The Magic Ring of Brodgar - стр. 15
“I've never heard in my life that ferns could bloom,” Megan exclaimed in surprise, looking at Warren with wide eyes, trying not to miss a word of his story.
“The fern flower is mythical, supposedly revealing the secrets of the magical world to its owner. It also grants clairvoyance and power over evil spirits. Evil forces try in every way to distract the hunter, for example, by calling out to him with the voice of a loved one. And if one turns around at the call, it could cost them their life. It means looking into the eyes of death.”
“That’s terrifying! Do locals really believe in this to this day?”
“Of course, Megan. You can't imagine how many people head off into the bracken before midnight. Each one of them hopes that they will be the luc ky one. Some even go into the forest!”
“Do you know at least one person who has actually had such luck?”
“Not yet,” laughed Warren. “But my grandfather knows many legends related to it. He believes in the fern flower bloom, as do many of his age. They say that in the past, most northern Highlanders had abilities for clairvoyance, witchcraft, and so on. Our land is special, and so are the people here. Well, I'm skeptical about it, but my wife, Glenn, believes everything my grandfather and his peers tell her. If you're interested,” he continued with a smile, “she can tell you a lot more. I, for one, love this festival like the others, simply because the whole north celebrates. Our people have fun, dance and play the bagpipes. Ale, cider, whisky, flow like rivers. Various Northern Scottish dishes are available to choose from. Lots of local game. Meat that's cured, grilled on coals, pan-fried, stewed, and anything else you could want. Almost all the townspeople and neighboring villagers come here. After all, the forest is nearby, and most ferns grow near us too. Tents, wooden tables, and benches are set up on the hill.”
“Warren! It sounds wonderful! I can’t wait for this festival!”
“We Highlanders just need an excuse to have fun! Well, Megan, here we are.”
“Thank you. Your story was absolutely fascinating. If you and Glenn have got time this evening, I would love to hear more legends related to the traditions of Northern Scotland.”
“Of course! Tonight, after dinner, we'll happily share with you all we know about our north over a glass of whisky by the fireplace.”
“Great, I’m already looking forward to it,” Megan spoke joyously, pleased with Warren's openness and the fact that he harbored no resentment toward her for the previous day's events.
When Megan got out of the car, she found herself in front of a long two-story building made of large stone blocks. This style, she noted, was a common feature of most historical buildings in Scotland. The distillery was situated on a hill. From there, magnificent landscapes opened up. Megan thought it would be impossible to get used to such beauty. Surely, these views could never become dull.
“How long has this distillery been here?” she asked her cousin.
“From the 15th century. It was built by our ancestor William McKenzie, in 1486. Naturally, a lot has changed and improved inside since then. But externally, it remains as it was centuries ago.”
At the entrance to the building, a large oak barrel lay on its side, with "Mal Scotch Production" painted on it in white; the clan coat of arms was underneath.