Spirit of the Mist (30 page)

“Please,” he said. “Come to me and let me hold you close, and hold on to me in return. The truth is a terrible thing sometimes, and this truth is the most terrible of all. I am a slave, not a king, and because of that you are now a woman married to a slave…and the wife of a slave has no magic.” He sighed.
 

“And yet, though we have lost everything else, I find that my love for you remains, as much as it rips my heart to know that I have nothing more in life to offer you than what I can give you here.
 

“I know that it is not enough—that you have lost far more than I could ever make up for—yet it is all I have, and I do not know what more any man can offer than all that he has.”
 

Muriel could not find the strength to answer. She simply held her husband close and let her tears come through tightly closed eyes, while Brendan stroked her long, dark hair and the sea tore at the foundations of the island below.
 

Colum sat in the sunlit King’s Hall, surrounded by his druids and a few of his warriors.
 

He blinked several times, trying to keep his eyes open, for the afternoon was warm and the druids droned on and on about some minor legal matter. It was something about who was owed what compensation for some minor annoyance—something in which he had not the slightest interest.
 

He shifted on his cushion in the rushes and tried to adjust the heavy tanist’s torque around his neck. He sighed, wondering how he would ever wear the king’s torque when he found this smaller one so heavy and uncomfortable.
 

The voices went on. “…one-third of the milk is to go to him for compensation, and one-third of the butter, and one-sixth of the—”
 

“Loman,” Colum said, breaking into the recitation. “I have every confidence that you can determine the details of a fair compensation. Please send in the next case for me to hear.”
 

The druid paused, a look of surprise and indignation crossing his face; but then he nodded to the king, dismissed the complainant standing before him, and ordered the next one to be brought in.
 

Colum watched the man leave with two of the warriors, knowing they would bring in the next of many who patiently waited outside for their king to hear their case. He thought longingly of his harp and of the poetry he had had to put aside until the long days of hearings were over.
 

He looked up as the two warriors walked back into the hall, a little surprised to see that no one came with them. “Are there no more supplicants this day?” he asked, trying not to sound too hopeful.
 

“There are ten remaining, King Colum,” said the first of the men, “but first I am to tell you that four riders from King Odhran’s dun have arrived. They wish to speak to you, and—”
 

“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.