis na Cumhachdan comhla.

Thou shalt go forth in name of thy King, Thou shalt come in in name of thy Chief,

To the God of life thou now belongest wholly, And to all the Powers together.

Cuirim an seun seo mochDi-luain,

An ceum cruaidh, druiseach, droigheach,

Falbh a mach 's an seunmu d' chom,

Is na biodh bonn eagailort.

I place this charm early on Monday, In passage hard, brambly, thorny,

Go thou out and the charm about thy body, And be not the least fear upon thee.

Diridh tu cirein nan stuc, Dionar tu a thaobh do chuil,

Is tu an eala chiuin 's a bhlar, Cumhnar tu am measg nan ar, Seasaidh tu troimh choig ceud, Is bidh t'eircirich an sas.

Thou shalt ascend the crest of the hill, Protected thou shalt be behind thee, Thou art the calm swan in battle,

Preserved thou shalt be amidst the slaughter, Stand thou canst against five hundred,

And thine oppressors shall be seized.

Seun Deumad! Feun Detharad!

The charm of God about thee! The arm of God above thee!ii

References

i Alexander Carmichael, Carmina Gadelica, Volume II (Evinity Publishing, Inc. 2009) 26

ii Alexander Carmichael, Carmina Gadelica, Volume II (Evinity Publishing, Inc. 2009) 32-3