Life, Death, Spectra, Rebirth
He came under a ruse of being the first born son of the Frasiers in order to help the Ferret to see to their destruction. They failed and in the process Broch was killed. Broch had almost escaped if it wasn't for his lusting of women and in this instance, Sarina. Heaven nor Hell opened up for him for his past held good in it too. His judgment held in the balance between the two and so was given a second chance for redemption. If he could manage redeeming himself.
He was destined to go back and help the Frasier family out, being they were the last he had tried to do wrong. No guidelines given, nor any hints on how to achieve this. So Broch plagued the family by being their personal ghost, especially Danny. Long months followed as he learned how to cope on the Earthbound ethereal plane. Thoughts, will power, were the basic ingredients that once mastered he was even able to manifest.
Redemption was finally achieved when he successfully prevented the
deceased Witch Octavia from possessing the child Ellyn. There was a
final battle held in the little girl's room with Sarina and Danny
witnesses. It was the bracelet of the Frasiers that once more would tip
the scales. Both disappeared that night to different destinations and the Frasiers finally
to find some
PHASE TWO - THE REAL HIERARCHY
The room faded from sight as he was once more floating in an endless sea of white mist. White this time instead of gray. He was once again suspended where time held no hold and the impressions of voices were once more imprinted. Broch understood far more this time as he awaited his destiny. He had made good his redemption to have earned a bit of heaven. He would count his blessings with just a little corner of it. He waited. It gradually dawned on him it was odd to be waiting. In an existence that was not bound by time and distance he should not be here in this white mist.
Barely had that thought prevailed when that suction once more had mist the swirl in passing him as one great speeding storm without wind, hail or rain to where he landed on his back flat out. There was no breath to be knocked from him but still held the same effect of time pausing before one regained their bearings. Another moment he was standing, looking out over a valley and a great lake below that ribbon the lands. At first he thought he was back in Heathfield for the scenery was so much the same. He was not. He was in the highlands of Kerry, Eire. Unsure of even where the knowledge came from but some past, long ago memory had him certain of the view.
For a moment there Broch wondered if he had not redeemed himself after all and was condemned to some sort of a mental hell of torture where things would make no sense in playing with one's psyche. The man seemed as confused as he was as hunter green eyes held their likeness captive. "If I didn't hurt like hell I would believe I was looking at my dead self." Broch was fading in and out by this time for having manifested for a good length of time. The connection was breaking up before gone. The one resorted to his native tongue of Gaelic, one Broch didn't know but could tell he was still cursing up a storm. If the man was on a death's mission it seemed abandoned as he got up to make his way along the precarious cliff to wind his way back up to the top. Broch followed for a few reasons, the main one being that somehow his appearance here was tied up in his look alike.
Broch hung back watching the whole scene unfold before him as his
look-alike approached the clan village. It was a warring clan by
destination rather than design. Defensive. Rounded huts were scattered
over a few acres of land with more around the largest one of the leader.
The Laird. One could tell there were many years of rebuilding as war
scars showed not only over the structures but the people themselves.
Weapons laid ready propped against the thatch wooden structures from
which smoke curled through the openings at the tops. There was a bond
between them all and that too showed in the way the younger Broch was
greeted. It became obvious he was their Laird.
A few of the elders, consultants, gathered with the Laird in his hut to partake of their meal together. Broch hovered off to the side within keeping any awareness of his presence at bay. The younger Laird seemed to have written off his experience as some sort of sign he was not to commit suicide even if that was his earlier intention. Now he sat down with shared meat and mead to talk over the news the runners brought. It was not good news but none seemed surprised. There was a neighboring Dempsy faction that had been at war with the Cunninghams so long none could even remember the starting reason. It was the same clan that had taken the lives of the Laird's family a decade or so ago leaving Broch head even at a young age.
According to their spy, the
Dempsy clan once more was making ready to attack. They figured they had
about three days before they could mass for the strike. Rumor had it
they had finally gained the help of another clan to aid them in this new
war to start. It seemed that the Dempsy Laird had finally sacrificed his
daughter in marriage to this other, older, clan leader that had coveted
her for a number of years. That was part of the bargain, to aid them
against the Cunningham clan and wipe them out for good. The news did not
forebode well and talk of retreating, running, to the deeper highlands
was considered. None of them were cowards although they all knew that
this time they would be slaughtered and their name wiped out if they let
pride stand in their way.
The Laird turned into his furs to sleep on all that was discussed. About
to settled in he ended up bolting right back up as Broch now appeared.
Surprise once more registered. "I thought you were a figment of
my distraught imagination only there to prevent me from taking the
coward's way in some alter ego of mine. What are you doing here?"
Demanded with the authority of the Laird the man was. Broch stood, or so
appeared, just a few feet from the Cunningham Laird. If anyone had
walked in they would see their Leader facing a hazier mirror image of
himself. Broch indicated his furs. "Sit and we shall talk. I can
help you in this upcoming battle but first we shall share our life
stories that will bring to light this situation of you and me.
Agreed?" The Laird was at the point willing to listen to
anything that might help their plight and so settled to sit on his furs.
His reply in the action.
Broch eyed his counterpart in that ethereal way of his before beginning. "I was baptized Broch Ian. Son of Broch and Elizabeth Cunningham. Ian was after my uncle who was single when my parents and I took the trip to Scotland. There was a storm of a magnitude that sent the ship off course and crashing into
cliffs. I may have been the only one to survive the wreckage as I was washed up on Scotland's shores barely alive. I survived by learning the ways of the
rift raft there. There was nothing for me to go back to in Ireland, at least nothing I wanted to go back to at the time. I had a chip on my shoulder as big as the cliffs that took that ship." He paused long enough to watch the Laird's expression before continuing.
The Laird listened well, listened intently as it dawned very quickly who
exactly his namesake was. His cousin who was presumed dead along with
all the others of that ill fated voyage. "My father, Ivar was very
fond of you. He told me stories how you were like a son to him. He and
his brother were very close. He took your deaths hard. He had taken
himself a wife finally and named his firstborn after you and your
father. Me. Two more sons and a daughter would be born in that union.
Michael, Logan and Laura. They too are now lost for in a battle a number
of years ago they were amongst the slaughtered. The Dempsy faction no
less. Both sides suffered great loses that day as the field the battle
took place on was left red for all the blood spilled." He needed a
moment to compose himself as that day became vivid within his mind once
The photos used are in reference only on how the fictitious character of Broch Cunningham would look. The actor is Gerard Butler. Story is original and all rights copyright to this writer of Broch Cunningham.