A Stranger Came Ashore (4 page)

There was nothing much wrong with Old Da at first – just a chill that he took after getting his feet wet one day; but it was soon plain that he could not throw off this chill, and Janet altered the sleeping arrangement so that he would have more room to toss and turn at night.

Elspeth, she decided, would move in beside herself, while Robbie took Elspeth's bed; yet even when this was done and Old Da had a bed to himself, he still could not get a peaceful night's sleep. His bones shook with the fever that was on him, his breath came hard and painful. Watching him, Janet feared for the worst; and quietly, without telling the young people what she was about, she sent word to Peter of his condition.

Each night after that she lay awake for a long time, uneasily listening to the way the old man's breath wheezed and rattled in his chest. Through the day, Robbie and Elspeth took turns to sit with him; but it was Robbie's company he liked best, and it was while he sat by the box-bed holding the hot, paper-thin old hand between his own strong young hands, that Robbie at last also realised his Old Da was dying.

This was a hard fact to face; and what made it harder was that Old Da seemed so anxious to talk to him, yet still could do no more than wheeze out a few words at a time. Robbie kept telling him to rest, not to bother talking; but still Old Da persisted, as if what he had to say was important – even urgent – and Robbie got the strangest feeling that he was trying to utter a warning of some kind.

For two days this went on. Then, on the evening of the second day, Old Da said in a clear and perfectly normal voice, “Robbie, listen to me.”

Robbie saw that his eyes were wide open, and quite calm. He waited for the next word, and Old Da said,

“I should have told you all before this, but I wasn't sure. Now I'm dying, and I
must
speak. Don't trust him, Robbie.
Don't trust him.
”

“Trust who?” asked Robbie, bewildered by this; and with his voice getting fainter now, Old Da answered, “Finn Learson.”

“But why not?” Robbie demanded. “You've got to have a reason for saying that, Old Da. Why shouldn't I trust him?”

Old Da struggled to sit up. “This is the reason,” he began. “It has to do with gold, Robbie, and dancing, and the crystal palace under the sea –”

Old Da's breath was wheezing painfully again, and Robbie was alarmed by this. It seemed to him too, that the old man was now talking very strangely, and so he said quickly, “I'll call my Mam.”

“No – my breath is going!” exclaimed Old Da, clutching at him. “Listen first, then tell the others. Tell Elspeth. She's the one in danger –”

“
Mam
!” interrupted Robbie, shouting, for he was in real fear now over the way Old Da was panting. “Come quick, Mam!”

“It has happened before,” Old Da's wheezing voice persisted faintly. “Listen, Robbie. There was another stranger like Finn Learson. He came ashore the way Finn Learson did, and the story about him was that he …”

Old Da's voice faded to nothing. He made a great effort to gather his breath again, and Janet came in at the door as he gasped, “The story was that he –”

“
Story
!” exclaimed Janet, with a scandalised look on her face. “What's this, Robbie? Have you no heart at all that you can let your poor Old Da waste his last breath on stories for you?”

“I didn't want him to do that,” Robbie protested. “I tried to hush
him, but he
would
speak.”

“Well, he's quiet now,” said Janet, looking down at Old Da; and indeed he was quiet, for the effort of speaking to Robbie had quite exhausted him.

“Away you go, then,” Janet went on, “and I'll sit with him until he sleeps.”

Robbie nodded; then he leaned down to Old Da and said softly, “Goodnight, Old Da.”

Old Da looked up at him without making any further attempt to speak, but there was something in his eyes that made Robbie add, “I'll remember what you said – and I'll do as you told me.”

Old Da smiled, just a faint shadow of a smile, but enough to show he had understood; and Robbie went away feeling puzzled by what had happened, yet relieved that Old Da was no longer distressing himself by trying to talk.

That night, however, he found he could not sleep for thinking of what the old man
had
said; and late, very late, when Janet and Elspeth were asleep and even Old Da's breathing had eased, he slipped from his bed and went outside.

It was not dark then, of course, otherwise he would never have gone out like this, for it is in the hours between sunset and sunrise that the trows are free to work their magic. The Shetlands lie so far north, however, that there is no darkness there in summer. All that happens is a dimming of the light when the sun sets, but the colours stay in the sky for a while. Then the sky becomes white for an hour or two before the next sunrise; and it was into this sort of white night that Robbie ventured.

A quick glance around showed him there were no trows in sight; but just in case there were any lurking invisibly around, he did as Old Da had taught him to do in such situations. He made the sign of the Cross on himself, and said aloud,
“God be about me and all that I see.”

Immediately then, he knew he was safe, for these are words
that trows cannot bear to hear and so they scatter instantly at the sound of them. Without bothering any further about trowie magic, therefore, he climbed the hill above the voe, and sitting down on the grass there he tried to sort out all the questions that had kept running through his mind.

Had Old Da really been trying to tell him something? Something important? Had he really been trying to give warning of some danger that threatened Elspeth? Or had he simply been raving in the grip of his fever?

Robbie stared down at the silky-grey of the voe's waters, noticing the occasional seal which surfaced there; and vague memories of the stories Old Da used to tell him went chasing through his head …
a crystal palace under the sea
… Could there be such a thing?
There was another stranger like Finn Learson.
What stranger? And what had this other man to do with the crystal palace of the Great Selkie?

Robbie got tired at last of asking himself such questions, for he could not arrange any answers to them in a way that made sense. Besides which, he told himself, it was time he was going home again. There was a wash of pale gold across the white of the
north-eastern
sky, and a rim of brighter gold on the horizon as the sun touched it again.

Dreamily, almost on the point of sleep at last, Robbie sat watching this rim of gold grow wider and brighter, and then was suddenly jerked wide awake again by the sight of his father's sixareen coming into the voe.

There was no doubt, either, that it
was
his father's sixareen, for the sun was gilding the heads of the rowers and he could see it gleaming red off Nicol Anderson's red hair. Another moment or two and he could also see a head of hair that was the same
sandy-gold
colour as Elspeth's and his own – his father's head, rising into the light then dropping back into shadow when he bent to the oar.

With a leap of excitement at his heart, Robbie gathered himself
to rise and run down to the shore. But even as he stirred, a sound broke the white and gold silence of the morning – the sound of Tam howling at the door of the Hendersons' house. And without being able to tell how or why this should be so, Robbie knew in that instant that his Old Da was dead.

On and on the howls went; and supposing his own life had hung on it, Robbie could not have moved then. As still as if he had been part of the hillside itself, he sat watching the boat coming to rest and all the men climbing out of it. His father was first out, jumping clear even before the boat's prow touched the shingle, and racing up the slope to the house. The other men stayed to beach the boat, then they too hurried up the slope.

All except one, Robbie saw; the big dark-haired one who was Finn Learson.

But that, he argued, feeling his mind beginning to come alive again – that was only natural. Finn Learson was no kin or neighbour to Old Da. He was a stranger, an incomer to Black Ness; and it was not proper for a stranger to thrust himself into a house of mourning.

Yet still the dark figure by the boat seemed somehow threatening to Robbie, and Old Da's words rang in his mind –
“Don't trust him, Robbie. Don't trust him.”
Then Finn Learson lifted his head and looked up the hill to where Robbie sat. He moved, and very leisurely began to climb the hill towards him.

Now, Robbie told himself, now was the time for
him
to move – to run down the hill towards the house, to his father and mother and Elspeth, to his friend Nicol, and all the other men, to the people he knew and trusted. And then he asked himself why,
why
should he run? What did he have to fear from Finn Learson?

There was no answer to this question. There was nothing except a big man coming towards him, dark and tall against the sun – and fear in his heart; a fear he could not understand or explain.

Finn Learson was almost up on him now, and still he sat where
he was. Then Finn Learson was standing looking down at him, and saying in his deep, pleasant voice, “The news is bad, it seems.”

“Aye,” Robbie answered flatly. “Old Da is dead.”

“That's bad – that
is
bad,” said Finn Learson, sighing and shaking his head.

Robbie stared up at him, trying to make out the expression on his face, but the sun was still behind Finn Learson, and it was only a patch of shadow that met Robbie's eye.

There was a long silence, then Finn Learson spoke again, still very mildly and pleasantly.

“Were you much with him before he died, Robbie?”

Why? Robbie wondered to himself.
Why did Finn Learson want to know that
? “Old Da liked my company,” he said aloud. “I sat with him a lot.”

“I know, I know. You were his favourite.” Finn Learson said this so soothingly that Robbie felt sudden tears pricking his eyelids. For a moment, indeed, he almost forgot to feel wary. Then Finn Learson dropped to one knee beside him, and for the first time, Robbie saw his face.

“And he told you things, didn't he, Robbie?” the face said.

Its voice was still quiet and soothing. The face itself was young and handsome. Yet still Robbie shrank back from it, for the eyes – the gleaming, dark eyes in the face, were hard as stone; and he was mortally afraid of them.

“What did he tell you, Robbie?” the face persisted. And with Old Da's “
Don't trust him. Don't trust him
” ringing now like a peal of bells in his head, Robbie gathered every ounce of courage he possessed, and answered firmly, “Nothing! My Old Da told me
nothing
!”

It was two days later that the funeral of Old Da Henderson took place, and he was a man who had been so popular that this was a great occasion.

All the men of Black Ness came home from the
haaf
that day. There was a tremendous gathering of other mourners as well, and in spite of their own grief for Old Da, the Hendersons were pleased by such respect. They were also determined to carry out all the old funeral customs of the island the way Old Da would have wanted them to do; and so, just before they were all about to start for the burying-ground, Peter came out of the house carrying the straw from the mattress of Old Da’s bed.

The minister was out there with his Bible under his arm. All the mourners stood silently gathered, with the coffin in their midst. Robbie was waiting with a lit torch in his hand, and when his father had set the straw on the ground, he thrust this torch into the heart of it.

Now this custom of burning the bed straw of a dead man – the
lik
straw, as it was called – was a very ancient custom on the island. It was also very superstitious, for everyone there believed that a footprint could sometimes be seen in the ashes of the
lik
straw; and this footprint would show which member of the dead man’s family would be next to die.

Naturally enough, therefore, the minister would have nothing to do with such a custom, which he thought was very unchristian. He stood well back from the fire to show his disapproval of it; and since Finn Learson was a stranger to the island and its customs, he
also took care to stand back from the fire. Everyone else, however, got as close as they could to it, and every eye was fastened intently on the flames.

For a few moments the straw burned fiercely, then the flames sank and dwindled quickly to nothing more than a lick of fire. A thin column of smoke rose from the smouldering ash, drifting and slowly unwinding in the still summer air. But now the mourners were no longer silent, for they could see a bird winging heavily towards this smoke – a black bird, like a crow, but much bigger than any crow.

It was a raven – the bird of ill omen, the bird with the hoarse and arrogant cry that foretells death, and the mourners muttered fearfully to one another at its approach. They muttered again as it pitched down to light on the roof of the Hendersons’ house. And standing by with a face as sour as if he had been sucking a lemon, the minister opened his Bible to show how much he disapproved of this further show of superstition.

The Henderson family, however, did not hear the mourners and they did not heed the minister; for now the ash was settling, soft and grey, with the last trace of red gone from it. And there, in the middle of all the little mounds and hollows of its final pattern, was the clearly-marked shape of a footprint.

The shape was a small and neat one – the print of a girl’s shoe; and staring at it like someone in a dream, Elspeth recognised it for her own. Slowly she lifted one foot and advanced it towards the ashes. Carefully she set the foot down again, and the sole of her shoe fitted perfectly into the shape of the print.

Janet went sheet-white at this, for it was not in the natural order of things, of course, that anyone so young as Elspeth should be the next in the family to die. Peter and Nicol Anderson were also much shaken by this turn of events, and each of them put out a hand to draw Elspeth hastily back from the ash.

“It can’t be!” said Janet then, staring in dismay at Peter as she
spoke. “Elspeth’s so much younger than either of us – it can’t be her turn next!”

This was altogether too much for Elspeth, who gave a little cry and slid in a dead faint to the ground.

“Now look what you’ve done,” said Nicol in dismay; and Janet shouted, “Then help me to undo it, will you, instead of just standing there like a great, stupid gowk!”

As usual with men in such situations, however, Nicol had no ideas at all in his head. Peter was equally useless, and seizing hold of Robbie, Janet commanded, “Off to the house with you, and get some water!” Then shoving Robbie away from her, she got down on her knees beside Elspeth.

Robbie’s mind was all in a daze over what had happened; but he took off instantly, all the same, and was back in less than a minute with a jug of water in his hand. The situation had changed, however, even in that short time, for now it was Nicol who knelt beside Elspeth. Elspeth herself had come round from her faint, and Nicol was raising her from the ground. Finn Learson had stepped forward to help him with this, and the minister was stalking back and forth raging at everyone.

“No one with any sense would believe such superstitious nonsense!” he shouted, and Nicol said awkwardly, “Of course, minister, of course. And Elspeth will be fine now.”

Elspeth, however, was still far from fine, and she could see very well the doubt and fear on all the faces around her. Piteously she glanced around for further comfort, and realised that Finn Learson was smiling at her.

“Do
you
think the minister is right?” she asked him, and cheerfully he told her, “I’ll tell you what I think! You will live to wed the man of your choice, and you will be rich when you wed. And what is more, you will be beautiful to the end of your days!”

“Thank heaven for one man with common sense!” the minister exclaimed; but it flashed across Robbie’s mind then that Elspeth
would not be rich if she married Nicol Anderson.

Nicol had the same thought, it seemed, for he flushed to the roots of his red hair as Finn Learson spoke, and tried to draw Elspeth back towards himself. Elspeth had listened eagerly to Finn Learson’s words however; and now, with a flush of hope on her face, she brushed Nicol’s hand away.

“Is that truly how it will be?” she asked Finn Learson. “Are you sure of that?”

Finn Learson fixed her gaze with his own bright, dark brown one. “As sure as anyone can be of anything,” he told her; and the minister echoed, “Of course he’s sure! And now, for goodness’ sake, lassie, let him take you back to the house to have a rest while we get on with the real business of the day!”

“I’ll take her,” said Nicol, looking annoyed at this.

“You will not,” the minister told him, glaring. “He is not a member of my parish, but you are. And you will stay here with the rest to listen to what I have to say now!”

Nicol scowled at this, but dared not disobey; and while Finn Learson took Elspeth off, talking soothingly to her all the while, the minister gave everyone a fierce lecture on the folly of letting superstition rule their lives.

So the whole business of the
lik
straw came to an end, with everyone feeling so shamed by the panic it had caused that they were only too anxious to put it all behind them. Besides which, there was something else happened that day which very quickly took the thoughts of the Henderson family in quite another direction.

It was an hour or so after the funeral that this second event took place. The minister had gone stalking off with his Bible under his arm and a face as sour as ever. The mourners had all scattered to their own homes. The sixareens of the men who had come home from the
haaf
for the funeral had sailed away out of the voe, and the only boat left drawn up on the shingle was
Peter’s sixareen.

It was to make sure Elspeth had recovered from her fright that Peter had lingered. But, as it happened, he need not have bothered about this. Elspeth was so much herself when they got back to the house that she had made tea for everyone; and so now Peter and his crew were sitting around in the but end, having a last cup of this tea and a last talk about Old Da before they also took their departure.

Finn Learson was there too, of course, but he sat in a far corner keeping himself to himself as usual. Robbie was another who took no part in this last talk, since he had gone to the window to watch the seals in the voe while he thought his own thoughts about Old Da.

It was still Robbie, however, who brought the conversation to an end, for his view from the window showed him a boat coming swiftly into the voe; and as this boat came closer to the shore, he realised something that sent a great thrill of alarm through him. Quickly he swung round from the window and shouted above the sound of all the other voices in the room, “Da, listen! There’s a boat coming into the voe, and I think it’s the Press Gang that’s in it!”

Now this was bad news – very bad news indeed, for the Press Gang was the crew that captured men for forced service in the Navy; and this was a fate to be dreaded in those days when life aboard a naval warship was such a hard and brutal affair. Moreover, with all the men of the islands being naturally good seamen, the Press Gang was especially active there. And so, to every man in the room then, Robbie’s shout was a warning of desperate and immediate danger.