"MAN OVERBOARD!" the bosen' cry rang out on the deck. The scuffling of feet could be hear from the rooms below deck, as the hands tried frantcally to save their drowning commrade. The quarters where the Macduff was staying were cramped, and not comfortable. He was forced to remain in a sitting position with his knees around his chest, but he knew of the importance that he be so confined. "Should the ship founder," he thought to himself, "the captain has assured me that this area I am enclosed in is made of the lightest teak and will be able to float in the water." With this knowledge, the Macduff leaned his head back and closed his eyes, determined to wait out the storm.

"Lord Macduff! Lord Macduff! Awake and join us on deck, M'Lord! The storm has passed us over and we are fast approaching the shores of Erin! Awake and join us!" the voice of the second mate wafted through the barred door and roused Macduff out of his uneasy slumber. Rising as well as he could from his encampment, the Macduff crawled out of his teak box and blinked as his eyes met the brightness of day once again. "My Lord Captain," Macduff began jokingly, "is it not possible that you could sustain the weather briefly enough for us to reach Erin's shores?"

"M'Lord Macduff, would that I could control the weather, for cert, we woulda been tae Dublin and back by now," came the captain's swift reply. "It is no', sadly I admit, in the hands of the seafarers tae control the waves, but in the hands of the waves that ye find us, the seafarers. But there she be, M'Lord," the captain points to a distant mound of land the color of fog-shrouded emeralds. "That, M'Lord Macduff is the isle of Erin, blessed be the land what bore me." The Macduff was quick to nod his head in agreement, though his travels to Erin had never before been pleasant, or long in lasting. He quickly shook himself of his musings, for the captain was speaking again. "Beware that ye dinna get tae close tae nae butterflys, M'Lord. 'Tis well believed all Erin o'er that they be faeries. The natives be protective of our spirits, aye. We dinna need the Fae's mad a' us, nae sir we dinna." Macduff was fighting a rare smile as he listened to the captain's protestations of trusting faeries and magic and the sort. "Be thee ware, M'Lord Macduff, there be magic forces a' work 'ere on Erin. Magic forces indeed." With that, the captain tipped his hat and left the Macduff to ponder what had just been spoken.

********

The road to the inn was muddy, and the Macduff cursed the downpour they were caught in for the millionth time. Finally, after travelling for hours in the inclement weather, the royal party reached their destination. The Macduff dismounted quickly, entering the inn swiftly, leaving his horse for his soldiers to tend to. As he closed the door behind him, the Macduff paused in order to allow his eyes to grow used to the lighting of the large room. Gazing around, the Macduff could see the outlines of several round wooden tables shadowed by the glow of the torches on the walls and the fire from the main hearth. Off to the left, along the back wall, there was a bar counter, setting upon it two great kegs of ale. Taking a smell of his surroundings, the Macduff smiled and nodded in appreciation for the smell of roasting meat and honeyed ale. As his eyes adjusted, the Macduff also began to hear the other sounds of the inn. The distint sound of Gaelic flowing easily from old merchant's mouths filled the air. Men talking over politics and finances, in a language as old and nakedly beautiful as the island herself. Then, to the right of the Macduff, there came a female voice, floating high above the noisy men. Turning his head, the Macduff noticed a beautiful young woman, no more than eight and ten, standing amongst a group of somewhat older men, a tray in her hand and her mouth open in pleasant laughter. The lass stopped laughing as soon as her green eyes lit upon the Macduff and his man. Gathering all her pride, she sauntered over to them and smiled brightly. "Good Morrow tae ye, M'Lords. Ye be Scotsmen by the look o' ye, an' tha' be makin' me wonder wha' ye be doin' on this side o' the water. But nae matter, sit yerself down 'ere and hae yerselves a drink o' me fine ale and a bite o' me prized lamb meat." With that, the young female whirled into action, shooing the Macduff and his companions to a table in the far right corner and then scurried back to the hearth so that she could fulfill her promise to feed and water their parched bodies. The men looked at the Macduff to see whether they should admonish the chit for her impertinence, or let it go. But the Macduff just chuckled and shook his head in laughter, and the men relaxed some. In no more than five minutes, the wench was back at the table, laying honeyed ale and roast lamb in front of the men, chattering all the while. "Now, I says tae meself, 'Self, what be these 'ere fine Scotsmen doin' 'ere in yer inn? Why they be wanderin' about in such fowl weather?' Well, I s'ppose I mightn't get an answer frae ye, bu' it doesnae 'urt tae ask. So tell li'l ole Millie 'ere. Wha' ye fine scotsmen," The young lass places her eyes on one of the youngest men in the and winks, "Aye, nice fine scotsmen, I be wonderin' wha' ye be doin' 'ere?" Obviously expecting an answer, she stood there, hands on her hips, looking around the table, obivously searching for the leader. The Macduff took a swallow of his ale and spoke up softly, bringing her head and eyes swinging to his weatherbeaten face.

"My young lady, we are here on a matter of importance from Malcolm, King of the Scots. He has been searching for his brother Donalbain for these here five and ten years. Ever since the murderous Macbeth ruled over Scotland."

"Macbeth? Why, I've 'eard tales o' 'im. Said that 'e done believed them three witches that done said 'e was gonna be king. Aye, tragic tale that. But dinnae believe tha' a man coudl be so much driven mad by 'is own greed. We've none o' that 'ereabouts, thank Rhiannon! Now tell me, sir. Is this tale ye spin the truth, be ye truly searching for a scotslad named Donalbain?"

"Aye, lass. 'Tis the truth, much as I am sad to admit it. I've been charged by Malcom, King of the Scots to come here to the lovely isle of Erin and search for his brother. Have ye seen him then, lassie?"

"Seen him? Oh aye, but o' course I 'ave! Why, 'e works right 'ere in this inn with me and all, M'Lord. A right nice lad 'e is, bu' 'e is determined tae remain wearing that tartan o' 'is as long as possible. A strange lad 'e, but gots 'imself a good 'eart. Luck'll be the lassie that wins 'im tae her heart! 'Hang on a moment, M'Lord, and I'll fetch 'im 'ere." The lass scurried to the back door and stuck her head out, bellowing for Donalbain to come to the room at once. The Macduff looked around the faces of his men, and the relief was clear there, relief that they wouldn't have to spend too long on Erin's shores. The young lass ran back in her face smiling, trailing a young man behind her. The lad's head wasbowed and he was obviously reluctant to beinginside the tavern. The Macduff appraised him silently for a few seconds. From what could be seen, the brownish-red hair was still the same, except for the length, it is now tied back in a black ribbon. As the Macduff looks over the figure, he notices with pride the tartan of Duncan still being worn proudly and well by his youngest son. "Donalbain," Macduff was the first to speak, rising and walking around the table to the boy, "Donalbain, your brother has sent us to collect you and bring you home."

Donalbain's head snapped to attention at hearing his name spoken by so familiar a voice. His silver eyes flashed with a brief feeling of confusion and sorrow as he gazed upon Macduff. But his fine countenance faded into relief as he and the Macduff embraced happily at being reunited. "What do you here, Cousin?" Donalbain inquired after he sat himself down at the table with the Macduff and his men.

"Your brother, Malcolm, has requested your return to Scotland as regent to his throne. And, as heir for when he dies." The shock on Donalbain's face was clear, even the young Irish lass noticed it. "Bu', M'lord, ye done mean tae be taken 'im back with ye? Bu', wha' will I be doin' fer a 'and around 'ere? It's nae easy running this place all by meself!" The lass stood with her hands on her hips, glaring at the Macduff as if he had stolen her very heart. But she turned her emerald gaze once again upon the youngest soldier and her face flushed with delight when he spoke. "M'Lord Macduff, and M'Lord Donalbain. Forgive me greatly for entreating upon ye in this way, but I have been here to these shores afore this date, and have often spent the evening in this very same inn. Millie here is a fine young lass, and she runs this place all by herself. Never before though, had I noticed Master Donalbain working, but now I know 'tis because he desired to remain unseen. Ne'ertheless, I request permission to stay here and help out Millie in this place and perhaps, if she'll have me, to wed her and make her mine." The request was granted and much excitement followed for the next weeks until the wedding was held, and the Macduff an company headed back home to Scotland.

*******

The road to Glamis was treacherous, filled with many rocks and divots dangerous to horse travel. The train of men was long, with the Macduff and Donalbain leading. One evening, a fierce storm arose and Donalbain's mount was startled. Chasing his stallion through the woods in a cold downpour, Donalbain stumbled upon a rock and tumbled down a crudely cut stairwell. Black was the only thing last seen by Donalbain.

"Sisters! Sisters! The regent stirs!! Arise! Arise and we shall greet him!" Donalbain awoke to the hideous voice cawing in his ear, he shook his head clear of the dense fog that still seems to envelop him. Glancing around, he notices that he is in an all stone room, lit by a brilliant fire. Upon the fire sits a cauldron, as black as the midnight sky over Inverness. Still shaken, he tries to stand, but falls back again, a wave of dizziness overtaking his mind. "Do not hurt thyself, my lord regent. 'Twould be unkind of you to impose any longer on us. We three sisters, we three uglies, have watched you linger close to death for nigh on two days now. Arise yourself, and look with us. Your future great regent is ours to tell!" Donalbain focused carefully on the area where the voice was coming from, it sounding like soft honey to his ears, as his eyes adjusted, he recoiled from the sight of the throat that carried the voice. She was old, haggard, her face showing many lines of the years. One of her eyes was missing, and her teeth were crooked and rotting from her mouth. "Appearances are not what they seem to be, Donalbain, future King!" Donalbain's head snapped to the right as the ugly voice echoed from the darkness. It was harsh an gutteral, the tones sounding almost unearthly, and his shock must have been registered on his face. For out from the shadows stepped the most beautiful young lady he had ever laid his eyes on. Her hair was the color of spun gold, her eyes a soft cerulean that touched his heart. Her figure was perfect, and her teeth...perfect. "Nay nay, they are not, for who would guess that the newly titled Thane of Glamis would be caught for staring at a young enchantress such as that!" The third voice was soft spoken, nearly as silent as a mouse's whisper. Focusing on the speaker of this quote, Donalbain recieved yet another shock. The woman stood well over six foot, her figure bulking and large, imposing even to him, a well known warrior.

"Thane of G.. Glamis you say?" He stammers out, collecting his thoughts and rising, so as to not feel so vulnerable. "How is that now possible? I have just now returned to these shores!">

"We know, we know. But Thane of Glamis ye are tae be, and King over all the land, says we. Your brother's body is weak and incapable of living much longer. But leave your presence now unknown, and the throne will never be seen by your hands." This came from the first of the three women, the honeyed voice, the haggard face. Donalbain shakes his head, unwilling to believe what they are telling him. "Gaze," the harsh voice began, "Gaze into our cauldron then, if ye do not believe! Ye will see what we say is the truth! All Hail Donalbain! Newly Throned King of the Scots!" With that last shout, the large woman threw a powder to the fire and the cauldron hissed. Donalbain approached it, feeling drawn as if by some invisible force. Unknown to him, the three women vanished, his eyes were only on the cauldrons bubbling surface. Peering deep into it's depths, Donalbain's eyes louded over, yet he could see more clearly than before. The vision revealed to him his brother's illness, and how he had wishes to crown his oldest son, a blond lad of about fifteen years, as King of Scotland. Flashes of what would become of Scotland should the boy reign as king came next. Screaming babies and wailing mothers, then, the visions were covered over in a thick coat of red. The room grew thick with the smell of drying blood and decaying bodies. Donalbain's senses returned to him and he ran from the cavern, the cackling of the witches following behind him.

*******

Donalbain returned to the Macduff's soldiers in time that he was able to make a story that he had just drifted off in search of his mount. Being that it was the truth, none saw fit to inquire of what had taken him two whole days. The trail to Glamis was not long in the going, giving Donalbain plenty of time to think over what he had heard, seen, and smelled at the witches hideaway. "Macduff! What know you of my brother's health? Is he well?" "Nay, Donalbain. He is not well at all. The doctor says that 'tis a problem with his heart, but your brother refuses to acknowledge the fact that he is dying. I myself, am worried for him, and have taken the liberty to begin instructing his eldest child, Fleance in the courtly ways of being King of Scotland. Why do you ask?" "I was merely curious as to what my reception might be upon my arriving, and whether my brother was well or not. Thank you kindly, dear Macduff." With that, Donalbain rode off to the side, pondering to himself all the while what he must do. "Kill my brother and the son, of course. The throne could go to him, he is of age, but... It could not go to any of his other children, they are all too young. Then, Glamis, and indeed all of Scotland would be mine!! Yes, that is how it is to be done. Now... poison, yes. I shall visit the old apothecary this evening. I must get this quickly done, or risk never seeing the gold of my father's crown upon my own head." Donalbain kept riding, not caring for the odd feeling that he was being watched. ******* "Sisters! We rejoice with our success! Yet another sport for our fun! Rejoice!" The three old witches were surrounding the black cauldron, their eyes following and listening to Donalbain and his thoughts. "Aye sisters! Never has such a sport come along since Old Macbeth! Rejoice in our fortune! Rejoice!" The young fair one was speaking to her sisters, her voice rasping against the walls of the cavern. Their hollow laughter rang through the forest, sending the animals running for shelter, and a shiver through Donalbain's back. ******* "My brother! You have returned home to Glamis at last!" Malcolm ran from his position on the wall to greet his brother. Embracing him firmly, Malcolm's pleasure and relief at his brother's return was evident. "You have been away too long, my brother. Much has happened in our kingdom. Some good, some bad, but all very interesting to tell. But come, I shall bore you with that later, when we dine. You must be tired from your journey. Come, the young lad will show you to your chambers." At this, a young blond boy came forward. He had a scar on his face, and his eyes spoke of unmistakeable misery, but his face wore a smiles that none could match. Donalbain immediately recognized him as the boy from his vision in the witche's chamber. "Ho there, Malcolm! What manner of child is this? I swear I recognize his face!" "Why brother, of course, forgive my sloppiness! This is Fleance, surely you remember the lad! He was Banquo's son. Much the pity though, his father killed, much in the same as ours." With this, both Malcolm and Donalbain's faces grew hard, their eyes ablaze with unspent fury, and Fleance bowed his head to hide his own anger. "Aye, the great lord Banquo, slain also at Macbeth's command! But young Fleance, his son, he escaped the men, and rode to England to join me. I have adopted him as my son, my oldest, and 'tis he who is my heir. But away with ye brother, go rest and change, for the feast will begin shortly!" Malcolm turned his back to his brother, leaving Donalbain and Fleance to see to the chambers. Donalbain watched Malcolm walk off, dressed in finest furs, the crown standing proudly on his head. Suddenly, a horde of children came running to Malcolm's side. "Papa! Papa! Who is the new man who has come! 'Tis he another Lord for us to meet?" This came from a young girl, no more the age than fifteen. She had dark brown hair like her father, but her eyes were of a steel grey. She, along with her younger brothers and sisters of whom Donalbain counted four, dragged Malcolm to where they had been playing. Turning away fromthe family scene, Donalbain put a hand around Fleance's shoulders and spoke with the young man as they walked. "Tell me, Fleance. 'Tis it true about your father, lad?" "Aye, sir." "I am truly sorry. I feel yuor loss, for I too have known the bit of losing a loved one." "Aye, sir." "Come now, lad. show me to my chambers so that I may remove these clothes and dress respectably for my brother's feast this evening!" "Aye, sir." And so the two of them walked, to the high room, once shared by the Lord and Lady Macbeth during their short stay in Glamis. "Fitting," Donalbain thought to himself as he dressed. "Fitting that I should be staying the room that once held my enemy of the heart. Fitting I dare say, that it now holds another to whom the crown shall go." Donalbain continued to dress, turning his thoughts to other matters. ******* "Aye, fitting it is, Donalbain! For 'tis in that room ye shall meet ye're end! Aye, the sons of Duncan together again, but for not long. Nay, Nay! To death with one, the other to flee! Banquo's get a king will be!" The cackling rang out over the forest yet again, as the witche watched the goings on in their cauldron, enjoying their game. "Aye, my sisters, rejoice in our sport! Another bath of blood for the ground at Glamis! The great Hecate will be pleased, the blood will flow afore the week is out! Rejoice, our powers to restore, great Hecate to return to our side! Rejoice! Rejoice!" The witches began to dance arodn the cauldron, their motions jerky, as if they were puppets being jerked on a string. So in their trance were they, that they did not see, did not notice a shadow retreating from the wall, they did not hear the footsteps running up the steps and out into the night. ******* The Macduff rode fast and furious into the night, far away from the witches cavern, scarcely slowing his horse until the fright left his body. Breathing hard from fear and exertion, Macduff rested his horse by a stream, and tried to calm his nerves. "The witches," he thought, "By God they mean to do the same now as they did with Macbeth! My God, may I get to Glamis in time to stop this atrocity! The witches cannot be allowed to destroy the peace of Scotland again! I will stop this! Imust stop this!" Macduff began riding hard again, determined to reach Glamis before somethins should happen. ******* The Macduff rode into the castle gates at Glamis just as the feast was beginning. He ran to the hall, covered with mud and rain from his ride. "M'Lord Malcolm! A conference with you and Lord Donalbain! My request is urgent and most necessary!" Macduff ran out of the hall and into an adjoining room so as to regain his breath. The brothers jumped from the table and, dragging Fleance with them, attended the heavy-breathing Macduff in the conference. "What troubles you Lord Macduff? Pray, tell us so that we might return to the guests and to the feast!" "M'Lord Malcolm, forgive me greatly for entreating this news to you! But treachery! Treason and pain shall be well wrought on this house if I had not come! I have been to visit the witches, M'Lord." Macduff stopped to catch his breath, and holds up his hand to stop Malcolm from interrupting. "Aye, the self same witches that provoked Macbeth to murder thy fathr in his sleep. M'Lord, I fear they have set it again. But this time, the worthy fool of their game was to be you! They have tried to turn your brother against you!" The Macduff stops, appearing out of breath and in danger of losing his temper. Donalbain's face was red with fury, his fists clenched at his side. "What mean you of this, Macduff! You accuse me of plotting against my own flesh! Shame to you, the treason is on your name, not mine! Your head should join the decayed one of Macbeth!" "Nay, my brother, I wish to hear him out! Sit and be still, we shall hear the tales the old sisters weave." Malcolm signaled for Macduff to continue his story, as the servants brought them all honeyed-ale. Macduff told the story of his almost visit to the witches, and what he had seen and heard. "And that M'Lords is the truth. May God himself strike me dead shoudl I be telling a lie." The company waited a few beats, and when Macduff did not perish before their eyes, there was a flurry of action. Many servants returned to the great hall to serve the waiting guests. Donalbain groped about for a chair and bowed his head in his hands, and his body began to shake. "'Tis true, 'tis all so true. I had planned to do much as Macbeth had done. My brother forgive me, but the visions shown me by the sisters were real, oh so real. They showed you, my dearest brother, ill and dying, and the showed young Fleance here, they showed him as taking the throne, and then our people were trod under. Such horrors. Oh the smell, the sounds. I cannot bear it any longer! Lord end my misery, for I am no better than the traitor Macbeth!" With this outburst of emotion, Donalbain through himself up from his stool and grabbed Fleance's dagger from his waist, and stabbed himself in the stoamch and chest, screaming all the while. The blood poured freely from the wound,s gushing blood upon the stone floor of the room. Donalbain's body sunk to the floor, his life blood flowing out of him and staining the stones. "Donalbain!" A choked cry came forth from Malcolm's throat and caught as he ran to his dying brother's side. "Foolish younger brother, you did not have to die. Nay, nay. Save your breath, we shall save ye. My brother! My brother!" Malcolm held Donalbain's head in his lap, and sobbed over his form, his distress over losing his kin enormous. Donalbain choked out one final "Forgive me" and his body slackened. "The witches have had their fun again, M'Lord Malcolm. Now 'tis time for fun of our own. We shall drive them off, make them leave the shores of our island." The voice of the Macduff was full of grief and sorrow, his clothing stained with the blood of Donalbain. Fleance was cowering in a corner, clutching to his cloak around his body, not saying a word. Servants came forth and gathered up the limp body of Donalbain and carried him out of the room. Gasps and crys were heard from the gathered guests, and the sound of several ladies falling to the floor was heard. "Malcolm, me wee little bairn! Thy brother and father dead! Thy wife leaving ye with five children tae feed! Me poor little bairn, my little wee one!" Old Hergus, Malcolm and Donalbain's nurse from when they were young scurried into the room, and clutched Malcolm to her massive chest, trying to sooth his tears. "'Tis alright, auld Nana. 'Tis alright. We shall care for him. You go see to the dreadful task of tucking your other bairn in for one final night." At Macduff's gentle command the woman rose and went weeping from the room. The Macduff signaled Fleance forward. "Ye will be in the lead of the attack on the witches, brave young lad. They have taken much from you, and you shall now give it to them in return." "Aye, sir." "And you, Malcolm, me boy. Ye are to stay here and get yourself well. You are in no condition to be fighting the witches." "Nay, cousin Macduff. I shall go and fight. I shall be in the forefront besides Fleance. The old hags have stolen from me my every point of life. As they have yours and Fleance's. Their sport will soon become our own, and they shall pay heavily for their deeds. Come, we will prepare." Malcolm stood, his leggings covered in his brother's blood, his face full of anger and sorrow. Macduff and Fleance followed him out of the room, determination set on one, fear on the other. "Meriwynn! My armor! Immediately!" A timid young girl ran out from the shadows to gather Malcolm's armor for him and seven young men ran forward to help dress him and the others. "We ride immediately for the witches!" Gasps and wails were heard about the castle as the intent of the warriors was made clear. At long last, the armor was secured, and the soldiers were placedupon their mounts and off they rode into the night, with shouts and cheers following them all the while. ******* Copyright 1999