Skara Brae, Orkney, just before 2,200 BC
Tulla is sitting with a group of her family and friends listening to Drosten telling a story about a fishing expedition that went wrong. She asks him a question.
‘What did you do then?’ asked Tulla, ears locked to his voice, and pushing against the people beside her as she rose to her knees in excitement.
‘Another large fish came close to the boat. It was attracted by the blood and started to attack the first fish, so Taran and I decided it was time to escape the danger. Dark clouds were gathering, the wind changed and a storm was heading towards us. It wasn’t particularly unusual, but on this occasion the combination of winds and great waves threatened to capsize us. We battled on and eventually made it back to shore, exhausted but elated.’
‘I want to see the scar on your arm,’ said Tulla. She rose and moved quickly towards Drosten not seeing a leg protruding on the floor. She tripped and fell headfirst into the fire. It was large because of the cold and windy weather, and she was immediately engulfed in the flames. She screamed in agony as people scrambled to get her out, but it was too late, and within a few seconds she lay motionless and silent.
The women began to wail in mortal agony.
The men were quiet.
The next day Tulla’s parents and their friends met solemnly to discuss where they would bury Tulla. Her mother, Brigid, could not stop crying, tears streaming down her face.
‘Tulla was a good and kind child and once said to me that she would like to be buried inside the sacred circle to protect her spirit,’ said Angus, Tulla’s father. ‘This is where our forefathers are buried and so it’s only right and proper. Their spirits will protect her.’
The sacred circle, its sixty standing stones jutting starkly out of the gentle Orcadian landscape, was in the centre of a massive natural cauldron formed by the surrounding countryside and bordered by hill, water and sky.
Preparations for the burial began; the women had prepared the body and the men were starting to dig a hole in the ground inside the sacred circle, near one of the main stones. Uvan, the priest of Wodden had heard about the accident and that the men planned to bury Tulla inside the circle, so he went to where the men were digging.
‘You’re not allowed to bury the girl there,’ Uvan said sternly, like a ghost with the eyes of a devil. ‘It’s against our customs. You all know that inside the circle is reserved for the burial of chiefs and priests.’ His voice was strong yet unconvincing as his eyes winced and shoulders twitched. He felt a chill as he suddenly realised what was just unleashed.