“Bring them in,” he said. “Bring them in now.”
The warriors looked at each other and then glanced at the druids, clearly hesitating. “Now,” Colum insisted, and the two of them bowed to him and left the hall once again.
At least there would be a respite from the unspeakably boring recitations of the law. And he was curious as to why four of Odhran’s men should wish to speak to him now. Perhaps there was hope of making an alliance, something not even his father had attempted. Maybe a new day would dawn with the rule of King Colum.
The other king’s party walked into the hall and stood before him. They were two warriors and two druids, and after nodding politely to Colum one of the druids stepped forward to speak.
“We greet you, King Colum, and send you a message from Odhran, our king. He wishes you and all of your men to know how very pleased he is that you are now the king of Dun Bochna.”
Colum nodded to them in return. How was it that his father, and Brendan, had always thought these people to be so dangerous? They were certainly being most cordial to him now.
“We know that you and Odhran have never met face-to-face. We have come to ask if Odhran and a few of his most honored men might come to this hall to meet the new king, and to provide you with a feast to celebrate Lughnasa.”
Colum studied them, cocking his head and beginning to smile. “You wish to bring us a feast?”
“We do. Lughnasa is the first harvest, the harvest of grain, and we will bring you bread such as you have never seen.” The man took a single step forward. “I am also charged to tell you that it is Odhran’s greatest wish to speak to you of an alliance between our two kingdoms.”
“An alliance.”
Colum sat up tall, this time with a broad smile. “There is nothing I would like better than to make an alliance. The fighting has gone on long enough. If your king wishes to come to us at Lughnasa, tell him to come, for he is welcome.”
The four men bowed to him, and then left the King’s Hall.
Colum started to sit back and relax, feeling very pleased and wanting to enjoy his triumph—but immediately his men and druids gathered around him.
“You intend to let Odhran and his men walk in here and sit down to a feast?”
“Odhran is not to be trusted. His word is no good!”
“He has proven that time and again!”
“Look how your father dealt with him!”
“Look how Brendan—”
Colum leaped to his feet. The tanist’s torque bumped painfully against his collarbone. “They antagonized him with constant raids! It is no wonder Odhran became our enemy.” He looked hard at all of them, knowing they would not dispute him. “Now that I am king, things will be different. I will form an alliance with King Odhran and there will be peace between us. It will begin with the feast of Lughnasa.”
“But—”
“Enough!” He found it something of a pleasure to shout and watch the warriors and the druids do his bidding. “I will spend some time with my harp now. The rest of this business can wait.”
Colum went striding down the hall and headed out the door to his home, not caring that his men all looked at each other and shook their heads.
He would be better than Brendan or his father as king. He would show them a different way.
For nine lonely people, the entire world had been reduced to a wide, flat ledge high above the sea.
They had fled to this place in an effort to keep one man alive—to protect him from an evil king, and from himself—but they had retreated to such a small and primitive corner that, at times, Muriel could only wonder if it would not have been better to take their chances on the mainland with Odhran.
But as the days went by, there was little time for such questions. There was far too much to do in the moment-by-moment effort to survive.
They soon found themselves divided up into three groups of three, the better to handle the many chores that must be done. Brendan, Killian, and Darragh became expert fishermen, using a net and hooks and crude lines to bring up endless supplies of cod and mackerel and pollack and wrasse, and even the occasional eel.
Muriel, Queen Grania, and the blind King Fallon stayed near the rock face and tended to food preparation and water collecting. Muriel became the tender of the newly caught fish, spending her days cleaning them and slicing them into thin strips and laying the strips out onto rocks doused with seawater. She would place stones on them so that the drying wind would not blow them away, and then constantly shift the stones to allow for thorough drying. And when she was not cleaning or slicing the fish, she was chasing away the seabirds who thought they had found a ready feast.
Grania and Fallon would sit together to sew and repair the clothes and cloaks and fishing nets. Muriel was surprised to see how good Fallon was at sewing, his fine hands running over the coarse stitches and instantly finding any flaw. Yet Muriel became increasingly concerned about Grania. The frail queen might have a spirit as tough as iron, but her body had less and less strength each day. Muriel saw how she struggled just to make her way from one side of the ledge to the other and how she shivered whenever she lay down to rest in the evenings.
“I will just stay here and listen to the sound of the waves,” Grania would say. “The sea has been a part of my life ever since I went to live with my husband at Dun Camas. The sound reminds me of our life together there, and it makes me feel happy to listen to it.” Muriel could only smile at her and place the warmest of the cloaks snugly around her.
Gill, Duff, and Cole spent much of their time in the first days building a low wall at the edge of the cliff. It would give a little more protection from the east wind and—most important—help to keep anyone from accidentally getting too close to the fatal drop.
The three serving men were soon spending endless amounts of time in exploring as much of the steep and treacherous island as they could reach, often going down to the edge of the sea. Each evening they would return with leather sacks bearing lengths of seaweed, precious bits of driftwood, small rocks to add to their protective wall, and even salt deposits carefully scraped from depressions in the boulders where seawater had evaporated.
One of their most welcome finds was the occasional handful of a watercress-like grass, whose thick heart-shaped leaves had a similar biting taste that went very well with the endless dried fish and water-soaked oats.
And when night fell, Brendan and Muriel would lie down close together on their leather pallet and cover up with all the cloaks they had, each one grateful for the warmth of the other in this cold, damp, and frighteningly barren place. Their greatest comfort here was the time spent alone in the mist-shrouded darkness, with the roar of the sea and the singing of the wind to grant them a measure of privacy.
Muriel would close her eyes and imagine she was back home with Brendan, safe and secure in their warm solid house with fur covers and straw-stuffed cushions to sleep on and fresh hot bread and roasted beef waiting for them on the hearth. She would pull him close in the darkness, their arms and legs entwined, and they would make love together for as long as they wished, until the familiar sweet exhaustion set in…and then they would drift off to sleep in each other’s arms, forgetting, for a little while, just where they really were.
A fortnight passed, fourteen nights of a life far more difficult than any of them had ever imagined—except perhaps for Gill and Cole and Duff, who had suffered in ways that those of the nobility would never know. Even though the food was scant in this place and the work never-ending, they were at least free men in a world that was entirely theirs.
Brendan, too, seemed to be growing stronger, with all the hard work to keep him occupied and moving forward. Muriel often heard him say that he would keep them all alive and get them home if it was the last thing he ever did in life. She could only hope that such a thing would not be necessary.
But though Muriel, too, threw herself into the work so that they might all survive, she made no effort to use her magic. She
never went down to the sea, never tried to call its creatures, never looked at her water mirror except to empty it of its rainwater as she did the cups and the cauldron.
Most of all, she tried not to think of how soon it would be before the moon was full once more.
Chapter Nineteen
One evening, some thirty nights after their arrival, Brendan and his company gathered together around a small fire. The sun had just begun to set, leaving the group sitting in the shadow of the island peak above and gazing out at the sunlit mainland where shadows lengthened across it.
As the days went, this one had gone fairly well. Though everyone had lost weight since the landing and grown thin and gaunt from the meager rations and hard work, they were not starving. Though their tunics and cloaks were ragged and worn, the efforts of Fallon and Grania kept them clothed. And though it was a lonely and isolated existence, they had grown to know each other well through the endless work that had to be done in cooperation each day.
On this night they had heaped up some of the driest of the driftwood and a few pieces of the broken curragh frame, thrown on some dried seaweed and grasses, and managed to build a fire. All of the group sat as close to it as they dared, reveling in the warmth and the glowing light.
Earlier in the day Cole had once again captured a couple of the slow puffins that made their nests among the rocks. He and Muriel had made short work of preparing the newly killed birds, and now, as the little fire crackled before them, they placed a cauldron full of water and sea salt and puffin pieces over the flames to boil.
It would be their first hot meal in weeks.
The late summer night was beautiful and warm and clear, the sea as calm as it ever got; and once they finished eating the little company sat together to talk for a time, instead of just dropping into an exhausted sleep as they most often did. Muriel sat with her back to the mainland to the east, knowing that soon the moon would rise.
She could not bring herself to look at it.
“So, I believe that tomorrow night the moon will be full, which means the first night of Lughnasa,” said Fallon. “Am I correct, my lady Muriel?”
She smiled, knowing that he would sense her expression even if he could not see it. “You are, King Fallon. Tomorrow is Lughnasa—though I am afraid there will not be much of a grain harvest or a feast to celebrate it or a bonfire to mark it, out here on this island.”
“Then we shall have to find another way to honor this time of year.” He stood up, keeping one hand against the cliff wall, and faced the soft wind blowing in from the mainland. “I propose that we do so by making a decision.
“Has the time come for us to return to the mainland? Have we been gone long enough for Odhran to believe that Brendan is dead or escaped, and will no longer hunt for him? Or should we wait as long as we can, to make certain that our terrible ordeal will not have been in—vain?”
The little group glanced from one to the other. “The druids said we would have to return by the Autumn Equinox,” said Killian. “If tomorrow night is Lughnasa, then we have at least two fortnights until then.”
“But the longer we stay here, the rougher the seas become,” said Darragh. “The Equinox might well be far too late—especially with nine people in just one curragh.”
“We might have to make more than one journey,” Muriel said, “though I dread to think of who would have to stay behind.”
Gill raised his head. “Brendan,” he said, “if the danger from Odhran were truly past, would not someone have tried to come out here and tell you it was safe to return?”
“That is likely,” Darragh said. “They would not have to land—we could see them well out at sea, from this height, but we have seen no one.”
“Yet they might not have come because they are afraid of leading Odhran’s men to us,” said Killian.
Fallon nodded. “It is a dilemma. Do we dare return and risk finding Odhran waiting when we do? Or do we dare stay here a little longer, and risk starvation and cold and shipwreck?”
All of them were silent. “Brendan, you should take pride in what you have accomplished,” Fallon continued. “You have kept those of us who followed you—your people—alive and safe in a place that offers almost nothing. And I have not failed to notice that your spirit has grown stronger in the process, no matter how thin your body or how ragged your cloak.”
“I thank you, King Fallon,” Brendan answered in a soft voice. “I, too, am happy that all of us are alive and here together. Yet it hurts me to see how thin you all have grown, how ragged your garments have become.”
Fallon nodded. “This island has been a place of retreat, but a harsh one. It was a refuge to preserve the life of a good and loyal man. But now, facing the first night of Lughnasa tomorrow, a decision must be made: will we stay here and try to survive the winter? Or will we return to the mainland?”
They all turned to glance at one another. Muriel saw the pale, gaunt faces around her, and it seemed that the warm evening breeze suddenly held a chill, as if in warning of what winter in this place would be like. She drew her worn blue cloak a little closer, and then she and Brendan looked at each other.
“We must go back,” he said. “I know very well that we must go back, and we must go soon—no matter the risk to me. We cannot stay here for the winter.”
Fallon made a noise of acknowledgment, still facing out toward the mainland. “I agree that it is difficult enough to survive here now, in the mildest weather. The winter would likely prove to be our undoing. Yet I believe that you must make the decision.”
The old king moved forward a few steps, keeping his hand on the rock face as he did. “What do your people think? It is important to know that… What will they do if we return?”
Glances flicked from one person to another. Darragh spoke first. “My home has always been at Dun Bochna,” he said. “I have served its king since I was old enough to lift a sword. And there is a woman there who waits for me.” He looked over at Brendan. “I will do all I can to help you, wherever you take us, though I will not deny that I wish it were home.”
Killian, sitting beside him, simply nodded. “Darragh speaks exactly as I would have.”
Gill sat between Duff and Cole. He looked first at Muriel, and then at his son. “Slaves never have a choice of where they go…but I am beginning to understand that my slavery is past. Of my own free will I will go with you and help you in any way that I can.” He spoke to the rest of the group. “And I would do that for him even if he were not my son.”
Duff and Cole glanced at each other. “Our lives, too, are with Brendan,” said the latter, and Duff nodded in agreement.
King Fallon turned to Muriel. She shook her head and said, “There should be no question of what I will do. I am with my husband, and I will stay with him no matter where he goes.”
All of them looked to Brendan. Silence descended, broken only by the ceaseless crashing of the sea and the warm crackling of the group’s little fire.
Brendan stood up and walked a few steps toward the rock face, placing one hand upon the stone and then leaning his forehead against it. “You are right, King Fallon,” he said into the deep shadow cast by the island’s towering peak. “The time has come for me to make a decision.”
“What are your choices?” asked the old sovereign.
Brendan took another few slow steps across the little campsite. “I can stay here and truly be a king. The king of nothing,” he said with a small and bitter laugh. “I can be the king of this terrible place, with trapped and suffering though willing subjects. We can stay here until we all perish from the boredom, or from starvation…or until a raiding party from Odhran’s kingdom finally learns where we are and comes to finish me off.” He turned back toward Fallon. “What would happen to all of you then?” he asked bitterly.
“I think you know what would happen,” said Fallon.
“I do. As do you. You would all be slaves, or you would be killed. I cannot let that happen.”
Fa
llon stared at him with unseeing eyes. “So. What are your other choices?”
Brendan sighed and placed his hands on his hips, studying the ground. “I could cross the sea to the mainland and return to the beach below Dun Bochna. Darragh and Killian could go back to their rightful king and to the women who wait for them.” He fell silent.
“They could,” Fallon agreed. “But that accounts for only two of those who have followed you so loyally. Gill, Duff, and Cole have all said that they wish only to remain in your service. Your wife has made it clear that she will not leave your side. Unless you intend to abandon them all, where will you go yourself, Brendan?”
Muriel could hear her husband breathe deeply of the night air. “I am no true-born king…but no true-born king ever had better friends than these, or a father as steadfast, or a wife to compare to Muriel, whose beauty is matched only by her loyalty. And so I will do the only thing I can even think of doing.” He sighed. “I will return Darragh and Killian safely to Dun Bochna. It is their home, though it can no longer be mine. There I will choose what next I will do, and there you all can decide whether to come with me.
“I would do whatever is best for all of you, even if that means leaving you to a new life at Dun Bochna and then going with my wife to Dun Farraige to serve as a craftsman or a herdsman for the rest of my days. Perhaps Odhran would not bother with me again, if he knew that I truly was no longer a king of any sort but merely another servant…a man who spends his life hammering out weapons instead of using them, or following the cows with a herding switch instead of taking them in bold and praiseworthy raids.” He laughed harshly. “In fact, I am sure he would find great amusement in leaving me alive so he could watch the arrogant, troublemaking prince reduced to such a station in life.”
“Yet a life it would be,” Fallon answered.
“And you could take satisfaction in knowing that you had improved the lives of many—including your own father. You would know that your wife is loved and cherished and protected, and that she never doubts that you will be with her always.”
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