Page 73 of The Last Kelpie

That made sense. Frustrating sense. “So that's why books online don't match those here. I assumed it was because the ones online were republished.”

“No, I suspect even original publications will bear those changes outside these walls.” She shook her head. “It angers me to no end that someone could alter published works. Thank goodness the Great Archive is protected.”

“Yes, indeed,” I murmured, staring at the spiral.

“Wait here.” Agnes stalked off.

Several minutes later, she returned carrying a large book. It was a modern book with a glossy jacket. The image on the front was of stone ruins. Unlike other ruins I'd seen, this one looked sunken, the stone walls set down into the earth. I was no archaeologist, but to me, they looked like the remains of a basement. Agnes set the book on the table to my right. The title read: Skara Brae, Scotland's Pompeii.

“This is an archaeological survey of Skara Brae.” She opened the book and flipped through the pages. “It's in Orkney. If I'm remembering correctly, there is a symbol on one of these—ah, yes. Here it is.” She turned the book toward me.

A photograph took up most of the page. It showed a weathered gray stone with a single carving on it—a spiral with the tail end separated. My heart started pounding.

“That's it!” I looked from the image to my notebook.

“The excavation notes estimate Skara Brae was built around 3100 BC.” Agnes tapped the photograph. “That symbol isn't just ancient. It's prehistoric.”

I gaped at her. 3100 BC was over five thousand years ago. “The person changing kelpie myths couldn't have invented the mark unless they were immortal. We considered the possibility that they were a myth. Do you know of any myths that have survived that long?”

Agnes cocked her head and frowned. “We're talking about prehistoric times. By definition, that means it's before recorded history. So, if anything, they would have been passed down orally. Since we know of none, I think it's safe to say that if there were any, they have long since faded. But you could ask Caelum.”

I stared at the photograph. The implications were staggering. If the symbol was that old, then whoever was rewriting myths now hadn't created it. They'd either inherited the symbol or adopted it. Or they were an immortal that no one knew about. If myths were real, anything was possible.

I laid a hand on the book. “May I borrow this?”

“You may not remove it from the Archive. Especially now that we know books have been altered, I want to keep everything within these walls.” Agnes lifted her chin. “But you may photograph it.”

I pulled out my phone and took several pictures of the page, making sure to capture both the photograph and the excavation notes. My hands shook, so I clenched them into fists. “Thank you. This is exactly what I needed.”

Agnes studied me for a moment, her pale blue eyes sharp. “Be careful, Mr. Clarke. Symbols that old have power. Whoever's working against us, they have harnessed that power.”

She left me alone with the book. I sat there for a few minutes, staring at the photograph of the carved stone. Someone five thousand years ago had made this mark. They had understood its meaning, maybe even assigned its meaning. And now, millennia later, someone was using it again.

I needed to go to Skara Brae. Áedán and I needed to see this place for ourselves, to understand what we were dealing with. But first, I needed to talk to Caelum. I closed the book and went to find him, leaving the book at Agnes's desk on my way out.

Caelum was in the garden, sitting in the grass, eyes closed and face lifted to the sun. Áedán was nowhere in sight. Caelum opened his eyes as I approached and smiled as if he'd been expecting me.

“Ethan.” He got to his feet, revealing the flowers that had grown around him. “Did you find anything helpful?”

“I think so.” I showed him the photograph on my phone. “Agnes found this in a survey of Skara Brae. The site dates to 3100 BC. It's the same symbol in the folklorist's manuscript and the water.”

Caelum studied the image. His expression didn't change, but something shifted in his eyes. “It's older than me. Older than most of the myths we protect. How fascinating.”

“So, there aren't any myths from prehistoric times?”

“None that survived.”

“The changes to the kelpie stories started in 1940 and settled in 1982, so I assumed it was a myth behind it, but now I'm wondering if it's another type of immortal.”

“This is not the work of a myth. There is no myth alive who would alter another myth, if for no reason than they'd fear it happening to them.” Caelum handed my phone back. “As for other immortals, there are none.”

“Are you sure? The changes started over eighty years ago. Even if the person were young when they began, they'd still have to be at least a hundred. Possible, I guess, but not likely.”

“They could be carrying on the work of a companion, as I am.” He leaned closer. “Or, they could be simply revising old books. If they have the magic to alter a book, why would they be limited to modern ones?”

“Yes, I see your point. What stopped me from assuming that was the folklorist. He had changes made to his manuscript when he published it.”

Caelum cocked his head. “And why would that mean they couldn't have been made recently?”