Island of Shadows

by Peter Tremayne

  She continued to gaze at him but she felt slightly disappointed. It was so easy as the old man told it. Merely a question of logic and deduction.

  ‘You are disappointed,’ observed the old man. ‘You expected some gift of the supernatural. Alas, I am but an old man skilled in many things. Yet I am now just a conjurer of magic. To everything in life there is a logic, a reason, and when we do not understand it we tend to dismiss it as magic and supernatural.’

  Scáthach shrugged ruefully.

  ‘My mother passed on much of the philosophy of the druids but I confess that I have learnt little.’

  The old man, Ruacán, chuckled. It was a rather high-pitched sound.

  ‘You have imbibed more than you think, my child. It needs only the right moment to emerge; the right stimulus and then wisdom is yours.’

  There came a groan from Flann and the young warrior began to stir.

  At once Scáthach and Ruacán were by his side.

  ‘Flann, it’s all right. We are safe.’

  Flann blinked and stared up at the girl. He tried to speak but his lips and mouth were dry. As he had with Scáthach, the druid gave the young man a little to drink.

  ‘My head hurts,’ Flann said after a moment. He sounded slightly surprised.

  The old druid chuckled.

  ‘Then you are getting better. Had your head not hurt then that would be a cause for worry. Lay awhile and rest. Your questions will be answered later.’

  Scáthach sat beside Flann sipping at the herbal broth the druid had prepared. She was growing stronger and her faculties were coming back. She was recalling the teachings of Buimech and the ways of the druids but from what little she knew she began to realise that Ruacán the Wizened was on a higher plane of advancement than most she had encountered.

  He sat by the fire examining her under large shaggy white eyebrows, his bright eyes still twinkling.

  ‘There is much that disturbs you, Scáthach,’ he said after a while.

  The girl saw no reason to waste words.

  ‘Much.’

  ‘And you are even now wondering whether I am friend or foe?’

  ‘I think you are a friend,’ replied the girl carefully. ‘A foe would not save us from the sea merely to destroy us.’

  The old man nodded gravely.

  There is none can fault your logic, daughter of Eola.’

  There was a pause.

  ‘You wonder whether you should tell me about your quest,’ he went on.

  This time Scáthach gasped a little. Automatically, her hand went to the gold medallion at her neck.

  Flann was easing himself up on one elbow and, shaking his head as if to clear it, beginning to take in his surroundings.

  ‘How do you know that I am on a quest?’

  This time Ruacán the Wizened laughed outright.

  ‘Use your own powers of deduction, daughter of Buimech, for surely your mother taught you something of our reasoning.’

  Scáthach sighed.

  ‘I am wearing the hero’s tore of Eola. I am alone on the high seas with a young warrior for companion. What else would I be doing so far from home and thus accoutred if I were not on some journey in search of something?’

  The old man slapped his thigh.

  ‘You might make a druid yet. Yes, your logic is without fault.’

  ‘No. I am no druid nor wish to be,’ replied the girl.

  Ruacán was suddenly serious and nodded.

  ‘Indeed. You are destined for other things, daughter of Eola and Buimech.’

  Flann had been following this conversation, frowning for a while.

  ‘Will someone tell me what has happened? How did we get here? And where is “here”?’

  Ruacán gestured at the girl.

  ‘She will tell you while I gather our breakfast. Take of the broth. It will make you well.’ He rose. ‘I shall return shortly.’

  They watched him walk off along the beach.

  Swiftly, Scáthach narrated what she knew. Flann shook his head, groaning a little at the pain.

  ‘It seems a wondrous thing, Scáthach,’ he said softly. ‘My last thoughts in that tempest were of the futility of our deaths in the waves.’

  ‘Well, the ocean god must have heard us for we were not consumed by the seas.’

  ‘But who is this man Ruacán?’ demanded Flann. ‘A druid, yes; but what manner of man and can he be trusted?’

  ‘That he can,’ replied the girl, ‘I feel that strongly. He might be able to help us reach Lethra.’

  ‘And so you will tell him about your quest?’

  ‘I shall.’

  A moment later the old druid returned along the beach with a large sea trout which he gutted and skewered over the fire.

  ‘As we eat, you shall tell me of your quest,’ he said, as he settled himself down again.

  Scáthach frowned.

  ‘You seem certain that I had made up my mind to tell you?’

  The druid smiled and said nothing.

  After some hesitation, Scáthach recounted her story until the moment of leaping into the sea from the floundering Nemhain. Flann broke in once or twice to explain a detail, such as his part in the affair and his background.

  After they finished the story the druid said nothing. He bent to the fish and judged it to be ready to eat and prepared it. They watched him in silence.

  ‘Well?’ demanded Flann, not able to conceal his impatience any more.

  The twinkling eyes of Ruacán stared back at him.

  That is hardly a question, young man.’

  ‘Can you place us in the direction of Lethra by telling us what island this is and how far off the shore of Gallia it is?’

  The druid prodded at his fish.

  ‘Eat,’ he commanded, ‘and you will grow strong. Strong enough to continue your journey.’

  ‘Then you will help us with directions?’ pressed the girl.

  Ruacán smiled, his bright eyes glistening.

  ‘First let me help you with some advice. You have powerful enemies, daughter of Eola. More powerful than you have ever dreamt. They are possessed of powers that would make even the heroic sons of Mile Easpain, who wrested Éireann from the gods, think twice before pursuing the path which you intend to follow and pitting their prowess against such enemies.’

  Flann gave a snort of laughter but Scáthach signalled him to silence.

  ‘Do you think to turn me aside from my path, Ruacán?’ she questioned quietly.

  The old man shook his head.

  ‘I have no power to change what is in your heart, Scáthach. Yet I am duty bound by my honour and knowledge to warn you of the dangers you will encounter.’

  ‘That I have enemies who must be powerful was revealed to me by the fact that they sent a raiding party to kill me at Uibh Rathach. Instead of killing me, they killed my father, Eola. They forced my mother, Buimech, to make the ritual fast at his unlawful death. I know enough to say that those powerful enemies went in search of me. They learnt that I had escaped their sentence of death placed on me as a child. For they must have cast me into the seas to die. Thanks to Eola and Buimech, I was saved. All this I have known a long time since, Ruacán. I knew the dangers before I made the first footsteps on this path.’

  Ruacán watched her proud defiance of fear with a smiling face.

  ‘And you, Flann Mac Fraech, one time of the Cruithne? Do you scorn the dangers too?’

  Flann raised his chin stubbornly.

  ‘I do.’

  Scáthach and he exchanged a quick smile, a look of something which was not lost on the druid.

  ‘Then know this, the both of you: to fight such enemies you will need to equip yourselves with weapons more skilfully crafted than any made by ordinary, mortal hands.’

  They stared at him for a moment. Scáthach made an impatient gesture.

  ‘Are you saying such weapons exist?’

  ‘And where are such weapons to be found?’ demanded Flann.

  Ruacán gazed
into the girl’s eyes.

  ‘There are such weapons,’ he said softly. ‘But they are only for you, Scáthach of Uibh Rathach.’

  Flann pursed his lips, trying to hide the blow he felt to his warrior’s pride.

  ‘Come, druid,’ he forced himself to say, sneering a little, ‘are you saying that there are weapons fashioned by the gods for the asking?’

  Ruacán’s quiet gaze did not leave the girl’s face but he addressed his reply to Flann.

  ‘Did I say that they were to be had for the asking? Courage and skill are needed to obtain them.’

  ‘Then I will get them for Scáthach,’ said Flann, rising.

  ‘No!’ Ruacán’s reply was sharp. ‘Only Scáthach of Uibh Rathach can obtain what are rightfully hers.’

  Scáthach leant forward towards the druid.

  ‘Enough games of words, Ruacán.’ she said. ‘Speak plainly.’

  The corners of Ruacán’s mouth turned down but his face was still full of quiet humour.

  ‘Then plain it shall be, Scáthach. On the far side of this island is a deep pool. At the bottom of the pool is an underwater cave in which is stored a shield and a javelin. They belong to the ocean god, Manánnan Mac Lir. If you are without fear and confident in your skill and honour, you can seek to obtain that shield and javelin. With such weapons you will become invincible to your enemies.’

  Flann was staring at the old druid in outright disbelief.

  ‘And how can you know such things?’ he snapped.

  The old man’s bright eyes flickered up to the young warrior.

  ‘I am of the knowledge. I know. She is partly of the knowledge,’ he nodded to the girl. ‘She will tell you that I speak of what I know.’

  Flann glanced at Scáthach. She was biting her lip. She cast him a quick look and nodded.

  Flann coloured a little. He knew that to question a druid was a social transgression and yet the scepticism in his mind was strong.

  Scáthach examined the old man’s face closely.

  ‘What you are saying is that if one dives into the pool, to the underwater cave, one can have this shield and javelin?’ She grimaced. ‘Then if this is such a simple task, why has no one taken the property of the ocean god before?’

  ‘Did I say it was simple?’ reflected Ruacán. ‘There is a guardian of the cave to overcome.’

  ‘Ah! A warrior?’ asked Flann.

  ‘A warrior of the deep; a warrior of the oceans. Not a warrior in the sense you might accept.’

  Flann looked perplexed.

  ‘In what sense then?’

  ‘That is not for me to say.’

  ‘You seem to claim much but venture little,’ grunted Flann.

  ‘I am claiming nothing and saying only what must be said,’ retorted the druid.

  Scáthach stood up. She felt strong and fit as if the events of the last twelve hours were of no consequence.

  The weapons are in the cave? You are sure of this?’

  The old man nodded.

  Then I will retrieve them,’ Scáthach said with a tone of simple finality.

  ‘But what of this guardian?’ protested Flann. ‘How can we trust this old one? He may not be telling the truth. It may be some trap.’

  The old man rose.

  ‘She will know, young man. She will know if she is the person it was ordained she should be.

  He began to stride away.

  Scáthach took a hesitant step after him.

  ‘Where is this pool?’ she called out.

  The old man did not stop but called across his shoulder.

  ‘On the far side of the island. You will know it when you see it.’

  Flann frowned.

  ‘I do not like this, Scáthach.’

  The girl turned to him with a smile.

  ‘It is a test. Of that I am sure. Well, we must be equal to it. Come, let us find this pool and the underwater cave.’

  She turned and began to pick her way across the rocky terrain of the island.

  It was midday when they came to a small rocky cover on the far side of the island. Ruacán had been right. The pool was easily discernible for two lines of rocky causeway encircled it like the outstretched claws of a crab, leaving only a small, narrow channel through which the sea could gush at high tide. But now the waters within the encompassing arms were still, the still waters of a deep sea-pool.

  Scáthach paused. She felt alert and astonishingly fit. She put it down to no other reason than the herbal broth which the druid had prepared for she felt no ill-effects at all from the adventures of the last twelve hours. Nor apparently did Flann who stood at her side. She surveyed the pool with a critical eye.

  ‘This must be Ruacán’s pool,' Flann said unnecessarily.

  She did not reply.

  ‘I do not like it, Scáthach,’ the young warrior continued as he gazed uneasily at the darkened waters, ‘I have been thinking. If there are weapons here and they do belong to the ocean god, better leave them for fear of his anger.’

  The girl smiled at her companion.

  ‘I did not think you were of faint heart, Flann,’ she said in amusement.

  The young man flushed.

  ‘Nor am I when it comes to fighting men!’ he protested. ‘But if we are to believe the words of the druid, then some immortal guards those weapons … ’

  ‘He did not say that,’ rebuked the girl. ‘He simply said there was a guardian. Anyway, didn’t our ancestors, the children of Mile Easpain, go to the land of Éireann when it was peopled with none but the gods and drive them to the low places beneath the hills? We have conquered the gods before and we shall do so again. The gods are immortal and powerful only so long as they fulfil the desires of humankind. When they do not do so, then the gods die.’

  Flann licked his lips nervously. While part of his mind admitted shame before the courage of the girl, another part admired her confidence and steadfastness, while a third part urged him to quit this place.

  ‘The druid ought to be with us to guide us.’

  Scáthach shook her head.

  ‘I shall dive into the pool and search for these weapons,’ she said firmly.

  She strode forward to an outcrop of rock overlooking the natural sea pool and stared down into the blackness. Then, without a second glance at Flann, she stripped off, keeping only her belt from which hung her hunting knife, the only weapon saved from the wreck of the Nemhain.

  ‘Take care!’ muttered Flann as the girl took a step forward to the edge of the outcrop, stood stretched on tiptoe, hands reaching before her. Then the muscles in the backs of her legs tensed as she gathered her energy and pushed off into a graceful dive hitting the blackness of the waters below with scarcely a ripple.

  Flann moved to the outcrop and stared down, his brow creased in lines of worry.

  The dark waters closed over Scáthach, turning rapidly from dark green into inky blackness.

  By Dana, mother of the gods, how could anyone see in such blackness?

  She swam instinctively through the darkness towards the shoreline, under the underhang of rocks, the only logical direction in which the entrance to a cave might be.

  Strangely, as she swam, she became aware of the water growing lighter. It puzzled her. At the same time she realised that any moment she would have to fight her way to the surface unless she found the cave and a source of air in it. It was difficult to breathe now, her lungs were hurting and she was dying to open her mouth. In the eerie light she caught a glimpse of a black aperture and then she was pushing up to the surface. She broke through the waters and floated a moment or so on her back, gasping and recovering her breath.

  ‘Do you see anything?’ called Flann from the rocky overhang.

  ‘I think I see the entrance to the cave,’ she replied, having recovered. ‘I’m going into it.’

  With a wave of her hand, she drew in breath again, and sped downwards through the blackness and back to the eerie glow in the water, a form of light which seemed to have no so
urce. She saw the dark opening and swam for it. A moment later she was in a cavern which glowed with the same strange light. A water passage had taken her into a pool which emerged in the cavern which seemed to act as an airlock to the waters outside. She broke the surface and involuntarily opened her mouth. She gasped at the icy cold air. It was slightly musty but good enough to breathe. She trod water, lying slightly on her back, and breathed deeply at the same time staring around the cavern in which she had surfaced.

  It was then that she realised the cause of the light. It was a natural phenomenon, a phosphorus for the cavern walls seemed to be covered in a yellow translucent substance which glowed luminous in what would have been total darkness.

  Scáthach turned slowly, moved to a rocky ledge and began to pull herself up. As she did so she became aware of a constriction around her ankle, as if someone had tied a rope around it. A powerful tug jerked her backwards. Then she had time to gain one lungful of air before a second, sharper tug dragged her back into the water. She turned, pulling and tugging at her trapped legs.

  In the phosphorescent waters she saw a dark shadow nearby. It was huge. Her heart lurched as she saw giant tentacles slicing through the water around it and realised that one of those sinewy limbs had wrapped itself around her foot. For a moment she felt utter panic and her fear paralysed her. Creatures from the shadows, the old nightmare of her childhood. She was alone and helpless, without weapons, and the creature was powerful and irresistible. She could not fight it. It was invincible. It was supreme. And who was she? Then she thought she heard, from within the deep recesses of her mind, the chiding tones of Eola and Buimech. Immediately she sought to calm her fears. She became aware that Eola and Buimech had taught her well.

  She arched her lithe body over, bending double towards her ankles while, at the same time, reaching for her hunting knife at her side. The waters around her were threshing with the muscular energy of the terrible creature of the deep. Amidst the waving limbs, she caught sight of a single baleful eye and a terrible beak-like mouth which kept opening and snapping shut. She reached forward again, slashing with her knife at the limb which had wound itself around her ankle. Even as she did so another tentacle slithered through the waters and wrapped itself around her waist and a third caught her left arm.

  She did not panic but continued to hack at the limb, slicing through it until the water was mingled with an inky black substance which trickled from the severed flesh. Then, at last, her ankle was free, but her lungs were bursting for air. There would be no time to hack at the other limbs which held her fast. The giant creature was drawing her slowly towards its baleful eye and snapping jaw. Its wicked malevolent eye continued staring at her struggling form without blinking. A few seconds more and she would either drown or be crushed in that terrible maw.