Page 18 of The Last Kelpie

“I'm Ethan Clarke.” I shook her hand. “I'm with the Velasca. We document endangered folklore.”

“Moira Campbell.” Her grip was surprisingly strong. “And what brings you to Luss, Mr. Clarke? We've plenty of kelpie stories here, but most of them are for the tourists.”

“I'm looking for the older versions. The stories I've seen here aren't the ones I know. I'm trying to figure out how they changed.”

Moira made a soft sound and nodded. “Changed indeed. It's criminal, what they say.” She reached into her basket and pulled out a small bundle wrapped in cloth. “I come here every week to leave offerings by the water. My mother taught me, and her mother taught her. Goes back further than anyone remembers.”

She unwrapped the bundle. Inside were wildflowers and a piece of bread. Then she brought out a glass carafe of milk.

“The tourists think it's charming,” she continued. “They take photographs. Sometimes they ask what I'm doing, and I tell them it's an old tradition. They smile, nod, and go back to their selfies.” She stood and moved toward the loch slowly. “But it's not for them. It's for the kelpies.”

I watched her walk to the water's edge and bend over. She placed the flowers on a flat stone, poured the milk into a shallow depression in the rock, broke the bread into pieces, and scattered them. Her lips moved, but I couldn't hear the words.

She returned, and her knees cracked as she sat down. “The stories they tell now, they're all wrong. Monsters that drown children. Demons in horse form. Beautiful creatures that lure travelers to their deaths.” She shook her head as she clicked her tongue. “Bunch of eejits! That's not what kelpies are.”

“Would you tell me the stories you remember?” My notebook was in my jacket pocket, but I didn't reach for it. This felt too fragile for documentation.

“They are guardians.” Moira looked out at the water. “Protectors of sacred places. They watched over travelers, warned children away from danger, and punished those who polluted the water or harmed anyone near the loch. They were fierce, aye. They could kill. But they only killed those who deserved it, you ken? Those who took without giving back. Those who showed no respect.” She turned to Áedán, and her expression softened. “They were bonnie creatures. Not in the way the stories say now. Not to lure you to your death. They were beautiful, like a dream. Angels of the water.”

Áedán had gone very still. I looked from him back to Moira.

“My mother told me,” Moira continued, “that if you met a kelpie and showed proper respect, they would help you. Guide you across dangerous water. Warn you of coming storms. But if you mistreated them or the water.” She shook her head. “Then you'd learn why they were called guardians.”

“Do you know when the stories changed?”

She frowned. “Och, laddie, my mind's not as sharp as it used to be. It seemed to change overnight.”

“So you don't remember the first time you heard a different story?”

“Nae, not exactly. I remember hearing things and telling people it wasnae right. I think it was, oh, maybe eight years or so ago.”

“Do you remember how it changed?”

“How?” Her forehead wrinkled. “It changed completely.”

“Completely? You mean some part of the myth changed so much that it was completely different?”

“Nae, I mean completely. It was the one I remembered, and then it was this new one.”

I glanced at Áedán and found him clenching his jaw so tightly that the muscle in his cheek popped. “That's not how stories change.”

She shrugged. “As I said, my mind's not as sharp as it once was.”

I moved on. “Did your mother ever see one?”

“She said she did. Once. When she was a girl.” Moira's voice dropped lower. “She was walking by the loch at dusk and saw a horse standing in the shallows. Black as midnight, she said. Beautiful beyond words. He had a diamond-shaped patch of gray in his coat, right on his forehead. She ken what he was. Her mother had taught her the old ways. So she bowed her head and spoke the words. She asked permission to pass.”

Áedán's hand twitched.

“What happened?” I asked.

“The horse stepped aside and let her walk by. She said she heard a terrible roaring sound, halfway between a horse and a wolf, but she dinnae look back. Not until she reached the road. Then she turned around, but the kelpie was gone. That's when she noticed the man who'd been following her. An outsider. He was running in the opposite direction from her. Running as if the devil himself chased him.”

Áedán's breath came rough, loud enough for me to hear. I looked at him, but he kept his gaze locked on Moira.

Moira reached into her basket again and pulled out a small leather journal, its cover worn soft with age. “She wrote it down. Everything she remembered. The words to speak, the offerings to leave, the signs that meant a kelpie was near.” She held the journal carefully, as if it were treasure. “And she wrote the name her mother taught her that day when she returned home with the story aboot the kelpie who saved her. Her mother recognized him by that diamond patch, you ken?” She tapped her forehead.

My heart raced. I'd seen a water horse with a diamond-shaped patch of gray too.