by Andrew Symon
“We’ve come to help,” said Rana defiantly.
“Turn around,” Grandpa shouted across to Enda. “We’ll have to take them back.”
“We can’t. The tide’s running too strongly. There’s no time if we’re to make Nebula in three days.”
With an exasperated roar, Grandpa Sandy upbraided the two girls. Lizzie’s eyes filled with tears, and she looked down at her feet; but Rana’s face showed no sign of regret. There was a twinkle in her eye, and she glanced slyly across at Jack and smiled.
“What have you two done with my wife?” demanded Gilmore.
“She’s back at the house,” answered Rana calmly. “She’ll wake up soon.”
“What do you mean?” roared the tailor.
“It’s not a bad hex. We used one of Armina’s potions.”
“You did what?” squeaked Armina, reaching for her bag and examining the contents. “And what else have you stolen?”
“Listen,” commanded Enda. “This is not the start we’d planned. But we have to get along. So that’s the last of the shouting. We’ll find plenty to keep these two occupied.”
Jack moved up to the back of the boat, where Petros had remained a silent spectator to these events.
“What’re they like?” smiled Jack as Petros turned to look at the receding island. “Your mum’s going to go spare. Oh well, say goodbye to Ilanbeg.”
Petros said nothing, but wiped his mouth slowly.
He’s not looking that well, thought Jack.
“Aren’t you going to say goodbye to the island?”
“Goodbye breakfast.” With that, Petros leant over the side and heaved.
Petros was not the only crew member to get seasick. As the boats passed each other tales were swapped, and it became evident that the sea’s swell had identified those who lacked ‘sea legs’.
Fenrig’s initial delight at Petros’ misfortune didn’t last long, and before they made landfall that night at Soabost, he too had succumbed. Kelly, relocated from the boat that had sunk, tried to console him.
“Don’t feel so bad. Plenty of sailors get seasick.”
“Leave me alone.”
“Ah, don’t take it like that. We’ve days on this boat together. It’s autumn, see; we can’t go nearly as fast as we can in the summer.”
Fenrig scowled and turned away.
“The best thing you can do is concentrate on something else. Like that selkie, for example.”
Fenrig squealed in alarm as a face appeared beside the boat. The selkie began swimming alongside the boat, almost touching it.
“She’s sheltering,” stated Kelly. Looking around, he fixed his gaze on a boat some distance away. “Human fishermen,” he went on. “They shoot seals. Looks like they’ve mistaken the selkie for one.”
“I’ve never seen a selkie.” Jack made his way to the side of the boat, and looked down at the graceful creature. He noticed a dark mark on the creature’s back. “I think she’s hurt.”
Kelly peered down. “She’s been shot all right. We can’t do much while we’re sailing. But she’s safe now, as long as she stays with us. We’ll check her over when we reach land.”
“I know about selkies,” announced Fenrig to Jack’s astonishment. “They’re cool; they steal the humans’ fish.”
When they made landfall, Kelly and Fenrig stayed behind in the boat as the others went ashore. The selkie, bleating harshly, remained close by in the bay.
Suppertime was a chance for those on the other boats to get the full story of Rana and Lizzie’s escapade. The inevitable rows from some of the adults were balanced by respectful (but silent) praise from most of the youngsters. And with the winds set as they were, the only chance of getting word down the coast to Ilanbeg had been to send a seagull.
After supper, Ossian stepped onto a fallen tree trunk and shouted for order. Grandpa Sandy stood beside him.
“We’ve one good day’s sailin’ behind us; and two more to Nebula. Tomorrow we make landfall at Canna; and the next day by Talisker. There we’ve to get Caskill’s charmstone. We’ve a selkie for company; she’s been shot, but only in the shoulder. Kelly and Fenrig have seen to her wound. We’ll see if she wants to come further with us.”
Jack looked across at his grandfather; then over at his father. Why weren’t they explaining all this?
“We all have different reasons for being here,” added Grandpa. “Ossian’s friendship with some Nebula people will help us. So, to your tents, and rest well. Tomorrow night we’ll reorder the crews for Thursday’s sail.”
“What’s so special about Thursday?” grumbled Petros as he and Jack bedded down for the night.
“So that we know who’s doing what when we get to Nebula. Anyway, it’s not Thursday that’s special; it’s Friday.”
“Friday?”
“That’s Hallows’ Eve.”
Petros started guiltily. He was a quarter human, after all: had living at human height for so long really made him forget?
6
Fishermen’s Blues
The sail up to Canna the next day was uneventful, except for the puzzling appearance on the boat of a shy young woman. She sat huddled in the prow, pale-faced, watching the other boats carefully. Kelly stopped any of the youngsters from approaching her, explaining that she had to rest.
The seagulls that periodically followed the boats, hoping for scraps, looked huge to the Shian, but were no trouble as long as no food was visible. But if the seagulls were not threatening, the sight of an eagle soaring overhead was the cause of animated discussion.
“They take lambs,” announced Petros. “They could easily take one of us. Or one of you,” he said pointedly to his sisters. “You’re the smallest.”
Lizzie cowered as he said this, but Rana was made of sterner stuff.
“It’s a sign of good luck. Marco told me about an eagle once – he even showed me a picture in one of his books. They’re special.”
That’s right, thought Jack. In Marco’s book.
The day passed slowly. After Enda had taught Jack and Fenrig the Cu-shee hexes, they had an unofficial competition to see who could react fastest to Enda’s orders. Each considered himself the winner, but their keenness provided great entertainment for the others.
Except Petros. If Fenrig had got used to being on board, he hadn’t, and he spent another miserable day gazing at the heaving waters – and heaving back. If nothing else, it gave everyone something to talk about.
Rana and Lizzie, kept busy initially with as much swabbing, scrubbing and cleaning as Grandpa could think of, had weathered that particular storm, and spent the afternoon sitting in the small rowing boat that was pulled along in the boat’s wake, trailing a hopeful fishing line.
But two days’ good sailing was as long as their luck was to last, and Thursday morning saw leaden skies and a fierce north-westerly wind that prevented them putting to sea. Ossian had selected Jack to come on his boat, swapping with Finbogie, and the two of them sat by the boats and looked morosely at the churning sea.
Jack, finding himself seated next to Gilmore, couldn’t think of a way to open the conversation. What do you say to a tutor whose wife has been abducted by your cousins? Gilmore saved his blushes.
“Jack, I’ll be going on one of the other boats. You’d better take this for your new guest.” He slipped some cloth into Jack’s palm.
Jack’s puzzled expression told its own story.
“It’s a special haemostat bandage: it works against bullet wounds. The one we used yesterday will need replaced sometime.”
“But I’m not going on Enda’s boat,” said Jack. “Ossian wants me to go with him to Talisker.”
“I’ll give the bandage to Fenrig, then. It could be useful having a selkie around. They know the waters here better than any of us.”
However, when Ossian and Enda decided at noon that they had little option but to take to the boats and head north, the selkie woman was nowhere to be seen.
“She’ll have go
ne back to her people,” said Enda to Rana and Lizzie, who were looking anxiously for the selkie. “Her wound was a lot better after we used Gilmore’s bandage. Come on, we need to get going.”
What had been planned as a reasonably gentle few hours’ sail to Nebula became a fraught marathon endeavour against surging swell and bitterly cold rain. Never had Jack thought that the sight of a rocky outcrop would be so cheering, but when Ossian ordered him ready to take the mainsail down, Jack knew they were safe. As they sailed up the coast Ossian kept a keen eye on the shore. Finally, he let out a whoop of joy as he saw a flare from a secluded bay. Turning the boat into shore, he guided the craft gently in.
Jack turned round and was surprised to see the other boats continue up the coast, their mainsails still up.
“Where are they going? I thought we were going to get Caskill.”
“We’ll meet them up at Ardmore. That’s where the flag is. But we need to get the charmstone first. This is Talisker.”
As the boat drifted in, Jack saw two figures huddled on the shore. The wind had died down, but it was still cold.
“We thought ye werenae comin’,” grumbled one of the shore figures as Ossian steered the boat in.
“The wind was up. Have we still time?”
“Oh aye. They’ll be there until it gets dark. An hour, anyway.”
“Jack, you come wi’ me. The others’ll meet us at the head of the loch later.”
“Can’t I come?” wailed Morrigan.
Jack had hardly noticed her throughout the day. She had spent the time hunched down as far out of the wind as she could get.
“I want to show Jack this. You’ll be fine wi’ the others. See you in an hour or so.”
Ossian, Jack and Telos clambered into the tiny rowing boat, and made the short distance to shore. As they made the shoreline, Ossian and Jack jumped out, leaving Telos to return to the main boat.
“Jack, meet Gilravage and Stram.”
Jack waved as the two locals shouldered their knapsacks.
“Why d’you not want Morrigan to come?” Jack knew that she and Ossian had been well nigh inseparable since midsummer.
“She’s gettin’ on my nerves. Never leaves me alone.”
“Ye an’ yer girls.” Gilravage punched Ossian matily on the shoulder as they set off up a woodland track.
“Where are we going?” asked Jack. He was cold and tired, and wanted a hot meal more than anything.
“To get the charmstone,” answered Gilravage. “It’s no’ far. Least, the man that’s got it isnae.”
“How did you know we needed it?”
“We’ve been weeks arrangin’ this, Jack,” said Ossian. “D’you think we were just trainin’ all that time? I’ve been up here a couple o’ times sortin’ this out.”
“So who’s got the charmstone?”
“A human,” growled Stram. “He’s an eejit. He’s no idea what he’s got.”
“Ossian,” whispered Jack as Gilravage and Stram strode ahead. “They are Seelie, aren’t they? I mean, this whole thing is about being Seelie.”
“Doesn’t mean you can’t get the humans that deserve it. This guy’s a real prize – you’ll see. And anyway, we’re stuffed if we don’t get this charmstone.”
With that, Ossian jogged to catch up with his friends, leaving Jack to bring up the rear.
They had walked for twenty minutes when they came to another shoreline.
“It’s a loch,” explained Stram. “This guy fishes on the other shore.”
The four clambered into a small boat, and Gilravage and Stram expertly rowed them across the misty loch. In a few minutes they were within thirty yards of the far side, and in the fading light Jack could make out half a dozen people sitting on the shoreline with fishing rods.
“They’re all humans, yeah?”
“Just watch,” said Ossian, “you’ll like this.”
Jack strained to see what was happening, but for several minutes there was nothing more exciting than one of the men getting up and having a stretch. As he turned to sit down again he held his hands about two feet apart, gesturing to one of his friends. Loud braying laughter echoed over the water.
“Boastin’ again,” muttered Gilravage.
“You call this entertainment?” Jack rubbed his icy hands together. “Even Murkle’s lessons are more exciting. And I’m starving.”
“Just listen,” said Stram. “He’ll start any minute.”
Sure enough, a loud imperious voice carried over the water to the small boat.
“My great grandfather bought the estate back in the ’30s. We come up once a year for the fishing.”
Jack looked more closely. The man was clearly holding court.
“He thinks he’s the laird,” whispered Ossian. “The best dressed bad fisherman in the country – and his cronies are no better. He just brings them here to impress them. They can afford anythin’ they want, but they know the value of nothin’.”
“The old house had lain empty for ages. Great grandpapa had to gut the place, basically. But he planted some apple trees – that’s when he came across this.”
The ‘laird’ showed his friends a quartz amulet which he wore around his neck.
“He found it in a chest buried in the garden. Sort of shaped like a pot, or something. No idea what the symbols are – look like ancient runes to me. Some local chappie says they’re crescent moons …”
Jack’s ears pricked up. Crescent moons?
“… anyway, hundreds of years old. But I’ve always believed it brought me luck when fishing. Never fail to catch a whopper. Hwuh, hwuh.”
He sat down again, pleased with his little joke, and picked up his rod. The amulet sat on his ample chest, glinting in the fading light. Lazily, he took a long swig from his hip flask, then passed it along the line to a chorus of ‘Thank you, sirs’. His face radiated contentment.
The ‘laird’ had been sitting there for only a minute or two when suddenly he leapt up as his line went taut. He let the line play out for a while, then, as it slackened, started to reel it in. Jack watched as the other fishers gathered around to offer advice and encouragement.
A thought occurred to Jack.
“Can they see us?”
“’Course not,” replied Ossian. “The boat’s charmed, it’s invisible. Those Dameves are in for a shock.”
Jack watched as the fisherman slowly reeled his catch in, the splashes getting larger as the fish neared the shore.
“What’s he caught?”
“More than he bargained for,” said Ossian, as the fish was reeled in.
One of the other fishermen let down a net, and scooped up the catch. The ‘laird’ lifted the furiously wriggling fish – at least two feet long – out of the net, and held it aloft. Its wriggles slackened off, and the group passed around congratulations and estimates of weight. As the ‘laird’ reached into the fish’s mouth to release the hook, the fish began to grow.
Within seconds it had doubled in size, and the laird struggled to keep a grip. The fish lifted its head, gave an almighty shake and dislodged the hook in its mouth; then, it made to bite the laird, who dropped it and fell over. The others had all stepped back in amazement as the fish, landing on the ground, exploded into several smaller fish. These now began to squirm and flip down the bank to the water’s edge. Reaching this within seconds, they slid quietly into the dark water.
There was a moment of absolute silence: the fishermen stood transfixed by what they had seen; the ‘laird’, still on the ground, stared, open-mouthed at the now still water. Without warning the fish – restored to its swollen size – poked its head out of the water, and uttered a deep roar that echoed across the loch. Then, sliding down into the water again, it swam away. The ‘laird’ looked as if he was about to die.
Ossian laughed wildly, rocking the boat from side to side.
“That’ll teach ’em to brag about the one that got away,” he said, wiping tears from his eyes. “They’re boastful, that lot, al
ways goin’ on about how they nearly broke the record. Serves ’em right.”
“Time to get the charmstone,” said Stram matter-of-factly, and he and Gilravage rowed to within a few feet of the shore. Jumping out of the boat, Gilravage made his way determinedly towards the stunned fishermen.
If the exploding fish had been cause of enough surprise and shock, the sight of a two-foot man emerging from the loch put paid to all notions of a peaceful night’s sleep to come.
“He’s stayed Shian size,” hissed Jack. Having been so used to growing to human size when in the human parts of Edinburgh – and on Ilanbeg – Jack had almost forgotten how much smaller Shian were than humans.
Gilravage strode boldly up to the ‘laird’, and bent down. With a flick, he produced a small knife, and swiftly cut the chain holding the amulet. Then, grabbing the laird’s hip flask, he made an exaggerated swigging motion with his right hand, before heading back for the water and – to the watching humans – disappearing.
As Gilravage clambered back into the boat, Ossian and Stram took the oars. All four were laughing uproariously.
“Can’t they hear us?” asked Jack through tears of laughter.
“Aye, but they still can’t see us,” replied Stram happily. “What’re they goin’ to say? A big fish exploded into lots of wee fish, and yelled at ’em? Then a wee man appeared and stole his lordship’s charm? That’s one story they won’t tell; nobody’ll believe ’em.”
“That’s Phase One complete, Jack. Glad you came? Now we can go and find Caskill.”
7
Waking Caskill
As Ossian and Stram rowed along the loch, Gilravage turned the amulet over in his hands, delighted with his prize. Still being Shian size, the amulet more than filled his hand.
“How’d you know his lordship had the charmstone?” asked Jack.
“Your tutor’s been comin’ along this last while,” replied Gilravage. “You’ll see him soon.”
My tutor? Jack’s mind whirled. It must be Murkle. That’s it! He told us about the crescent moons.
“It does look like a pot,” said Jack.
“It’s a cauldron, not a pot,” replied Gilravage. “And those aren’t runes. But it is Norse, I know that much.”