It occurs to me abruptly that I didn’t ask whether Merryn still farms her own land, or whether she, too, fell victim to Colm’s spite. It feels as if I can’t do anything right. Ronan’s hand lifts from my shoulder and I turn, regretting its loss, but he’s already walking away.
I bend to pick up a stick, worn smooth and grey by the sea. At the rear of the cove Ronan runs his hand across the cliff as if he’s testing its soundness. “My brothers and I used to climb for bird’s eggs on Ister’s northern cliffs,” he says.
It takes me a moment to grasp his meaning. He walks back to my side. “It’s not as bad as it looks, Ness.” He extends an arm. “The first section is the hardest. From the ledge, there, it gets easier and there are plenty of holds.”
I try to trace the path his finger picks out, but all I can see is the height of the cliff towering above us. “I —”
“We could leave most of our gear here.” He opens his pack. I scrutinise the rope, like a coiled serpent, that he drops on the sand. He offers me a slab of bread, but any hint of appetite I might have had has disappeared.
“The dinghy will be safer here than in the inlet,” he says. “And this way we’ll be at Merryn’s before anyone else has time to reach the headland. If they’re looking,” he adds, as he sorts our belongings into two piles.
After a moment he notices my silence. He looks up. “It’ll save us half a day, as well as reducing the risk. And it’ll mean we can get off the island as soon as it’s dark.” He’s convinced himself, at least.
“I don’t know if I can do it.”
“You used to use that path up the cliff above the cave. It’s more or less the same.”
It’s not, I think. Ignoring my indecision, Ronan begins repacking our gear. I walk to the sea’s edge and sluice my face, welcoming the sting of salt in my eyes. Turning, I stare up at the cliff. Perhaps Ronan’s right: beyond the ledge he pointed out, the slope is less steep.
“I could go on my own,” he offers. “If you draw me a map I can —”
“No.” My mouth feels mealy and dry. I wipe my hands on my thighs.
Ronan swings the pack onto his shoulders. “All right. I’ll go first, with the rope. Don’t start till I reach the first ledge.” He ties a loop around my torso. “I’ll tug twice when I’m ready for you to come up.” Dread oozes thick as mud through my veins. “If you need more slack, give three quick tugs on the rope and I’ll loosen it off a fraction.”
Though I try, I can’t return his smile.
“It’ll be easier than you think, Ness.”
My palms are clammy as I wait, neck craned back till it aches, while Ronan inches upwards. The cliff seems to stretch to the sky. If I fall, Ronan surely won’t be able to hold me. More likely I’ll pull us both to our deaths.
The rope tightens between us then jumps twice in my hands. “Come up to the ledge,” he calls softly. “It’s not far.”
I curl my fingers around a rocky spur and lift my right foot to a jut. With my left I find a crack. Ronan is right: it’s easier than I expected, but the rock is sharp, the holds small and rough beneath the pads of my fingers. I’ve barely begun when the newly healed gash on my shin begins to ache.
“You’re doing well,” Ronan calls.
I grit my teeth. Easier to find purchase with fingers than toes. My knees keep getting in the way, and each time I search without finding a hold, my heart hammers so savagely it feels as if it alone might push me from the cliff. Ronan keeps the rope taut without unbalancing me, but still it sometimes tangles my arm or slaps at my chest. When his hand closes on my wrist I jerk in fright.
“Steady, Ness. Up you come.”
“How much farther?” I gasp, once I’m safely wedged beside him. The cove looks tiny below.
“About the same again.”
Liar, I think. From memory, I’d guess we’re at most a third of the way.
Ronan checks the coils of the rope then shuffles around till he’s facing the cliff. “Don’t look down,” he says. “If you tell yourself the ground’s right below, it takes the fear out of it.”
If my disbelief is apparent, he politely ignores it.
The second part of the climb comes easier. The last section is the worst. Kittiwakes, disturbed by our presence, swoop in around my head. One grazes my arm and I flinch, a cry winging from me as I slither back a pace. The rope pulls me up, cutting into my ribs, adding grazes to those I’ve already gained from the rock.
Ronan’s voice steadies me. “You’re fine, Ness.” His head hangs out above me. “You’re nearly there.”
I can’t spare the breath to answer. My vision smears with tears of relief as I haul myself up and over the lip of the guano-crusted ledge.
“You did it.” Ronan grins.
I don’t yet trust my voice. My palms feel raw. I rub them together, hoping the pressure will still their shaking. The noise of the rookery is deafening, angry birds swooping and darting around us, but for once I don’t mind their ceaseless clamour or their stench.
Ronan hands me a canteen and I drink gratefully. Minutes tick by. The sun, above us now, dries the sweat on my face. I wriggle to unstick my damp shirt.
“We’re probably too late in the season for eggs,” he says, and I peer at him blankly. “They’ll have hatched. Piers and I would eat the first dozen we found, as reward for the climb.”
It’s only the second time in the three years I’ve known him that Ronan has mentioned his brother. “We’d layer the eggs between moss to keep them safe for the climb back up. Piers dropped his pack once, when he had it almost full.”
“Did he lose it?”
He nods. “Mam was angry. She said we took too many risks.”
“She’d have been scared, thinking it could have been you or Piers that fell.”
He doesn’t answer. “Is Ister much like Dunnett?” I ask.
Ronan picks at the side of his boot where a strip of leather has been scuffed away. “It’s smaller but just as rugged, the coastline especially. There are only a handful of places where you can land, besides Tarbet.” He coils the rope between his hands and stows it in the pack. “If you know what you’re doing, you can beach a boat below our farm at high tide, but you have to time it just right.”
The birds have begun to settle, accustomed now to our presence. Ronan scrambles up and extends his hand. “Do you think about it much?” I ask, as we stand face to face.
He shoves the canteen, half empty now, into the pack and cinches the straps. “My brothers,” he says. Our gaze holds for a heartbeat. “Come on.” He settles the pack on his back. “Your turn to lead the way.”
The quickest route to Merryn’s lies directly across the headland. We scramble south around the craggy limits of the rookery and up onto the sparsely tufted hill, my thoughts drifting to my flight three years ago, and Jed’s mocking face.
We see no one on the hillside. By the time we reach the copse, I’m edgy with tension. “It’s not far now.”
When the orchard comes in sight my breath catches like needles in my throat. I’ve missed Merryn, but it’s more than that: there’s guilt, as well, that I left her under suspicion when she had no part at all in the decisions I took. At the time I trusted that Marn would keep her safe, but after seeing Sophie I’m wondering whether Marn’s friendship might instead have worked against her.
Beehives have been set out among the trees and relief pours through me like a tonic: no one I know but Merryn has the knack for keeping bees.
Alert for any sound, I lead Ronan past the orchard and honey shed, through the shelter belt and around to the back of the barn. My eyes skim the yard. The house is quiet, but within the barn I hear an animal snort, and the clank of a bucket. Motioning for Ronan to wait, I peer cautiously around the door. The interior is dark and the smell of livestock wraps soothingly around me. For a moment I’m my five-year-old self, sitting straight and eager on the stool by Merryn’s side, her fingers feathered around mine as she teaches me to milk.
The barn is as familiar
to me as Leewood’s. With just the tips of my fingers resting on the wood I slip inside. A cow stands quietly chewing in a stall near the door. A nanny goat rests on the straw of a pen while another, with a pair of kids, stamps her foot at my intrusion. Merryn sits with her back to the door, a bucket between her knees, her hands busy milking.
“Hello?” My voice comes out hesitant and warped.
“I’ll be with you in a moment,” she calls over her shoulder.
The sound of milk against the pail loses its sharp ring as the bucket fills. Finally she sets it aside, running her hand along the goat’s knobbed spine before she turns.
“How can I help you?” she asks, walking weighted by pails towards the doorway.
I step forward to meet her. The light catches her face so that I see her expression shift from polite enquiry to astonishment. “Ness!” She sets the pails on the floor and envelopes me in her arms. “What are you doing here? Oh, the number of times I’ve feared you dead, or lost to us altogether one way or another.” She hugs me harder then thrusts me away to arms’ length. “Let me look at you: you’ve grown and you’re better fed — that’s a mercy.” Her grip is firm on my arms. “It’s good to see you, Ness.”
My smile matches hers, the only shadow on my happiness the lack of such welcome from Sophie.
“Come inside,” Merryn says, reaching for her buckets.
“Wait. I’ve someone with me.”
She straightens. I duck around the side of the barn and beckon Ronan forward. “Ronan, this is Merryn.” Her gaze is calm and steady. “Ronan is from Ister,” I add.
That catches her by surprise. “Ister? You’re not so very far from home then.” She wipes her palms on her apron. “I’m pleased to meet you, Ronan,” she says formally. “Is this your first visit to Dunnett?”
The absurdity of the question lightens the moment. Ronan tells her it is and offers to carry the pails. Merryn waves us towards the house. “I get few enough visitors these days, but it would still be prudent not to stand about in the open.”
“Nothing’s changed then?” Even though I know it already, still I feel my tide of happiness ebb.
“Oh, things have changed.”
Over a pot of mint tea and honeycakes that recall me to my childhood, I sketch an outline of the last three years. Merryn’s questions, as I summarise the troubles at Ebony Hill, remind me of the differences between Dunnett and Vidya. At the news that I’m newly trained as a medic, she smiles. “At least that’s as it should be. I told Marn more than once that you had a talent worth nurturing. I’d have taught you more, if only Tilda could have seen it.”
“I saw Sophie this morning.” I hesitate, feeling my way around the subject like a tongue around a sore tooth. “She said that Tilda has taken things hard.”
“She’s not alone in that. There’s probably not much more I can tell you, Ness. I don’t get much news here, and Tilda no longer comes to me for her headache tonics.” Her smile is grim. “Not many do.”
“Do you not still see Marn?”
“No.”
Her answer sits stark between us. “I’m sorry.” I swallow. “I didn’t know how much damage it would do when I left.”
“Don’t take the blame on yourself. The way things are on Dunnett is Colm’s doing.” When she gets up to fetch the kettle, I notice that she favours her left knee. “The pair of you are proof, if we’d only heed it, that things needn’t be this way.” She tops up our cups. “And what of you, Ronan? How do you come to be in Vidya, if it’s Ister you’re from?”
Though he’s taken little part in the conversation till now, he answers easily. That Ronan and Merryn will get along is plain to see.
“I don’t know what happened to the others who left,” he finishes. “We went to Banon and Tay trying to find them, but both islands had been abandoned.”
Merryn nods slowly. “I’d heard about Tay.” She frowns. “How did you come to meet Ness?”
“Explorer found us adrift and took me to Vidya.” He shrugs. “I didn’t much care. I … by then it was only me left.”
Merryn reaches across the table to grip his hand. “Life offers us hard things to cope with,” she says, and I think of her own family, her daughter dead before she was yet a year old and her husband taken by the wasting sickness two winters later. “Dunnett is no easy place to come to, Ronan of Ister, but you’re welcome at my hearth.” She turns to include me in her question. “What do you plan from here?”
I’m thinking of a way to answer, or at least to begin asking the things we need to know, when a battering at the door stills us all in our seats.
CHAPTER 10
Merryn is first to react. Standing abruptly she whisks our mugs into a cupboard and upends a basket of lichens on the table. With a tilt of her head she directs us towards the door at the far side of the kitchen. Ronan reaches for our pack and, as the banging comes again, pulls the door closed behind us.
“Malky!” I hear Merryn say. “What brings you this way? Not one of your youngsters, I hope? They’re all well?”
I hear the voice of my one-time neighbour, Malky Shehan, low and gruff. “There’s trouble in the making Merryn, but not of that kind. I saw Ton on the road. He was on his way here and I offered to come in his stead — I know you and he don’t see eye to eye.”
“Come in, Malky. The kettle won’t take long to boil,” Merryn says.
“I’ve disturbed you in the middle of something.” We hear the scrape of a chair. “I’d begun to think you weren’t in.” There’s the hint of a question — surely not suspicion — in his voice. The Shehans have always been friends to Merryn — and to me, though whether that still holds true I’d rather not put to the test.
“I’m slower from my chair than I used to be. My knee’s troubling me a little.”
“Jannie mentioned it had been bad this past winter. Arthritis, she said.”
“It seems so.”
I frown at this information. Merryn was my refuge from the storms of my childhood. It pains me to think of her ageing.
Water runs and there’s the familiar clank as the kettle is set on the hob. Merryn. My eyes drift around the room: the bed with its quilt sewn in cross-hatched red and gold, cupboard carved along its edge with a tracery of flowers, shawl of moss green tossed across the room’s only chair.
“Let me clear you a space,” Merryn says. “I’m sorting lichens. Some are better for dyes than others. This one — it’s rare enough — I save for my tonics. Young Ellen had it in the medicine I made up for her when she suffered with croup last winter.”
The reminder of the help Merryn’s given the Shehans over the years is intentional, I’m sure.
Malky clears his throat. “There’s been a report of strangers in the woods near Leewood,” he says, his voice sounding hollow through the wall.
“Near Leewood?” Merryn’s tone is disbelieving. “I can’t think what Colm could have to gain from further discrediting Marn.”
“Merryn, you do yourself no favours with such talk.”
“This is my house, Malky. I believe I’ve a right here to say what I think.”
A chair scrapes. “I don’t mean to argue with you: you know my views. But Ton seemed in a mood that spelled trouble and I thought it best to let you know.”
“And I thank you for that consideration, but I don’t credit a tale carried from Ton or his nettle-tongued wife. Or perhaps it was Jed? Which would tempt me to give it even less credence.”
“I didn’t come to debate the truth of it, Merryn, I came to warn you. You can’t afford more trouble. If there’s any to be had, you’d best stay well clear of it. You won’t escape Colm’s wrath a second time.”
“His wrath,” Merryn asks, “or his spite?”
“That’s just the sort of talk I’m warning you against.”
“And it’s up to you whether you tattle on me for it. You can tell Ton you’ve passed on the news, and that I’ll be sure to look out for any strangers.”
Her ambigu
ous answer seems to satisfy him. Malky mutters a mouthful of platitudes as his footsteps cross the room.
“My regards to Jannie,” Merryn says. “Can I give you a jar of honey for the children?”
“They’d not thank me for saying no. Becky especially has a sweet tooth and —” The words cut off abruptly. “You’ve new boots, Merryn. I’ve not seen the like.”
Ronan’s eyes snag on mine. I glance swiftly at his feet, long and narrow in their socks.
“I found them on the beach a few years back. The Council might not approve, but I don’t believe in letting a useful item go to waste just because we don’t know its provenance.”
There’s a silence during which I hold my breath, then a brief murmur of words, too low to hear. Soon after, a door closes. I can’t relax. Sounds come from the kitchen but neither Ronan nor I dare move. When the bedroom door opens I flinch.
“He’s gone. Did you know you’d been seen?”
“There was someone in the trees above Skellap Bay,” Ronan says. “I had the feeling they were watching Sophie.”
His comment takes me by surprise.
“That leaves open a few possibilities.” Merryn sighs. “And potentially, a problem. If Ness was recognised, Ton would likely lay a trap. He might have someone watching my house to see what happens in the wake of Malky’s warning.”
“But surely the Shehans —”
“Like all of us, Ness, the Shehans fear the Council. Faced with a threat to his family, Malky will do what he has to. He said as much before he left.” She hesitates, considering me. “He’ll not turn me in over the boots though.” She holds them out to Ronan. “Still, we need to get you safely away, for all our sakes.”
“We’d planned to leave the island as soon as we’d talked with you,” Ronan tells her. “We’ve a dinghy.”
“You can’t risk leaving in daylight.”
Regret and anger war inside me. “Merryn, I’ve brought you trouble again. I’m sorry for it.”
She looks at me, her mouth tucking into a tired smile. “You’ve brought me much more than that over the years, and any trouble has been fashioned by Colm Brewster, not by you. As I recall, you once saved me from a spot of trouble of his making as well.”
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