“That’s fresh water, but if you go out to the edge of the island, the water that surrounds us is salt water, unfit to drink.”
“Are there no fish in the ocean, then?”
“Oh, no! There are much bigger fish in the ocean! But they can breathe the salt water. Some of them are enormous, much bigger than horses or cows.”
He didn’t quite believe her, but he would never say so.
Now, as he rafted down a different river, on the opposite side of the island, he watched for this ocean, this mythical body of undrinkable water, which held gigantic fish. He wondered if they would jump over the surface like salmon did. Would he see them? Would they listen to him?
He quested out in his mind to find any local fish, and a few voices filtered through the water, but he found only trout, salmon, minnows, and other river denizens. Voices he recognized well. A few birds chattering about their passage, and a curious deer staring at them as they floated by. The deer bounded away once they’d passed.
The river opened out ahead, and he worked to shove the raft closer to the shore. He chose the south shore, as Brigit had told him the island he sought lay past the river mouth and far to the south. Should he try to continue to raft along the ocean’s edge? The water might be rougher, from what his grandmother had said. Great storms sometimes pounded the western edge of the island, furious weather which ate bits of the shore. He had no wish to be caught in such a storm.
Still, walking across land seemed so slow to him now, after this delightful swift mode of travel. He should wait to decide until he found the ocean.
Bran howled, startling Fingin from his thoughts, and someone answered him. Frantically, Fingin searched both shores for the source of the answering howl. After a moment, he saw them, three ragged dogs, on the south shore. They pawed at the dirt, trying to get up enough nerve to jump into the river to get at Bran. Bran kept howling, an unnerving sound that made Fingin’s stomach feel hollow.
“Bran, stop that! They can’t get to us from here.”
“But they’re there! I have to talk to them!”
Fingin quested out in his mind, asking the dogs what they wanted. Their only response was a question — who passes? What do you want? Don’t come here, this is our place!
“It’s not needed. We’ll be past them soon. They’re just trying to figure out who we are.”
The hound whimpered, but whimpering sounded better than unearthly howling.
* * *
Over the course of the day’s travel, the river opened into a great estuary, small islands dotting the wide expanse of the river mouth. Fingin had never seen so much water in one place in his entire life. Bran glanced around with wide eyes, and even the usually laconic Sean seemed impressed.
“This is the ocean. My grandmother told me about it.”
Bran let out a few curious yips as something bumped the raft. Then he barked several times, running from one corner to the next, peering into the water. “Something’s there! It’s a big fish! But it doesn’t smell like a fish. It’s huge!”
It bumped the raft again, and Fingin sent his thoughts below the surface, searching for animal intelligence. The voice which answered him came strong and loud. “What are you? You don’t look like the coracle boats.”
Startled at such a cohesive response from a fish, Fingin said, “I’m Fingin, and this is Bran and Sean. Who are you?” and then, with even more curiousity, “What are you?”
The water splashed, and a large gray fish with smooth skin rather than scales popped her head up. She chittered, nodded a few times, and said, “I’m Tanni! I’m me, of course. What else would I be?”
The fish seemed as large as Sean, and then some. A sudden clutch of fear gripped Fingin’s heart, but the voice had been so genial, he couldn’t remain afraid long. He smiled at the creature. “Bran, this is Tanni. She has a name, just like you!”
Bran cocked his head and regarded Tanni. He barked once again and then sat. “Then we can’t eat her? I bet she doesn’t taste as good as salmon does.”
With a chuckle, Fingin turned to Tanni with an idea. “We want to get to an island full of religious men. It’s also covered in sea birds, and lies to the south, a steep mountaintop jutting out of the water. Do you know where I’m talking about?”
Tanni chittered a few more times, almost like a cat who sees a bird and wants to catch it. Then she dove under the waves, and Fingin worried he’d somehow upset her. He needn’t have, though. She burst up through the surface on the other side of the raft, causing Bran to bark again.
“That was mean of her! She scared me!”
“Settle down, Bran. I’m asking her for help.”
The dog let out a token growl and sat, keeping a wary eye on Tanni. He whined several times as they spoke.
“There are many islands! Islands everywhere. What’s ‘south?’”
Fingin scanned the sky, searching for the sun. It struggled to filter through the thin cloud cover. First, he found west, where the sun set over the ocean. He turned to his left and pointed. “South is that way.”
“I can lead you there. Follow me!”
Tanni leapt away in the direction Fingin pointed but returned when she realized they hadn’t moved in the right direction. He still leaned on his pole, stuck deep in the riverbed.
“I have little control over the raft, Tanni. It’s difficult to move it when the current isn’t pulling it. And the current may not head south.”
“No, the current twists and turns in delightful ways. I love playing in the currents. Some are warm, and some are cold, and they all have yummy fish.”
Fingin glanced at Bran, but the dog couldn’t hear Tanni’s words. He held up the twine moorline. “I have a rope tied to our raft. Would you be able to pull us south? Would you be willing to do so? I don’t know how we might help, but I can talk to fish to convince them to come closer if you wanted to eat some.”
Tanni regarded the twine rope and touched it with her nose. She chittered again and touched it again. “It’s rough, like coral.”
Nodding, Fingin smiled. “It is. It might chaff your smooth skin. How come you don’t have scales like other fish?”
“I’m not a fish!” Her tone turned indignant.
“What are you, then?”
“I don’t know what humans call me, but I’m not a fish. I breathe air. Fish breathe water.”
Fingin’s expression clouded with confusion. “How do you breathe air underwater?”
She chittered again and ducked under the water, only to burst forth again in a flip. “I don’t stay underwater long.”
Fingin knew fish didn’t breathe the air, but perhaps Tanni was a magical creature, a Fae fish. So far, she’d been pleasant and helpful, whether Fae or mortal. He shouldn’t turn down any help at this point.
With some adjustments, Fingin fashioned a crude harness from the twine and looped it over Tanni’s nose. Her fin kept the loop from slipping right off. “Are you sure the raft isn’t too heavy for you to pull?”
“If it is, I’ll stop.”
“Fair enough.”
“Which way do you want to go?”
With another glance at the sky, Fingin pointed south. After several trills of clicks, Tanni pulled on the rope in the chosen direction.
At first, the raft didn’t move at all. Then, just a little bit. Tanni strained and pulled, and the raft moved at an increasingly rapid pace, almost as fast as they’d traveled in the river current.
Tanni, however, grew tired quickly. “Your strange boat is heavier than it seems. It barely dips into the water at all. I think it’s because of the others.” She chittered directly at Bran, who growled back, but Fingin shushed him. “You’re likely right. I understand if it’s too heavy. Thank you for trying, though.”
“Wait here.”
They could hardly do anything but wait. Before Fingin could protest, Tanni disappeared. He hoped the Fae fish would return soon. The raft drifted too far from shore for Fingin’s pole to reach the ground
.
While taking the break as a time to eat and drink, he doled out food to both Bran and Sean. Bran pouted but gnawed on his dried fish. Sean munched on the last of the dried hay Brigit had gifted them.
A chorus of chittering and barking made him glance up. A half dozen Fae fish now surrounded the small raft. Bran went crazy, barking at each one. Even Sean’s eyes grew wide.
“I’m back! I brought help. Do you have more scratchy things to loop my friends? We’ll get you where you’re going fast!”
Fingin stared from one Fae fish to the other, amazed at the assembled creatures. “Do they all have names, too?”
“Of course! This is Fetti, and Lonno, and Tas, and Stom, and Rassa.”
Each Fae fish leapt backward as Tanni recited their names, a coordinated dance of mischievous joy.
Fingin pulled out his twine, thankful he’d made plenty. Still, he only had enough for four Fae fish.
“That’s not a worry. The other two will come along for the fish.”
Fingin grinned. “Would you like to eat before the trip? I don’t know how far away it is.”
A chorus of agreements came from the Fae fish.
“What sort of fish do you want? I don’t even know what type live around here.”
“Eels!” “Salmon!” “Squid!”
Fingin had never heard of squid fish, but he knew salmon and eels. He closed his eyes and quested into the depths of the ocean, searching for any salmon or eels in the water below him. A few answered, curious to who might be calling them. As they approached the bottom of the raft, the Fae fish squealed and dove, and the salmon and eel voices ended with sudden silence. As always, he felt a twinge of guilt at using his power to kill the creatures who answered him, but as always, he reassured his conscience that his actions were for a greater purpose.
“We like you, human! Can you do that again when we get to where you’re going?”
“Of course! And if it’s a long distance away, we can do it several times.”
Another chorus of chittering and several flips answered his offer.
Fingin secured the first squad of Fae fish to his four loops, and they set off for the south.
* * *
After the initial fear when the four Fae fish surged forward, almost dislodging all the raft occupants, Fingin, Bran, and Sean settled down for a pleasant, if somewhat noisy, ride. They bounced along mild ocean waves, hugging the shore more or less, as the sun played hide and seek amongst the clouds.
Fingin’s skin grew sweaty, and he removed his léine. The ocean air kept him cooler without the clothing as their fishy friends dragged them along the surface.
A few times, a startled fisherman in his round hide coracle stared in amazement as they passed. Fingin gave each a jaunty wave.
The land passed on their left, speeding by much faster than it ever had on the river. The Fae fish tried to race each other, making it a game as to who swam faster than his neighbor. Their game jerked the raft around until Fingin asked them to stop. They’d apologize, swim abreast for a while, and then get into an argument about who was faster and do it again.
Sea cliffs winked by next to white-sand beaches. Rocks jutted out of the water, covered in seagulls. They threaded between tiny islands along the coast, and around long peninsulas, fingers of land reaching for the western edge of the ocean. The brilliant sun glittered on the ocean’s surface, highlighting white-capped waves and the occasional cloud scudding across the sky.
Thus, as the first day waned, the journey had become a mix of delight, relaxation, and terror. The sun dipped into the fiery ocean, glittering across the waves, a few brilliant orange clouds racing across the orb. The temperature dropped considerably in the evening.
Fingin called out to Tanni. “Do you not need to rest? The night comes.”
Tanni barked, and they all slowed. “We’re tired, yes. And hungry. Will you call more fish? We can sleep and start again in the morning. You haven’t seen your mountaintop yet?”
He shook his head. “Not as she described it for me. She made a drawing. Most of these islands seem empty of men, and the one I search for has lots of men on it.”
One of the other Fae fish piped up. “Oh! I know that place! The stinky island!”
Fingin cocked his head. “Stinky island?”
“The men throw their waste into the water. All the water stinks of it. The fish there taste bad, so we avoid it.”
He considered that as he called for the evening meal. It made a certain sense, and the island he searched for might be the same. He grinned at the name, though.
“How much farther to stinky island?”
“Another day. We can get you there by sunset tomorrow.”
He had them push the raft close to shore for the evening and moored the craft to a tree. He didn’t wish to wake up in the middle of the wide ocean. Even before the sun had set, he saw nothing on the horizon. No mountains, no hills, no trees. It was as if the world ended in a vast expanse of water. Fingin didn’t care for the hollow sensation in his belly as he stared at it. He decided he preferred lakes and rivers to the ocean.
He slept in fits, not used to the bobbing of the raft. Sean and Bran had refused to disembark on the shore, as they didn’t want to risk getting on again. He didn’t blame them. The ocean was so different from the rivers he knew well. Vast and endless, filled with dangerous waves and strange, talkative fish. A different entity, a strange god with unknown dangers and joys.
The morning came, but no sun rose for the dawn. The Fae fish woke him, their voices filtering through the thick mist.
After their morning meals, and with many shouted directions and suggestions, he looped his twine around four of the Fae fish. Two who pulled yesterday would be escort today, and they all agreed to switch out at noon, so a third pair might rest from the heavy work.
Their high voices filtered back to him as they pulled. “Hey, stop shoving! This is my spot!”
“Then stop swimming in front of me!”
“You stop swimming behind me!”
Fingin prayed the stinky island was the same he searched for. He’d never recognize it in this thick mist. He’d hoped the fog would burn away as the sun rose higher, but that didn’t seem the case. As the day passed, the fog remained thick and impenetrable. The misty wet of the air they traveled through kept them all soggy. No amazing views of the coast caught their attention. Only gray greeted their gaze. The trip this day became much less pleasurable than the day before.
Because they were already soaked, he didn’t even notice the first raindrops. However, when the roiling of thunder boomed across the sea, and cracks of lightning cut through the fog to light it in a preternatural brilliance, Fingin realized they’d been led into the heart of a storm.
The rising waves swamped the sides of the raft as he shouted out. “Tanni! Tanni, we need to seek shelter.”
Chittering answered him. The shapes of the Fae fish disappeared in the mist, though they must have been only a few arms’ lengths in front of the raft. He dug his fingers into the twine between the logs, desperate to hold on. Bran howled, and Sean’s eyes grew white with fear. “Tanni! Tanni, bring us to shore!”
A wave slapped the raft so hard, he almost slipped off, despite his death grip on the twine. Sean slid toward the far edge.
“Tanni! Fetti! Lonno! Please! We won’t survive if the raft tips!”
The trajectory of the raft shifted, heading to the left, toward the safety of land. Some of Fingin’s abject terror faded, but he maintained his tight grip on the raft. He wished he’d thought to tie Sean or Bran down, but that might not have been a good idea, either. If the raft tipped too far, they’d get tangled or stuck underwater.
A dark shoreline hove in the distance, against the still-foggy horizon. Without warning, the bottom of the raft scraped and scratched against something, and the world flipped sideways.
His fingers remained stuck inside the twine knots, and now the raft floated above him. He panicked and breathed in wate
r. He yanked, trying to get his fingers out, looking around frantically for Sean and Bran, but seawater filled his vision.
One mighty pull, and his bruised fingers came free. He launched himself to the edge of the bottom of the raft, and broke the surface, pulling in the air with sweet relief, despite the pounding rain. He coughed, trying to clear his burning lungs.
Sean brayed next to him, floundering in the water to swim for the shore. He listened for Bran’s bark. The storm raged around him. Waves pounded his face as he tried not to swallow more bitter seawater.
One step at a time. He got hold of Sean’s bridle and swam to shore, keeping the donkey’s head above water. A rude bump to his bottom made him cry out, but his attacker was only one of the Fae fish, trying to help. Another bumped Sean, and then a third.
By the time he reached the rocky shore, he panted for breath. His skin soaked, his body scraped and bruised from the rocks, Fingin and Sean stood safe on dry land. With frantic desperation, he searched for his hound.
“Bran? Bran! Bran, where are you!”
A rumble of thunder and the constant pounding of the rain against the rocks answered.
Chapter Eight
The storm raged on for the rest of the afternoon. After Fingin found a small cliff overhang for Sean to rest under, he searched up and down the shoreline for any sign of Bran.
Fingin called until his throat rasped hoarsely. He examined every lump on the ground, in case he found the remains of his beloved friend.
He cried, but the tears washed away with the constant rain.
Soaked and exhausted, Fingin trudged back to where he’d left Sean. The donkey, miserable and alone, huddled against the bare stone ledge, trying to keep away from the steady dripping.
The raft had disappeared, as well as the pannikins and all their supplies. He didn’t even have flint for a fire. He still had Brigit’s pendant, safe around his neck, but nothing else.
And he had no Bran.
The Fae fish had all swum away, no longer interested in the strange boat and its inhabitants. At least they’d helped him and Sean to shore. Maybe they’d also helped Bran find dry land. Maybe the dog would find them if they stayed here for a little while.
Age of Secrets: Druid's Brooch Series: #8 Page 12
