Island of Shadows

by Peter Tremayne

  Flann shook his head.

  ‘Nor will I. The man, Droch, questioned me and promised the ruler, whom he calls the “High One”, will question me later. Remember that people we met confused you with someone called Aife? She is the High One.’

  ‘But you have not told him your purpose in Lethra?’

  Flann was puzzled.

  ‘My purpose? My purpose is to aid you in your quest.’

  The girl nodded hurriedly.

  ‘That is what I mean. Of course.’

  ‘Scáthach … ’

  Flann hesitated. There was something wrong, something strange about the girl’s behaviour, something odd and he could not put his finger on it.

  ‘Yes, my love?’ she smiled again at him with an alluring gesture which rang false.

  He moved towards the girl. She came to him willingly enough, reaching up and stretching her arms around his neck, her mouth eagerly searching his.

  When he drew back, breathless and surprised at her forward behaviour, for the girl had always been reserved, he could not resist the strange, worrying notion that something was not right. And it was then he realised what it was. He was an absolute fool! How slow his mind must be working. No wonder Scáthach was confused by people with Aife, the High One!

  He thrust the girl from him almost roughly.

  ‘What magic is this?’ he breathed.

  She placed his finger between her red lips, nibbling it gently and coquettishly.

  ‘It is no magic, my love. Come, do not treat me so.’

  Flann gazed at her realising just how different her manner was from Scáthach’s. It was something about the way she carried herself. The girl seemed voluptuous, and even physically there was a difference for her figure was a little fuller, her lips pouted in a lascivious smile, there was, somehow, a gross seductiveness about her. The clear bold eyes of Scáthach were now sultry and speculative.

  He swallowed hard.

  ‘You are not Scáthach of Uibh Rathach!’ he cried.

  The girl raised her head and laughed.

  ‘If I am not, who am I who looks so much like her?’

  ‘I am not sure, but you are not her!’

  For a moment the girl’s eyes blazed in fury and he saw her fighting to control herself. It took a moment to win the battle. She made an attempt at an alluring smile. It seemed only a mask now.

  ‘How can you be so cruel to me, Flann? Do you not love me?’

  She pouted at him.

  ‘I love Scáthach of Uibh Rathach!’ he said fiercely, realising, as he spoke, that it was the first time he had admitted the feeling even to himself.

  ‘And I am not Scáthach?’

  ‘You are Aife, the High One of Lethra. How you are able to look like Scáthach, I do not know. How you obtained her image is beyond my comprehension but this I know … you are not Scáthach.’

  The girl frowned a moment and then shrugged with indifference.

  ‘You are perceptive, Flann Mac Fraech.’ Her voice had hardened abruptly. There was merely a trace of Scáthach’s voice in it, but only a trace. This was a much harder, more calculated tone. ‘But little good your perception will do you now. Droch!’

  At once the elderly man in the saffron robes appeared and bowed obsequiously before her.

  ‘How can I serve you, most High One?’ he genuflected.

  Flann compressed his lips in amazement.

  So this was, indeed, the ruler of Lethra! Yet she was the double of Scáthach! How could this be?

  The girl who looked so much like Scáthach gave an impatient wave at the man to rise.

  ‘I have learnt the purpose of these strangers. We must prepare to travel to the fortress of my brother. The day which was foretold has come at last. We must prepare immediately.’

  Droch looked concerned.

  ‘But with this warrior caught, there is only the girl and the old druid,’ he protested. ‘Surely we will not fly from them? Let me send out men to capture them. Why, we can put a thousand warriors into the field against them. It is unlike you to fly from danger.’

  The High One stamped her foot in anger.

  ‘Fool! The girl is Scáthach of Uibh Rathach and you know well what was prophesied. We must seek aid from my brother. He knows what may be done.’

  ‘Yet not only have we captured her companion, this young warrior, but we have taken her shield and spear, the ones that you say have magic properties.’

  Aife gave a bark of laughter.

  ‘Shields and spears are nought compared with the prophecy. Enough talk, Droch. Make arrangements for your journey to the Island of Shadows.’

  Droch bowed his head.

  ‘And what of this warrior? Shall I have him slain?’

  Flann tensed himself. If he were to die he would take Droch with him. But the girl sighed impatiently.

  ‘Have him brought along,’ the High One said, a sneer in her voice. ‘He may yet be helpful as a pawn to bargain with if all else fails. Come, we have not a moment to lose.’

  Droch stood aside as she swept out and then signalled two warriors to enter.

  ‘It is your lucky day, warrior,’ he smiled at Flann. ‘Bind him and bring him to the ship,’ he ordered, before following the High One.

  Flann tried to struggle but the warriors, with deft hands as ones used to performing the task, swiftly had him trussed and one of them produced a blindfold, shutting out his vision. Still attempting to struggle he was dragged across the room. A voice whispered sibilantly in his ear.

  ‘You can go conscious, warrior, or unconscious. It matters not to me.’

  Flann stopped struggling. Better to remain conscious and try to find a means of escape than not.

  He heard Droch’s voice ordering: ‘Take him to the ship. We will catch the morning tide.’

  He frowned.

  Why were these people so afraid of Scáthach? Where were they taking him? How could the High One assume the exact likeness of Scáthach? What was the nonsense about a prophecy? How could he let Scáthach know what had befallen him? His mind was tumbling with questions but no answers came readily to ease his cascading thoughts. He had to resign himself to being dragged along towards whatever fate awaited him.

  Scáthach came to her senses being roughly shaken awake by Ruacán. She had a terrible headache and felt her mind was clouded in a mist.

  ‘Wake up, daughter of Eola,’ cried the old druid.

  She shook her head and rose on one elbow, peering around unsteadily.

  It was light and, by the height of the sun in the sky, fairly late in the morning. She had never slept so late before.

  ‘What is the matter, Ruacán?’ she yawned.

  ‘Our camp was attacked during the night,’ the druid replied.

  Scáthach was wide awake now, sitting up and looking round.

  ‘Why didn’t I wake? What do you mean?’

  Ruacán’s face was troubled.

  ‘I awoke to find some strange warriors in the camp. One of them was bending over you, sprinkling some powder on your face. I rose to cry out but was hit on the head. I only came too a moment or so ago. I had been dragged behind some bushes away from the camp.’

  ‘Are you all right?’ asked the girl.

  The druid smiled.

  ‘I have an old skull but a thick one. But you were drugged. Let me mix you a potion to rid your head of the ache.’

  Scáthach was searching the encampment with her eyes.

  ‘And Flann? What of him?’

  The girl rose suddenly realising that the young warrior was not in the camp. She was angry with herself for thinking of the young warrior last. But as she rose, the pain in her head was so great that she would have fallen had not the old druid caught her and forced her to sit down again. While he prepared a potion, mixing some herbs with hot water from the pot on the fire, he spoke.

  ‘I think he must have tried to stop the warriors and they took him away as a prisoner. I found signs of a struggle a little way away. Also, your shield and th
e spear, the gae-Bolga, are missing.’

  Scáthach peered round, checking the truth of the druid’s statement.

  ‘Who could have done this thing?’ she demanded. Ruacán pursed his lips.

  ‘In Lethra you have enemies, Scáthach of Uibh Rathach. That is why you have come to this place, to seek them out and the meaning of your birth.’

  ‘That is true,’ agreed the girl. ‘But if the enemies be mine, why would they be content to steal some of my weapons, a spear and shield, and leave me unharmed. And why take Flann captive?’

  ‘That is a mystery for you to solve, my child.’

  ‘Are there tracks that we can follow?’

  ‘Your eyes are sharper than mine.’

  She drank of the druid’s mixture and rested awhile at his orders before feeling fit enough to move. As soon as that was possible the girl went to the spot which the druid had indicated. The old man was right. There were signs of a struggle. Her trained eye saw how the grasses were bent, the trees disturbed. Nearby she saw that three horses had been tethered, obviously while the three thieves had left them to sneak up on the encampment.

  She observed that tracks coming to the spot had left even depressions in the ground but returning in the direction they had come she noticed that the hoof marks of one animal were much deeper as if it carried a heavier burden.

  ‘Two men rode this beast,’ she observed to the druid who stood watching her.

  ‘Your eyes are as clear as your mind, my child,’ he nodded with approval. ‘Flann’s horse is left behind, so it is clear they took him prisoner and mounted him on one of their horses.’

  ‘The tracks are clear and will be easy to follow,’ she said. ‘That is something to be thankful for.’

  ‘Indeed.’

  ‘Let us follow then,’ Scáthach said, turning back to the camp with the intention of fetching the horses.

  ‘Wait!’

  ‘For what reason?’ demanded the impatient girl, turning back to the old man with a quizzical stare.

  The druid held up a hand, palm outwards.

  ‘Patience, child. Firstly, and most importantly, you should know, as a warrior, that it is not wise to set off on a pursuit without food in your stomach. Then, secondly, you have a choice to make, daughter of Eola.’

  ‘The first reason is easily dealt with,’ Scáthach said. ‘And you are right to rebuke me about it. We shall break our fast and then follow the tracks.’

  ‘But the second matter of choice?’ persisted the druid.

  ‘I know of no other choice to make,’ replied the girl, frowning.

  ‘Then let me make it plain. The loss of a shield and a spear are but little things in the scheme of life. But what catches in your heart is the abduction of Flann Mac Fraech.’

  The girl coloured and was about to deny it but she realised that Ruacán was right. She was worried about the safety of Flann. She bit her lip and waited for the druid to continue.

  ‘I see you do not deny it,’ smiled the old man. ‘Well, you can follow Flann in an attempt to rescue him or you can continue your journey to seek the truth of your birth and the reason for Eola’s assassination. You have a choice of two paths.’

  Scáthach stood and stared for a long while into the bright eyes of the druid.

  ‘There is no choice in that, Ruacán,’ she said. ‘My quest can wait awhile. I must go in search of Flann.’

  The druid smiled gently.

  ‘Then so be it. You have chosen your order of precedence wisely, my child. In the end the two choices are but one and the two paths of choice will be synonymous.’ They returned slowly to the encampment. There was a quiet between them for a while and then the girl asked: ‘Ruacán, do you know more than you will say? I sometimes have the feeling that you know the future.’ The old man sadly shook his head.

  ‘I can only advise as things appear to me and perhaps you may accept my advice. It is not for me to predict events or divine your fate. You are in control of your destiny, my child. At times there come choices and sometimes one needs wise counsel. But even wise counsel cannot determine what path you will tread, only advise you.’

  Scáthach bent: to buckle on her weapons and then turned to stirring the fire to prepare breakfast.

  ‘Sometimes I have the feeling, Ruacán,’ she half repeated as she worked, ‘that what you know is greater than the sum of our existence. That you truly know what is to be. Do you have the ability to divine auguries or read the signs of predestination?’

  Ruacán chuckled softly, is anything predestined?’

  ‘I believe so.’

  ‘Not so. Nothing is predestined if we do not wish it so. For those who predict the future have as much power to shape it as those who merely ride on the tide of events.’ The girl smiled in puzzlement.

  ‘I thought the druids believed that all things were predestined?’

  ‘Will you denigrate the free will of humankind?’

  ‘No. But isn’t it taught that our lives are already charted at our birth?’

  ‘Indeed, there are many things which can ordain the path we follow: whether we are born weak or strong, whether we are born to those parents or these, whether we are fair or dark, whether we are knowledgeable or lack the ability to understand. Many such things chart our path in life. But when all is said and done there is, in all of us, an inner force which must make us finally responsible for our fate. We are given choices; in the final analysis, my child, we cannot rely on any influence except our own.’

  ‘I thought I was following my own destiny?’ observed the girl dryly.

  ‘You are shaping it,’ replied the druid. ‘There is the difference, daughter of Eola. Never sit back and say whatever happens is destiny. That is the excuse of failure and the authority of a tyrant.’

  The girl shook her head and sighed.

  ‘Then let us eat, Ruacán, and then set out in search of Flann for, if I am in control of the future, I will succeed in finding those who abducted him and punish them.’

  Ruacán chuckled.

  ‘Well spoken, daughter of Eola. If you are not afraid of the future then you will be confident of the present.’

  Chapter Thirteen

  They stood on the shoulder of a hill gazing out across a low fertile green plain through which a broad river ran, a river so wide and majestic that it could only be crossed by boat. Several sea-going ships were anchored along its banks and they could see that to the west the river spread outwards into a great estuary emptying into the sea. But it was the city which held Scáthach’s gaze for she had never before seen such a great metropolis. The city stood on the river bank and was unwalled. Yet its buildings towered into the sky and were built of white marble on which the bright sunlight danced and reflected, dazzling them from time to time.

  ‘What place is this?’ whispered the girl.

  ‘This is the principal city of Lethra,’ replied Ruacán.

  ‘What gods built this place?’

  The old druid smiled.

  ‘Not gods but men. Gods have the world for their temples, only men feel the necessity to build such constructions to flatter their vanity.’

  ‘But you must admit that it is beautiful,’ whispered Scáthach.

  ‘There is more beauty in a forest, or in a lake at the foot of the mountain,’ said the druid. ‘I find little beauty in man’s constructions.’

  Scáthach shrugged and looked towards the city with its gleaming buildings.

  ‘Those who abducted Flann must have gone to the city,’ she reflected. They had been following the tracks for half a day; tracks that were easy enough to follow. ‘We will go down and try to find out where they have taken him.’

  Ruacán sighed.

  ‘You may meet enemies in the city, Scáthach,’ he warned.

  The girl put on her helmet, An Cruadin, and eased her fearsome sword, An Chraobh Ghlasach, the cold champion, in its scabbard. Then she took her javelin and shield and smiled at the druid.

  ‘I am Scáthach of Uibh Rathac
h,’ she said firmly. ‘Let the people of Lethra try my anger.’

  The old druid pursed his thin lips.

  The girl was confident now; fully confident in her ability. But perhaps she was too confident. Well, she must learn.

  She turned her horse down the pathway which led onto the plain towards the outskirts of the city and the old druid followed leading Flann’s abandoned horse behind. Scáthach observed that while the plain was green and fertile, and in many places was cultivated, there seemed little sign of life. It was a sunny day and the crops seemed ready for the harvesting yet there were no workers going to the fields.

  Along the road there were a few warriors who stared curiously at her and her fierce visage but made no move to challenge her or the old man.

  At the gates of the city, where the road led between two great buildings which served as portals to the unwalled place, two warriors stood nodding drowsily on their spears, shields slung on their backs, and they barely acknowledged Scáthach as she passed through.

  ‘This is a city that does not fear strangers,’ the girl said to the druid.

  ‘A city which does not fear enemies,’ corrected the old man.

  Scáthach saw the point.

  ‘Where shall we begin our search?’

  Ruacán grinned.

  ‘Where else but at the door of the ruler of the city.’ Scáthach hailed one of a group of warriors who was strolling by.

  ‘Where is the dun of the chieftain of this place?’ she demanded.

  The man stared at her in fearful bewilderment, his wide eyes upon the ghastly image of her helmet.

  ‘Who rules this city?’ pressed the girl.

  ‘Why,’ the man’s face suddenly broke into a nervous smile of understanding, ‘Why we are ruled by the High One, Aife.’

  Scáthach raised an eyebrow disdainfully.

  ‘High One, indeed?’ she muttered. ‘And where does this Aife dwell?’

  The warrior pointed along the roadway through the buildings.

  ‘If you follow along the road here you will come to a large circular green. Beyond that is the Palace of Bleeding Stone and it is in that the High One dwells.’

  Scáthach was about to turn away when a thought prompted her to ask: ‘Have you heard tell of a prisoner brought to the city this morning?’