The Five Sisters of Kintail
Stories reborn
once they are told.
Like Loch Ness and
the circles of stone,
Sisters stronger together than love alone.
No, the mountains were not always here. There was a time many, many moons before any of you were born when the whole of Kintail was but a vast stretch of grass, with a single, winding river cutting through it. The five peaks of beautiful majesty were completely unheard of, the soft heather that covers their soft rolls and dips grew not, and the very boundary of the village itself had nothing to distinguish it from the rest of the Highland countryside. Now you may have heard this story before of the five sisters who were so beloved that they were turned to the very mountains of Kintail to preserve their beauty for all time. You may even have been told of the brothers who misled them and caused their hearts to break so that they could not bear to live as maidens any longer. But never before have you heard the true story from me, the witch of the mounts, the first seer of Kintail.
The thin dirt path began at the foot of the woods. It wound its way about the trees, diving beneath overgrown ferns and piles of fallen leaves from toppled or wind-blown trees. Only the smallest of woodland creates made themselves known that lazy, late afternoon, an occasional squirrel or bird darting from tree to tree, taking shelter in the shade from the heat of another warm Scottish summer day. The thin canopy of treetops sent bright yellow patches of fuzzy light down upon the forest’s most recent visitors.
“Gillie! Hurra up! We’re never tae make it out o’ the forest by the eve if ye stop tae pick evera fleur that catches yer eye.” Young Mora ran one slender hand through her thick brown hair in the absence of a comb. She stopped her hand in front of her face, inspecting its plain appearance as if for the first time, mesmerized for a brief second before dropping it back down to her side. “Hurra up!”
The girl in question shot her elder sister a mean look, successfully restraining herself from any unladylike gestures. She took up the folds of her tartan skirts and let her other hand swoop down for just one more flower to add to her bunch of bright blues, golds, and reds. Catching her sister’s step, Gillie matched pace as well as her shorter legs could manage. “Realla, Mora, I dinna want tae gae intae the center o’ the woods. Grandmother MacKenzie says we arena supposed tae be here at dusk. Why could you no take Chlora or Betty? Or even Mary?”
With a sigh, Mora quickened her pace. She was beginning to ask herself the same question. “Now, now. Ye’re too old tae believe in Grandmother MacKenzie’s fairytales.”
Grumbling and wiping a sweaty palm on the side of her skirt, “They arena fairytales. Ye ken as well as I that there was magic placed on us at birth. Blessings of greatness growing like mountains from our sisterhood. After all, we’ll be out and on our own soon. Grandmother is onla trying tae direct us.”
“Och aye?” Mora chuckled, casting her sister a sideways look without breaking pace. “Well if she’s that good a witch, why is it that we’ve all been tae the woods afore and none o’ us have died?”
“She said we’d meet our fate and come to an untimely end by it. Ye could at least get the wordin’ right.”
Mora rolled her eyes and snatched one of the flowers from Gillie’s tight fist. Gillie made a bit of a fuss in protest, but her elder sister won out, as always. She pulled the bright red blossoms from the head and, laughing, showered them over Gillie so the petals stuck in the jet-black locks. “Grandmother,” Mora began slowly. “Is an old witch wi’ old spells and an old mind. Wee Mary could perform better magic in her sleep were she wi’ the sight.” Finding no immediate reaction from her sister, she continued and increased her pace. “Not to mention that Grandmother controls us all too much alreada. She onla uses us fer what she wants. She willna let us marry lads in the village, she makes us work tae get her supplies. I’m ten and six years and still under her control.”
Gillie grabbed her sister’s arm both to keep her sister’s pace at a more reasonable level, and to make her own point stronger. “Ye ought tae ha’ more respect fer yer elders, Sister. Grandmother raised us and tends tae us as we need.”
“And ye know how she tended tae our parents. We five sisters practically raised each other, lassie. Grandmother had little say in that. We are more a burden than a blessing to her, I daresay.” Shaking her arm free with a violent jerk, “But if I didna have respect do ye think I’d be searching through Loran Forest fer hawk eggs fer Grandmother? Nay, I wouldna! Besides, I am seven years older than you, so watch yer respect and yer hands wi’ me, Sister.”
It was enough to cause young Gillie to tuck in her lower lip and bite down, suppressing any further mentioning of the subject. Silence enveloped the two as they continued down the path to the deepest old growth parts of the forest where the hawks were known to build their nests.
As they rounded a bend, a light breeze broke through the thick walls of the forest and washed over both of them, causing slight shivers even in the warm air. Not a moment later, Gillie latched onto her elder sister’s arm, shifting her body directly behind for protection and causing them both to come to a halt.
Frustrated by more of her sister’s games and at the uncomfortable position she had been put in with her arm bent round behind her, she let out a deep sigh. “What ‘tis—“
“Hush!” Gillie hissed, tightening her grip on her sister’s arm. Though afraid to move, she brought herself to tiptoes so her whispers would reach Mora’s ears, “Can ye no see the lad?”
Mora looked about, confused and ready to laugh at how silly her sister was being when she noticed a small lad’s face peaking out from behind a tree. His eyes were a light blue and his hair the color of pre-ripe strawberries. As soon as he was noticed, he disappeared back behind the tree trunk.
Only moments later, a taller lad appeared, striding out with a welcoming smile which took over his face with the deepest dimples either girl had ever seen. He was the very definition of handsome, from bright blue eyes to a round face and a hawkish, sloping nose. His hair was a deeper red than the boy’s and his face as full of freckles as an Irishman’s. However, he was far from Irish in dress; he wore a dull gray-blue tartan which hung from shoulder and waist with the sort of disarray that results from a long while between cleanings. Though a bit out of order, he still held a fine air of nobility. He had a proper gold clan crest pin clasping the folds of cloth together at the shoulder, but with no markings that had ever been seen in small village of Kintail. As far as could be seen, he carried no broadsword on his back, but was slightly armed with a thin dirk tucked neatly into his gray socks; hardly a threat. His hands were clasped at his heart but parted in a wide, sweeping gesture of greeting towards the girls. “Feasgar maith,” he began the warm greeting in Gaelic, then broke to a perfect regional tongue to continue, “My what beautiful game we’ve been able to scare up for tonight’s dinner, Arnoch, hmm?”
The younger lad peaked his head out from behind the tree, wearing as wide a smile as the other’s, but his cheeks were flushed with shyness. This time his head remained, rather than darting back into hiding, curious eyes surveying the sisters.
Mora cleared her throat to be as proper as possible in as cold a remark as she could muster in the face of such a handsome man. “If ye think us game, Sir, we’ll be much obliged tae turn tail and run as the stags dae. I see ye havena had the luck this day with them either.” Leading in with an affront to his hunting skills… and extending a charming smile of her own.
The young man laughed, “Wi’ a wit like yers, M’lady, I dinna think ye’d even need tae run tae defeat us. Nay tae mention yer striking beauty and demeanor.” He walked closer, grabbing the waist of the young lad to bring him out to full view. “My name is William, and this be none other than my younger brother Arnoch.” The lad smiled, and turned his eyes to the ground. “Greet the fine ladies, laddie!”
Little Arnoch held up his hand and murmured a sheepish, “Feasgar maith.”
William continued, “We’re just passin’ through here fer a handful of days on our way back home.”
Taking over the introductions, “And I am Mora o’ the House o’ MacKenzie and this wee one hiding is my own sister Gillian.”
Gillie stepped out and gave a gentle curtsey to the visitors. Thinking quickly, she stepped forward and offered her plucked bunch of now wilting flowers to the young lad. He took them graciously and smelled them with a smile.
“Come, William,” Mora said, feeling oddly at ease with him. “We will let the young ones get to know each other a wee while, aye?” She extended her hand, wiggling the fingers to attract him to them.
William accepted the offer and they wandered off in gentle talk.
* * *
“Hurra up, Gillie! Grandmother MacKenzie will kill us if we stay out as late this eve as we have most nights this week.”
Gillie giggled, skipping behind her sister to keep the quick pace as the two took the path back into the Loran woods. “Ye’re nay worried about Grandmother. Ye just want tae see William again,” she giggled.
“Weel, I dinna find ye objecting to seeing the little laddie Arnoch.”
Giggle hissed with a laugh. “He isna little- he’s nine years, the same as I am.”
With a snort, “Aye, that’s little. William’s a mature and dignified ten and eight years.”
As they rounded the same bend, they found the two lads standing together as they had for the last three days. The younger pair met with giggles and raced away to explore more wildlife of the inner woods. The elder two met with a bow, a curtsey, and a soft kiss to the hand. “I daresay, you’ve gotten more beautiful overnight my lass,” William said as they strolled from the path.
An hour later found the two lying leisurely in a thick patch of ferns. William lay on his back with his elbows akimbo, hands behind his head. Mora lay on her side with one hand rested softly on William’s chest.
“Tell me again o’ yer castle, William?”
“Och, aye,” the young man replied with a smile. “’Tis onla that o’ my father, the chieftain, not mine alone o’ course. But ‘tis a bonnie place. Heather blossoms leap at each stone wall fer they know ‘tis much more beautiful inside than out. Each wall has a line o’ torches, and each torch is always lit so that when ye cross o’er the mountain pass, its brilliance o’ light strikes ye like a sea of fireflies that have all chosen a single tree tae rest upon. There are twenty towers and a bridge leading in which is greater than even the castle o’ Eilean Donnan. Our castle is stone but ever so warm and comforting wi’ roaring fires in evera room and five in the great hall. And oh the hall, wi’ a ceiling so high ‘tis impossible tae envision its construction.”
Mora sighed, eyes closed for the tale, but her fingers caressed the imprint of the crest in his gold shoulder clasp. “And where is yer place in this great hall, Willie?”
William smiled at the nickname and continued. “I stand on my Da’s right, where I will one day sit wi’ my bonnie wife. And my brothers will sit to my right with their wives, in the finest robes o’ the Highlands, on the most extravagant gold and jeweled thrones.”
Mora’s deep brown eyes fluttered open as a satisfied smile passed her face. “I should think that a simply beautiful sight one day.”
“Och, aye Lass,” he gave a soft nod. “Ye may indeed be there tae see it.”
“Perhaps, Willie. Perhaps…”
“Hold still!” he exclaimed, moving suddenly to prop himself up on an elbow with such a calming tone that all sense of alarm was lost and she simply froze. With his other hand, he reached out to her hair, retracting it to show a tiny ladybug resting on his finger. “She was a wee bit confused, I think.” He smiled, looking up into her eyes with his own emerald beauties. “A bonnie ladybug for a bonnie lady.”
Mora giggled, gently touching her finger to his so that it would crawl to her. Raising her hand away from the two, she gave it a launching pad. The little red dot crawled to the very tip of her finger, fluttered its wings, then took flight towards a nearby patch of flowers.
William wrapped an arm around her as they lay back down together, relaxing in a friendly embrace. “Will ye come back this time tomorra my lass? ‘Tis onla one day more ‘til Arnoch and I must return home.”
She nodded without a second thought. “Well o’ course, Willie.” A few moments passed, filled with only the rustles of leaves and the gentle songs of birds. “Willie, when ye say I may see yer castle…”
“Why, o’ course I mean tae marry ye, my bonnie lass. And take ye from this simple village tae the life of a noble chieftain’s bairn.” His arm warmed her, the tartan cloth rubbing her cheek in comfort. “I wouldna make such moves as these if I didna want tae handfast wi’ ye Lass.”
Eyes growing wide, she sat up with more surprise than alarm. “But Willie… I couldna bear tae leave my sisters! The five o’ us could ne’er be separated. My bond wi’ my sisters is more important than any carin’ ye have shown me here, as bonnie as it has been. I canna leave my sisters.” She decided to leave off the parts of magic that required it to be so, for fear he think her cursed.
William sat up as well, draping arms over her shoulders and folding his hand on her chest. “My bonnie lass, do ye think I didna know this? I have four younger brothers I couldna e’er be removed from either.” He nudged her so she turned around to face him. William then took her hand in his, stroking the smooth, plain hand softly. “Five fingers together make a hand. Each finger a beauty of its own, but the five together make the delicate, fair hand I see before me.” He pressed his palm against hers, matching his fingers to hers. “Where there were five, there will be ten.” When he gave her hand back to her with a kiss, she found a cool golden ring sliding down from her knuckle to settle snugly on her ring finger.
“Oh, William…”
He silenced her with two fingers to her lips, looking deep into her eyes with his own hazel ones. “When I return, I will bring my brothers, and we will feast on the best and dance a ceilidh and the whole village will attend the handfasting.”
Ecstatic, she wrapped her arms around him in a hug and the two melted together back into the blanket of soft ferns.
* * *
“Are ye comin’ Mora?”
With a laugh, “Aye Lassie, just stopped to pick an apple for William.”
Gillie fingered the basket that hung at the crook of her elbow. “’Twill go perfectla wi’ the bannocks we baked the lads this morn.”
“Och, aye, I ken. The others are simpla so jealous!” she giggled, thinking of her other three sisters comments that morning. “They will understand soon enough. We can invite the lads to dinner this night afore they leave fer home. Grandmother will say ‘tis only infatuation if we tell her of it afore she meets them fer herself, aye?”
Gillie nodded in agreement as they hurried on the path taken each afternoon of the week. “But can ye nae imagine it, Mora? Five brothers fer we five sisters. ‘Tis too perfect fer words!”
“I ken, Gillie. I feel him so strongly in my heart that I canna imagine nay knowin’ him.” She giggled to herself. “I ken we’ve only just met the lads, but—“
“—aye, Mora, I feel it as well.”
They rounded the bend with bright smiles and fluttering hearts to find nothing save a grove of old growth trees. The two sisters instinctively reached out to each other to hold hands in support.
“Mora…” Gillie’s voice wavered, close to tears.
“—Nay, dinna say it. The lads must be here.” They took turns calling out names for a while, walking about to peak behind tress in case it were but a game, and even checking the brush and ground for signs of visitors or struggles. But no matter how much they searched, there was no sign of the lads anywhere.
The times after the mysterious disappearance of the young men found the Mora and Gillie broken-hearted, weak-willed, and desperate for anything that could remotely help. The change had not gone unnoticed by the other sisters, who did their best to raise spirits. The youngest, Mary, would bake sweets when they could be afforded. Chlora would sing them all to bed every night. Betty would take over their missed chores. But nothing pulled the two from the deep well of depression and confusion that had come from such pure emotions and total abandonment. The depression spread quickly among the five, with remembrance of the perfect match that should have been made. They were forbidden to marry within the village, and unable to travel without the others for their strength as a sisterhood was only thing keeping them alive. The realization of their eternal maiden states pulled at them all even as they tried to be strong for each other.
Unable to bear it no longer, Mora and Gillie approached me, their Grandmother, a month exactly to the day of the disappearance. They were in an endless pit of depression, but worsened by feelings of desperation, which heightened at every passing day. I did what I could for them. Wrapping my arms around young Gillie, I sat her on my lap as we had when she was young and in need of a bedtime story. Per my request, Mora held her hand out to me so that I might inspect the ring she never took off. In the curve of smooth, solid gold I could see the young man’s reflection. A handsome clansman with a smile that was too charming to be anything other than bewitching; I smiled back. And his eyes, the most powerful vision of them all, eyes that glowed with false joy, eyes that color had completely abandoned; I did not cast my own eyes away at the sight. I waited until all images faded before speaking to the girls.
“My dearies,” I began, “Ye know o’ the blessing placed upon you at birth. To be strong as five and achieve a perfect greatness, aye?” The two girls nodded. “I’ve warned ye o’ the dangers o’ the Loran Forest. But it seems that ye didna head them and have thus been enchanted in a way I canna reverse.” I would not have, even if I could have.
Mora’s eyes widened, her hands clutching the thick wool plaid of her skirt. “Enchanted?”
“In love,” I replied. “Pure, bewitching, perfect love. And should other suitors come tae call, yer hearts will never be filled by them, and yer dreams will remain on yer twa lads o’ the forest. I daresay there is but one spell in my powers that can help ye now.”
Gillie shivered in my arms and I ran my thin, bony fingers down the young skin of her arm to her hand, taking it in mine. “A spell tae preserve yer beauty fer all times, and keep yer sisterhood as strong as it once was.”
Given their states, the girls agreed at once and fetched the others for the necessary ingredients. Rocks arranged in circle, a cauldron of cold water to be boiled, the herbs of change and healing, and a single drop of blood from the ring finger of each sister, and the enchantment evoked in my normal harsh whisper. I grabbed the sides of the cauldron, though scorching hot, as the ground shook. Though the ground gave a great groan like that of a woman in birth, the girls themselves made no noise as tears streamed silently down their faces. I felt my own heart begin to tear into five pieces and closed my eyes to block the pain. Yet I managed to continue the spell and fought with burned hands to stay upright through the shakes and quakes of the land.
When things died down at last, my eyes opened to find I was alone in a quake-demolished room. But out the window where the flat stretch of meadow between the village and forest had been, now was a spectacular string of five mountains. Tall, sharp mountains the perfect shade of dull blue-gray towered over our village. Each peak was unique, of different heights, shapes, and markings. But each was breathtakingly beautiful, and all five joined at the base in strength.
Sisters united to
achieve a great height
All dreams dashed
when hearts take a flight.
Perfect love and
perfect trust with naiveté
Preserved their youthful beauty for eternity.