“You know how headstrong your foster brother can be. I doubt you could have stopped him,” I said, and hoped I sounded convincing. “But perhaps later you can be showing me exactly where you left him. For now, let us be speaking with Fergus’s aunt again. Perhaps she will have thought of more to tell us.”
We traveled down the track leading to Àine’s house. The old woman heard the noise of our approach above the wind, and came outside to meet us as we dismounted. She was an old wizened thing, nearly bent double with the crooked back that age gives to some women, and her brown eyes, when she looked up towards us, had a look of confusion and suspicion in them.
Fergus greeted his aunt and she invited us inside and gave us some fresh milk.
“Now what is it you are wanting?” she asked abruptly after the preliminaries were concluded. “For this young one was here yesterday with his brother. I was telling him already I did not see the boy.”
“But were you seeing anything at all out of the ordinary?” I asked.
“There is a lot to see on the sands, out there,” Àine replied. “People come and go, like the tides.”
“What sorts of people?”
“The folk from hereabouts, mainly. And people come to visit Columcille’s well on the other side of the beach there, in the rocks. Not just Colonsay folk. Sometimes you will see a boat beached there, and then I am knowing someone is visiting the well from another island.”
“And do you see other boats as well? Colonsay men?”
“Just those of his brother,” she said, nodding towards Fergus.
“So you were not seeing the young boy?”
“Wasn’t I just saying as much?” she retorted, sounding annoyed.
“I know, Granny. But surely many others come to the beach here. What of them?”
“The young girls will be gathering seaweed. And shellfish. And the men will be coming in from the fishing. The women gather herbs on the hills over there,” she added, motioning to the hills above the beach.
“Anyone else? Anyone out of the ordinary?”
The old woman made a sign of protection. “I have been seeing lights on the beach. And on the hills. But that is the faerie, for it is late in the night.”
“It could not be people you are seeing?”
She shook her head resolutely. “It is the faerie,” she said flatly. “They come down from the hills, from Beinn Beag, and they dance on the beach. I have heard them, have heard their singing. I have glimpsed them there in the hills, as well. And they have taken that boy with them, back to the faerie hills.”
We left her house and traveled towards the village at Balnahard, stopping at each house we saw to inquire again for Niall. No one had seen him, although one man remembered seeing the red cow the boys had looked for, and another woman had seen the boys crossing the beach the day that Niall had disappeared.
We searched near Beinn Beag. Dòmhnall showed me the spot where Niall had stopped to pick something up from the ground, in the little valley between Beinn Beag and Carnan Eoin. There was no Niall there, and no sign of him. Then we walked farther up a little crest in that valley to the spot where Dòmhnall had left Niall digging at the stones. We could see a little disturbed section where the boy had been digging, but there was no sign of the boy. The stones looked as they always did, sitting undisturbed, and if they had seen where the boy had gone, they did not speak to us that day.
By now midday approached, and we hurried on towards Cill Chaitrìona. Although not as large as the nunnery on Iona, Cill Chaitrìona had been founded many years past by Beatrice, the sainted sister of Somerled who had founded the MacDonald clan. I had named my dog for him.
Women from all of the Isles came to the little nunnery on Colonsay to take their vows. A stone fence encircled the little stone chapel and the simple cottages where the nuns dwelled, while a cross, old and simply carved, stood near the entrance. We asked the sister at the gate leave to speak with the abbess.
Abbess Brìde, when she came to meet us, was a woman of middle years with an efficient demeanor. She did not invite us in to sit down nor offer us any refreshment, but kept us standing at the gate. We explained why we were here and asked her if any of her sisters had seen anything.
“We rarely leave the nunnery,” she replied. “Some of the young novices will be seeing to the sheep and the two cows, but the animals do not stray down in that direction. Sister Euphemia might go that way when she is collecting herbs. And Sister Morag, who accompanies her. They have not been out much lately, what with the weather so wet as it’s been. So no one will have seen anything. But I shall ask all the same.”
“Might we speak with them ourselves?” I asked.
Abbess Brìde looked somewhat annoyed. “There is no need. I am sure Sister Euphemia would have told me had she seen anything amiss.”
“But perhaps something little she saw might give us some clue,” I begged. “The boy has vanished without a trace. People are saying ungodly things about his disappearance, saying he was stolen by the sithichean.”
The abbess crossed herself.
“They are even saying the faeries have been dancing on the Tràigh Bàn.” I continued, pressing the point home. “Ungodly rumors will fly about this place. The talk is flying already, I am thinking. You know how people like to gossip. You can see that we must find the boy.”
“Yes, I can see that.” The abbess bit her lip a moment while she thought. “Very well,” she agreed after a moment. “I will send for Sister Euphemia and Sister Morag. Here,” she continued grudgingly. “You may come into the chapter hall and speak with them there. We are a small house and have few visitors.”
We followed her into a small stone building with some wooden benches within. One of the whitewashed walls was painted with a scene of Saint Catherine tied to her wheel, while Christ looked over the scene from a cross. The room was cold, with no fire, and we were not offered food or drink. I wrapped my brat more warmly around me and tried to smile encouragingly at Dòmhnall. We sat and waited in the chill while the abbess went to fetch Sister Euphemia and Sister Morag.
The two sisters came in, eyes downcast, and sat waiting for my questions. Sister Euphemia looked old and dour. She answered most of our questions while Sister Morag, younger and more demure, said little. Yes, they had left the nunnery last week to gather herbs, as it turned out, on the day Niall went missing. It was the root of the copag, or dock, that they had been digging; it grew well on the hills there. They used it for poultices. No, they had not seen a young boy alone, a red cow, or anything else out of the ordinary that day. They went out often, and that day they had been up in the hills, looking for the copag.
Eventually, we took our leave. But wherever we went on the northern part of the island, it was the same. No one had seen anything. The afternoon wore on, and finally, frustrated and hungry, we made our way back to the dun.
Chapter 3
A galley had arrived that day from Mull, bringing Liam MacLean back with another message for my uncle from Liam’s second cousin and clan chief Lachlan Lubanach. I took an instant and irrational dislike to the man, for some reason I did not fully understand. He was a fine-looking figure of a man, close to six foot, with broad shoulders and a face I am sure most women would account handsome. Blue-eyed and blond-haired, he wore his hair long, walked with a bit of a swagger, and looked every inch a chieftain, for all that he was no such thing. His brat was of a fine weave, and he had a fine silver brooch to pin it as well.
He had not heard of young Niall’s disappearance, but his expression grew most distressed when my uncle told him of it over a mether of ale.
“I am right sorry to hear of this.” He turned and sought out young Dòmhnall, as we had just entered the hall. “It’s sorry I am to think that my foolish talk could have been to blame for the lad’s disappearance.”
“And what foolish talk are you speaking of?” asked my uncle, instantly suspicious. “What was he speaking of to you?” he asked Dòmhnall.
“I
was just amusing the lads with tales of the sithichean, and of their gold,” interjected Liam, with a concerned look. “Little did I think the young amadans would be taking my words so seriously.”
“And what were you telling them of the sithichean?” asked my uncle, like a hound on the trail of a deer.
“I can not be remembering all of it,” replied Liam with candor. “Can you, lad?” he asked, turning to Dòmhnall.
“You were speaking of that man in Antrim who found the gold in the faerie hills, and came back to find his village gone, and a hundred years gone by. And of the riches that were found in the faerie hills. And you spoke of the glaiseraig, and the gruagach, but we had heard of them before—who has not known of them on this island? And then we were telling him of the Tom na Saighid, the Bush of the Faerie Arrow, over near to Garvard,” Dòmhnall added, turning towards his father. “And wasn’t it just that Niall had to go there and look for the arrows. But we were not finding any there.”
“Indeed,” interjected Liam smoothly. “Tales such as the boys might hear anywhere. And as the boy says, they had heard most of the tales before. I meant no harm by it all. And now just look at this coil.
“But where can the boy have gone to?” he continued. “Surely no one on this island would want to do him harm, and it is not such a large island as all that, to hide on. Now on Mull there would be places aplenty.”
“Is that a fact?” muttered my uncle, with a dark look on him and an angry glint in his hazel eyes. “Well, perhaps if you will be here for a few days, eating our food and riding our horses, you can be helping us search a bit and you may be finding what we have not yet found, on this tiny island of ours.”
“I meant nothing by that, you understand,” said Liam, who realized, too late, his slur. “Colonsay is a fine place indeed. Why, my own mother’s mother was from this island. That is why I am liking to come here, just, when my chief needs a man here.”
And so that matter, at least, was mentioned no more.
* * * * *
My uncle was true to his word, however, and sent Liam out with us to scour the island again. We concentrated on the area near the Beinn Beag where the shielings were, the summer pastures, and where Dòmhnall had last seen Niall. Amid a jumble of fallen stones we saw the more recent remains of an abandoned hut, but it looked as if no one had lived there for many years. We continued looking on the slopes of Carnan Eoin, the highest hill on the island. From the top we had a fine view of the island, and the surrounding seas, but no sight of Niall.
Liam MacLean was quite a talker, and with a fine sense of his own self-importance as well. At least so it seemed to me. I grew weary of listening to his tales of the fine cities he had visited—Edinburgh, Aberdeen, and even York on some business of his chief's. Although, I thought to myself, I would enjoy seeing such places myself someday. But not with Liam as a travelling companion.
My mind wandered and I thought of the stories he had told the boys. The glaiseraig, the gray slinking one, was said to have once been a woman, enchanted and stolen by the faerie until she was close to becoming one herself. I had never seen her, but Aorig claimed to have seen her one evening, in a gully over by Machrins. A tiny woman, gray-complected, with long yellow hair and a green dress. And sure enough it was that whenever the milking was done, each day in the evening, the milk maids poured out some milk for her on the stones to ensure the cattle came to no harm. For if annoyed, she could be mischievous.
The gruagach was her male companion, and it was himself that had been tied up so tightly on Clach na Gruagach near Balnahard that the rope had been leaving marks on the stone. You can see them to this very day. But neither of these creatures was known to steal young boys away.
Although other sithichean did. There were many tales of children, and old folk as well, stolen by the faerie. They usually left a changeling behind, with the same look as the stolen human, but some defect of speech or body. And changelings were most often treated well, to ensure the human child in turn was well treated by the faerie in the sithean. But there had been no changeling left in place of Niall; he had been spirited away entirely.
We stopped to question an old man living near Balnahard, who showed us another stone near the nunnery where milk was left for the glaiserig, and some marks in the stone he claimed were footprints of faerie cows. But there were no footprints of eight-year-old boys to be seen, and he himself knew nothing of the boy.
Near Cill Chaitrìona we passed Sister Euphemia and her assistant returning to the nunnery with baskets full of dock roots. Apparently they had not gathered enough the day that Niall went missing; over a week ago it was now.
It was shortly after that that Liam left us to go after a rabbit he had seen.
“Your aunt will be glad of it for her stewpot, and I’m thinking we’ll find nothing more of the boy today.” He rode off. I let him go with some relief, shared, I think, by Fergus.
* * * * *
There are several caves along the coast near the Tràigh Bàn, many of them large. Although Fergus said they had searched them, I resolved to look again. It is just the kind of place an adventurous boy would like to explore, as I knew, having been a boy myself on this island.
I decided to start with the large cave on the south side of the beach, despite the lateness of the day. We tethered the horses out of the wind and found the entrance to the cave among the rocks of the cliff face.
We lit the torches we had brought with us and the resinous flames flickered and filled the air with a smoky scent of burning pine pitch as we worked our way down the entrance to Uamh Ur, the big cave. We had to stoop and wriggle in, but inside the chamber was larger and one could stand upright comfortably. The floor was mostly sandy dirt, mixed with rock and debris, the walls, shale and limestone and other rock, with moisture seeping on the walls. The damp, musty smell of dirt mixed with old seaweed, and something else, perhaps a dead seabird dragged in by a wild fox, filled my nostrils. As my eyes adjusted a little to the dark, I cautiously straightened up and began to look around. The light our torches cast on the dark walls showed no sign of Niall, nor of any other habitation, but the chamber continued back a good thirty paces or so. Carefully I walked on, Dòmhnall close beside me. Behind I could see the light from Fergus’s torch.
The main cavern ended some forty paces back, but a branch led off to the left side, and I thrust my torch through the small opening. I found I did not like this place. Here it was darker and our torches cast less light. None of us spoke much, and when I knocked a loose stone with my foot, the clattering echo of it made Dòmhnall, close beside me, start.
I held the torch high as we looked into the smaller back passage. At first I saw nothing, but then I noticed a spot somewhat lighter than the surrounding rock on one side of that small chamber.
I showed it to Fergus. “I’ll go in, as I am the smaller. It will be easier for me to get in there.” Fergus agreed without much hesitation. I thought he perhaps liked this place as little as I did.
I squeezed through the small opening in the rock with the wet rocks pressing about me in a black embrace, and was glad enough to emerge in the more open darkness of the other chamber, although I could not stand upright here. I reached back through to grasp the torch that Fergus thrust through the opening, then shone it around, looking for the light patch I had seen earlier. I prayed it was just a light patch of rock, but as the torchlight fell on it, I could see it looked like cloth. I crossed the chamber to look closer. Mayhap it was a rag some animal had dragged in.
The flame shone on what looked like an old piece of linen, wrapped around a bundle of something. The bundle had been wedged into a crevice in the rocks. No animal would push something in so tightly or so carefully. A human had done this. Still, it was far too small to be the lad we were seeking.
I reached out and touched it gingerly; it did not budge. I looked closer and saw that a rock had been placed in front of it, keeping it snug in the crevice. Hands trembling, I removed the rock and, with one more tug,
the bundle fell from its hiding place and rolled on the rock floor of the cave. The linen unrolled and inside I saw a collection of tiny human bones.
Chapter 4
“They are faerie bones—” Fergus hissed when we carefully carried the bundle outside into the afternoon light. I confess it was glad I was to be away from that dark place, to see the sky, gray though it was in that late afternoon, and the gold sands of the beach, and the waves of the sea.
“No, Fergus. I am thinking it was only an infant. Some poor girl in trouble buried her baby here.”
“But why go to such lengths to hide it? And whatever shall we be doing with it now?”
“I do not know why they hid it. But I am thinking we should be taking it to a church for proper burial.”
And so we re-wrapped the tiny bones. I should say I, for Fergus refused to touch them. We rode with our sad little bundle to the parish church at Kilchattan, that being the closest one, and added a second mystery to our own.
The priest, Father Gillecolm, was concerned when we showed him what was there.
“The poor wee mite. But it can not be buried in hallowed ground, not unbaptized as it is. I shall put it just outside the wall there. That is the best I can be doing for it.”
“Father,” I asked, for something had just occurred to me. “Could I be asking you a favor? I am thinking if a physician looked at the remains, perhaps he could be telling us something of it. Would it be too much to ask you to keep the poor thing here for another day or two?”
“The whole village will be talking of it the longer it is above the ground,” replied the priest, “and I am not sure that that will be a good thing at all. But I will leave it here, in the back room here off the sacristy for a few days, if you are wanting me to do so. It will do no harm. Perhaps someone will come forward who is knowing of the mystery,” he added.
“Whoever hid the baby there was not wanting the remains to be found,” I countered. “But someone might know something of it.”
THE FAERIE HILLS (A Muirteach MacPhee Mystery Book 2) Page 3