Spirit of the Mist

by Janeen O'Kerry

  Again their fragile curraghs rose and dropped wave by wave, forced toward the island by the sheer strength of the paddlers alone. Now Muriel could see the cove and the small, angled region of smooth wet rock within where boats could be dragged for safekeeping—if the boaters could get close enough without being hurled into the sharp, sheer rocks all around.

  The little haven of flat rock was there and waiting for them, but the waves sweeping up to it were so powerful that there was a constant and enormous variation in the height of the water. The crest of one wave would put them above the landing, but when it receded they would find themselves wallowing far below—in prime position to be swamped by the next.

  “It is impossible,” shouted Brendan over the din. “We’ll never get close enough. Perhaps no one ever has. We’ll have to turn back, go down the coastline, look for another island—”

  “We cannot turn around,” Muriel yelled. Spray from the waves covered her face. “Everyone is exhausted. We would never make it back to shore. We must land now—or never.”

  She sat up and turned around to where the second boat rose and dropped on the waves. “Stay close!” she called, motioning them toward her. “Stay close!” Then she moved to the prow of the boat, knelt down, and thrust her hands into the cold green sea.

  “Calm,” she whispered under her breath. “Smooth. Calm.” She kept her gaze fixed on the spot where the wide, slanted shore awaited them. “Calm,” she said again to the sea. “Calm…”

  In a moment the waves began to ease. They became smaller and smoother as on a beach, rolling with just enough force to carry the boats forward. She could sense the men behind her forcing the curraghs ahead with the last of their strength, and they drew closer and closer to the hard, flat landing that awaited them.

  Muriel kept her hands in the water and kept speaking to the sea. Suddenly her fingertips brushed rock.

  Then her hands were in the air as the last gentle wave lifted the boat up onto the rocky landing and the weight of its passengers kept it there, out of reach of danger.

  There was a sudden violent crash of waves behind them as the sea roared once again to life. Muriel turned just in time to see the second boat ride up high on a huge wave next to them, and she cried out to them—but it was no use.

  One side of the wildly flung curragh tilted down to show her the floor of the craft with its four passengers bravely clinging to it. Then the wave collapsed upon itself, and with a crash the boat came down on the rocks, spilling its passengers and supplies across the landing and cracking its wooden frame.

  Muriel thought her heart would stop, but as the wave receded she saw four people pick themselves up and move to stand against the sheer cliff wall nearby. Somehow they were here, and all alive, but it was only through sheer luck and their own determination. Her powers had failed the instant her hands had left the water. The sea, which used to do her bidding, had almost killed them all. Now they were stranded in this place, for nine people could not hope to ride home in a single curragh—stranded on a shelf of stone with the sea crashing at their feet and forbidding rock towering over their heads.

  Chapter Seventeen

  Darragh and Killian and Gill moved quickly to grab their broken curragh and drag its heavy, sodden remnants up onto the rocks as far as they could, and then did the same for the other. The rest of the men gathered the largest rocks they could find and placed them with their paddles in the floor of each craft, hoping to secure them against the winds and the tides.

  “I hope they’ll be here when we need them again,” Killian spoke up, stopping to catch his breath. “Though I don’t know how we will get nine people into just one curragh?”

  “I’ll see what I can do about repairing it,” said Gill. “I’ve done some leatherwork—”

  “No time to worry about that now,” Brendan broke in. “We’ve got to find a place to make a camp or there will be no need for a curragh to take us back anywhere. Coming in, it looked as though there were a few flat, open spaces once you get up high enough. There’s nothing for us to do but try it.”

  He sighed, looking at their leather sacks of supplies sitting on the sloping, sea-washed landing. “Everyone take whatever you can carry. We’ll climb up there and look for somewhere to live.”

  Everyone but Grania took at least one of the heavy sacks and threw it over his shoulder. Most of the men were loaded down with two. Muriel felt the muscles of her neck and shoulders straining already from the unaccustomed weight of a large leather bag of oats, and wondered if it was even worth hauling it; the cold dampness of the sea-soaked leather bag was already seeping through her cloak and her gowns.

  She shifted the sack and settled it as best she could, and then the entire party started up the treacherous steep climb.

  Brendan went first, searching out footholds where they could step, clearing out the small loose rocks so that the rest of them could find something like a path. Muriel went after him with Darragh behind her, followed by Grania, Fallon, Killian, Gill, Duff, and Cole.

  It took an agonizingly long time to creep up the flank of the rocky crag that was this island. Honeycombing the cliff face were hundreds of burrows, many of them empty now, where puffins nested. Only a few still remained, to finish rearing the last of their young.

  The big slow birds merely hopped and flapped as the human invaders passed by; clearly they would not be difficult to catch. There would be meat at hand, at least until the last of the creatures flew away at the end of the season.

  They paused to rest whenever they came to wide spots in the path, those places where slanted, soil-filled crevices allowed a few tough grasses to grow and thick lichens to cover the rocks.

  Muriel would allow the leather bag she carried to drop to the ground while she braced herself against the rock and tried to catch her breath. On their last stop she felt too exhausted to go another step, but knew that the high, flat place they had seen could not be much farther.

  Finally the little group struggled up the last piece of the path and found themselves on a grassy ledge jutting out from the rock face above them. The ledge was just wide enough for them to spread themselves out and begin to make a camp, just long enough to walk perhaps fifty paces.

  Muriel set down her sack of oats, feeling a kind of physical and mental exhaustion that she had never felt before. The combination of making the terrifying voyage, using her strength to calm the waves, and then hauling the heavy sack up the dangerous path had left her feeling entirely drained. Then she looked up—and began to realize where they were.

  She moved away from the rock face and crept cautiously near the edge of their new little world, careful not to get too close. Not far from them was the Island of the Birds, and beyond it, across that terrible stretch of sea, the distant mainland was clearly visible.

  Peering down at the crashing waves far, far below, she was amazed at how high up they were—nearly as high above the sea as the great cliff where Dun Bochna sat. But she tried to put all thoughts of her warm, comfortable, and very much former home out of her mind. Life here was going to be very different.

  “We’d better use the time we have before dark,” said Brendan, setting down the bags he carried. He glanced around at the little place they had found and shook his head. “Gill—take Duff and Cole and go back down. Get the wrecked curragh. Just break it up and drag as much of it up here as you can. We can use the leather and wood to make some kind of shelter. The rest of us will try to make camp and see what there is to eat.”

  “Break it up?” said Darragh. “Are you sure you want to do that? How will we get back?”

  “There won’t be much need for a boat if we all die of exposure up here,” said Brendan. “We must think of surviving this day, this night, and do whatever is necessary. We’ll start with the curragh. Go.”

  The three men turned and started back down the treacherous path. Gill turned to Brendan just before they disappeared and said to him, “We’ll be back as soon as we can. Please—be careful.”
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  Brendan looked as though he were going to laugh. “It’s a bit late for that, don’t you think? But let me say the same to you. All of you be careful, and get back just as soon as you can. You don’t want to be on that path with the light disappearing.”

  Gill nodded to him, then he and his men were gone.

  Crania led Fallon to a place where he could sit against the rock face, well away from the ledge. The rest of them began searching through the leather sacks to see what they had.

  “Drenched,” Brendan said, tossing aside one of the sacks. “Everything is drenched with seawater. They gave us fresh water and oats and dried fish and apples, but all of it is thoroughly wet.”

  Muriel came over to examine their goods. “Wet it is, but not soaked through. Whatever is in the center is still usable. We’ll have to be careful not to disturb what is nearest the outside, and it will protect the rest. And as for the clothes …

  She held out the skirts of her own woolen gown. “All of us are soaked. Everyone should take off their cloaks and tunics, and…and lay them over the rocks for the wind to dry. Place some smaller rocks on the corners to hold them down. We’ll get them as dry as we can before sundown.”

  Rummaging through the sack with clothes, she found two woolen cloaks and three tunics, mostly dry. “Here,” she said, carrying the first of the cloaks to Grania. “I know that you and your husband are soaked. Perhaps you could share this, and I will do what I can to dry the ones you are wearing.”

  “Thank you,” the queen said, accepting the cloak. “Just allow me to warm up a bit and I will help with whatever I can.”

  She could see that the older woman was shivering. “Do not worry yourself,” Muriel told her. “Sit close to your husband beneath the cloak. There will be food ready soon. That will help.”

  Muriel took off her own cloak, untied her belt, and lifted off her soaked blue-and-cream-plaid woolen gown, leaving her standing in her wet linen undergown. Quickly she pulled on one of the plain dark brown tunics from the bag. Intended for a manservant, it was so long that it reached down past her knees. She sighed and smoothed it.

  Turning, she caught Brendan looking at her with something like renewed shock in his eyes. “I never thought to see you wearing the sort of thing that I must now wear,” he whispered. “I am sorry.”

  “It is only a tunic, Brendan,” she said, walking over to him. “And it is mostly dry. I feel a little better wearing it, I got so wet from sitting in the prow of the boat.”

  “But you should be wearing the most beautiful linen and the finest wool. You should have gold earrings and wristbands and brooches. You are a queen, and you should not be dressed as a servant!”

  His voice was beginning to shake. Muriel turned to him and placed gentle fingers on his arm.

  “The first time I saw you, you did not have clothes that were even as fine as this. You wore no gold, no weapons—yet I knew, by your spirit and your strength and your courtesy, that you were no slave and no criminal.” She stared into his eyes. “You told me, at that time, that you needed none of the accoutrements of a king to know that you were one. And I will tell you now that if I am a queen, it is because I am loved by and bonded to a king—and I do not need pretty gowns or gleaming gold to know what I am.”

  He tried to speak, but there were no words; and so they held each other close on the windswept rock, each one drawing comfort from the warmth and presence of the other.

  After a time, Muriel raised her head. “We will make a life here, Brendan. It is risky, that is true, but it is better than the certainty of having Odhran hunt you down. There is no doubt that is exactly what he would do.”

  “I am not worth such a risk, perhaps.” He shook his head. “I should never have let this happen. I should never have allowed you to come here… Not any of you; but you, Muriel, most of all.”

  “But we are here, and we are here by choice.” She caught his arm and shook it a little. “We need your help, Brendan. There is much to be done. Please—help me, help us all. We will not be here forever. We need only manage here for a short time, until we think of something better. Then we will go home.”

  He looked at her and slowly nodded. “I brought you all here… I suppose I’d better make a home for you as best I can.”

  Muriel smiled a little and turned away to see to the clothes.

  Soon their campsite was decorated with cloaks and tunics spread out over the rocks to dry. The wind blew strong and cold in this place, though it was summer.

  Muriel fervently hoped that the broken curragh could be turned into some sort of shelter—if the three men could manage to drag it up all this way.

  If they returned at all.

  She closed her eyes and told herself not to entertain any such thoughts. Their only chance of survival was to maintain hope; for if they abandoned it, they might as well walk together over the edge of that cliff right now.

  Muriel walked back to the rock face where the others sat. “We need a fire,” she said to Brendan. “Is there anything to burn?”

  “Fire,” he repeated, and gazed around the site. “Fire…”

  She followed his gaze, and with a sinking heart she realized what he was seeing. The bare ledge held virtually nothing that would burn. The few tufts of grass that they could gather would be consumed in moments.

  “There are no trees on this island,” Brendan said, as though from very far away. “There is no peat. We will risk our lives just to get a few scraps of driftwood or a handful of seaweed, all in the hope that we can dry it out enough to get it to burn at all.” He shook his head again. “At least we will not have to worry about the fire destroying our shelter. We have neither roof nor flame.”

  “All right then,” Muriel said, hoping to distract him. “We’ll have to manage without fire for a time. People have done it before. The weather is warm enough and we have food to last for a while. So…our other thought is for water. Drinking water.”

  He made a small sound that was something like laughter. “You certainly ask for a great deal, my lady! Food. Dry clothes. Fire. And now you also want water to drink?” He waved his arms and walked a couple of steps. “Look around you. The place where your husband has brought you to live does not even have water. There is no stream, no spring. We will have to hope for rain—and when we get it, we will then have to hope that we do not die from cold and sickness when we all stay soaking wet for days at a time.”

  He turned away and placed both hands against the mountainous rock face, looking away so that no one could see him. “What have I done?” he said so softly that only Muriel could hear him. “What was I thinking, to come out to this terrible place and bring eight other people with me? How can we possibly hope to survive? How can we possibly hope…

  He let his forehead rest against the rock and fell silent, his fingers clutching at the cliff. Muriel went to him and stood close with her arms about his shoulders, resting the side of her face against his broad back, and tried to find some words to say. She could think of nothing that might help, so she merely stood with him and tried to think of offering him what strength she could, the way she had learned to draw strength and comfort from him.

  After a time there was a touch at her shoulder. Muriel looked up but saw only Darragh and Killian at the other end of the rock face, setting out containers for rainwater and pretending that they did not notice Brendan’s grief. Fallon still sat against the rock face. Muriel turned around the other way—and there stood Queen Grania.

  “Prince Brendan,” said the queen, “please turn to look at me.”

  Muriel stepped back. Brendan raised his head and slowly turned toward Grania. “I am happy to face you, my lady, though ashamed at the same time…for I am certainly no prince.”

  Grania pulled the rough brown cloak she wore a little more tightly around her. The sun was beginning to set behind the island, and the shadows were lengthening. “You must hear me,” she said in a voice that was a little thin with age but strong nonetheless. “You must re
member that if we are here, we are all here for the same reason: to help you.”

  He turned away again. “I am not worthy of help.”

  “None of us would be here if we believed that.” Grania touched him on the shoulder, and he faced her once again. “We are here on the most worthy of endeavors—to save a wounded king and help him to recover.”

  “King? I am not a king. That should be clear to you and everyone here. It was certainly clear to Odhran and Colum and everyone else back on the mainland! I had all the wealth and privilege and accolades that went with being a king, but they were all undeserved, for we now know that I carry no noble blood at all.

  “Now I am paying the price for that deception, unwitting as it was, and so are all of you who came with me!”

  “But what of the many victories you have had?” Grania asked. “What of the many good things you have done for all the people of Dun Bochna?”

  Brendan laughed—a short and bitter sound. “I have no answer for those things, Queen Grania. Perhaps the gods chose to amuse themselves one day by allowing a slave to grow up thinking he was a prince. Now they are laughing as he finds out what he really is—a man of no worth at all, a man who should have spent his life tending sheep and making buckets, not pretending to be a king.”

  “You must never say that again, Brendan. If this place teaches you anything, it will teach you that you are indeed the king of those who depend on you for their very lives. We will help you, but you must also help yourself…and when you are ready, we all shall return.”

  He stared down at the frail and tiny queen, and then looked at Muriel standing right beside her. “You are right,” he said and took a deep breath. “You are both right. It may have been a mistake to come here, but we are here now… and I cannot afford the luxury of weakness or complaint.”

  Grania smiled up at him. Muriel felt a great relief as she saw a spark of life come back into his blue and brown eyes.

  She turned gratefully to Grania. “We are going to have great need of you in the days to come. It will take more than just strength and endurance to cope with this place. It will take wisdom, too, and generosity of spirit.”