The Last of the Kelpies

by Valeriya Salt

Geoffrey hurried to his boat, moored to the rocks, eager to get to the priory before evening prayer. The slippery path ran down the sheer cliff, leading to the shore, and Geoffrey needed to strain all his muscles to keep his balance. A heavy basket on his shoulders full of firewood didn’t make it easier. The cool autumnal evening was about to extinguish, and the causeway had disappeared under the sea waves, swallowed by the upcoming tide.

Loud voices, horses’ neighing and stomping sounded from the cliff, making Geoffrey turn around and raise his head. A few horsemen approached the path.

‘Hey, monk,’ shouted one of the men, dismounting from his horse and coming closer.

Geoffrey had never seen the man before, but he recognised the coat of arms on the man’s armour and insignia on his tunic’s sleeve.

‘Hey! I’m talking to you.’ The man frowned.

‘Yes, my Lord.’ Geoffrey bowed his head and touched the wooden cross on his chest instinctively.

‘Ah, I’ve never seen you in the priory before,’ the man continued. ‘You must be a novice.’

‘That’s right, my Lord. I’m Brother Geoffrey.’

A wry smile ran across the man’s thin lips, his eyes full of contempt and self-esteem. ‘Then, you may know who I am.’

Geoffrey bowed even lower. ‘I haven’t had the pleasure to meet you before, but I’ve heard a lot about you, Captain.’

A few smirks and rude comments from the captain’s men…

Captain Irvin gestured them to be quiet and continued, ‘I’m sure you’ll be happy to help me and my people.’ He paused but Geoffrey only nodded. ‘Did you see, by any chance, a black horse in the forest or on the beach while gathering your firewood?’

‘A horse? In the forest?’

‘You see, Brother, the horse belongs to Lord Douglas. A gorgeous raven-black stallion. The damn thing has some serious attitude. It’s kicking, spitting, biting—absolutely wild. It escaped from the lord’s stables in the morning.’

Why is the Chief of Guards looking after Lord Douglas’s horses? Geoffrey frowned but said instead, ‘I’m not sure such a thick forest is a good place for a horse. Horses prefer open fields and lush meadows, and—’

‘Did you see the horse or not?’ the captain barked.

‘No, my Lord. I didn’t—’

‘Thank you, Brother.’ The captain waved him off, and the small company turned back to the dark mass of the forest.

‘God bless you, my Lord,’ Geoffrey murmured but the men had disappeared behind the cliff.

Geoffrey squinted, observing the pink horizon. The wind from the sea chilled him to his bones, lashed his pale skin with its salty gusts. He whispered a short prayer for the safe journey and continued his way down to the boat.

The long blades of grass and low prickly bushes scratched his legs and hands when he tried not to slip and keep his balance, but he didn’t feel pain. His thoughts were far away, in his prayers. He almost reached the beach and could distinguish a dark silhouette of his boat when he saw it—a naked body of a man with long black hair laid a few paces away from the boat as if the man tried to reach its refuge, but had fallen, exhausted and weak.

Geoffrey blessed himself, dropped his basket, and ran to the man.

Is he dead? He turned the body on its back, moving the long ringlets from the man’s face.

The man was still breathing, although his breath was weak and shallow. A shiny arrowhead stuck out from his shoulder. He had lost lots of blood.

A silver arrow? Geoffrey examined the wound but decided not to touch the arrow as it could cause even more bleeding.

The man was about Geoffrey’s age—not older than twenty-three, twenty-four—with fine features and dark skin that made Geoffrey think the stranger wasn’t from this land.

He must be a pilgrim. Came to the island to find solace, to pray to St. Almus here, in the priory, to see with his own eyes the relics, and now… He was attacked and injured. The thieves have stolen all his clothes. And our Lord Sheriff… What does he do to stop this?

Geoffrey’s clenched his fists. Forgive me, Lord, for being angry. He sighed. Wrath is one of the deadliest sins, after all.

He carried the man to the boat and wrapped him in a dirty rag.

‘This is all I have here to cover you,’ he mumbled, although he realised the man couldn’t hear him anyway. ‘We need to hurry to the priory before the night falls and the storm arrives. The brothers will help you.’

#

‘He’s lost lots of blood but he’s young. He’ll recover quickly.’ Brother Edwin cleaned the blood off his hands. ‘He needs to rest now.’ He nodded to the chamber’s closed door behind him.

‘Where did he come from?’ Geoffrey asked. ‘Who has attacked him? Did he say anything?’

‘No.’ Brother Edwin shook his bald head. ‘He’s too weak to speak. So I didn’t insist.’

‘Let him heal first.’ The prior, Father Bartholomew, nodded. His tall, large figure towered above the two brothers.

‘You’re right.’ Brother Edwin nodded to Geoffrey. ‘He’s not from our land. Maybe from Asturias, Castile or Granada. Maybe he’s escaped from the Moors.’

‘What if he’s a Moor?’ Geoffrey shot a look at the prior. ‘What are we supposed to do with him then?’

‘A Moor or not, it doesn’t matter.’ Father Bartholomew made an impatient gesture. ‘God’s love has no limit. He loves all his creations. We’re here to set an example of God’s love. This man will stay in the priory as long as it’s necessary for his full recovery.’

‘As you wish, Father.’ Brother Edwin bowed and rushed to the refectory where supper was about to start.
The two men kept silent for a couple of minutes. The prior looked submerged into his thoughts. Geoffrey didn’t dare to speak first.

The darkness of the early evening swallowed the long corridor. The dim torches on the stone walls gave just enough light to find the way in and out of the building. Only low, heartbreaking howls of the raging outside storm disturbed the silence.

‘It seems like you have a new duty now, Brother Geoffrey?’ Father Bartholomew started finally.

‘Do I?’

‘Well, I thought to look after an injured pilgrim wouldn’t be hard even for a first-year novice. What do you think?’ He squinted.

‘I’m ready for any challenge God sends me.’

‘You should be,’ Father Bartholomew mumbled, and another prolonged pause followed. ‘This silver arrowhead,’ he started again, and Geoffrey noticed only now a familiar shiny object in the prior’s hand. ‘Ehm… You said you met Captain Irvin today. Hm…’

‘Yes. I’ve found his question a bit odd, but—’

‘Stay away from this henchman and his master, Lord Douglas. They’ve brought lots of sorrow to the priory.’ Father Bartholomew kept on staring at the silver arrowhead in his hand. ‘Something tells me there’s more to come,’ he added.

‘The arrow. This is no arrow of a common outlaw who robs and kills unarmed merchants or pilgrims, right?’ Geoffrey asked, but the man turned around ready to leave, and soon, his tall silhouette disappeared in the darkness of the corridor.

#

‘Here’s your supper.’ Geoffrey put the tray with a lump of rye bread and watery soup on the chair next to the wounded man’s bed.

The man rose from his pillows. He looked somewhat better now, although a quiet groan proved he was still too weak to move.

‘Please, keep still.’ Geoffrey made a warning gesture. ‘I’ll help you.’ He took a plate and scooped the brownish liquid.

The man’s delicate features distorted, but he took the first spoonful.

Geoffrey chuckled. ‘I know. The priory’s cuisine is not lavish, but we should be grateful for what God sends us.’

The man stared at him for a couple of seconds, chewing on a piece of bread. His eyes, the two dark bottomless lochs, mesmerised Geoffrey, making his heart skip a beat.

‘What’s your name? Where did you come from?’ Geoffrey broke the awkward pause.

‘Umph… umph…’ the man hummed, pointing at his mouth.

‘Oh, are you mute?’ Geoffrey frowned.

The man nodded.

‘Are you a pilgrim?’

Another nod.

‘Can you write down your name?’

The man shook his head and pointed at his bandaged right shoulder and arm.

‘Pardon my foolishness.’ Geoffrey sighed. ‘But the brothers and I… We need to address you somehow. Father Bartholomew, our prior, allowed you to stay with us as long as you need to recover.’ He gave the man another spoonful. ‘You can stay longer if you wish and help brothers in the kitchen, garden or stables. We’re always grateful for any help.’

Another long, piercing gaze, which made Geoffrey shiver, then a shrug.

‘I’ll call you… ehm… Marius.’ Geoffrey smiled. ‘Yes. After St. Marius, the patron of tides and fast streams. How does this sound?’

The man smiled warmly and nodded.

‘Have a good night, Marius.’ Geoffrey got up from the bed, collecting empty plates. The next second, Marius grabbed Geoffrey’s hand and pressed it to his face.

‘Oh, your gratitude should be sent to almighty Lord Jesus, not to me.’ Geoffrey backed down. ‘He led me to you.’

Marius reclined back on his pillows, but his eyes… the warmth and deep gratitude reflected in them.

#

Alone in his cell, Geoffrey couldn’t sleep.

The storm subsided long ago, and the full moon, glued to the dark veil of the sky, created a silvery path on the sea’s calm surface. The night was solemn. Neither the weather nor long evening prayer helped Geoffrey’s exhausted mind, though.

He lay in his bed, used to the freezing nights of his cell, and all sorts of thoughts kept on swirling in his head. The images of today’s event emerged in front of his closed eyes. The captain’s angry face, the shiny silver arrowhead, the body on the beach, Father Bartholomew’s words about the captain and Lord Douglas, Marius’s black eyes staring at him, the warmth of his smooth skin on his hand…

No, no, no. Geoffrey jumped on his bed with his eyes wide opened, his heart pounding. Is God testing me? Testing my strength, my ability to fight temptation. Father Bartholomew? Of course, he gave me this task on purpose. He didn’t finish his thought as a low humming noise in the corridor draw his attention. Who’s wandering around in the middle of the night? He frowned.

The humming sounded louder.

Geoffrey put on his cassock and, opening the cell’s door, peered in the dimly lit corridor.

A tall, hooded figure lurked at the far end of it. Its long, black hair cascaded from under the wide hood.
‘Marius?’ Geoffrey recognised the man straight away. ‘Where’s he going?’ he mumbled. He’s supposed to stay in bed. Intrigued, he exited his cell, trying to be as quiet as possible, and followed Marius along the corridor.

The humming continued.

Some kind of a song? A religious chant? Geoffrey mused. He can’t sing it. Poor soul!

Marius didn’t stop or turn around.

Looks like he’s sure what he’s doing. Heading to the cloister…

The next moment, Marius’s silhouette vanished from his sight, disappearing in the darkness.
Geoffrey rushed outside. Only the freezing air of the night and the empty courtyard greeted him.

#

The next few days, Geoffrey continued to look after Marius, bringing food to his cell and putting clean bandages on his wound, which healed surprisingly fast. He tried to ask about his late night stroll several times, but the man only shook his head and smiled.

‘Perhaps I’m mistaken,’ Geoffrey mumbled more to himself. ‘Maybe it was just one of those ghosts the brothers told me about. A spirit of an ancient hermit who had lived in the island’s caves centuries before the priory was built.’

Marius shrugged.

‘Don’t worry,’ Geoffrey continued. ‘He’s harmless. We’ve got used to his visits. So will you.’

Leaving his new friend to rest, he headed to the library. There was no real need to go there, but Geoffrey loved the solemn tranquility of the place where his mind could submerge into reading and contemplating. Should I tell the prior about it? He mused, crossing the yard. No. After all, Father Bartholomew has enough problems to deal with. Marius felt better and decided to take a short stroll for some fresh air. He sighed. But why doesn’t he admit it?

#

‘Ah, here you are.’ Geoffrey smiled when he noticed Marius leaning against the allotment’s fence. ‘Feel better today?’

Although the strong wind blew from the sea, the day was sunny and bright—the ideal conditions for gardening.

Marius nodded and wrapped tighter in his woollen cassock. With his hair gathered in a high ponytail, he looked even taller, his delicate features—more pronounced.

Geoffrey turned away and leaned on his shovel, then pulled the turnip’s plant out of the soil. ‘If you can help me with harvesting, I’d be—’

He didn’t finish as Marius grabbed the biggest basket with his left hand and lifted it over his shoulder like a feather.

‘Are you sure you’re good with it?’ Geoffrey asked. ‘It becomes even heavier when it’s full.’

Marius just waved him off and started to gather turnips that Geoffrey had dug out. Their harvesting was interrupted by loud clanks of metal and shouting.

Marius froze on the spot. The basket slipped off his shoulder and fell to the ground.

In the far corner of the yard, Father Bartholomew and Brother Edwin crossed their swords. The two men, puffing and pushing, fought a few dozens yards away from the allotment. The weapon in the prior’s hands moved like a lightning. His opponent backed down to the stables.

Geoffrey chuckled, amused by his friend’s reaction. ‘Don’t pay heed. The swords are blunt. Weapons are prohibited in abodes in this country, but our prior loves such kind of excises. He believes we need to be able to protect ourselves.’

Marius shot him an anxious look.

‘From who?’ Geoffrey continued. ‘There’re lots of bad people around. From outlaws, who attack unarmed pilgrims like you, to Lord Douglas and his people, who don’t miss a chance to snatch the priory’s lands when an opportunity presents itself. The priory and Clan Douglas have struggled for control over fields, seacoast, and forests in this area for years since Lord Douglas’s father killed his older brother and became the head of the clan. That’s what the brothers told me anyway.’ He shrugged. ‘As for Father Bartholomew, he wouldn’t have allowed it to happen, if he had been the prior those days. The brothers rumoured that he’d been a mercenary before God turned his heart to the church. He repented and found
salvation in monastic life, growing quickly through the “ranks”.’ Marius chuckled and picked up the basket.

‘True or not. Father Bartholomew is not a novice when things come to weapon and fighting. He trains us too.’ Geoffrey shrugged. ‘He tries to protect what is left of the priory’s former glory. Lord Douglas wouldn’t hesitate to get rid of it and move the relics of St. Almus to his private chapel in the castle. This man has sold his soul to Satan. At least, Father Bartholomew believes so. Lord Douglas holds lots of power in his hands. Even the king is afraid to deal with him.’

Geoffrey wanted to add something else, but horses’ stamping and men’s voices sounded from the gates. Raising clouds of dust, Lord Sheriff appeared in the yard, accompanied by a small group of his soldiers.
‘And here comes Satan’s servant,’ Geoffrey mumbled. ‘The Lord Douglas’s best friend and accomplice.’
‘I need to speak with the prior. Immediately,’ the sheriff barked without a greeting.

Geoffrey shot a look at his friend. Marius’s face turned pale. He pulled his wide hood on his head and backed down from the fence in the shadow of the barn, but it was too late.

The sheriff had noticed him already. ‘Good day, Brother.’ He nodded to Geoffrey and dismounted from his horse. ‘And this is…’ He stared at Marius. ‘I don’t recognise your face, Brother, although I visit this place sometimes.’

‘Brother Marius.’ Father Bartholomew approached the sheriff. His sword was still in his hand. ‘He travelled a long way from Seville to experience miracles of the relics. His peaceful pilgrimage was spoiled by a bunch of robbers, who attacked him and took all his possessions.’ He grimaced.

‘Seville. Aha,’ Lord Sheriff grunted. ‘Why doesn’t Brother Marius want to tell me his story himself? I’m sure my people will be able to find and prosecute these scoundrels who did it to him.’

‘First of all, Brother Marius has given an oath of silence.’ Father Bartholomew shrugged. ‘I hope Lord Sheriff won’t insist on breaking it. Besides, Brother Marius doesn’t speak our language anyway.’
‘But if a crime happens then—’

‘Then, he speaks Latin. Either way, the brother has chosen to forgive his offenders as our Lord Jesus has.’
Marius nodded to the prior’s words.

‘What brought you to our abode, Lord Sheriff?’ Father Bartholomew continued.

The sheriff took one step closer, but Geoffrey still could hear the whole conversation. ‘The Lord’s bladesmith and his apprentice were found dead in the river three days ago.’ The sheriff lowered his voice. ‘The bodies were damaged almost beyond recognition. Only the heads and guts left.’

‘Dear God!’ Father Bartholomew frowned. ‘Who could do such a thing? Why? Are you sure that it wasn’t an accident? They went swimming and—’

‘Went swimming in the middle of the night in October?’ The sheriff smirked. ‘The bladesmith has received a large order to forge two dozens silver arrowheads. The silver wasn’t stolen, though.’

‘We’ll serve a liturgy for the poor men’s souls.’ Father Bartholomew sighed. ‘I’ll send somebody to pay the blacksmith’s widow a visit.’

‘And please, don’t forget to include in your liturgy three other men who disappeared about a week ago. The fishermen from the village found their remains in the sea near the causeway when the tides went low. The men served as Lord Douglas’s guards.’

Father Bartholomew blessed himself and kissed a massive ivory cross on his rosary. ‘I’m not sure how we can help you, Lord Sheriff,’ he mumbled and Geoffrey could sense deep dismay in his usually strict and confident voice. ‘Whoever has done it, a man or a creature, must be caught as soon as possible.’

‘That’s why I’m here.’ Lord Sheriff nodded. ‘First of all, the brothers should be careful going to the village or wandering around the shore and in the forest on their own. I heard one of them was spotted gathering firewood on the beach.’ He shot a look at Geoffrey. ‘The killer is powerful and dangerous. They know no mercy. Secondly,’ He made a meaningful pause. ‘I’d be very grateful if the brothers could inform me about anything suspicious going around the priory. Strange noises, tracks, smells—anything.’

‘You can rely on us, Lord Sheriff.’ Father nodded. ‘We’ll stay vigilant and—’ ‘There’s something else. Something that I’d like to discuss with you in private.’ He touched the prior’s sleeve. ‘May we continue in your chambers, Father?’

The two men turned around and headed to the west wing of the dormitory where the prior’s chambers occupied the first floor.

Geoffrey murmured a short prayer, then raised his eyes and noticed Marius. His friend kept on staring at the two men leaving the yard.

Geoffrey came closer and patted his shoulder. ‘Fear not. You’re under God’s protection here.’

Marius didn’t move.

#

‘A drink, my Lord?’ Father Bartholomew opened a cupboard and took out a jar and a couple of glasses. ‘God blessed our vineyard with ideal summer last year.’

‘Thanks. Let’s cut to the chase,’ Lord Sheriff grunted and sat on a heavy intricately carved chair at the prior’s desk.

‘And what is it exactly?’ The prior poured himself a full glass.

‘Somebody tried to break into Lord Douglas’s treasury on the night when the three guards disappeared. Lord Douglas told me that the guards tried to catch the thief and raised the alarm, but it was too late. Panic and chaos swallowed the castle.’

The prior rubbed his neatly trimmed beard. ‘Did the lord witness it himself?’

‘No. He was away for business.’ The sheriff squinted, his dark, deeply set eyes challenged the prior for a few seconds, but the monk handled his gaze. ‘As you can imagine, it doesn’t help me to catch the intruder. Surely, they knew about Lord Douglas’s absence.’

‘Then, you need to search in the lord’s household.’ Father Bartholomew shrugged and took a big sip of rich, sweet wine. ‘There’s a traitor who helps the thief. Or the thief is watching the castle.’

‘The thing is…’ The sheriff paused. ‘I don’t think we’re dealing with a man but with a kelpie. A very crafty and powerful one.’

‘What?’ Father Bartholomew laughed so hard that he almost spilled his wine. ‘My Lord, the kelpies became extinct in these lands a few decades ago when Lord Douglas’s father launched a crusade and pushed them out from their fields, streams, and woods. He built his new castle in a month, using the power of captured kelpies and working them to death. You know this story better than I do.’ He shrugged. ‘His greed drove him even further, and after kelpies, the priory became his next victim.’ He added with a smirk.

Lord Sheriff only grimaced. ‘Believe it or not, Holy Father, but the witnesses claim that they saw a black horse chased by the guards out of the castle and to the seashore. Captain Irvin searched the beach for any traces of the thief and the missing guards the next day, but found nothing. The fishermen from the village, who found the guards’ bodies, saw the black horse on the causeway a couple of days later, on the same spot where the bodies were found. I do believe the kelpie got in the castle as a man, but tried to escape it as a horse. The kelpies are well-known for their speed, agility, and power. In their equine form, they possess the power of dozens of horses. No weapon apart from a silver arrow or a blade can stop them.’

Father Bartholomew didn’t rush with an answer. Coming to a vaulted window, he peered outside, to the bright sky and raging sea. Silver again? You’re not telling me the whole truth, my Lord. You’ve always been too arrogant and self-confident. It’ll become your downfall one day. ‘These waters and shores are under the holy protection of St. Almus. We’re safe in the priory. No kelpie or any other satanic creature dares to come anywhere near it.

Trust me, my Lord.’

‘Oh, well. I wouldn’t be so sure.’ Lord Sheriff stood up from his seat. ‘I need to go now. I hope I can count on your help, Holy Father.’

‘God bless, my Lord.’ Father Bartholomew blessed the man with his ivory cross. ‘Farewell.’ The sheriff bowed his head in goodbye and departed.

Father Bartholomew finished his wine, staring outside at the sheriff and his men exiting the priory’s yard. A kelpie breaking into the lord’s treasury? Hm… Even if a few of them survived, why would they go for the lord’s jewels? It sounds too daring even for a kelpie. Or… He frowned. What if the story of the kelpies’ bridle is true? The kelpies’ magical bridle of unlimited power? That explains a lot then. For example, how old Lord Douglas enslaved so many of them and forced to build his new castle. Well, well… He left his chamber and headed to the yard where he noticed Geoffrey loading a wagon with vegetables for sale.

‘Father.’ He bowed to the prior.

‘Ah, I’m glad you’re here, my Son.’ Farther Bartholomew smiled. ‘I need to have a word with you.’
‘Yes, of course.’

‘I see you’re forging ties of friendship with our guest. It seems like his wound heals quickly, thanks to God and your care.’

‘I do my best, Father.’ Geoffrey nodded. ‘With God’s help, Marius is healing really well.’

‘Do you know whether he wishes to stay with us for a while or does he want to continue his journey? The year is turning to winter. Not the best season for travelling alone.’

‘Oh, yes. With all these horrible murders going on in our lands now, it’s not a good idea to commence a long pilgrimage.’

‘Exactly. That’s why I want you to persuade Marius to stay with us a bit longer, to invite him to our group prayers and meals.’ Father Bartholomew patted his shoulder. ‘I want him to feel welcome here. And you, I need you to help him to adapt to the life in our abode. It can be challenging for a man from distant lands, you know. I entrust you to look after him.’

Geoffrey’s face clouded. His shoulders dropped. ‘Father, I…’ he murmured. ‘I need to confess— ’

‘But you came for confession only a week ago.’

‘Yes, but it’s torturing me. I feel it’s too much. It’s a burden I can’t bear.’ All his body shivered. ‘You know my sins and you know why I decided to leave the world and turned my heart to God, but… Since Marius appeared, I can’t think about anything else but him. I can’t think about God and my soul. I’m failing it. I’m failing myself. I’m failing God.’

Father Bartholomew rolled his eyes. This young man is weak. But who am I to judge him for his sins? We’re all sinners, after all. God will judge. God alone can judge us. ‘This is the idea of your noviciate,’ he said to Geoffrey, ‘to overcome seduction, to fight the devil’s temptation, to clean your soul. The more you struggle, the closer to God your soul comes. It’s a fight worth fighting. The fight for your soul.’

‘But I— ’

‘See you at afternoon prayer.’ Father Bartholomew just waved him off.

#

‘Don’t you want to come to the chapel and join me and the brothers in our evening prayer?’ Geoffrey shifted on the doorstep of Marius’s cell.

His friend set at the narrow window and combed his hair, staring outside at the calm sea. He didn’t turn to Geoffrey as if, being drowned in his thoughts, he didn’t notice his arrival.

‘I understand.’ Geoffrey said after a pause. ‘If you prefer to pray alone. It’s just that…’ He took a few steps closer. ‘The prior wants to see us all together. The group prayer is the most powerful thing, or so the prior says.’

Marius just shrugged and started to undo the bandages on his shoulder.

‘Ah, your wound healed well.’ Geoffrey smiled. ‘Let me have a look.’ He touched his tanned skin carefully, trying to get a better look in the dim light of the half-extinguished torch. ‘Oh, you’re freezing. I guess autumn is much warmer in your motherland.’

Marius gazed at him, then squeezed his hands in his. His hands were gravely-cold but soft and delicate. They didn’t belong to a pilgrim who spent most of his life as a hermit or travelling from one monastery to another in search of spiritual enlightenment.

Geoffrey’s heart skipped a beat, his legs weakened.

Marius’s black eyes took him in their jail like they did for the very first time when Geoffrey brought him to the priory.

Geoffrey hurried to the door. ‘I need to go,’ he mumbled. ‘The prior doesn’t like when the brothers are late. Patience is not one of his virtues.’ He ran out of the cell, his heart pounding in his chest.

He must stop it. He must stop it now. He reached the solitude of his cell at the end of the corridor, fell on the floor in front of the wooden cross on the wall. He cried and prayed, and cried again. He rolled on the floor and gritted his teeth in helpless anger. He didn’t know how much time passed, but when he rose from the floor, the night had already filled the room. Mortification of the flesh. The only way to kill the demons who’re torturing me. He looked around in an attempt to find something which could serve him as a whip or a rope but found nothing.

Father Bartholomew opposed the whole idea of whipping or any other “harmful and useless” practices which were regarded as highly successful amongst his fellow monks. ‘An absolute waste of time and efforts,’ Holy Father told the novices. ‘Work hard, pray hard. That’s all God wants from you. That’s all that our souls need to avoid the devil and his temptations.’

I can find some ropes and hooks in the stables. Geoffrey calmed down. I hope the brothers are already back from prayer and sleeping in their cells. Geoffrey opened the door ready to go when he heard it—the familiar low humming. Marius. No doubt about it.

Geoffrey recognised the tall, hooded figure moving along the corridor. ‘Marius?’ he called the man quietly, but the figure seemed completely drowned in his monotonous humming.

Geoffrey tried to catch up with him, but the faster he walked, the farther ahead of him Marius’s silhouette lured.

Marius left the building, crossed the yard, and headed to the gates. The main gates were locked for the night, but a tiny wicket next to it could be easily opened without a key.

Geoffrey followed Marius across the yard in the moonlit night. He saw the figure disappear behind the wicket.

He’s heading to the beach. Geoffrey frowned. Not the best time for swimming. He exited the priory and wondered how quiet the sea looked.

The bright moonpath lit up the way to the shore.

Neigh! Neigh! A high-pitched noise made Geoffrey freeze on the spot. He turned around and saw it…
A few yards down the steep hill leading to the beach, Marius stood naked in the upcoming waves, which seemed to come from nowhere. His cassock wrapped around his neck. His black hair flattered, his tanned skin glowed under the moonlight, his feet… oh, God! They turned into hooves. His whole body transformed into… The next moment, a gorgeous black horse heaved the waves.

‘Neigh! Neigh!’ He headed to the flooded causeway.

The tide was high at this time of the night, but the waters parted, obeying the kelpie’s powers, and Geoffrey saw the black horse galloping along the emerged causeway to the shore.

Geoffrey blessed himself with a cross and backed down to the priory. His heart pounded in his chest ready to blow up, his breath became quick and shallow, and he could hardly keep his balance. He crossed the yard and, at the entrance to the dormitory, bumped into the prior.

Father Bartholomew was on his way from the library and carried a few heavy books and scrolls with ancient manuscripts.

Geoffrey didn’t even notice the man, slamming into him at the full speed. The prior dropped his burden and stared at the novice.

‘What are you doing here so late at night?’ The prior frowned, picking up his books and scrolls from the ground. ‘I didn’t see you at evening prayer. Do you feel unwell?’

‘I saw it. I saw it there,’ Geoffrey mumbled in shock. ‘You saw what?’

‘A kelpie… it’s him. He turned into a kelpie!’ Geoffrey screamed.

The prior squeezed his shoulder. ‘Please, pull yourself together.’ He turned around as if he wanted to check that nobody heard them. ‘Let’s continue in a more private place.’ With that said, he almost dragged a scared to death Geoffrey to his chamber.

Geoffrey’s body shivered in fever. He continued to mumble prayers and followed the prior.

‘Let me guess who it is.’ Father Bartholomew smirked when the chamber’s door closed behind their backs, and Geoffrey slid down on a wooden chair. ‘Brother Marius. Am I right?’

‘He’s a kelpie.’ Geoffrey yelled. ‘A satanic creature, a devil’s creation lives amongst us here, in the priory, in the holy place of St. Almus. How is it possible? I thought they’re extinct.’

‘Please, stop screaming.’ Father Bartholomew grimaced. ‘I also thought so, but we were wrong.’ He turned to the window. ‘Marius must be the last of his kind, the last echo of the ancient race which had dwelled in these streams, lochs, glens, and forests long before St. Almus brought the light of Christianity to these lands.’

‘But they’re savages!’ Geoffrey screamed. ‘They’re luring and drowning people.’

‘I’d expect such a rant from an empty-headed peasant, who believes in all sorts of fairytales, or from this idiot, Lord Sheriff, but not from you.’

Geoffrey raised his eyes to the prior. ‘Was it Marius who killed three guards and the bladesmith with his apprentice? Was it? Oh, it makes sense to me now. The sheriff knew about it. He had chased Marius along the shore and wounded him the day I brought him here. Did the sheriff tell you about the kelpie?’

Father Bartholomew kept silent for a few minutes. ‘Remember, the “ancient” doesn’t necessarily mean “savage” or “barbaric”. Sometimes it means “wise and powerful”. If the kelpie had wished, he would’ve killed all of us. So I see no grounds for panic. Clearly, he’s not interested in killing us.’

‘Bu-but…’ Geoffrey stammered. ‘What about all these people he’s killed and…’ He sobbed. ‘And eaten?’

‘It looks like this kelpie has some old, unsettled scores with Lord Douglas.’ The prior shrugged. ‘Did you read about the kelpies’ extinction in The Chronicles?’

‘Yes, I did.’

‘So you must remember the story of the kelpies’ magical bridle of power.’

‘I thought it was nothing more than an ancient myth.’

‘You were wrong again.’ With that said, Father Bartholomew told him everything he knew from the sheriff.

Geoffrey bowed his head low. ‘I understand now why the guards, but why the bladesmith and apprentice?’

‘You’re a clever man, Brother Geoffrey.’ The prior opened a small metal casket on his working desk and took out something shiny. ‘You’re asking the right questions.’

‘A silver arrowhead?’

‘There’s only one forge in the village which can produce a weapon of such high quality.’ Father Bartholomew nodded. ‘The only weapon which can kill or cause harm to a kelpie should be made of silver. All other weapons just bounce off their skin.’

Geoffrey swallowed his shock back. ‘So, what are you supposed to do? What are we all supposed to do?’

‘Nothing,’ the prior barked. ‘It was God’s will to bring him here. Through you and us, who saved him, helped him to heal, and provided him with shelter, God manifested his wish to…’ He paused as if he wasn’t sure whether he could trust Geoffrey but continued with even more passion, ‘to bring Clan Douglas down and restore the priory’s rightful place in this land.’

‘Are you… What? Just going to sit and wait when Marius kills Lord Douglas?’ Geoffrey backed down to the door.

‘Lord Douglas is in God’s hands. Never forget it, my Son. Who am I to challenge it? We need to accept it with dignity and humility. If God has chosen a creature not a man as Lord’s nemesis, so be it.’

Geoffrey covered his face with his hands in soundless despair. Father Bartholomew didn’t say a word.

‘Even if Marius succeeds, what will happen to us, to the priory, to him?’ Geoffrey rose from the chair, his eyes fixed on the prior.

‘The kelpie is free to go. I’m not going to delate him to Lord Sheriff. As for Lord Douglas, he doesn’t have an heir. He and his father have also gotten rid of all their close relatives. It’ll be nobody apart from the dowager Lady Douglas, his mother, to claim the clan’s lands. The poor woman is devoted to God and the church. The only wish she’s been craving for years is to dedicate herself to God and retire in a nunnery. The wish which her son stripped her off, locking away in one of his castles.’

‘How do you know this?’

A bitter smile crossed the prior’s lips. ‘I’d been the Lady’s confessor for a while until her son forbade her to see me and everyone else from the priory.’ He sighed. ‘Poor woman!’

‘So this is it.’ Geoffrey smirked. ‘To get rid of the devil, you’ve made a deal with the devil.’

Father Bartholomew came closer and squeezed his shoulders. ‘I’m dealing only with God. I wish you could see it as clearly as I do.’

#

It felt like eternity had passed, but Geoffrey didn’t move, just kept on staring at the sea, alone in his cell. The world, cruel and corrupted, smashed him again, burying him under the weight of its sins. The world he tried to escape so hard.

The door opened slightly, and Marius appeared on the doorstep.

‘You?’ Geoffrey jumped. His fists clenched. ‘I saw you. I know who you are.’

‘I saw you too.’ A calm, soft voice sounded in Geoffrey’s head, but Marius’s lips didn’t move. ‘I wanted you to see me. I wanted you to know the truth.’

‘So you can speak?’

‘Not as your people understand it.’ Marius came closer.

‘Don’t touch me!’ Geoffrey screamed, flattening his back to the wall. ‘Did you kill all these people Lord Sheriff told us about? Do you want to kill Lord Douglas?’

The next moment, something glittered on Marius’s chest.

‘The kelpies’ bridle of power?’ Geoffrey mumbled. ‘It means that… Have you killed Lord Douglas already?’

‘No. I’m not like him and his people.’ He shook his head. ‘I’ve just taken it from him.

The bridle belonged to my people. Now, it should belong to me.’

‘But you killed the guards, the bladesmith and his apprentice.’ Geoffrey closed his face with his hands. ‘You tried to protect yourself, I understand that, but… you ate them.’

Marius chuckled bitterly. ‘I did what? Have you ever seen a horse eating meat?’

‘No, but you’re a kelpie and— ’

‘Have you ever seen me sharing meat with you and the brothers at our meals?’

‘No, but Lord Sheriff— ’

Marius waved him off. ‘I thought you knew Lord Sheriff well enough to realise that he lied. Or animals and fish feasted on the bodies.’

Geoffrey stared at Marius without a word. ‘You’ve got what you wanted,’ he said finally. ‘You can go now. Every minute you spend here puts you in more danger. As soon as Lord Douglas knows that the bridle is stolen, he’ll send his people to search for it. Lord Sheriff is sniffing around like a hound. It’s just a matter of time before they’ll catch you and accuse us of helping you.’

Marius took his hand in his. ‘I returned for you. Please, go with me. I see into your heart. I know your feelings. Staying here is torture for you.’

‘Go? With you? Are you mad?’

‘The kelpies are solitary creatures, but sometimes we crave companionship. If it happens, it lasts for life.’ Marius touched his cheek. ‘The kelpies don’t breed. At least, not the way your people do. You never meet a baby-kelpie. We’re born from the water and mud of the sacred underwater lake. Neither men nor women, most of us preferred to stay in their equine form all their life.’

‘But you’ve chosen to be a man,’ Geoffrey whispered. His voice trembled.

‘Yes. I thought it would help me to fight Lord Douglas. I was right. Women in your society are vulnerable and subjugated by men. Lord Douglas’s father stole the bridle from us and desecrated our sacred lake by poisoning the streams which fed it. The new kelpies couldn’t be born anymore. Without the bridle, we became too vulnerable and weak to fight old Lord Douglas. I’m the last one. I could hide all my long life, but I chose to fight. You can choose to—’

‘No, I can’t. I mustn’t…’ Geoffrey’s eyes filled with tears, but he didn’t hide them. ‘I am a monk. I’m failing my oaths to God.’

‘First of all, you’re a man.’ Marius’s voice whispered in his ear. ‘A man who’s free to decide his fate. If your God is as powerful as you think, why didn’t he kill you for breaking your oaths? Why didn’t he kill me? There’s nothing in the world of men for you anymore. You know that. Your God knows that. Maybe that’s why he sent me to you. To set you free from your oaths?’

‘No. No. It’s all wrong.’ Geoffrey cried.

‘Look into your heart and tell me what you see there, what you feel towards me?’

Geoffrey’s whole body shivered, his voice broke. ‘Warmth and care.’

‘I feel the same.’

‘But it’s wrong. You’re a man.’

Marius smiled his warm smile. ‘First of all, I’m a kelpie who cares about you.’

#

The horizon was just about to turn from grey to pink and orange, but Father Bartholomew had already woken up, ready for morning prayer in the chapel. The loud commotion and horses’ neighing disturbed his thoughts.

What’s going on? He frowned and peered out of the window. Who dares to disturb the abode so early?
In the yard, a group of horsemen argued with Brother Edwin and a gatekeeper. Father Bartholomew recognised straight away Lord Sheriff and Captain Irvin, surrounded by Lord Douglas’s guards.

The men shouted and gesticulated vigorously.

‘So it commences.’ Father Bartholomew stroked his beard, then took his sword, the only sharpen one in the whole abode, the old days’ companion, the prior’s secret weapon. He attached the sword to his cassock’s belt and left the cell. The kelpie must’ve been far away by now. He smirked. Let’s see how Lord Douglas can handle this mess.

The men continued to swear and shout, and a small crowd of monks and novices had already surrounded them, attracted by the noise, when Father Bartholomew appeared in the yard.

‘What urgent matter brought you here so early in the morning, my Lords?’ he addressed Lord Sheriff and the captain.

The crowd parted, giving him space.

‘Holy Father, forgive us our rude intrusion,’ Lord Sheriff said and dismounted from his horse. ‘However, the matter is urgent indeed.’

‘Lord Douglas was robbed in the middle of the night. One of his most precious jewels was stolen.’ Captain Irwin broke into the conversation without a greeting. ‘We believe that the thief is hiding somewhere in the priory or—’

Father Bartholomew’s voice trembled. ‘I hope, my Lord, that you have a very strong evidence to come here and question me.’

The captain nodded. ‘Lord Douglas saw the intruder, dressed in a cassock. He tried to stop him, but the thief fought back, injuring my lord and jumping from the treasury’s balcony in the sea.’

‘I have no idea where the thief has got his cassock.’ Father Bartholomew shrugged. ‘Fighting the thief, Lord Douglas grabbed his hood and ripped it off.’ The sheriff pulled out of his pocket a piece of brown fabric. ‘Do you recognise this?’ He nodded to the hood. ‘The pattern of St. Almus’s cross on its rim is identical to the one on your hood.’

Father Bartholomew didn’t reply, just stared at the hood on the ground. His hand touched the sheath. ‘Are you trying to accuse me of helping the criminal, my Son?’ he asked finally.

‘It would go better for you to give us the man, Father.’ Captain Irvin smirked.

‘Or what?’

‘Or I’ll arrest you and your monks,’ Lord Sheriff said, his voice quiet. ‘In the name of the king—’

‘The king doesn’t have authority here. I obey to the bishop and all-mighty God. The king can’t order me neither can you, Lord Sheriff or Lord Douglas.’

‘Where’re you hiding him?’ Captain Irvin screamed, and his bowmen raised their crossbows, aiming at Father Bartholomew and the monks.

The prior pulled out his sword. ‘How dare you to threaten me in the house of God?’

The monks gathered. Some of them grabbed sticks, axes, shovels, and everything that could serve as a weapon.
The next moment, two dark figures sneaked from the dormitory’s corner to the eastern gates on the opposite side of the yard. The building’s heavy overhang kept them in the shadows, but the prior recognised them straight away. He turned slightly, but it was enough for the bowmen to notice the movement too.

‘Stop them!’ Captain Irvin yelled.

What? The kelpie is still here? The prior’s heart sunk. ‘No, please. Don’t shoot!’ He grabbed one of the bowmen’s horses by the bridle.

‘Back down, monk!’ the man barked, pushing the prior back. His horse jerked, his crossbow tilted, and…
The scream ripped off the morning air.

Father Bartholomew saw Geoffrey, pressing his hand to his chest and falling in the arms of the kelpie.
‘What have you done?’ Father Bartholomew turned to Captain Irvin and his men. The heart-stopping howl sounded from the other side of the yard.

A few monks blessed themselves with a cross. Father Bartholomew clenched his sword tighter.

‘Neigh! Neigh!’ The black horse galloped across the yard, carrying Geoffrey’s body on his back. ‘Neigh! Neigh!’ He smashed the main gates and headed to the causeway.

‘What are you waiting for?’ Lord Sheriff shouted. ‘Catch them!’

The guards spurred their horses, and the group flew out of the broken gates.

Father Bartholomew darted after them. Brother Edwin and a few other monks followed him. They saw massive waves flooding the causeway in a matter of moments and swallowing the kelpie and his burden. The soaking men were forced to turn back to the priory.

‘You’ll regret this, Holy Father,’ Lord Sheriff shouted to the prior from the beach, but Father Bartholomew turned his back to him.

Brother Edwin put his hand on his shoulder. ‘Are we in trouble now?’

‘We’ve been in trouble for the last twenty years or so. Get used to it, Brother.’

‘What about Brother Geoffrey? What happens to him now?’

Father Bartholomew sighed. ‘He’s chosen his path. I’ll pray for his soul.’

#

Geoffrey opened his eyes, his eyelids felt heavy and swollen. He raised his head and shoulders, but a piercing pain in the chest made him groan. The glowing bluish walls surrounded him. He tried to distinguish the ceiling, but it disappeared somewhere far above in the dim glow. He could hear the waves’ calming rustle. A small waterfall trickled somewhere nearby.

The next moment, Marius’s face came into focus. His black hair was gathered in a fancy braid, his dark skin was glowing. His rough cassock changed into a long silvery tunic.

‘Where am I? What happened to me?’ Geoffrey mumbled, overcoming the bursting pain in his chest.

‘You’re in the Kelpies’ cave, at the Sacred Lake.’ Marius looked worried. ‘You’re badly injured.’ He sighed. ‘Why? Why have you done it?’

‘I wanted to protect you. I acted instinctively.’

‘Silly man!’ Marius chuckled bitterly, his hand stroking Geoffrey’s head. ‘A metal arrow causes no harm to me, but you… You’re dying. I’ve purified the Sacred Lake, but even its life-giving waters can’t keep you alive for long.’

‘At least, I’ll die knowing that you and your race will live.’ Geoffrey smiled weakly. ‘My only regret is that I’m dying without confession, abandoned by God I dedicated my life to. I’ll be burning in hell forever, but— ’
‘You, people, are strange beings.’ Marius shook his head. ‘Blaming God or devil in all your faults and misfortunes, you don’t want to take responsibility for your life and your choices. Maybe your God didn’t abandon you. Maybe he gave you a chance for a new, different life. Maybe he doesn’t want you to die in this cave. Maybe he wants you to be reborn.’ Marius squeezed his hand. ‘Rebirth is one of the many powers of the bridle I didn’t have time to tell you about.’

‘What’s that?’

‘The bridle can turn a person into a kelpie, giving them a new life and longevity.’

‘No.’ Geoffrey freed his hand. ‘I can’t do that. I’m a Christian, a monk. I’m a sinner who failed my oaths, but to trick death—’

‘Didn’t your God trick it in a way?’

‘I’m not a god.’

‘But doesn’t he set an example?’

‘Your understanding of the Holy Bible is wrong.’ ‘It’s based on my observation of your people.’ Geoffrey struggled to reply. His vision blurred.

‘I can’t force you to do it. I can’t put the bridle around your neck and put you in the sacred waters. The power can’t be forced. But please…’ Tears ran down Marius’s cheeks. ‘I beg you to take your life in your hands, to live again, to be free and powerful and wild. To be with me. The kelpies chose companions for life. What my long life will be like without you? You’ve saved my life twice. You were ready to die for me. Why don’t you want to live for me?’

Geoffrey kept silent. In his exhausted mind, his whole life flashed by: his constant struggle with his passion, unrequited love, betrayal, lies, his family contempt and exile from his hometown, spiritual rebirth which brought him to monasticism. What next? Nothing, only death? No. Not after everything he’d been through. Endless suffering in hell? For what crime? For saving somebody’s life? His fists clenched. ‘I’m not leaving you.’ He exhaled. ‘I’m ready.’

#

‘Please, Holy Father, accept my sincere apology for what happened here.’ Lord Sheriff bowed his head. ‘I have no doubt now that we all fell victims of dark magic and deceit.’

‘Your apology accepted, my Lord.’ Father Bartholomew rose from his desk, nodding to two men in front of him. ‘The kelpie used our kindness and trust, posing as a pilgrim. He even enchanted one of the novices. The same words I’ve put on my detailed letter to the bishop. If needed, I can repeat them to the king.’

‘No need for that, Father. The king doesn’t doubt your innocence.’

‘Why should he?’ Father Bartholomew shrugged. ‘I heard a rumour that the king has accepted your resignation, my Lord. His Majesty knows better who perform his job poorly and who becomes a victim of this poor performance.’

Lord Sheriff gritted his teeth. ‘The rumour about my resignation is true. The reason for that is my deteriorating health. It has nothing to do with my performance.’

‘I’m sorry to hear that,’ Father Bartholomew mumbled, staring at the sheriff’s bulging muscles and bull-like neck. ‘And how does Lord Douglas feel?’ He turned to the second man, who kept silent during the whole conversation.

‘Not any better, Father.’ Captain Irvin stepped forward. ‘I talked to his physician yesterday. He told me that the Lord is fine physically. His fight with the kelpie has left just a few bruises and scratches on his body. Nothing major. However, he’s getting weaker every day. It seems like he lost his taste for life. His mind is playing tricks with him. He keeps seeing people who died long ago. He keeps hearing their voices in his chambers. What is worse, he’s convinced the kelpies are calling for him. He claims he hears their song at night, the song of kelpies.’ He sighed. ‘He says it’s full of sorrow and pain. It’s driving him mad. Since the robbery, he hasn’t been himself.’

‘Oh, he needs to come here. To pray to St. Almus. I’m sure the relics—’

Captain Irvin shook his head. ‘I’m afraid it’s too late for a pilgrimage to St. Almus.’ He took a step closer and lowered his voice. ‘The doctor believes Lord Douglas won’t live through winter.’

‘What?’ Father Bartholomew frowned. ‘Is he… Is he so ill?’

He nodded. ‘Lady Douglas arrived to look after him and…’ He stammered. ‘She asks you to come to the castle.’

‘I’m not sure how I can help, apart from giving Lord Douglas spiritual guidance and praying for his recovery.’

The captain touched his sleeve. ‘She sent you this.’ He handed him an envelope with Clan Douglas’s seal. ‘She’s desperate. She begs you to forgive her child and become his confessor in his last months.’

Father Bartholomew turned to the window, broke the seal, and read the letter. His hands shook, but he pulled himself together. ‘Tell Lady Douglas I’ll come today.’ He nodded to the captain.

‘Thank you, Father.’ Captain Irvin came closer for a blessing, then disappeared behind the door.

Lord Sheriff was next to say goodbye, but instead of bowing his head, he grabbed the prior’s shoulder and whispered in his ear, ‘Well done, old soldier! You and your kelpie friend have outplayed us all.’ With that, he exited the cell without a blessing.

Father Bartholomew didn’t move for a few moments. The bridle is taking its power back from Lord Douglas. He’s got the power that never belonged to him. Now, it’s time to give it back with interest. A sudden wave of sadness squeezed his heart. Geoffrey… The man who didn’t want power but craved love. What happened to you? He needed fresh air to clear his mind. He left his chamber and headed to the beach.

The tide was low at this time of the day, and the prior could see the beach all the way to the shore. The strong gusts of icy wind punched him in the face and chest, making his old wounds ache, but he continued his stroll, drowned into his musing. The clang of metal, the cries of the wounded, the clash of armour—the sounds of battles fought long ago emerged in his mind. He exhaled and raised his head to the grey sky. Geoffrey, a very troubled man. You came to me, looking for salvation for your soul, and I… I’ve used you. I’ve used your trust. It was too much for you. I knew it. I should’ve stopped. I should’ve protected you. Will you ever forgive me?

‘Neigh! Neigh!’ A sudden familiar noise broke through the loud roaring of the wind.

Father Bartholomew turned to the shore and saw two wild horses, galloping along the causeway. One was all black, with long, elegant legs and neck, another one—sorrel and heavily set—reminded him of someone.

The horses stopped a few feet away from him, shaking their heads and neighing as if they greeted him.
Only then, Father Bartholomew noticed a shiny bridle on the black horse’s neck. He smiled and waved.

The pair turned back to the shore and soon disappeared behind a cliff.

Valeriya Salt is a multi-genre author from the United Kingdom. She studied History and earned her Master’s degree in Art Expertise at St. Petersburg University of Culture and Arts. She’d lived for many years in the different corners of Eastern Europe before settling down in the north of England. Apart from creative writing, she has a passion for travels, arts, history, and foreign languages. Her short stories, essays, and reviews have appeared in numerous anthologies and magazines, including The Copperfield Review, Bewildering Stories, Strange Fiction ‘Zine SF&F, The Pine Cone Review, The Chamber Magazine, Tall Tale TV (podcast), etc.