Lives that had existed for centuries had been snuffed out. Torn limbs, severed heads, and mutilated bodies lay everywhere.
The human Christians wept. We wept. A curse on Donnelaith, she had said. A curse. But, Janet, my darling Janet, I prayed, what more can happen to us! I collapsed on the ground.
At that moment I wanted no more of life. I wanted no more of suffering or death, or of the best of intentions resulting in abominable ruin.
But the monks came to me, lifting me to my feet. My followers called to me. I was to come, they said, to behold a miracle that had happened before the ruined and burnt-out tower that had once been the home of Janet and those closest to her.
Dragged there, dazed, unable to speak, I was gradually made to understand that an old spring, long dried, had come to life, clear water bubbling up from the earth once again, and cutting its path through the old dried bed, between hillocks and the roots of the trees and into a great drift of wildflowers.
A miracle!
A miracle. I pondered. Should I point out that that stream had come and gone a number of times in the century? That the flowers were blooming yesterday and the day before because the earth there was already damp, presaging the little fount which had now at last broken through the surface again?
Or should I say:
“A miracle.”
I said, “A sign from God.”
“Kneel, all,” cried Ninian. “Bathe in this holy water. Bathe away the blood of those who wouldn’t accept God’s grace and have gone now to eternal perdition.”
Janet burning in hell forever, the pyre that will never go out, the voice that will curse me still crying …
I shuddered and all but fainted again, but I fell on my knees.
In my soul, I knew that this new faith must sweep me up, it must consume my whole life, or I was lost forever!
I had no more hope, no more dreams; I had no more words, and no more thirst for anything! This had to save me, or I should die in this very spot now, by sheer will, never speaking or moving or taking nourishment again until death stole over me.
I felt the cold water slapped against my face. I felt it running down into my robes. The others had gathered. They too were bathing. The monks had begun to sing the ethereal psalms which I had heard on Iona. My people, the humans of Donnelaith crying and sad, and eager for the same grand redemption, took up the song, in the old-fashioned way, singing the lines right after the monks, until voices everywhere were raised in praise of God.
We were all baptized in the Name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Ghost.
The Clan of Donnelaith was Christian thereafter. All human save for five Taltos.
Before the following morning a few more Taltos were discovered, mostly very young women who had been shielding two almost newborn males in their house, from which they had seen the whole tragedy, including Janet’s execution. They were six altogether.
The Christian humans brought them to me. They would not speak, either to accept or deny Christ, but looked at me in terror. What should we do?
“Let them go, if they will,” I said. “Let them flee the valley.”
No one had the stomach for any more blood or death. And their youth and their simplicity and their innocence made a shield around them. As soon as the new converts stepped back, these Taltos fled, with nothing but the clothes on their backs, right into the forest.
In the days that followed, we five males who were left did win the entire goodwill of the people. In the fervor of their new religion, they praised us that we had brought Christ to them, and honored us for our vows of celibacy. The monks prepared us with instructions day and night to accept Holy Orders. We pored over our holy books. We prayed constantly.
Work was begun upon the church, a mighty Roman-style building of dry stone, with rounded arch windows and a long nave.
And I myself led a procession through the old circle, at which we effaced any symbols from olden times, and carved into the rocks new emblems, from the Altar Book of the Gospels.
These were the fish, which stood for Christ, the dove, which stood for the Apostle John, the lion for Mark, the ox for Luke, and the man for Matthew.