Across the Sea (Islands in the Mist Series Book 2)

by J. M. Hofer

  “I can’t wait to see her.” Bran finished his ale. The lovely girl charged with serving him appeared as if by magic to refill it, and then disappeared.

  “Yes, and the best part is that she is but the potter’s first throw. My ship shall benefit from all that was learned in her creation,” Garanhir boasted.

  He did not say “our ship,” to Bran, as he should have, but Bran ignored his comment. It did not matter. The poor man could have whatever illusions he wanted. There was not much time left for him to enjoy them.

  They stayed late into the night, discussing what preparations needed to be made for the voyage and how soon they could leave. Once all was decided, Maur and Bran left for the Oaks camp with Irwyn. They had chosen to stay with their own clansmen, eager to see them and share news.

  They found the young Oaks gathered around a large bonfire. “Pennaeth! Welcome!” They were overjoyed to see their chieftain, and huge bellows erupted at his appearance. They brought out more ale. Before long, Bran could no longer see straight.

  “They’ve done well,” Irwyn told Bran, gesturing to the young men around the fire. “Hard workers.”

  Bran gave a satisfied nod. We’ll prosper. All will be well.

  ***

  The next morning, Bran awoke with a splitting hangover. The morning light hurt his eyes, splintering his vision as he stood up and looked around the shipyard. To his disappointment, he did not see the ship he so longed to see. He went and found Irwyn, who was wandering around the camp giving orders to his many loyal apprentices.

  “Where is she?”

  “Who?” Irwyn wrinkled his brow in confusion.

  “The ship!”

  Irwyn laughed. “In the sea, of course! Come.” He motioned for Bran to follow him and led the way through the busy camp. Along the way, they happened upon a hillock that Bran recognized well. “Maur!” he barked with a smile. He threw back his old friend’s cloak, letting the morning light hit him in the face. “Get up!”

  Maur growled like an angry bear. “Gods! Arawn take ya for that!”

  “Come on, let’s see the ship!” Bran enthused.

  Maur muttered an impressive chain of obscenities, but got up and lumbered alongside them down to the beach.

  They reached the edge of the cliffs and she came into view—a grand queen, lounging majestically along a newly-constructed dock.

  Bran let out a long whistle, shaking his head in disbelief. “Look at the size of her!”

  “She is a mother whale, restless for the open sea.” Irwyn smiled in admiration. He led the way down the hillside and out upon the long dock.

  She was nearly a hundred feet long, sleek as sealskin, with a beautifully carved prow in the shape of a horse’s head that arched some fifteen feet above them. A rope ladder hung down over her side like a thick long braid over her shoulder.

  “All aboard,” Irwyn said, motioning to Maur. He and Bran held the ladder steady while Maur did his best to climb aboard. His bulk strained the rope, but he managed well enough, and then Irwyn motioned to Bran. Bran grabbed ahold of the ladder to plant his food on the bottom rung. He was surprised how difficult it was to stay balanced while climbing, regularly getting slammed against the ship’s side with every swell. Irwyn laughed heartily, and then shimmied up the ladder behind him like a squirrel.

  Bran’s chest filled with exhilaration as his feet landed upon the deck. There’s nowhere we can’t go now. “I’ve never seen anything like this,” he remarked to Irwyn. “The Saxons don’t make ships like this, do they?”

  Irwyn shook his head. “No. The Romans have ships like this. I worked on one for a time. They use sails.” He pointed up the mast. “Though Tegid is as big as two men, he still has only two hands. Until he finds himself a crew, he must be able to sail her alone. That is why I have given her a sail. I will teach him how to use it. And that is how you steer her,” he added, pointing out the rudder. He walked over and put his hand on it.

  “You’ll teach me as well,” Bran insisted.

  Irwyn nodded in compliance. “As you wish.”

  Bran explored the deck, looking out at the sea from every angle. He noticed stairs leading down into the belly of the ship and called to Irwyn. “Ho! What’s down there?”

  Irwyn came striding over. “Come. I will show you.”

  Bran and Maur followed him down the stairs and found themselves in a long gallery of rowing benches. “Like the Roman ships,” Irwyn commented. “In case the wind does not speak.”

  Bran walked over to one of the benches and sat down, putting his hands on the smooth wood of the long oar that was in front of him. At his feet, beneath the bench he sat on, was a wooden box. There were several of them in a long line beneath every bench, and he reasoned they must be for each man’s belongings. “You’ve thought of everything,” he called out in praise.

  “Bran!” Maur’s voice called from the other end of the ship. “Come and see this!”

  Bran stood up and followed Maur’s voice to a lavish, well-appointed sleeping chamber.

  “Tegid’s quarters,” Irwyn said, pointing to a twelve-foot long bunk.

  “Well-done.” Bran nodded. “But what of Creirwy? Have you fashioned a chamber for her?”

  Irwyn frowned, walking back up the stairs. “Surely, she will want to return home now!” He clearly had no desire to discuss the possibility of Creirwy wishing to remain with her father, so Bran left the topic alone.

  “My people did not like my ideas,” Irwyn shared as they resurfaced, motioning around the ship. “But Garanhir knew nothing of building ships, so he said nothing of what I could or could not do. Soon, we will know if my ideas are good or not.”

  “What do you mean?” Bran asked nervously.

  “The sea will decide if I built a good ship.”

  The ship seemed more solid than anything Bran had ever been in the water on, so he did not share Irwyn’s concerns. “When do we leave?” he asked, wishing they could set sail right then.

  “First, my gold.” Irwyn smiled. “Then, you say when.”

  “Fair enough,” Bran nodded.

  “And I am coming with you,” Irwyn added.

  Bran had not expected that, but smiled. “Of course!” He offered his arm in agreement, which Irwyn clasped firmly.

  ***

  Bran woke the day of the voyage and nearly ran down to the dock. Irwyn was already there, barking orders by lantern light to the crew he had chosen.

  Though the lake lay just over the mountains, they could obviously not sail her that way. They would have to sail her north, around the coastline, and then eastward to the estuary where the river flowed from the lake and emptied into the sea. From there, they would voyage upriver until they reached the lake. Irwyn had chosen a crew of the strongest men in the camp for this reason. Many of the men had never sailed on a ship before, and had trouble climbing up her ladders. Irwyn laughed as they slammed awkwardly against the ship’s side, just as Bran and Maur had.

  “Morning,” Bran greeted him. “Enjoying yourself?”

  “Yes,” Irwyn answered shamelessly, clearly in his element. “They will learn. The sea is a mistress that cannot be charmed. Things are always her way.”

  Bran was just about to ask if Maur and Islwyn were aboard, when he spied them coming down the hillside toward the dock. He waited until they arrived. “Morning.” He smiled at them.

  “Good morning,” said Islwyn. Maur simply nodded. He was usually grumpy until he had eaten some breakfast.

  Bran stood by, ready to help Islwyn aboard. To his surprise, the old druid clambered up with ease. Maur did his best, and Bran followed.

  Elffin was up on deck, waiting for them. He was beaming, in spite of the early hour. “Welcome aboard! I can’t believe this day has finally come.”

  “Yes.” Bran grinned, swinging himself over the side of the ship and onto the deck. “It has.” He put an arm around Elffin’s shoulders and shook him a bit, as an older brother to a younger.

  Irwyn was the last to
board, leaping onto the deck like a cat.

  Once everyone was in his place, Irwyn handed Islwyn a drum. “Do you know songs for hard work?”

  “Many.” Islwyn took the drum, understanding Irwyn’s request. He went down to the rowing gallery, where he beat the drum and began singing a song the men knew. Soon, all of them were singing and rowing in unison, cutting through the water with increasing speed until they were past the breakers and out in open water.

  “Now, we raise the sail,” Irwyn commanded. “Come.”

  They followed him to the base of the mast, and together they raised the large sail. It billowed open and snapped tight, full of wind, and they all gave a hearty cheer.

  Irwyn went to the rudder. After a quick explanation of how it worked, he let go of it and pointed to Bran. “Now, you try.”

  Bran was delighted to find the ship easy to navigate. A surge of immense freedom filled his chest, as the wind had filled the sail but moments ago. He sighed with satisfaction.

  “She is good, the sea.” Irwyn remarked.

  “Yes,” Bran glanced at him and smiled. “She’s good.”

  Elffin and Maur also took a turn at the rudder, Irwyn coaching them as the sea churned out her various challenges. She was capricious and unpredictable. At times, it seemed to Bran that she was laughing at them, but he did not mind.

  When they finally reached the estuary, Irwyn cried out, “This is it! Up her skirts! Show her how the Oaks take their women!”

  The men were riled by his rallying cry and took up their oars. Bran and Maur went down to join them. Irwyn steered the ship toward the mouth of the river, and they charged into its waters.

  “Row, little girls!” Irwyn yelled in disgust when they began to slow down. “Mein Ealdemoder rows faster!”

  “Ealdemoder?” Bran cried.

  “Mother’s mother,” Irwyn explained dismissively.

  “Ah, grandmother.” Bran chuckled to himself. He was surprised by how loudly and how often Irwyn had shouted since they had left. Up until then, he had never heard him say more than a few words at a time, and always quietly.

  So it went, hour after hour, over the course of the next few days. The men rowed in shifts, half of them resting while the other half rowed, until they entered the mysterious waters of Lake Tegid.

  “Now what?” Bran asked Islwyn. “Do we try to take all these men with us through the mists? Is that even possible?”

  “Ula has sent word ahead to the creatures within these waters she calls friends, and, don’t forget, young Creirwy waits for us on the other side.”

  Bran nodded, and surveyed the faces of the men. Many of them looked uncertain as they rowed toward the middle of the lake.

  “What?” Irwyn challenged. “You want your mama’s tit?” he yelled into one man’s face. “What about you?”

  None spoke up, and any faces that held any hint of fear or anxiousness quickly turned to stone in response to Irwyn’s taunting. “Good.” Irwyn sat down and motioned to Islwyn to take over.

  Islwyn made his way to the bow and stood at the prow, beneath the tall arched horsehead. He closed his eyes in concentration and turned his palms up, murmuring into the mist with a low and powerful voice. No one made a sound except the lake herself, lapping gently against the sides of the ship.

  Then, to everyone’s surprise, the ship began to glide forward, yet no man had an oar in the water. Bran shot an expectant glance toward Islwyn, but was alarmed to find his expression equally confused.

  Everyone held their breath as the druid peered over the prow. Bran and Irwyn joined him, leaning over the edge of the ship to gaze into the lake’s depths. At first, Bran could see nothing past the cold, blue-black surface of the water, but he refused to look away until he did.

  “There!” Irwyn cried.

  “Ah,” Islwyn remarked and smiled. “It seems the men may rest awhile.”

  Bran looked to where Irwyn had pointed. He indeed noticed something moving in his peripheral vision, but he could not discern enough details to determine what swam beneath them.

  “Do you not recognize the beast?” Islwyn asked him.

  A surge of loathing gripped his stomach. “The afanc,” he murmured.

  Islwyn patted him on the back and returned to his incantations. Bran realized they were supplications for blessings, rather than invocations. Apparently, Islwyn no longer felt he needed to focus on crossing into Tegid’s realm, and had put his efforts elsewhere.

  The mists thickened, and the air grew heavy with the stench of stagnant water and decay. Large trees appeared on either side of the ship, neither their roots nor branches visible—only their large, moss-covered trunks. Then, without warning, the ship came to an abrupt stop, throwing many into a tumble of limbs and oars. Islwyn was the only one who had been aware the lurch was coming, for he had managed to stay upright by holding tightly to the prow.

  The thick mist parted, and the young Creirwy appeared like the goddess of the moon, smiling down at them from a hillside that faded in and out of view. A wave of relief washed over Bran, for she looked quite happy and well.

  Irwyn bounded up onto the edge of the ship like a stag, raising himself to a height equal to where she stood, and offered his hand. “Come aboard.” His form remained completely steady, though the craft swayed.

  She took his hand and leapt onto the deck, her bare feet landing without a sound. “This is the most magnificent ship I’ve ever seen!”

  The dark scowl and rough manner Irwyn had worn since they had left the shores of Maes Gwythno fell helpless in the radiance of Lady Creirwy. He softened like butter in sunshine. The men onboard relaxed, their superstitions sufficiently placated for the moment. They were relieved to have a bit of respite from their shiplord’s orders and taunting.

  “This ship is for your father,” Bran announced to Creirwy. “We believe he can sail to his freedom upon it.”

  “How?” Creirwy asked, turning to Islwyn for an explanation.

  “It’s our understanding that your father’s curse is to ‘forever live surrounded by the waters of Lake Tegid’—yet the waters of Lake Tegid become those of the river, and the waters of the river then become those of the sea herself. Though he will never be able to set foot upon land, with this ship, your father will have much more freedom than he does now.”

  “Are you certain this will work?” Creirwy asked, wrinkling her brow.

  “No,” Bran admitted, “but we hope so.”

  “Perhaps we could take barrels of lake water, and hang them all round the ship?” Creirwy suggested. “That way, he would truly be surrounded by the waters of the lake. Just in case?”

  Bran nodded. It was as good an idea as any. “It certainly wouldn’t hurt.”

  “Come and see her.” Irwyn tugged on Creirwy’s hand, anxious to show her around.

  “Yes, of course!” Creirwy turned toward him, sparking a rare smile on his face. He swept her away to show her every inch of the majestic ship he had built, his chest growing bigger with every compliment and sigh that uttered from her young perfect lips.

  Bran chuckled and elbowed Maur, who had come up on deck just in time to witness Irwyn and Creirwy’s exchange. “He’s done for. She may as well have shackled him.”

  Maur smiled and nodded. “That he is—but as jailors go, there are none so sweet as love.”

  “Or as vexing.” Bran thought of the sleepless nights Lucia had caused him over the past few years. “Understanding women is like trying to explain colors to a blind man, or predict where lightning will strike.”

  Maur let out a hearty laugh and slapped him on the back. “True, true! ‘Tis all too true.”

  After Irwyn’s tour, Creirwy hopped back off the ship. “Let’s go and fetch my father. Hurry!”

  Bran, Maur, Irwyn and Islwyn disembarked and followed her, leaving the crew with the ship.

  “Lady Creirwy,” Bran called as they walked, “have you enjoyed your time here with your father?” He hoped so, for knowing that would dispel the w
orry and guilt he had carried since agreeing to leave her behind.

  “Yes. I’m only sorry I couldn’t have come sooner.”

  “I imagine it’s been a lonely place for him here.”

  “It has. He is yet one more whose path was changed by Cerridwen’s power.”

  “That’s one word for it.” Bran sighed. “Some might say destroyed or ruined.”

  “Yes, but if that’s how you choose to see it, you have only weakness or anger to choose from.”

  He nodded. “You’re a wise woman.”

  Creirwy let out a weak laugh. “Not as wise as I appear. It’s taken my entire life to learn that, and even still, there are days when I don’t believe it.”

  Irwyn drew closer, no doubt seeking to re-capture Creirwy’s attention. Bran let him, falling back a bit and winking at Maur.

  As they approached the castle of Tegid Voel, he noticed more and more of Creirwy’s influence. A proper pathway led up to it, made from a mosaic of many different-colored stones. Flowering vines wound all through the gruesome structure of skulls that arched over the entryway, their small white blossoms peeking happily out of the many eye sockets.

  “Ominous, yet welcoming,” Maur remarked with raised eyebrows.

  Creirwy led them to the chamber where Bran had first met Tegid Voel. To his surprise, it had been transformed from the sorry state of a dungeon to a modest and comfortable living space, clean and organized. A long row of small windows had been punched out of the walls, letting in light and, more importantly, fresh air—the horrible stench he had suffered during his first visit was no longer there.

  Tegid sat on a huge throne of bones next to the fire, also much changed. He appeared to have bathed recently, for his head and long black beard were oiled, and he wore proper clothes and boots. For all his grooming, however, he remained immensely intimidating. “Welcome, friends o’ me daughter,” he bellowed. “Where’s me bride?”

  Bran knew that was his cue to speak. He stepped forward. “Great Tegid, we have brought you a different kind of bride,” he began, glancing over at Irwyn. “One that will take you anywhere the water of this lake flows.”

  Tegid stood up, rising to his full height. “Whaddye mean?”