The Lyre Dancers

by Mandy Haggith

  Fin slopped some water in the cup, swirled it round and chucked the contents overboard.

  Manigan nodded. ‘That’s better.’ Then to Rian, ‘See what I mean? He has the boat sense of a farmyard pig, that boy. His damned pet monkey has a better idea of what to do on here, I tell you not a word of a lie. And that says a lot about him, doesn’t it? A pet monkey. Not a dog, oh no, no sensible beast like a ferret for this young man. A monkey. I ask you.’

  ‘She’s the smartest animal on this boat,’ Fin said. The monkey was absorbed in grooming.

  ‘Aye, aye, as monkeys go, it’s an intelligent and amusing monkey and yes it’s clean, I’ll give it that. But it’s still a monkey!’

  ‘It seems to have stopped being sick, at least,’ Rian said.

  ‘True. Who ever heard of a monkey with sea legs?’

  ‘You’ll no doubt make a story of it, Uncle Manigan.’ Fin stroked the little animal’s head.

  ‘I blasted well hope so. I’ll dine on the time I sailed to Iceland with a monkey in the crew.’

  ‘Are we going all the way to Iceland?’ Rian was wide-eyed.

  ‘Aye. If we can, that is, but we’ll need something other than a westerly. We’ll need some wind to go anywhere, of course. We could sit here a long time drifting not very far on this feeble current.’

  The wind had now almost died away again and the sea was becoming glassy.

  ‘Come on, let’s shake this reef out.’ Fin, Badger and Kino untied reefing knots and hoisted the sail to its full extent. Rian saw that despite Manigan’s complaints, Fin handled his tasks on board with skill. He’d probably been sailing all his life. They rolled on in the lazy swell, making slow progress.

  Manigan gestured west. ‘If there’s only westerly, we’ll go east. Maybe we’ll make it to Bear Island, north of the Norse lands. There are islands even to the north of there again, they say, although even my grandfather never went there. I’d love to go.’

  ‘I don’t care where we go.’

  ‘Well that’s all right then.’

  ‘I can die happy now.’

  ‘Oh don’t do that. I’ll not be happy if you die, Rian, my love, I’m only just getting to know you properly.’

  ‘Hardly.’

  ‘Aye, you are the love of my life, but that doesn’t mean I know you very well. You don’t really get into someone’s skin until you’ve sailed with them, I don’t reckon.’

  ‘We sailed all the way to Whale island right at the start of it and then to Ictis.’

  ‘Right enough, we had that mad chase down from the Black Chieftain’s place, but you can’t count that. We were too busy running away to be able to find out much about each other.’

  ‘I found out everything I needed to know about you.’ She tilted her head at him, cheekily.

  ‘Oh you did, did you? You might think you did. I never told you half of what there is to tell.’

  ‘No, you leave all your stories unfinished. Like that one about King Ban and the stone. You started that on that journey and never did finish it.’

  ‘How do you remember that? What kind of a strange creature are you that remembers I told you half a story about King Ban nearly twenty years ago? You’re a wonder and a marvel, so you are Rian. I shall have to tell you it some day. It’s a good one, that one!’

  ‘And you’ve still not finished explaining about Fin.’

  ‘Fin, what about him?’

  ‘How you have him in your crew.’

  ‘For my sins. Well, Ussa lavished all her riches on him, showed him a good time around the houses of the rich and mighty of Belerion. She did everything she could to bring him close in about her. The monkey came from her, of course, one of many toys. There was a horse too. Still is, presumably, somewhere. A good one, by all accounts.

  ‘Anyway, end of last year I was there selling ivory at the big Belerion fair and he came and introduced himself. Yes, Fin. I wasn’t impressed. He waltzed up in his fancy embroidered hose and a jerkin with tassels, mincing about in leather slippers as if the ground’s not good enough for his pretty little feet.

  ‘“Hello, Uncle,” he says. “Uncle Manigan, isn’t it?” He put on a ridiculous high-pitched voice and Fin rolled his eyes.

  ‘“Impudent cub, who are you to call me Uncle?” I reply.

  ‘“I’m Gruach’s son,” he says, “and I’d like to come to sea with you.”

  ‘“You’re jesting with me,” I say.

  ‘“No, Uncle,” he says. “I’ve wanted it all my life. You’re the Walrus Mutterer, aren’t you?”

  ‘I could hardly deny it, could I?

  ‘“I’ll do the worst job on the boat,” he says.

  ‘“You’ll do no job on my boat at all,” I reply. I wasn’t even thinking about it.

  ‘“I don’t know much about boats,” he persists.

  ‘I could tell that just by looking at him.’

  Fin interrupted. ‘I told him I’m good at fishing and that animals trust me.’

  ‘Aye, and it turns out it’s true, they do. But back then I thought he was just saying stuff to ingratiate himself with me and I was having none of it. And then he says, “My aunt Ussa’ll vouch for me.” Ha, ha, ha. You can imagine what I said to that!’

  ‘You probably swore’, Rian said.

  ‘I no doubt did. And I told him what I think of his aunt Ussa, too right I did, and I filled him in on a bit of history and he didn’t look so happy when I sent him packing.’ Manigan shook his head. ‘But then after I left you and Soyea in Assynt, I headed west to the Long Island and he turned up again. Like a bad smell, I told him. It was Badger who persuaded me to take him on. I needed anyone I could persuade to come with me hunting. It’s not easy to get good guys to come north and Badger said he’d take care of him, make sure he didn’t get into trouble. The Summer Isles boys are all as bad as each other, you know.’

  Badger looked up and lifted a hand. ‘That’s us.’

  Manigan coursed on. ‘Anyway, Badger had watched the boy growing up there, reckoned he was all right really, despite all the regalia he had on. He had a bag the size of a big pig, full of his riches and fancy gear.’

  ‘What fancy gear?’ Rian pointed at the young man, who was wearing an old, sea-soiled gansy and coat.

  ‘I know, he’s a scruff now, isn’t he? But see what he had then, how he managed to avoid getting himself robbed travelling up to the Long Island all the way from Belerion is a mystery to me. He’d worked on one of the trading boats from the Amber Coast and the skipper said he wasn’t a bad crewman, not very strong but sharp enough and biddable. Young Fin had blagged his way on board in Ictis, the autumn before. He’d been determined to quit life with Ussa, and when I wouldn’t have him, he’d gone off with the first boat that would. Him and the monkey.’

  ‘It was Og who set it up. He was leaving too.’ Fin said.

  ‘So, he finally saw sense, did he? Anyway, they’d gradually made their way up the west coast, sheltering a lot. Late winter’s not a good time to make passage, as you know, but these boats from the Amber Coast are built for all weathers and some of the skippers are fearless. I don’t know what he’d have done if I’d not shown up in the Hoil.’

  ‘But you did,’ said Fin.

  ‘Aye. I did.’

  ‘I’d have gone to the Amber Coast, probably. Like Og, looking for my fortune.’

  ‘And there’d you’d still be, boy, in a bog probably. Anyway, he came aboard, stowed his big bag of booty and set about trying to persuade me he’s a useful seaman, which I’m yet to be convinced of. He’s made some damn fool mistakes, I can tell you that for nothing. There was the time we hit a storm off the Cat Isles…‘

  ‘Oh leave off, Manigan, we don’t need to hear that again.’ Fin was blushing now.

  ‘What? They get better with retelling. They do!’

  ‘And it wasn’t Badger that persuaded you. It was the stone.’ The young man’s voice was strident now.

  Manigan seemed to acquiesce at the mention of it. He gave
a rueful shake of his head. ‘True enough, the stone, aye. If I’m honest, that’s what swayed me. What power it has, eh?’

  THE DEATH STONE

  ‘So where is it now?’ Rian said.

  Manigan patted the locker lid he was sitting on. ‘Here. Fin has it now. Did you not know? That’s what’s blocking up my stern locker. Aye. The Death Stone, my three-faced friend. Why do you think I’m heading north with a smile on my face, telling stories? Young Fin here has it now and he’s with me. He has a healthy respect for it as well, I’ll give him that. Fortunately.’

  ‘How come?’

  ‘He bought it.’

  ‘Ussa sold it? You’re kidding.’

  ‘I know, it’s incredible to me too. But I’ve asked him a dozen times and that’s what he says he did.’

  ‘I never said I bought it from Ussa,’ Fin had his back to them and was looking out to sea.

  ‘You what? You did so,’ Manigan said.

  ‘I never. I bought it, and she organised it, but it was from her father, not her.’

  ‘Donnal Sevenheads?’ Rian was shocked. ‘Is he still alive?’

  ‘Aye.’

  ‘He must be ancient. What did you buy it with?’ Rian asked, wondering what other dealings with Ussa’s family the boy had been involved in.

  ‘A sword,’ Fin said.

  Rian raised her eyebrows at this, the standard price for a slave. Indeed she had first been traded for a sword.

  Manigan nodded. ‘I heard it was one of Gruach’s best bronze ones. Beautiful, by the sounds of it. But how the hell did Sevenheads get it off her?’

  Fin shrugged and didn’t reply.

  ‘I’ll bet it was a bet,’ said Badger.

  Fin nodded. ‘She told me she staked it and lost, gambling with him, ages before she got it from you, and that was why she wanted it so badly all those years. She owed it to him.’

  Manigan snorted. ‘I’d guess the stone probably realised pretty soon old Sevenheads didn’t need any help with killing. What do you think? I’d believe anything of it. Anyway, it obviously spotted a gullible innocent and got itself into new hands.’

  Rian thought Manigan sounded as if he was still in thrall to it himself. ‘How’d you feel about Fin having it?’ she said.

  ‘Fine. I’m glad it’s not mine anymore. I had it for years, and now it has moved on. I wish him better luck with it than I had. It’s a relief to know it’s out of Ussa’s hands and not mine to search for anymore.’

  Fin shifted around on the thwart so he was facing Manigan. ‘So you’ll not be stealing it off me in the night?’

  ‘Nah. You’re stuck with it, son.’

  ‘If you really want it you can have it, you know.’

  Manigan elbowed Rian. ‘See what he’s like? He’ll give anything away. It’s unbelievable. He values nothing.’

  Fin thrust his hands down on his thighs and pushed his chin forward. ‘I value a great deal: fine food, a comfortable bed, good company, music well-played, lots of things like that. But I don’t value objects for their own sake and I’ve no interest in having lots of possessions unless they’re meaningful.’

  ‘All right. You’re rich as a king and not interested in any of it. Amazing isn’t it, Rian? Well, give it all away if you like but watch who you’re giving that stone to, that’s all I’m saying. And watch what you do with it.’

  ‘Because of its powers?’

  ‘Because of what it is, aye.’

  ‘You said there are stories to tell me about it.’

  ‘Don’t hold your breath,’ said Rian. ‘I’ve been waiting for years.’ Fin grinned at her but she returned his gaze with cool scepticism.

  ‘All right, the stone stories. It’s as good a time as any.’ Manigan did one of his customary sweeps of his head, looking out to the horizon in an arc from west around to east, then called, ‘Badger, look to starboard. Do you see what I see?’

  Badger roused himself and peered eastwards, then gave a little toss of his head, as if shaking himself awake. ‘Are we there already? Aye, land ho!’

  ‘We nearly sailed straight past her!’ Manigan was on his feet, turning the tiller, and calling for the sail to be loosened and brought round so it was nearly square on and they could run with the breeze towards what was soon, even to Rian, discernibly an island. It was pyramidal in shape, with a tuft of cloud over the peak, as if it was smoking.

  ‘No story, then,’ Rian said.

  ‘Later, my love. There’ll be plenty of time later.’

  She gave a little smile. She had heard that line so many times before, but later was always full of something other than the end of the story.

  SOYEA

  FUNERAL

  Everyone seems affected by the visit of the Sisters. Buia has a new dress on that one of the sisters gifted her, and because she washed for the solstice ceremony she is sweet-smelling. She is focusing on living things for a change, flowers in particular. She brings back armfuls of blossom, and the broch is soon a bower of hanging bundles of scents. There are baskets of rose petals that she turns and stirs, releasing their fragrance into the air so the whole building is a tower of perfume.

  We clean the broch from top to bottom, set a lamp to burn in the cellar and give offerings to the spirits of the underworld. We get a cow from Duileag, and Buia calls her Beithe and loves her like a bosom friend. Donnag is making more pots, and soon Bael’s destruction of her earlier batch is just a memory. We conjure a plan to produce jars of poultices and ointments and then trade with them. There are always boats passing and we are short of produce to barter for their fish, let alone the other goods they are often carrying. If a smith visits, it would be good to have something to swap for some repairs to the kitchen ware. There are people in the houses down by the beach who have given us grain since our own supplies ran out, and we need to thank them with something too. They come to us when they need help, but we could offer them more if we had a better supply of herbs. So we are becoming a factory. The broch is a busy hive of activity. I am learning every hour and still each day a new flower opens its bloom.

  But every day Danuta fades. It is as if all her essence is being transferred into the flowers. First she asks to return to her chamber and her cough rattles in there like a dry pea in a pod. Then it becomes difficult for her to eat. Some days she finds it impossible to keep food down and starts shaking her head whenever I offer her porridge. She takes a spoonful of soup, then pushes it away. She sups a little at her herbal mead and I add in the herbs that The Wren gave me, but after a while she wants only water.

  Then comes the day when she barely wakes when I go to check in on her. Buia and I take turns to sit by her bed, listening to her rasping breath. And one morning, while I am making breakfast, Buia calls out, a wordless wail. I rush into the chamber. Danuta is no longer with us.

  I don’t know what to do. Buia is sitting beside Danuta and won’t let go of her hand. Donnag hovers, then crouches in a corner of Danuta’s chamber. The quietness becomes oppressive and I wish Mother was here. Whatever it was that she was hoping to discover from the old woman is gone. All of that wisdom and knowledge. I feel panicky at the thought, and clueless about what needs to happen.

  Buia starts singing something strange. I ask her what it is and listen while she sings it again. It’s a calling to kind spirits to help Danuta in her passing. The melody is beautiful.

  Friends for the westward journey

  Guide this traveller on her voyage

  Keep the breeze gentle

  Keep the breeze gentle

  Friends for the westward journey…

  She is singing it over and over, interspersed with a chanted jumble of things to do with Danuta that I don’t really understand, but in the next chorus I join in and allow my voice to learn the words and tune. Buia nods and smiles at me. After I’ve sung three choruses I stop and realise Donnag’s voice is weaving softly alongside Buia’s.

  The singing has calmed me. Between choruses I say, ‘I could go and get Eilidh.’ />
  Buia nods, so I go, somehow certain that she and Donnag are doing the right thing to keep Danuta’s spirit safe.

  It is a relief to walk through the woods and along the shore to Achmelvich, and when I get to the beach I see Tormid. I tell him Danuta has died and he sends a boy running for Eilidh and gets me to help him prepare to launch his curragh. Before long there is a boatload of people and in what feels like no time I am walking back into the broch with a crowd.

  When Eilidh and half a dozen other voices join with Buia’s, she bursts into tears. She sits sobbing by the bedside, but she has kept the vigil and Danuta’s spirit must be safe. Eilidh strokes her hair and gently detaches her hand from Danuta’s, whispering to her. Buia allows herself to be led to the hearth for some food and then heads off to her hut. After a while she reappears with a basket full of cormorant feathers. She sits by Danuta’s bedside arranging them onto threads, weeping quietly as she works the needle. Eilidh helps her to dress Danuta’s body with gleaming black plumage.

  Tormid has taken Bael to dig a grave, up beside the dragon tooth wall of big upright stones that overlooks the beach.

  I make food. I begin with bannocks and carry on. People bring contributions: a goose, a big basket of silverweed roots and lily tubers, mussels, fish and cheese. Ramsons and other herbs are hung from the rafters already. I make dish after dish and women I didn’t know before come and help me. Duileag and her mother, who is also called Duileag, sit one each side of me. As we peel and chop and stir and season, the elder Duileag tells me about when she and my Mother were children, and I think Danuta would have been pleased to see this befriending at her hearth. We cry for her, and sing.

  Bael paces with a flask of mead until he is unable to stand, then sits, continuing to drink until he collapses and is carried away to his room. Hours later he reappears and sits in Danuta’s room, sipping at a cup of ale. There doesn’t seem to be anything behind his eyes except anger and if anyone speaks to him, he snarls.

  At some point I sleep, and then carry on.