Forged in Dreams and Magick (Highland Legends #1)(3)
*
“Isobel, this is amazing.” Darren skimmed his hands over the box with gloved fingers.
His eyes grew wide, making me wonder if I’d been wrong about his nonexistent archaeological knowledge. I stood at the table’s edge, watching his expressions instead of the top of his bleach-tipped head, as he conducted his examination from a metal stool. Impatient, I put my hands on my hips, calming my voice, hoping to sound dumb and only mildly interested.
“How much can you tell me about it without taking samples?” I asked.
“Well, by the looks of it, the intricately laced layers along the edges are gold, silver, platinum . . .” He leaned over, grabbing a small, silver pointing device from the table. “These carved disks on the corners here beneath the latticework seem to be copper. Bronze, lead, brass, steel . . . I’m struggling to find a metal not represented here. This is a metallurgist’s wet dream.”
I’d already cleaned the box with dry brushes and a detailed gentle-solution bath designed to preserve the integrity of metal pieces. As I listened to his analysis, I received the confirmation I’d been seeking. My novice eye suspected the number of materials and their intertwining detail on the one piece stood unprecedented. The different heats and expertise required to craft each metal made the work amazing to behold, irrespective of the elaborate designs and weaving.
“What about the material fashioning the sides?” I asked as he turned the item around and around, visually noting every one of its many facets like I’d done so many times before him. The one almost-breadbox-sized item held so much beautiful detail, it took several days worth of viewings to take in; I still noticed new things daily, like a small etching or a concealed motif.
Darren tapped his chin with the pointer, clearly as intrigued as I by the unknown material of the sides. It had sheen but didn’t reflect. It had a bluish-silver hue and the slightest sparkle. He opened a side-cart drawer, withdrew a magnet, and held it against one side of the box. When he released his hold, it fell into his hand. He repeated the process on every side, verifying what I already knew: it had no magnetic properties. Without a word, he stood and left the room.
I whispered to our subject, “Guess you stumped him, too.”
He returned with a Geiger counter. Radioactive? He floated the device over the box. The handheld meter crackled. He rubbed his goatee-covered chin, furrowing his brow.
“What?” I wondered aloud.
“I thought it might’ve come from space because the color and density resembles unique meteorite samples I’ve tested.” He tapped a side. “The low reading discounts that theory.”
“Doesn’t radioactivity of an element decrease over time?” I conjectured.
“Sure,” he replied, “but not to this level. This would have to be thousands of years old. Plus, the quantity of ore needed to constitute the density of the sides and the craftsmanship required to fashion all of this together into one piece . . .” He trailed off, lost in his confusion.
While he grappled with his new mystery, my excitement skyrocketed. He’d told me all I needed to know. No other artifact like it existed on Earth, because it held properties not of this Earth. Its age exceeded our historical record of metalworking craft, and the peat and dust samples I’d analyzed pointed to one undeniable conclusion: never-before-imagined skill and materials created the object I’d found.
“Great, thanks Darren. I appreciate your having a look so late.” I carefully pulled the cloth around the box and lifted it out of his reach. He stared at the new void on his metal work table. I almost laughed. I knew the sleepless night he’d have obsessing for answers to questions now plaguing him. I’d had those same restless nights all week.
*
The special lights bathing the artifact before me, however, captured minute nuances, bringing the inanimate to brilliant life.
“You and I have been through a lot, haven’t we?” I said to my dazzling new friend. I laughed, dancing precariously close to the edge of becoming one of those crazy professors who is socially inept with people but perfectly suited for lifelong companionship with the objects of their insatiable desire.
In the private enclave of MacLaren’s office while I cast my gaze upon the gleaming box, the Universe revolved around me as the rare object took center stage surrounded by a collection of its archaeological descendants. I grew lightheaded and realized I’d been holding my breath. I inhaled deeply as the exhilaration of the moment gently released its hold.
My iPhone chimed its factory-installed text tone, pulling me out of my awestruck daze. I glanced at the screen. Iain Brodie. My friend. Also a modern-day Highlander and global movie star. I quickly read the message that populated the display beneath his name. Oh shit! I’d invited Iain to meet me at MacLaren’s office; the entire purpose of my quest today hinged on his reaction to my find, and his text alert said he’d be here in a few minutes.
I went to the antique gilded mirror hanging on the far wall. Vanity may never have played a role in my life before, but Iain’s opinion of me had grown more important with time. My image came into view on the silver-backed glass. I tucked an unruly lock of my wavy, pale blond hair behind my left ear. The reflection staring back had never been knockout gorgeous, but I’d been called pretty often enough to believe the words. A small nose, heart-shaped face, and cute dimples when I smiled likely prompted the compliments I’d received. My simple, forest-green mohair sweater matched my eyes in the room’s light. I straightened the pleat in the ankle-length, wraparound plaid skirt that skimmed the tops of my favorite calfskin boots.