Spirit of the Mist (34 page)

Yet sleep stayed with her for only a short while. She awoke with a start to find that it was still night. Brendan was deep in slumber, his breathing slow and regular, and though she wanted nothing more than his company right now, she knew the exhaustion that must weigh upon him. He would need all of his strength, as would the rest of the men, if they were to row the curragh away from the treacherous waves of this island and get it safely back to the mainland.
 

She eased upright, taking care not to disturb him. He shifted a bit but remained asleep, his golden brown hair shining in the moonlight.
 

Moonlight.
 

Muriel turned and saw the entire wide ledge of the campsite, the sea glistening beyond it, and the black shadow of the mainland all lit by the moon—the enormous white moon shining high in the dark night sky.
 

The mist was gone. There was only the clearest sky she had ever seen, and the moon so bright that nearly all the sky around it was a solid wall of black.
 

In its light she could clearly see the outlines of six men lying in sleep at the base of the rock wall. Six men. One was missing—
 

Fallon.
 

As the light had faded, the old king had kissed her on the forehead, spoken to Brendan, and then stepped off into the mist. He knew the layout of their camp very well and had never strayed beyond the ankle-high wall of loose stones that Cole and Duff had piled just inside the precipitous drop. He had always been safe before.
 

She had assumed that he had gone for a little water after talking for so long, and then would make his way back to his pallet to lie down and sleep. Indeed, she had dropped off to sleep herself almost as soon as she had watched him go. But now there was no sign of him.
 

I will go now and rest for a time, and remember her in my own way.
 

Slowly Muriel walked to the low stone wall, then stepped over it so that she stood on the very edge of the island. Remaining very still, looking down only with her eyes, she watched the waves lashing and breaking in moonlit whitecaps as the tide rolled out far below…and realized that there was a small, dark figure washing back and forth against the rocks.
 

Then, as she watched, the outgoing tide lifted the figure up off the rocks and bore it away on a high white-capped wave, with a faint gleam of gold in the moonlight before it was gone.
 

“Farewell to you, King Fallon,” Muriel whispered. “Your work is finished here. Join your queen in the otherworld, and take our love for her with you.”
 

Muriel stood for a long while at the edge of that terrifying drop. Then she took one step backward, and then another, until her cold, wet boots touched the low stone wall, and then she turned and hurried back to the safety of the campsite.
 

Her water mirror sat on the boulders where it had been since the time of their arrival. Its shining surface, brimming with rainwater, gleamed in the light of the high white moon.
 

She closed her eyes and turned her face away from the sight of the basin. So many times she had touched her fingers to the cool surface of the water within, so many times she had seen strange and beautiful and impossible things as easily as she saw the sun rise over the land and set again over the sea. Never had that power failed her, and she had come to take it for granted.
 

But no more.
 

It seemed to her that she had expended the very last of her magic in her efforts to get this group safely here. Those terrible waves had calmed in response to her touch and her words, at least enough to allow both curraghs to get to the landing with everyone alive.
 

But the moment she had lifted her hands from the sea, she had felt empty and drained. It was as though her powers had sluiced away with the water that ran from her fingertips.
 

It was true that in the past, the magic had its limits. Using it had often left her feeling drained, but always that feeling had been only temporary, the way a runner might tire briefly but come back stronger for the effort.
 

This was different. What she felt now was the cold and empty feeling of power lost, never to return.
 

Yet she could not help opening her eyes and looking toward the rocks again. Her water mirror still sat shining in the moonlight, as beautiful as it had ever been. As the wind from the sea passed over it, she seemed to hear it singing to her as it sometimes did, drawing her closer, causing her to walk slowly, slowly, one step at a time, until she stood right in front of the bronze basin, feeling as if she were standing at the edge of the world, gazing down at the shining surface of the water within. Behind it lay the magnificent view of the darkly glowing mainland and the glistening, moonlit sea.
 

The faint singing continued. She could almost feel it as she raised her hands, spread her fingers, and slowly lowered them to touch the cool water.
 

The singing stopped.
 

Muriel feared that her heart would stop, too. She peered down at the dark surface but saw only the white disk of the reflected moon…and nothing more.
 

She took a deep breath, raised her fingers, and placed them in the water again. As before, she saw only the moon, the image shimmering and wavering as her hands began to tremble.
 

Snatching her hands from the mirror Muriel turned away from its backdrop, unable to face, behind it, the magnificent view of the world where she had once lived…a world from which she was now exiled. Neither could she look at the water mirror and the magic it represented, for that too, was a world from which she was surely shut out.
 

There seemed to be nothing left but this small and terrible island, for if Muriel no longer had the power to calm the waves or call the creatures of the sea to help her, it might well be their home forever.
 

Chapter Twenty-One
 

She heard footsteps approaching. Muriel looked up to see her husband standing there, his face somber in the moonlight but his eyes full of concern for her.
 

“Muriel,” he said, throwing his rough, dark cloak back over his shoulder. “What is it? What has happened?”
 

She looked up and started to answer, but could not, and so she stepped aside to let him see the water mirror sitting on the rock.
 

“Oh…” He walked over and placed his hands on the rock on either side of the bronze basin, then leaned over a bit to look down at its dark surface. “It is a thing of beauty,” he murmured, turning back to her. “And I have not forgotten what King Fallon said. Do you fear to try the mirror? You must not. You will—”
 

She shook her head. “Brendan…first I must tell you something.” She placed a shaking hand on his arm. “I must tell you that King Fallon has spared us all witnessing his death.”
 

He frowned. “Spared us? What do you mean?”
 

She took a deep breath. “You remember when he talked to us earlier this evening? Almost the last words he spoke were of Grania, of how he wished to go and remember her in his own way. We saw him walk into the mist. I thought he was going to fetch a drink of water. But he continued to walk across the campsite and across the stone border and out to the ledge…and now he has joined his queen.”
 

Brendan closed his eyes. “I should have known. I should have stopped him.”
 

Muriel shook her head. “None of us could have stopped him. Not for long, not forever. It was his wish.”
 

“He was a great help to me, and to us all, in this place. He did not deserve to come to such an end.”
 

“His life was more important than his death. And it was a very good life, wasn’t it?”
 

Brendan smiled, his face clearly visible in the bright moonlight. “It was. And even now, I remember what he said to you. To both of us. You must try the mirror, Muriel. I will leave you alone if you wish, but try it you must.”
 

She withdrew from him and turned away. “I did try the mirror.”
 

“You did? What happened? What did you see?”
 

“I saw… I saw the thing that I most feared to see. I saw nothing.”
 

“Nothing…” He turned back to the mirror, reached out with one finger, and lightly touched its edge, where the clear water wavered at the brim. Brendan studied the water closely and then tasted the clear drop on his finger. “This is rainwater,” he said, “sweet and pure. Did you not tell me that your mirror required water from the sea?”
 

“It was made so,” she said faintly. “But I still should have seen something. I should have felt something. The moon has never been so powerful as it is tonight.”
 

Brendan touched the beautifully etched waves and leaping dolphins that covered the sides of the mirror. “This is an instrument of the sea,” he said. “Wait here. I’ll be back.” He caught up one of their small leather waterskins and raced across the campsite, allowing the precious contents to pour out as he ran, and in a moment disappeared down the path that led to the sea.
 

Muriel waited in the moonlight for him to return. She tried not to think about her husband going down alone in the night to the edge of the water, to that wild and all-powerful maw that claimed Grania and Fallon and Galvin, and had tried to claim Brendan on the night she had found him—a night that now seemed so very long ago.
 

She had saved him then, but could not hope to do so now. She could only sit and wait for him to return.
 

The moon had moved only a little through the sky when Brendan reappeared with the leather skin of seawater over his shoulder. The instant she saw him Muriel felt a renewed stab of cold apprehension, for now she would have no choice but to try her magic yet again. She knew only too well that this time she would have no excuses if it failed.
 

’Here,” her husband said, a little breathless, and she knew he must have fairly run all the way. “This is what you need.”
 

She took the leather sack from him and held it close to her heart, then stepped back a pace as Brendan lifted the bronze basin and flung the rainwater to the winds. With great care he placed the basin back on the boulders and turned to look at her. “Now. Fill it with the water from the sea.”
 

There was no turning away from it now. Slowly Muriel walked to the rock, lifted the sack, and emptied the salt water into the bronze dish. Setting down the waterskin, she stood watching the mirror, waiting for its contents to still—and then, with one swift move, she closed her eyes and plunged her hands into the water.

At first it was just cold, as had been the water before—but where the rainwater had felt smooth and clear and empty, the water from the sea roiled and swirled with the dissolved metals and salts and very life forces of the creatures that lived within it. As she stood with her fingers in the mirror, Muriel began to feel its life and power through her hands and arms and all the way to her heart.
 

She opened her eyes.
 

Now she looked down at the shining surface of the water; she saw the place that must have been uppermost in her thoughts—Dun Bochna. This was the fortress across the water, the place where she had thought to make a home with Brendan and rule beside him as his queen.
 

In the mirror she saw a great fire blaze into life on the cliff beside the stone rings of the fortress. It was a bonfire consuming a huge stack of wood, with people leaping and dancing and celebrating beside it.
 

“The Lughnasa fire,” said Brendan, and Muriel realized that he stood a few steps away gazing out across the sea. A quick upward glance showed her that there was a fire visible out on the mainland, though it was just a spot of orange light from here.
 

It was the same sight that the mirror showed her. Muriel felt something like relief, something like returning confidence. This vision was not her imagination. The mirror was indeed showing her what was happening right now at Dun Bochna.
 

“Your magic has returned?” Brendan asked.
 

“It never left me.”
 

Muriel felt the truth of the statement. Fallon had been right. It had been her own fear holding her back all this time. She looked down at the mirror again, tensing her fingers, willing all the power she possessed to reach into the water and show her all there was to see.
 

“King Colum,” she whispered. “Show me the king…” and caught her breath as the images began to change.
 

Now she saw the inside of the King’s Hall, filled with happy revelers at the great harvest festival of Lughnasa. The place was brightly lit with torches and lamps, and filled with music from harps and drums and with the laughter and shouting of brightly dressed men and women. All of them sat together at the feasting boards, enjoying the fresh hot breads and cakes made from the newly harvested grains.