The Forbidden Land

by Kate Forsyth

  Her fears dissolving in a great bubble of excitement, Finn ran to obey. She could hardly believe she was setting out to journey across the seas to the far end of the world, to see what no-one had seen in centuries, the forbidden city of Bride. It was as if she was the heroine of one of Dide’s songs, setting out on a quest of high adventure that would save the world and bring her fame and fortune. She grinned at Dide and joined in the singing, even though she could only work out the words of the refrain:

  ‘Tam o’ Glenvale was a sailor,

  Tam o’ Glenvale stout and gay,

  Sing fala-ralla aye-do

  Sing fala-ralla aye.’

  The passage through the river-gates proved rather an anticlimax, for only one ship at a time could make their way through and there was much jostling for position. Captain Tobias’ ship, a caravel named Speedwell, was one of the last to make its way down through the system of canals and locks that connected the high waters of the Berhtfane with the low waters of the sea. Since it was high summer, the sea was even lower than ever and so Finn had the peculiar experience of sailing down a narrow stretch of water, contained behind high stone walls, while sand rose high on either side, heaped with the refuse of the sea. All the ships were dragged through the canals by two teams of massive carthorses, their coats lathered and wet.

  At last the Speedwell slid through the last pair of gates into the firth. The sun had almost set and the water was a strange violet colour, glimmering with dusky light. Finn had little time to lean on the bulwark and watch, for the sails needed to be hoisted to catch the evening wind. With short, sharp blasts of his whistle, the bosun shouted his orders. He had been told Finn was a canny climber and so he sent her up into the rigging to help the sailors unroll the sails, warning her to keep a tight hold. Those down on the decks hauled on the ropes and one by one the white sails billowed out, catching the breeze and sending the little ship racing across the waves.

  Finn clung tightly to the mainmast as the world rocked. In the last glimmer of light she could see tall rocky crags rearing up on either side, their peaks still glowing with colour. White sandbanks lifted their smooth flanks out of the bay, the water nearby a clear translucent green. In some places the water rose into odd curling ridges as different currents warred with each other over a reef, or spun into miniature whirlpools. Ahead of the Speedwell sailed the fleet, their sails all filled with wind as they tried to escape the dangerous waters near the seashore before the last of the light was lost.

  The sudden lurch of the mast as the Speedwell tacked almost sent Finn crashing down to the decks. One of the sailors ordered her down, saying tersely, ‘The ropes be no place for a lubber, lad, no matter how canny a climber ye be. Get ye down to where ye’ll be safe.’

  ‘Why does the boat change direction so suddenly?’ Finn asked, as she began to slide down the ropes.

  ‘There be rocks and reefs hereabouts that’ll tear the guts out o’ her should she run aground,’ the young sailor said. ‘It be tricky sailing out o’ the firth. They call this the Bay o’ Deception, for she looks so smooth and bonny but beneath the surface are rocks as cruel as the teeth o’ a sea serpent.’

  Finn slid down swiftly, unable to help a feeling of relief as her feet touched the wooden deck. Goblin was curled up on a coil of rope waiting for her. As Finn bent and picked her up, the little elven cat miaowed plaintively.

  ‘Aye, I must admit I’m peckish myself,’ Finn whispered in response. ‘What time do ye think we eat around here?’

  Goblin kneaded her neck painfully as Finn went in search of her companions. A few of the sailors smiled to see her with the black cat hanging around her neck. To Finn’s relief there had been no arguments about the elven cat accompanying her, for a black cat was apparently considered lucky on board a ship, unlike Enit. The presence of the old woman on board had caused many of the sailors to scowl and mutter about bad luck, even though the captain had issued stern warnings that the old jongleur was to be treated with respect.

  Finn found the others in the galley, a cramped little room deep in the bow of the ship. Donald was swathed in a big white apron, stirring a pot that bubbled away on the iron stove. The room was lined with big barrels of stores, while a small wooden table was hung by ropes from the ceiling. Crowded at the table were a number of sailors, some perched on three-legged stools or barrels, the others standing. All were waiting to be served their supper, which they would then carry down to one of the lower decks to eat, since there was no room in the galley for anyone to eat in comfort. They were all drinking from pewter mugs and Dide was telling them a tale that had them guffawing with laughter. Perched on a stool by his side, Bran was smiling too and Finn thought how different she looked with her short little pigtail and rough clothes, her brown face alight with laughter.

  Jay smiled a welcome at her and moved aside so she could share his barrel, but Finn ignored him, squeezing in between Bran and Ashlin. The piper smiled a shy welcome and would have given up his stool for her if Finn had not frowned at him and shaken her head. She joined in the laughter and chatter, trying to accustom herself to the swaying of the room and the odd rocking of the table. She noticed how the seamen moved easily with the ship and tried to mimic them, although her stomach was rebelling at the smell of tobacco smoke and rum and sweaty armpits and bad breath, and the heaving of the deck beneath her feet.

  ‘Ye look a wee pale, Finn,’ Donald whispered as he ladled stew onto trenchers of bread for the crew. ‘How are ye yourself?’

  ‘I be just fine,’ she answered faintly, cautiously cradling her stomach with one hand. ‘Or at least, I will be, in a minute.’ She swallowed thickly, then as Donald passed her a tin plate laden with stew, got up hurriedly. ‘Fresh air,’ she gulped and ran from the room. She was halfway up the ladder when her stomach won out, and she was heartily sick all over her own boots. Jay had followed her and wordlessly she let him help her up onto the deck where she crouched in the shelter of the mainmast, letting the night wind cool her. Overhead the stars seemed huge, the masts and rigging like a giant black cobweb across the moon. Finn watched the masts sway back and forth, back and forth, and tried to control her nausea.

  ‘Ye’ll be fine once ye get your sea-legs,’ Jay said sympathetically, smoothing her hair back from her brow with his calloused hand.

  Finn jerked her head away. ‘Why are ye no’ sick?’ she demanded resentfully. ‘Or Bran?’

  ‘It be no sign o’ weakness to be seasick,’ Jay said rather sternly, letting his hand drop. ‘The auld tales say Lachlan the Navigator was sick every time he left harbour and he was the greatest sailor Eileanan has ever kent.’

  Finn’s only answer was to stumble for the wooden bulwark, which she clung to, gasping, as she vomited over the side. Jay held her shoulders then helped her back to her spot near the forecastle. ‘Try and sleep,’ he said, ‘ye’ll feel better in the morn.’

  ‘Sleep here?’ Finn asked, looking about her at the bare deck.

  ‘Aye, o’ course,’ Jay said. ‘Ye did no’ think ye’d have a cabin like the captain, surely? We’ll all sleep here. I’ll get ye a blanket.’

  ‘And some water?’ Finn asked in rather a faint voice, as nausea racked her again.

  ‘Aye, and I’ll see if any o’ the lads ken an antidote to seasickness. Sit still and I’ll be back in a moment.’

  Finn leant back against the mast weakly, closing her eyes. Who had ever heard of the heroine of a quest tale to be so weak and silly as to succumb to seasickness?

  She had an uncomfortable night. The wooden deck was harder than rock, the blanket she had been given was scratchy and smelt of mould, the ship rolled and heaved constantly, the spars creaked, the sails flapped, the waves crashed and roared, and the bosun’s shrill pipe marked the changing of the watches every four hours. Whenever she did slip into an uneasy doze, a splash of spray would jerk her awake. At last, exhausted, she did sleep, only to be woken at dawn by the bosun’s call. Her watch was on duty again.

  Hot porridge wit
h a dash of ram and a quick wash in a bucket of salty seawater helped her regain some of her spirits, though her body was stiff and her eyes gritty with salt. She and Ashlin were set to washing down the decks, much to their consternation. Her arms tired quickly and Finn took advantage of the first and second mates being below deck to lean against the bulwark and rest for awhile.

  To her dismay she saw the Speedwell was the only ship in sight. As far as she could see there was only the sea and hundreds of rocky islands, some only large enough for a bird to perch on, some crowned with ruins of walled towns. The rest of the fleet had vanished.

  She whistled to Dide, who was mending a sail with a long needle. He dropped the ram’s horn filled with tallow that the sailmaker’s needles were stuck in, and came to her side. ‘Have we got ourselves lost?’ she asked anxiously.

  ‘Nay, o’ course no’,’ he said in a low voice, casting a quick glance around to make sure none were listening. ‘Ye did no’ think the whole fleet was to sail to Bride, did ye? Did ye no’ hear they had set course for Siantan, to take supplies to relieve the famine there?’

  ‘Aye, but I thought …’

  ‘Nay, we just slipped away from the fleet under the cover o’ darkness. We are headed east now, have ye no’ realised? We were sailing south-west afore.’

  Finn stared around and only then noticed the bow was pointed almost directly into the rising sun. She also realised that quite a few of the sailors were standing huddled in groups, muttering under their breath, and staring at the position of the sun themselves.

  ‘What be wrong with them?’ she asked.

  Dide sighed. ‘Like ye, they are troubled that we have left the fleet and even more troubled by the fact we no longer fly the Rìgh’s insignia, but the red cross o’ the Tìrsoilleirean instead.’

  He pointed one finger and Finn suddenly noticed the flags and pennants fluttering at the top of the masts and from the stern no longer carried the royal arms of the Clan of MacCuinn but were emblazoned with a red fitchè cross. ‘As far as most o’ the common sailors are concerned, there has been a mutiny against the crown and Captain Tobias has committed treason o’ the highest order. The question is, wha’ shall they do about it? We mun hope that, like most sailors, they are more concerned with their own safety than wi’ the Rìgh’s honour, for otherwise there could be trouble.’

  ‘But do they no’ ken we sail in the Rìgh’s service …’ Finn began, only to falter to a close. ‘Nay, o’ course they do no’,’ she answered herself. Looking around at the small groups of muttering sailors she felt that cold finger of fear stroke down her spine again. ‘What will they do?’

  ‘Time will tell,’ Dide answered. ‘Be ready for trouble, though, Finn—and remember we are on Captain Tobias’ side in case o’ a fight. This ship mun make it to Bride!’

  Just then the door from the officers’ cabins opened and the first, second and third mates appeared, Arvin the Just in the lead. A large man with beefy shoulders, cropped grey hair and a clean-shaven, prognathous jaw, Arvin had two daggers in his belt and one in his boot, and carried a pistol in one huge hand. The other two men were similarly armed, with steely glints in their eyes. They stood with their backs to the door, the pistols pointing steadily at the group of sailors rushing towards them, the guns’ weight resting on their wrists. The questions dried in the seamen’s throats and they came to a halt, staring at the officers incredulously.

  ‘I see ye all recognise our pistols,’ Arvin said calmly. ‘That be good; I was afraid ye witch-loving heretics would be as ignorant as ye are foolish. Do no’ think I do no’ ken how to use it and that I’d be unwilling to draw bluid, for ye’d be wrong. Needs must when the devil drives.’

  The sailors moved uneasily, glancing at each other and then back at the steady black eye of the pistol.

  ‘What does all this mean, sir?’ one of the sailors asked then. ‘Why have we left the protection o’ the fleet? Why do we fly the Tìrsoilleirean cross?’

  ‘The captain has urgent business in Bride,’ Arvin replied curtly. There were exclamations of dismay and one sailor cried, ‘In Bride? Ye mean in Tìrsoilleir?’

  ‘Aye, I mean in Tìrsoilleir,’ Arvin said roughly. ‘Where else would I be meaning?’

  ‘But that be treason!’

  ‘We canna sail to Bride—we be at war with the Bright Soldiers!’

  ‘But what about the Fairgean? Without the warships to protect us, we shall be sunk by their blaygird sea serpents …’

  In their excitement and dismay, the sailors had all lunged forward and Arvin motioned them back with his pistol. ‘When ye address me, ye shall call me “sir”,’ he said. ‘Do ye be forgetting I am your superior officer? Stand back, I say, or I shall be forced to let ye see what lead and gunpowder can do to a man!’

  They stepped back smartly, even though a few were glaring belligerently, their hands surreptitiously dropping to the daggers and cutlasses they wore in their belts.

  ‘We fly the Tìrsoilleirean flag so no pirates will bother us, nor any Tìrsoilleirean warships,’ Arvin said calmly. ‘As for the Fairgean, ye need no’ fear them, for do we no’ have the Yedda on board? Do ye think we command a ship o’ fools, to set sail in the summer seas without some way o’ repelling the sea demons? The Yedda shall sing the sea demons to death and we shall sail on unmolested.’

  ‘Wha’ do ye do, sir?’ one of the sailors said. ‘Did ye no’ swear allegiance to the MacCuinn? Do ye have no honour, that ye break your oath as soon as ye leave the safety o’ the MacCuinn’s harbour?’

  Arvin spat contemptuously. ‘Ye canna serve both God and Mammon,’ he answered.

  There was a stirring and a muttering. Then the outspoken sailor cried, ‘But this be mutiny against the crown, sir! We canna be allowing ye to take the MacCuinn’s ship and give it to his enemies!’ He drew his cutlass with an oath and leapt for the first mate.

  There was a deafening bang and a black cloud of evil-smelling smoke belched across the aftercastle. Finn cried out and shrank back against Dide who was standing stiffly, watching and listening intently. When the smoke cleared they could see the sailor had fallen back onto the deck, his cutlass dropped from his hand, blood staining his shirt. His comrades knelt around him, trying to staunch the flow of blood, one cradling his head. Arvin had staggered back against his companions with the shock of the recoil, but almost immediately recovered his balance, and was calmly reloading.

  ‘There be no need for all this excitement,’ he said when the task was done and the pistol was once more pointing at the group of dismayed sailors. ‘We do no’ want the ship, nor do we wish to turn ye landlubbers over to the General Assembly. We just need to get to Bride. I can promise ye that ye can have the ship back once our task is done. Ye can all set sail for the safety o’ the Berhtfane just as fast as ye please. We’ll even let ye keep the Yedda to keep your journey home safe, if ye keep your hand to the wheel now.’

  The sailors all looked at each other and muttered among themselves. The injured seaman moaned and clutched at his shattered shoulder with one hand.

  ‘Ye all have two choices,’ Arvin said. ‘Ye can accept the captain’s decision to change course and work to keep us all safe on this journey, or ye can take your chances in the long boat and row for shore. I’ll warn ye though that the lookout has seen a sea serpent in the distance that could mean a pod o’ Fairgean swim this way.’

  The sailors were white and frightened. ‘We should never have left the safety o’ the fleet!’ one burst out. ‘We do no’ have the firepower to defend ourselves against a sea serpent!’

  ‘Especially no’ if ye are afloat in the wee long boat,’ Arvin said with a slight lifting of his lip that could have been mistaken for a smile under different circumstances. There was a long pause and then the first mate lifted the pistol slightly. ‘Happen I should warn ye that all the firearms on board ship are being kept in the captain’s cabin for safety. I ken none o’ ye will be stupid enough to try and stage a mutiny o’ your own. If ye decide t
o throw your lot in with us, then ye may keep your own knives in case we should be attacked by pirates or by the Fairgean. It is your decision though. What canna be cured must be endured.’

  Dide had prised Finn’s fingers from his sleeve and had unobtrusively joined the group of sailors confronting the first mate. Cowering back against the bulwark Finn saw him whispering to the sailors and wondered what he said. The muttering went on for some time, with many evil glances at Arvin, who regarded them unwaveringly. At last there was a begrudging agreement among the seamen to take their chances at the journey to Bride. They all knew they would have little chance of survival if put afloat in the long boat.

  Arvin nodded, thrusting his pistol into his wide leather belt. ‘Glad to have ye on board, lads,’ he said with another lift of his granite-hard lip. ‘Now, let us hoist full sail, laddies, and put as much water between the Speedwell and that sea serpent as we can!’

  The sailors ran to obey. Finn took a deep breath, the first she had taken in what seemed like ages. It seemed the crisis had passed, at least for the moment.

  She swung up into the rigging, determined to check the truth of the sea serpent sighting herself. Up the mainmast she climbed, past the yardarm and through the rigging, past the main topcastle halfway up, heading higher still. Refusing to look down at the deck that tilted so far below, she let her body sway with the mast until she swung her leg over the side of the topmast topcastle, a tiny wooden nest at the very apex of the topgallant mast.