January 2026

It’s Scotland and the weather is dreich and miserable which accounts for my less than sunny mood. I am a freelance writer and I have just returned from the East, not Edinburgh, but Egypt. My interest is archaeology, with a degree from Glasgow University. That interest is paired with my love of legend, folklore and myths. I love words and the pictures they create, the places they take you to. I am fey, which is Scots for having second sight, being attuned to the faeries and spirits. I tend to keep that little snippet to myself though!

I have just submitted my latest article and photos, from Egypt, to the Editor of Tales through Time. It’s a popular publication and its readership is growing worldwide. I am fortunate that I am one of the team who go on assignments to seek out lesser-known civilisations and their often untold stories.

I close my eyes to the rain battering against the window and let my mind drift back to the past weeks…

August 2025

The sun is high in the sky. A blistering golden orb of fire, beating down relentlessly from a cloudless sapphire sky. The landscape is mainly barren rocks that are scalding to the touch of the uninitiated, as I found to my cost. Fire burns. However, on close inspection, there are hidden cracks in these ancient stones and beyond them, in the dark lie hidden treasures.

This is Egypt, land of the Pharaohs, the Pyramids, Gods, Goddesses, priceless artefacts, burial chambers, jewels to accompany the dead to the afterlife. The sweat and lives of thousands of slaves who existed to fulfil the demands of their cruel masters.

This place however, has not been plundered by the myriad of archaeologists and treasure hunters who have travelled from around the globe. Few have heard of Bathshara. I hadn’t. There are no pyramids or golden tokens here. Only fallen rocks and hidden caves and a small life-giving oasis. So what’s the big deal?

How its existence came to the ears of a chosen few, shall remain a secret.

Bathshara existed as a haven for slaves who escaped the brutal captivity of the ancient Egyptians. These slaves were called the Zeeri, the chosen ones. Inside the caves and tunnels were paintings and writings depicting their lives.

This is the treasure I have come to find.

The tunnels did not disappoint. The artwork was still legible, protected from the heat of the burning sun, hidden in the darkest depths. Our team of researchers was small. We had set up camp at the oasis. Not exactly rocket science. It consisted of a few tents, our vehicles, tools, water, provisions and radios. There were eight of us, six Brits and two locals who had led us there. Occasionally other locals would join our group. One in particular had extensive knowledge of the tunnels and could decipher the markings, Did I mention he was drop-dead gorgeous, sex on legs? Ok, I was there on serious business but a girl has needs and well, he was easy on the eye. I’m not quite sure how it transpired but we were always alone in the confines of the caves. In the dim light of our torches, we studied the markings. In his soft musical voice, he would translate, while I photographed and took notes.

He told me he was descended from the Zeeri and his name was Nerouk which translates as Flame. I also discovered his zodiac sign was Leo, the “fixed” fire sign embodying passion, creativity and charisma.

Oh, I don’t think I mentioned, I am Mara, Gaelic for “of the sea”. It is a fitting name as I am a water sign, Pisces, known for being creative, empathetic and compassionate.

Two opposites.

Water will evaporate when exposed to fire.

Fire will be extinguished by water.

What a conundrum but one I was willing to pursue.

The inevitable happened.

The other seven headed to the nearest civilisation for supplies. They had been reluctant to leave me but I had planned a lazy day by the pool at the Oasis. Secretly, I hoped Nerouk would make one of his rare appearances, which usually happened when the others were in different parts of the excavations.

Sure enough, a short time later, I sensed I was no longer alone in the shade of the palms.

I had swum in the cool clear waters and had lain on a blanket enjoying the total silence. I was naked. The shadow caused me to open my eyes. It was Nerouk, dressed in traditional garb. He stood motionless, his eyes roamed freely over my body. Wordlessly, he lowered himself beside me. I’m sure I stopped breathing. I’m sure the world stopped spinning. I’m sure I saw desire in his eyes. His hands gently cupped my face and he kissed me tentatively and slowly. I rose and wrapped my arms around him. The kiss deepened. The cool of the oasis vanished as heat took over. Our tongues explored each other’s mouths with growing intensity and need. Together we fumbled at his clothing, impatient to remove the barrier between us.

When the offending garment was thrown aside, my “Egyptian Slave ” was revealed. Smooth olive skin, muscles rippling from all the excavation work he did. His hands too were roughened by physical labour. They roamed my body, caressing my breasts which seemed to swell at his touch. His mouth followed sending me into spasms of ecstasy and oh the heat!! All consuming, all powerful. When his fingers plunged inside me, I was soaking and almost on the point of no return. He pressed against me and my eager hands sought his shaft. My movements were rapid and erratic and he started to groan in a language I did not understand, though my name, Mara, was uttered over and over again.

Before he could regain control, my mouth replaced my hands and I licked and tasted and teased. He could not withstand the onslaught and with a shudder he came, filling my mouth with male nectar. He tried to speak words of apology but I stopped him with a kiss, which tasted of him. We murmured words of promise and gradually the heat returned. When he entered me I knew the answer to the conundrum. His fire was all consuming, my mind, my body, my heart was his. The flames crept from my toes through my limbs and my whole body convulsed with passion. Exhausted, we fell into a deep sleep. When I awoke, Nerouk was gone, which did not surprise me as he tended to avoid the others’ company. He had thoughtfully covered my naked, vulnerable body. I stretched and smiled and eased my aching limbs into the cool, clear water, remembering every moment of our lovemaking.

Shortly after, the others returned. Round the fire, we discussed our time at Bathshara, which was coming to an end. I’m not a fool, I don’t believe in fairy tales, or happy ever after, but part of me longed to stay in Egypt.

Next day Nerouk did not appear. This was not unusual, but I felt disappointed. That night we discussed the day's work. Martin announced that he had found wall pictures and writings which suggested that the Zeeri were indeed the chosen ones. His findings pointed to them being time travellers. There was excitement at his findings and although I deal more in facts, my spiritual side was persuaded beneath the starlit Egyptian skies. It was easy to believe in the impossible.

The next few days were busy, it was December and our time in Egypt was coming to an end. Nerouk had not returned. At our final meal, I spoke to some of our local team and asked about him. They shook their heads and said they did not know of him. He was not a fellow tribesman. Puzzled, I turned to my team members. Yes, they had seen him with me but strangely none of them had interacted with him. Martin asked me to repeat his name. When I said Nerouk, his eyes lit up. That was one of the names he had found in the ancient wall writings. All sorts of questions and theories were expounded. But none could answer my questions.

Where is he now?

Who is he?

I went to my tent for the last time. I doubted whether sleep would come. I lit my oil lamp and in the soft glow, something shone on my bed. It was a bangle of dark metal. In the centre was a sparkling red stone, shaped into a flame.

January 2026

I gave myself a shake. It had been wonderful, I had produced a great article and now it was time to move forward. The fire had consumed me briefly, but it hadn’t finished me.

At that point, an alert from my laptop indicated an email. I turned to answer it and smiled at my flame bangle. It was from my editor. She wanted me to investigate folklore and myths closer to home. In particular “the Selkies” from one of the islands in the North of Scotland.

Two days later I was aboard The Loch Seaforth, ploughing its way through the swirling grey waters of the Minch. It was exhilarating. The spray soaked my skin and the wind whipped my long red hair into a tangled web. I had never been here before, but these islands were in my blood. My mother had been born here but had left before the dawn of the new millennium to seek a better life and the bright lights of Glasgow. She never spoke of home but she had ensured that I went to The Gaelic School in Glasgow in order to speak her native tongue. I tried many times to ask but the sadness in her eyes stopped the questions years ago.

The islands did not disappoint. I had rented a cottage in a hamlet near the shore where the wild Atlantic waves pounded the sands. The landscape was flat and wild with sand dunes protecting the machair. In the summer it would be a riot of colour and scents. But now it was dark and empty. The peat fire warmed the small room with its unmistakable tang. The wind battered the windows and I fired up my laptop to consult my notes.

There are many legends and water myths from Scotland. Nessie, of course is the main one. Countless people have strived to find her but failed. There is also the tale of the mermaid of Ardveck Castle on the shores of Loch Assynt. However, my assignment was the Selkies, Scots for seals, the Maighdeann-roin. These beautiful mystical creatures would emerge from the waves, shed their seal skins and bewitch the local menfolk before returning to the ocean. One tale told of how a beautiful Selkie fell asleep. Her lover hid her skin and she could not return to the sea. They married and had a child. Years later the child found the skin and gave it to his mother, not knowing what it was. The call of the ocean was too strong and she returned.

These tales were beautiful, mostly sad and my eyes felt moist, as I closed my PC for the night. The part of me which was so strongly attuned to water could feel the heartbreak and longing. Again my eyes were drawn to my bangle of fire, to the heat of Egypt and the powerful flame.

That night I had strange dreams. I heard my name whispered. I opened my eyes. Nerouk. His breath warmed my face, his kiss thrilled me. His body filled me again with the all-consuming fire. I arched to him and gave myself completely. I woke alone. The sheets were tangled and damp, it was still dark. The wind howled outside. Was it a dream? It felt so real.

Sleep overtook me again and dreams claimed me. This time I was sitting in the dunes watching the ocean. I knew this place, didn’t I? The sound of the waves crashing ashore and the plaintive cry of the seabirds was disturbed by a voice. I turned and sitting beside me was a young man. In Gaelic he spoke.

“The ocean is a mighty force to be respected. It has secrets and dangers unknown to most. You have the power to unlock these mysteries. The choice is yours, but once the choice is made, you can never return, you will never be the same. Choose wisely, Mara. Many before you have not.”

I looked into his face which showed sadness. His piercing blue eyes seemed to know my innermost thoughts.

“Who are you?” The dream faded. I wakened as the sun rose.

I had had enough of my own company. After breakfast, I got into my car and drove across the Barvais Moor to Stornoway. My destination was the local library. I was surprised at the welcoming building but more surprised at the librarian who greeted me. Another drop-dead gorgeous male. Tall, insanely good-looking with dark hair and silver grey eyes. His seductive island lilt finished me off. With fluttering heart and all sorts of tingles, he directed me to the section on local myths. The library was quiet and closing early. Was it fate or just luck, but he told me he was Iain and he lived in the same hamlet as me. He had taken the bus into Stornaway that day so I offered him a lift back. We chatted on the return journey and I discovered like me, he was returning to the islands. He had studied and worked in Glasgow but the call for home was too strong. He suggested I meet his parents who might be able to help with my research. How could I refuse?

Fiona and Callum extended the traditional Hebridean welcome and soon I relaxed. I became aware though of being closely observed. Perhaps this was unusual for their son to bring a relative stranger to them. Their interest grew when I mentioned my mother had come from this area. Before I could mention her name Fiona said, “Shona McGregor. She was one of my dearest friends. She left here over twenty years ago. Nobody has ever heard from her since then. You have her hair colouring and look.”

I explained that I knew little of my past and that my mother had died a single parent when I was very young. I had been brought up by caring foster parents. This call to come home might give me answers.

Fiona explained that my mother and their close friend Donald had lived together happily and then suddenly Fiona had left. She had claimed the island was too small and there was a world out there waiting. Donald had never married and had lived in the house, which I was currently renting. Fiona was the trustee. She explained that Donald was very ill and one night a year ago, he had gone to the shore, never to be seen again. The rest of her tale was compelling. Donald swore he had met a Selkie called Fenella and they had fallen in love and had a child. She had gifted him a perfect white shell. He never saw Fenella again though he went to the shore daily for over twenty years. She looked hard at me. “He had piercing blue eyes, like you.”

I couldn’t think clearly. I had to get home. Questions, questions. They understood and Iain took me home. “Shall I stay?”

I desperately wanted to be alone, to think, but a consuming need for warmth and physical contact was overpowering. I chose the latter.

Iain never asked questions. He led me inside, sat me down and lit the ready laid peat fire. He then poured us both a large malt. I watched the peat catch and flare into flame, the glow and warmth filled the room. Wordlessly I turned to Iain. His intense gaze never left my face as he bent to kiss me. The fire and need inside me roared to life. We never made it to the bedroom. In a frenzy, clothes were cast aside and our bodies came together. The intensity of my feelings was overpowering. His touch scorched my skin, his hands roamed freely as did mine. We moved together as one and when he entered me I felt complete as if this was what I had been waiting for. We finally made it to the bedroom where we found each other again. This time it was slow and tender, still with passion but without the frantic need.

I slept. The dreams came. An image of Nerouk smiling at me, his eyes changing from deep brown to silver grey, he faded and once more I was on the dunes. I watched the waves and a figure emerged. She was beautiful, silver hair streaming down her back. I knew she was a Selkie. She approached me smiling. Her eyes were piercing blue.

“I am Iona, your half-sister. I am here to offer you a choice. You can choose water over fire and return to the ocean to join our father and me. I will be here at sunset tomorrow if that is your choice.”

She stroked my face gently before she too disappeared.

I wakened with a start. Iain was asleep, his arm protectively wrapped around me. I felt safe and warm. Then I noticed my fire bangle glinting in the early sunshine. Beside it lay a perfect white shell, it lay in a pool of seawater.

Iain stirred beside me.

“Good morning, Mara.”

“Good morning, Iain.”

He smiled at me and said, “Actually Iain is a version of my name, Teine.”

Teine is Gaelic for fire.

The fire or the water, the bangle or the shell.

The choice was mine to make...