Spirit of the Mist (27 page)

She was aware of Brendan, Gill, Duff, and Cole paddling swiftly and patiently, driving their little craft up over each wave and then bracing back to ride it down the far side—up and down, up and over, up and down, up and over, again and again—and very soon Muriel felt her head aching and her stomach rebelling.
 

One by one, all of them found themselves hanging over the sides of the boat, more violently ill than they could ever remember. One glance back showed Muriel that the occupants of the other boat were faring no better.
 

Yet by sheer force of will the men managed to keep their curraghs heading for their island destination, which loomed above them: a tall, sharply pointed mountain with a wide base.
 

Mercifully, the sea calmed somewhat and the boats crept closer to their destination. As they did, Muriel realized that it was not just one island she was seeing, but two. A second sat directly in front of the Island of the Rocks, and there was a long stretch of water in between. They were approaching that one.
 

The front most island was smaller, but it too had a steeply pointed mount, one whose peak was covered in a thick coat of dirty white—the legacy of the thousands of seabirds nesting there. As the group’s curraghs passed by, the birds began darting and wheeling overhead and swooping down low over them.
 

Muriel ducked and threw her cloak over her head.
 

In what seemed to be nothing more than a final assault on Brendan’s dignity, the swarms of birds flying over them soon covered the boat and all of its occupants with spots and blobs of droppings. Muriel felt that she would rather face those terrible sickening seas again than this rain of filth they now endured from the hordes of shrieking birds.
 

Perhaps the sea knew what it was doing by forcing them to pass by this place. There was no way for anyone to tell who was in these boats, for any who came this way—from the highest king to the lowest slave—would be forced to hide themselves as they passed or suffer the worst of insults. In their two little boats, there were no kings or queens or warriors or slaves. There were only nine desperate people using all their strength to reach what they hoped would be a place of safety.
 

Somehow, the boats continued to advance, and they got out from under the birds. The island called the Rocks now lay directly ahead. The seas grew worse again, now that they were out of the scant shelter of the birds’ island, but the boats moved on, approaching the second isle, which now looked much larger than it had even from the distant shore.
 

It towered above them. With a sinking heart, Muriel saw that this terrible place had no beach but only sheer rock cliffs dropping straight down to the sea. High, high up, there seemed to be a few level spaces where grass grew, but Muriel saw no place where they could land their boats. The others had said it was possible, that it had been done before at a cove on the north side— And then a dreadful thought leaped into her mind.
 

Perhaps those warriors of Dun Bochna had told them a landing was possible while knowing only too well that no one had ever succeeded here, knowing full well that their ex-prince’s fragile leather-covered boat would be smashed to pieces on the rocks, and Brendan and his party would never be seen again.
 

It would certainly solve the problem of what to do with a man who should never have been called a king.
 

But surely those men would do no such thing! Brendan might now be nothing but an exiled servant, but he had been their friend and brother and tanist and king. Surely they would find a better way than this if they wished to send him to his death—wouldn’t they?
 

Muriel looked up and saw only the terrible mountain of rock towering over their boats and the enormous waves smashing its vertical sides, and she knew that it might be the last thing any of them would ever see.
 

At last their little boats turned north and made their way around the island. As they moved from behind the towering mass, they were struck full force by the cold winds that ceaselessly tore at the Rocks
 

Again their fragile curraghs rose and dropped wave by wave, forced toward the island by the sheer strength of the paddlers alone. Now Muriel could see the cove and the small, angled region of smooth wet rock within where boats could be dragged for safekeeping—if the boaters could get close enough without being hurled into the sharp, sheer rocks all around.
 

The little haven of flat rock was there and waiting for them, but the waves sweeping up to it were so powerful that there was a constant and enormous variation in the height of the water. The crest of one wave would put them above the landing, but when it receded they would find themselves wallowing far below—in prime position to be swamped by the next.
 

“It is impossible,” shouted Brendan over the din. “We’ll never get close enough. Perhaps no one ever has. We’ll have to turn back, go down the coastline, look for another island—”
 

“We cannot turn around,” Muriel yelled. Spray from the waves covered her face. “Everyone is exhausted. We would never make it back to shore. We must land now—or never.”
 

She sat up and turned around to where the second boat rose and dropped on the waves. “Stay close!” she called, motioning them toward her. “Stay close!” Then she moved to the prow of the boat, knelt down, and thrust her hands into the cold green sea.
 

“Calm,” she whispered under her breath. “Smooth. Calm.” She kept her gaze fixed on the spot where the wide, slanted shore awaited them. “Calm,” she said again to the sea. “Calm…”
 

In a moment the waves began to ease. They became smaller and smoother as on a beach, rolling with just enough force to carry the boats forward. She could sense the men behind her forcing the curraghs ahead with the last of their strength, and they drew closer and closer to the hard, flat landing that awaited them.
 

Muriel kept her hands in the water and kept speaking to the sea. Suddenly her fingertips brushed rock.
 

Then her hands were in the air as the last gentle wave lifted the boat up onto the rocky landing and the weight of its passengers kept it there, out of reach of danger.
 

There was a sudden violent crash of waves behind them as the sea roared once again to life. Muriel turned just in time to see the second boat ride up high on a huge wave next to them, and she cried out to them—but it was no use.
 

One side of the wildly flung curragh tilted down to show her the floor of the craft with its four passengers bravely clinging to it. Then the wave collapsed upon itself, and with a crash the boat came down on the rocks, spilling its passengers and supplies across the landing and cracking its wooden frame.
 

Muriel thought her heart would stop, but as the wave receded she saw four people pick themselves up and move to stand against the sheer cliff wall nearby. Somehow they were here, and all alive, but it was only through sheer luck and their own determination. Her powers had failed the instant her hands had left the water. The sea, which used to do her bidding, had almost killed them all. Now they were stranded in this place, for nine people could not hope to ride home in a single curragh—stranded on a shelf of stone with the sea crashing at their feet and forbidding rock towering over their heads.
 

Chapter Seventeen
 

Darragh and Killian and Gill moved quickly to grab their broken curragh and drag its heavy, sodden remnants up onto the rocks as far as they could, and then did the same for the other. The rest of the men gathered the largest rocks they could find and placed them with their paddles in the floor of each craft, hoping to secure them against the winds and the tides.
 

“I hope they’ll be here when we need them again,” Killian spoke up, stopping to catch his breath. “Though I don’t know how we will get nine people into just one curragh?”
 

“I’ll see what I can do about repairing it,” said Gill. “I’ve done some leatherwork—”
 

“No time to worry about that now,” Brendan broke in. “We’ve got to find a place to make a camp or there will be no need for a curragh to take us back anywhere. Coming in, it looked as though there were a few flat, open spaces once you get up high enough. There’s nothing for us to do but try it.”
 

He sighed, looking at their leather sacks of supplies sitting on the sloping, sea-washed landing. “Everyone take whatever you can carry. We’ll climb up there and look for somewhere to live.”
 

Everyone but Grania took at least one of the heavy sacks and threw it over his shoulder. Most of the men were loaded down with two. Muriel felt the muscles of her neck and shoulders straining already from the unaccustomed weight of a large leather bag of oats, and wondered if it was even worth hauling it; the cold dampness of the sea-soaked leather bag was already seeping through her cloak and her gowns.
 

She shifted the sack and settled it as best she could, and then the entire party started up the treacherous steep climb.
 

Brendan went first, searching out footholds where they could step, clearing out the small loose rocks so that the rest of them could find something like a path. Muriel went after him with Darragh behind her, followed by Grania, Fallon, Killian, Gill, Duff, and Cole.
 

It took an agonizingly long time to creep up the flank of the rocky crag that was this island. Honeycombing the cliff face were hundreds of burrows, many of them empty now, where puffins nested. Only a few still remained, to finish rearing the last of their young.
 

The big slow birds merely hopped and flapped as the human invaders passed by; clearly they would not be difficult to catch. There would be meat at hand, at least until the last of the creatures flew away at the end of the season.
 

They paused to rest whenever they came to wide spots in the path, those places where slanted, soil-filled crevices allowed a few tough grasses to grow and thick lichens to cover the rocks.
 

Muriel would allow the leather bag she carried to drop to the ground while she braced herself against the rock and tried to catch her breath. On their last stop she felt too exhausted to go another step, but knew that the high, flat place they had seen could not be much farther.
 

Finally the little group struggled up the last piece of the path and found themselves on a grassy ledge jutting out from the rock face above them. The ledge was just wide enough for them to spread themselves out and begin to make a camp, just long enough to walk perhaps fifty paces.
 

Muriel set down her sack of oats, feeling a kind of physical and mental exhaustion that she had never felt before. The combination of making the terrifying voyage, using her strength to calm the waves, and then hauling the heavy sack up the dangerous path had left her feeling entirely drained. Then she looked up—and began to realize where they were.
 

She moved away from the rock face and crept cautiously near the edge of their new little world, careful not to get too close. Not far from them was the Island of the Birds, and beyond it, across that terrible stretch of sea, the distant mainland was clearly visible.
 

Peering down at the crashing waves far, far below, she was amazed at how high up they were—nearly as high above the sea as the great cliff where Dun Bochna sat. But she tried to put all thoughts of her warm, comfortable, and very much former home out of her mind. Life here was going to be very different.
 

“We’d better use the time we have before dark,” said Brendan, setting down the bags he carried. He glanced around at the little place they had found and shook his head. “Gill—take Duff and Cole and go back down. Get the wrecked curragh. Just break it up and drag as much of it up here as you can. We can use the leather and wood to make some kind of shelter. The rest of us will try to make camp and see what there is to eat.”
 

“Break it up?” said Darragh. “Are you sure you want to do that? How will we get back?”
 

“There won’t be much need for a boat if we all die of exposure up here,” said Brendan. “We must think of surviving this day, this night, and do whatever is necessary. We’ll start with the curragh. Go.”
 

The three men turned and started back down the treacherous path. Gill turned to Brendan just before they disappeared and said to him, “We’ll be back as soon as we can. Please—be careful.”
 

Brendan looked as though he were going to laugh. “It’s a bit late for that, don’t you think? But let me say the same to you. All of you be careful, and get back just as soon as you can. You don’t want to be on that path with the light disappearing.”
 

Gill nodded to him, then he and his men were gone.
 

Crania led Fallon to a place where he could sit against the rock face, well away from the ledge. The rest of them began searching through the leather sacks to see what they had.
 

“Drenched,” Brendan said, tossing aside one of the sacks. “Everything is drenched with seawater. They gave us fresh water and oats and dried fish and apples, but all of it is thoroughly wet.”