by John Lenahan
Araf nodded in agreement.
‘Could they have come from another island?’
‘Conor, today I am going to leave the shores of The Land in a boat. It will be the first time in my life.’
‘It will probably be your last – have you seen the boat?’
I got that look again. ‘What I mean to say is, I have no idea what is beyond the beaches of Tir na Nog.’
‘It is ready,’ Tuan said, trudging back to the fire. ‘And I am ready for one last meal and then we can go.’
‘One last meal?’ I said. ‘I don’t like the sound of that.’
‘No, no, not one last meal. One meal before we-’
‘Drown?’
‘Faerie,’ Turlow said, addressing me, ‘has anyone ever told you that your attempts at humour are often annoying?’
‘Yes, often.’
We ate in silence. Fish for breakfast isn’t my idea of a perfect last meal but I couldn’t see a waffle house anywhere nearby. The morning mist was clearing with a not too chilling offshore breeze. As we ate, a dark shape became visible out to sea – Red Eel Isle. It didn’t look too far but I’d had a little experience sailing. Once Dad and I went to the New Jersey shore with a school friend, Dad refused to step into a boat, but I loved it. I remembered that on the water things were usually further away than they looked.
We decided that the less weight we carried on the boat the better. Araf dug a hole in the sand and we wrapped what we weren’t going to bring in blankets and buried them in the dune. Tuan placed the athru that was hanging around his neck into his mouth and whispered to the horses.
‘What did you tell them?’ I asked.
‘I told them to wait here for as long as they could forage and if we don’t return then to make their way back to the Pinelnds.’
I gave Acorn a rough rub on the nose the way he likes and said, ‘You take good care of yourself, ya hear.’ I swear he glanced over my shoulder to the boat and then stared at me with eyes that said, ‘I’m not the one you should be worried about.’
Araf threw a disc into the fire and it went out fast, like somebody had just put a glass dome over it. Then he reached into the ash and charred wood and dug the fire coin out. I missed the heat of the fire instantly. I looked at the surf rolling onto the beach, the island far out at sea, I felt the cold salty breeze on my face and a shiver ran down my back. I whispered to myself, ‘Dad, you’d better appreciate this.’
I’m sure that everyone realised it was a bad idea as soon as we tried to get into the boat. This thing was made for a calm lake – it was not an ocean-going vessel. Tuan kept telling us to make sure we stepped on the big pieces of wood that made up the frame and to, under no circumstances, step on the skin or we’d put our feet through it. If that wasn’t unreassuring enough, the boat was as stable as a beach ball – Tuan tipped it trying to get in. We finally figured out that the only way to board the damn thing was in pairs, one on each side to balance out the weight. But when we did that the framework bent so badly that we were sure we were going to break it. Turlow and I were the last in and we had to wade into freezing-cold waist-deep water to get the thing off the sandy bottom. We were only seconds onboard when the first wave hit us. I wasn’t ready for it. I bounced around and hit the skin of the boat hard with my fist, but luckily I didn’t puncture it. The others grabbed oars and paddled. The ‘ship’ came with two oars and Araf this morning had fashioned another two out of driftwood.
We survived the next two breakers The surf hadn’t looked this rough from shore but now that we were on the water we were really getting tossed around. The fourth wave did us in. The bow raised like it had for the other waves but then it just kept going. It went straight up and tossed us out the stern. I had the tent on my back and when I hit the water it dragged me straight down. The water was so cold it only took a nanosecond to become numb all over – it was like a full body shot of novocaine. I untangled my backpack from my shoulders and then forced my way to the surface. I got my head above water just in time to get creamed by another wave that spun me underwater like I was in a washing machine. Then next time I reached the surface I spotted Brendan and Araf spluttering off to my left.
‘Are you OK?’ I shouted over to them.
Brendan shouted back, ‘I think so.’ Araf looked a bit panicky. I had never seen him panicky. I looked around – the boat was upright and seemed to be doing just fine sailing out to the island without us. I couldn’t see anybody else.
‘Where’s Turlow and Tuan?’ Just as I said that Turlow surfaced gasping for dear life.
‘I lost my saddlebag,’ he gulped. He dived down again only to pop up seconds later in even more of a panic. ‘I can’t see anything. I have to-’ A wave came and knocked him over – he resurfaced coughing. Turlow was not a natural swimmer.
Just then a sealion wearing the remains of Tuan’s shirt came up underneath Turlow and pushed him towards the shore. I started swimming and it wasn’t long before there was sand under my feet. I turned back and saw Brendan was using a lifeguard hold on Araf, dragging him to safety. I waded back in and helped them. Turlow and the now half-naked Tuan were in front of us. The five of us limped back and collapsed shivering on the edge of the surf.
‘You just can’t beat a day at the beach,’ I said while spitting out a mouthful of sand. ‘Is everybody all right?’
I didn’t hear their reply; what I did hear was a familiar voice shouting, ‘Yoo hoo, could you boys use a nice warm fire?’
I looked up. I almost didn’t recognise him with his clothes on. There, straight ahead, standing next to our campfire, which was now fully ablaze, was the strange red-headed man from the night before. I can’t honestly say I was happy to see him but that fire looked like the nicest thing I had ever seen in my life.
We all dragged ourselves off the sand. My frozen joints moved like door hinges that had been without grease for twenty years. We crouched by the fire trying desperately to get some circulation back into our extremities.
‘Thank you for rebuilding our fire,’ I said through clattering teeth.
‘I knew that you would need it if any of you survived drowning,’ he said. ‘I wasn’t expecting all of you to make it though – I guess I’ll have to give your stuff back.’ He walked over to the other side of the fire and came back with the blankets and extra clothes that we had buried in the dunes. All of us were too grateful at seeing a dry set of clothes to yell at him. We stripped, dried off and changed clothes while our thief/saviour brewed up some tea.
‘What is your name?’ Brendan asked.
‘Call me Red,’ Red said, shaking his hair madly with both hands. ‘That is what my friends called me… back when I had friends. Or maybe you should call me The Red Eel,’ he said, doing a snakelike dance.
That perked my interest. ‘You’re Red Eel?’
‘That is the name you gave this island, is it not? I never have heard it called that but since I am the only person that lives out there – I must be Red Eel.’
I should have known better than to get excited by anything that madman said.
‘Have you ever seen a red eel?’ Araf asked as Red handed him a cup of tea.
‘There are eels in the lake but I don’t like ’em. Slimy things they are. I cannot say if I ever saw a red one. Why?’
‘That’s a long story,’ I said.
‘Well then, why don’t you tell me on the way over to the island in my boat?’
‘Thanks,’ I said, ‘but no thanks.’
‘Hold on a minute, O’Neil,’ Brendan said, holding up his hand to me like a traffic cop. ‘You have a boat?’
‘It would be pretty strange of me to offer you a ride in my boat if I didn’t have one. Do you not think?’
‘Everything you do is strange,’ I said. ‘And one thing’s for certain, I’m not getting into a boat with you.’
Chapter Thirty-One
The Digs
I sat in the back of Red’s boat with my arms crossed and refused to speak to any
one all the way to the island. I had fostered a fantasy that I was the leader of this group but when everyone ignored me by waltzing into the strange man’s boat, I realised that my leadership qualities only applied to my horse and then probably not even to him. Left with the option of sitting by myself on a cold damp beach or getting a free ride in a sturdy seaworthy vessel, to a destination I had been labouring for weeks to get to, I decided to go but I wasn’t going to do it without getting into a really good pout.
The boat was big enough for us and maybe a couple more. There were two large oars set in iron oarlocks. Red ordered Araf and Tuan to man an oar each and the two of them stepped lively to their stations faster than they ever did anything for me. Obviously Red was now the captain. Well, they’ll be sorry, I thought, when he makes them row off the end of the world. The boat cut through the surf like we were sailing on a millpond. When we got out into deeper waters Red ordered the rowers to stop and climbed up to the edge of the bow. From the floor of the boat he picked up two metal rings that were attached to thick ropes. He clanged the rings together, they vibrated in his hands producing an eerie ringing sound, and then he threw them into the water.
‘Ooh that tickles,’ he said, flexing his fingers and then rubbing his hands together. Then he sat and smiled at us.
None of us spoke. When you are in the middle of the ocean with a leering madman at the helm, silence is definitely the best policy. You literally do not want to rock the boat. Saying that, I was in a bad mood and I’m not very good with uncomfortable silences. I was just about to demand to know what was going on when the ropes in the water went taut, the boat lurched and we started speeding towards the island like we were being pulled by a nuclear submarine.
‘How is this happening?’ I shouted to Red, but he was oblivious, facing out to sea with his arms spread like he was flying or re-enacting a scene from a movie about a doomed cruise liner.
Tughe Tine Isle loomed before us. It looked like your typical volcanic deserted island. There was a lot of vegetation but no trees. I assumed that the lake Red spoke about was up on the island’s plateau.
The ocean air felt warmer the further we got from the shore. About a half an hour out Red turned around and said, ‘Can you feel it?’
‘Feel what?’ Turlow said.
‘Can you feel yourself getting older?’
Turlow was on his feet. Araf grabbed onto the side as the boat shook. ‘Stop the boat,’ Turlow said.
‘Why would I do that? We are almost there.’
Turlow flicked his wrist and his Banshee blade flew into his hand with frightening speed. ‘Stop the boat now,’ he demanded.
‘Turlow,’ Brendan said, ‘what has gotten into you?’
‘He is trying to kill us. He is going to turn us into Grey Ones. He is going to take us out to sea and we will all grow old and die.’ Turlow took a step towards Red. ‘Turn us around.’
‘Banshees think that pointy things up their sleeves are the answer to everything,’ Red said in his light-hearted manner. Then he turned stone-cold serious. ‘Take one more step towards me with that sharp edge, Banshee, and you will go back – swimming.’
Turlow and Red stared at each other for a minute, then Turlow flicked his blade back up his sleeve and sat down.
‘Good,’ Red said, regaining his jovial tone. ‘My island will not kill you, Banshee, nor will it turn you grey. Have any of you been to the Real World?’
Brendan and I sheepishly raised our hands.
‘You will have to go further than my island to wither and die. The island will age you as fast as you aged in the Real World. Stay for eighty seasons and you will notice the difference.’ Red looked out to sea and then quickly turned back to us with concerned eyes. ‘You’re not going to stay for eighty seasons, are you?’
A wooden dock loomed up ahead as our magical underwater motor died. Red fished the rings out of the water and reordered Araf and Tuan back to rowing duty.
‘What was pulling us?’ I asked.
Araf gave me a sideways look like he does when I make a Tir na Nogian social faux pas. It’s apparently bad manners to ask how someone’s magic works. Red didn’t seem to mind but that didn’t mean he was going to give me a straight answer.
‘You were pulled by the past – into the future,’ he said.
We followed Red on a narrow path through head-high vegetation. The trail didn’t seem to be used much. Periodically it was so overgrown with gorse bushes that they caught and scratched at our clothing and faces.
‘Red,’ I called out from the back of the parade, ‘where is the eel lake?’
He ignored me or maybe he was just lost in his own little world – both were possible. I passed my question up the line to Brendan, who only succeeded in getting Red’s attention by tapping him on the shoulder. The message was relayed back to me like we were in a schoolyard playing a game of Chinese whispers.
Over his shoulder Araf said, ‘He says we cannot go there today.’
‘Why not?’ I asked – then shouted to Brendan, ‘Ask him why not.’
‘Why don’t you ask me yourself?’ Red shouted back.
I waited then hollered, ‘OK, why can’t we go there today?’
‘Because it is too late and you are almost at The Digs.’
‘The whats?’ I shouted and got no reply. Red had gone back into his hard-of-hearing mode.
The gorse thinned out and we came to a clearing. In the middle stood a wooden guest house not unlike the ones in the Pinelands.
‘Welcome to The Digs. You can stay here the night.’
As we got closer it became obvious that no one had stayed in this place for a long, long time. Vines grew across the porch and there was so much dirt on the windows that Brendan had to wipe the glass with his sleeve to look in. Red opened the door and invited us to enter before him. Inside the only good light was from the window that Brendan had just cleaned. On the floor we left footprints in the quarter inch of dust that reminded me of astronauts on the moon.
‘I see your housekeeper is on vacation,’ I said, but Red wasn’t behind me. I went outside and he wasn’t there either. I walked the entire perimeter of the clearing but there was no Red. I went back inside.
‘He’s gone.’
‘Who’s gone?’ Brendan asked.
‘Red’s gone, vanished into thin air.’
‘Don’t be silly,’ Brendan said and went outside with everyone else to look for him. They all came back wearing my confused countenance. ‘He’s gone.’
‘Gosh,’ I said, ‘is he?’
It was dark by the time we got the digs habitable. I just hoped that none of us had dust allergies ’cause if he did, he was going to keep all of us up all night. The stack of wood outside was mostly rotten but there was enough to get a decent fire going. Brendan found a dusty bottle of something. He uncorked it, had a sniff, thought better of it and put it back. The Digs may have been a bit neglected and forlorn but it was good to be inside with a roaring fire for a change.
We spoke into the night mostly about the strangeness of our host, but came to no conclusion except that our host was strange. After a light meal made from our dwindling rations Brendan decided to take a walk and I went with him.
‘Are you OK?’ I asked him as my breath fogged in the starlit night.
‘You sound like I shouldn’t be.’
‘Well, you did seem pretty mad at yourself yesterday when you wrongly accused Turlow.’
‘Oh that. I flew off the handle, for that I am mad at myself. But I’m not wrong about Turlow.’
‘I beg your pardon?’
‘It took a while but my cop radar tells me he is not to be trusted. I’m sure I was right about him, I just don’t have any proof.’
‘Your radar once thought I was a murderer.’
‘No, it told me that there was something wrong with you, Conor, and I sure wasn’t wrong there.’
‘So what should I do, tie up Turlow ’cause your bunion is throbbing?’
‘I?ll
figure it out, Conor, I always do. Just… don’t turn your back on him.’
That night when I put my head on what I laughingly called my pillow I thought about my chat with the local cop. Part of me wanted to distrust Turlow. If Brendan had dissed King Banshee earlier in our trip I would have joined in but as much as I hated to admit it, I was begrudgingly starting to like the guy. I know I shouldn’t put much stock in my nocturnal soothsaying but I had a feeling that if he really was betraying us, I would have dreamt about it. I put those thoughts aside and tried for the first time ever to direct my dreams. I closed my eyes and said to myself over and over again, ‘Where are the red eels? Where are the red eels?’ I fell asleep with that mantra in my head but it didn’t work. The stupid image of Red grinning at me annoyed me not only during the day but in dreamland as well.
The next morning I awoke to see that same grinning face sitting next to a roaring fire inside The Digs. How Red could sneak in and rekindle our fire without waking us worried me. He was wearing a ridiculous outfit made from what looked like snake skin. Imagine a pair of crocodile lederhosen and you get the idea. He had fish cooking between a wire mesh. I expected him to say, ‘Guten morgen,’ but he just waved when he saw me.
‘More fish for breakfast,’ I said. ‘Yum.’
He offered me a cup of tea and I accepted.
‘When can we leave for Eel Lake?’
Apparently his hearing was fine this morning. ‘I am waiting for you. I expected everyone to be up and ready to go. It is not an easy hike you know.’
I roused everyone and after a quick brekkie of mackerel and moss tea that surprisingly wasn’t as bad as it sounds, we were out the door and heading towards the highlands in the middle of the island.
The trail to Eel Lake was worse than the one to The Digs. The gorse bushes often encroached on the path to a point where it was impossible to pass. Instead of hacking our way through, like I would have done in the Real World, we had to plead with the bushes to back off. It was slow going.
I tapped Red on the shoulder as we walked. I had made sure I was directly behind him so he couldn’t ignore me. ‘I thought you said you came up here a lot.’