The Forbidden Land (23 page)

Nellwyn the Yedda shook her head over them, wishing there was a properly trained healer with a bag of herbal tinctures to attend them. The tossing of the ship and the close, dank air below deck did not help, but she had a group of eager lads to assist her and the old sea-cook Donald had many a country remedy up his sleeve which helped greatly, rather to her surprise. Just after dawn Bran’s fever dropped a little and she slept more naturally, and Finn and Ashlin and Jay were at last able to curl up and sleep on the deck.

‘We come close to the border with Arran,’ Arvin the Just told them the following afternoon. ‘Only a few more days and we shall have reached Kirkinkell Firth, no’ far from the village where your winged Rìgh has made base camp.’

‘No’ just our Rìgh,’ Dide said sternly. ‘Lachlan MacCuinn is your Rìgh now too, remember.’

Arvin the Just sighed heavily. ‘Aye, happen that be true,’ he answered. ‘Times are changing and we with them.’

Finn was just settling down to her breakfast the next day when she heard the lookout’s cry, ‘Sails ahoy!’

Immediately the crew were all on their feet, leaning over the bulwark and examining the horizon anxiously. Finn once again climbed to the very top of the topgallant mast to borrow the farseeing glass from the lookout boy. When she saw the ship on the horizon, her breath caught. She could clearly see marked on its white sails and flags the device of a scarlet fitché cross. It was another Tìrsoilleirean galleon.

The great ship gained on them rapidly, straining under full sail. The
Speedwell’s
crew leapt to haul up the mizzensail but by mid-afternoon, the galleon was close behind. There was no sign of any damage so it was clear this was a ship that had not been caught in Bran’s witch-storm.

The captain ordered the helmsman to bring the
Speedwell
about.

‘If we canna outrun them, we shall need to engage,’ he said grimly. ‘We shall see if we canna slip in close and hit them low with our own cannons.’

‘If only Bran was awake, he could conjure another storm to sweep it away,’ Finn lamented, staring down at the restless figure of her cousin, entangled in sweat-dampened sheets.

‘He’d kill himself if he did,’ Nellwyn said tersely. ‘Or send himself mad. He’s untrained in the art o’ sorcery and has exhausted himself dangerously with this storm-raising. It will be some months afore he will have strength to even light a candle.’

‘I do no’ think he can light a candle,’ Finn replied with a grin.

‘He conjured lightning, he can light a candle. Ye are no’ a bairn any more, lad, do no’ act like one.’

The Yedda looked more haggard than ever, the bones of her face and hands pressing up against her grey-hued skin as if seeking to break through. The nursing of Bran and Killian had obviously exhausted her badly, and her hands trembled as she set a fresh poultice upon the bruised face of the sleeping prophet. There was fire in her voice, however, and Finn was given a glimpse of the strength of character that had kept the Yedda alive through her years of cruel imprisonment.

‘I’m sorry,’ Finn said, chastened. ‘I do no’ mean to. It is just my way. I joke when I am most worried.’

Nellwyn stared at her grimly, then suddenly the thin line of her mouth softened into a smile. ‘Very well then. Be off with ye and get your work done. This cabin be small enough without a great tall lad like ye taking up all the room. Your cousin will be just fine and the auld prophet too.’

Finn opened her mouth to reply, thought better off it, and went back up on deck, catching up her crossbow as she went.

The galleon was closer than ever, the round black mouths of her cannons staring at them across the stretch of water. Finn ran to join Enit, Jay, Dillon and Dide in the bow. The old jongleur was sitting in her chair as usual, her twisted fingers gripping the wood. ‘What can we do?’ Finn asked anxiously.

‘If we were close enough, I could try and sing them all to sleep,’ Enit replied, ‘but then I’d sing all our own crew to sleep as well.’

‘Unless they blocked up their ears,’ Jay suggested.

‘Then they could no’ hear the captain’s orders,’ Dide objected.

Enit made an impatient gesture. ‘It is o’ no use anyway. They will sink us long afore we get close enough to sing the song o’ sleep.’

‘They are more likely to try and board us,’ Dillon said. ‘We shall just have to fight them off.’ His fingers caressed his sword-hilt lovingly.

‘Why?’ Dide asked. ‘Why no’ just bombard us with their cannon until we sink?’

‘They could have done that afore,’ Dillon answered. ‘All the cannon shots were aimed at disabling us, no’ sinking us. I would say they want to capture us alive.’

‘But why?’ Finn asked.

Dillon shrugged. ‘To make an exhibition o’ us. If the folk o’ Bride watched us all burn, it would be a much sharper lesson than if they were simply told we had been caught and sunk. Nay, the Fealde would wish everyone to ken we died an agonising death. They would think less lightly o’ rebelling against her rule that way.’

It made horrid sense. Finn swallowed, feeling sick to her stomach, and saw both Dide and Jay were pale under their tans. They all looked up at the galleon, bearing down upon them on the starboard side. Suddenly the great ship’s cannons boomed. Once again the cannonballs sliced through the sails and rigging, bringing the mizzen-yard smashing down upon the deck. The
Speedwell’s
crew scrambled to clear the deck of the wreckage as the helmsman swung the great wheel so that the caravel turned broad on the port quarter. She slipped up close beside the galleon, so that its high poop deck cut out their sun. Then the captain gave his terse order, and the
Speedwell
’s cannons were fired for the first time.

The noise was deafening, and it was hard to breathe with thick black clouds of smoke choking the air. Again and again the
Speedwell
fired, her cannonballs hitting the galleon just above the water line. The galleon was unable to retaliate, since her cannons had a much longer range and were set so high above the
Speedwell
’s deck. Her sailors were able to leap into the caravel’s rigging though, firing down upon the crew with their heavy pistols or leaping down to engage in hand-to-hand combat. For a time all was confusion, with the smoke obscuring the combatants’ vision so everyone was fighting blind. The caravel’s cannons kept firing away, however, and the galleon began to take in water, causing her to begin to keel over.

Dillon had drawn his sword with a wild joyous yell and as the smoke drifted away, Finn could see him fighting off four Tìrsoilleirean sailors, his teeth bared in a grin. Jed fought with him, the great dog leaping up to close his heavy jaws on one swordsman’s arm so that Dillon could run him through or using his substantial weight to bear another to the ground before he could attack Dillon from behind.

So ferociously did Dillon fight that Finn was frozen for a moment in a sort of awe. He had no hesitation in using his fists and feet as well as his sword and Finn recognised some of Iseult’s techniques in the way he somersaulted high into the air to land behind his attackers, or jabbed one in the throat with his elbow at the same time as he kicked another in the stomach. Iseult was trained in the art of the Scarred Warrior and most adept at hand-to-hand fighting, and had evidently passed on many of her secrets to the young squire. Dillon’s sword was not still for a moment, and he often tossed it from one hand to the other, taking his attackers by surprise. All his movements were as swift and graceful as if he engaged in a dance, not a fight to the death, and he laughed as he fought.

Finn had no opportunity to watch for long, for more of the enemy were swarming down the ropes to land on the forecastle where she crouched by Enit’s feet. Finn shot down two in quick succession, but they came faster than she could reload. Dide was fighting by her side, however, throwing his silver daggers with quick and deadly accuracy.

‘Come about!’ the captain roared. The
Speedwell
turned swiftly and slid away from the galleon, causing many of the enemy clinging to her rigging to fall screaming into the water or crash down upon the deck.

With Dillon fighting like a madman at their head, the
Speedwell
’s crew slowly overcame those of the enemy still on board. The Tìrsoilleirean dead and wounded alike were thrown overboard as the caravel sought to put as much distance as possible between them and the crippled galleon. ‘Look, she’s going down!’ Tam shouted, pointing over the port bulwark. ‘We hit her where it really hurts!’

Finn turned and stared, amazed at how quickly the galleon was keeling over with all the weight of its sails and the huge carved poop and forecastle dragging it down. Suddenly the cannons on its near side fired again.

Finn screamed as the cannonballs tore their way into the
Speedwell
’s hull, causing the ship to lurch and shudder. She was thrown down, a tangle of rope falling across her back and pinning her to the deck. She fought to free herself, sick with anxiety as she heard the moans of injured men. At last she could scramble free and looked about her. Once more the
Speedwell
was listing at an unnatural angle, the deck sloping sideways. Men everywhere were trying to get to their feet, cradling their heads or shoulders. Many lay unmoving.

Finn crawled up onto the forecastle, feeling her pulse hammer in her skull as she saw Enit’s chair overturned. The old jongleur lay unconscious on the deck, the carved chair broken and half-covering her limp body. Finn turned her over and saw blood seeping from a bruised cut on Enit’s temple.

‘Abandon ship!’ came the captain’s stentorian roar. ‘She’s going down!’

The crew hurried to unlash the boats. Ashlin came staggering up the ladder, Bran’s drooping body in his arms, and tenderly laid her down in the little dinghy with Donald beside her to watch over her. Enit was laid out in the long boat, with Nellwyn tending her bleeding head, then Jay came running up from below with his precious viola, which he tucked in tenderly beside Enit’s unconscious body. Donald was hard at work passing up sacks of grain and vegetables which were hastily stacked into the boats, then he clambered up the ladder with his arms full of a side of mutton, his wrinkled old face unusually grim.

‘Can ye swim, lassie?’ he asked Finn and she shook her head.

‘Och, neither can I,’ he answered. ‘Happen ye’d best try and hang onto a plank o’ wood then. Take off your boots and leave your bow and arrows. They’ll only weigh ye down.’

‘Tuck them here in the boat,’ Nellwyn said. ‘By the looks o’ those rocks, ye’ll be wanting your boots.’

Finn nodded and did as she said, then scooped up Goblin and dropped her into the long boat too. ‘She doesna like water,’ she said to Nellwyn rather pleadingly. ‘She be only a wee thing; she willna take up much room.’

Nellwyn nodded and went to pat the frightened little cat, who hissed and struck out with her claws. Nellwyn snatched back her hand, then cast Finn an angry, embarrassed glance. Finn said, ‘I’m sorry. She is still an elven cat, ye see. Ye canna tame an elven cat.’

‘Happen I should’ve reminded your mother o’ that,’ Donald said affectionately. ‘Come, Finn, jump in. Hang onto the back o’ the long boat and ye should have no trouble staying afloat.’

Finn smiled at him, though her face was so stiff with fear it took a real effort to move her cheek muscles. She stood on the ship’s deck and stared down at the wild waves tossing about below, throwing up spray and spume. Quite a few of the crew were already bobbing away down there, clutching broken planks and struggling to keep their heads above water.

There was a wrenching, groaning sound and the caravel suddenly lurched sideways. Everyone shouted. Jay seized her hand. ‘Come on, Finn, jump!’ he urged. ‘Else the ship’ll take ye down with her.’

Finn hung onto his hand and jumped when he did. They fell down and hit the water below with a great splash that knocked the breath out of her body. Deep into the water she plunged, then she felt the drag of Jay’s hand as he kicked for the surface. Finn kicked too and at last her head broke through and she was able to gasp a breath of air.

Then another wave broke over her head and she sank again, choking on water. Jay dragged her up, putting his arm under her armpit. ‘Kick!’ he ordered.

Desperately Finn obeyed. Occasionally she saw one of the boats rising up beyond the waves, or a glimpse of the sinking
Speedwell
, but otherwise the whole universe was heaving grey water, bitter as grief and cold as death. Then Jay found a plank and heaved her onto it, and she was able to rest for a moment as he clung to its edge. She put down her head and closed her eyes, and found she was choking now on tears instead of seawater.
I wish I had said goodbye to her
, she thought.
My poor mam!

They drifted for a while, too exhausted to kick any longer. ‘Are we coming close to the shore?’ Finn whispered, her throat raw from the salt.

Jay raised his head, wiping his salt-stung eyes with his hand. ‘I canna see,’ he answered. ‘I canna see anything.’

Finn peered through the dusk but the waves all about were too high and wild for her to see anything but their white-veined grey backs, their curling white-maned crests. She sobbed aloud and Jay shifted his hand so it rested on her back. ‘Do no’ weep, Finn,’ he whispered. ‘There be salt enough in this water. Try and rest. The current will take us to shore, never ye fear.’

Finn sniffled and wiped her nose with her hand. Every now and again she hiccuped with tears but otherwise they were quiet, clinging to the plank, as darkness fell about them.

Suddenly they heard a high-pitched whistling and then the smack of water as some great sea-creature leapt out of the water close to hand. Finn stifled a shriek. ‘Are … are there … sharks in this water?’

‘Are they no’ sharks everywhere?’ Jay replied grimly. ‘I do no’ ken, Finn. Crawl a wee bit higher on the plank, there’s a dear.’ His face was a smudge of white in the dark. Finn obeyed, lying on the plank with nothing but her feet in the water. Jay had all of his body in the icy-cold water, only one arm hooked over the plank as he paddled with the other. They heard the smack of water again.