Spirit of the Mist

by Janeen O'Kerry

  Grania laughed. “I hope it will be enough, my dear, for I can offer you little else. I cannot carry heavy loads, or drag wood to build a fire, or make my way down to the sea to catch fish…but I can tell you what I know about being a queen, though you need little in the way of instruction.”

  Muriel shook her head, even as Brendan stood behind her and placed his hands on her shoulders. “I know nothing of being a queen, even though for many years I had hoped to marry a king.” She reached up to cover Brendan’s hand with her own. “The only thing I know to do is love my husband and stay at his side, that we might face whatever happens together…no matter what it might be.”

  “And that, dear young lady, is the best advice that I could give to any queen. You have already learned that he cannot rule alone—that he needs you at his side. A king needs a queen to make him complete, and together they will be far stronger than they could ever be apart.” Grania smiled. “It may sound simple, but often it is only the wisest of men and women who understand this.”

  “I will try my best. I promise,” said Muriel. And then all three of them jumped as a scraping, clattering sound came up from the path which led to the sea.

  All of them froze for an instant. Then Brendan and Darragh hurried to the top of the path—and there they saw Gill and Cole and Duff appear, each one dragging a heavy piece of the broken curragh up the impossible path.

  The three ex-slaves collapsed almost as soon as they reached the top. “We’ve got it,” said Gill, closing his eyes and raising himself up on one elbow as he gasped for breath. “Though it’s a bit scratched and scraped, I’m afraid.”

  “It is a treasure,” Muriel said, crouching down beside him. “It means a little shelter. And maybe even some firewood.” She smiled at him, at this man who was Brendan’s father, and gently touched his face. “Thank you. We all thank you.”

  He said nothing, only smiled at her in return and reached up to lightly touch her hand.

  By dusk, the little ledge had been transformed into something resembling a camp.

  Cole and Gill had stripped the heavy oiled leather from the curragh and finished the job of breaking up its heavy wooden frame. They spread the wood out not far from the ledge, allowing the wind to dry it so that it might serve for torches or even firewood.

  Duff and Killian then each took one of the daggers and worked diligently to cut nine narrow strips from the curragh leather. Each person could spread one beneath their cloaks when they lay down to sleep, in an effort to keep out a little of the damp. The remaining torn and ragged pieces of leather were draped over their food supplies and weighted down with rocks to protect their food from rain as much as possible.

  On the highest rocks of the campsite, anything and everything that could possibly hold rainwater had been set out—the small bronze cauldron, the two wooden cups, scraps of curragh leather pressed down into the crevices and depressions of rock, and, of course, the bronze basin that was Muriel’s water mirror.

  The group gathered together at the rock face while Brendan passed around a few pieces of dried fish for each person, and Darragh handed out some of their dried apples. Muriel fetched the two wooden cups from the rocks and filled them with water from the leather waterskins, knowing that they would be necessary as everyone struggled to chew the tough, dry food.

  “Wait…where is Cole?” Brendan dropped the sack of dried fish. “Did he say he was going somewhere? When was he last seen?”

  No one could remember. All of them had been so engrossed in their own tasks that nobody could remember. For a moment Muriel had a vision of the man taking a sudden fall over the sheer edge of that cliff, the roar of the sea so loud, so constant, that they would not even hear him scream—

  There was a noise a short way down the path. It was the rattle of rocks, like something sliding or falling. All of them looked up to see Cole standing there, breathless, with a newly killed puffin in each hand. “I’m not sure how we’ll cook them, but here they are,” he said. “Ah…is something wrong?” he asked.

  “Nothing is wrong now,” said Brendan, and to Muriel’s relief he was smiling. “Come over here, Cole, and sit down with your riches. It’s just that…next time, please tell us when you are going off somewhere.”

  There was a look of awful guilt on Cole’s plain features. “Oh… I am sorry… No one has ever wondered where I went before, so long as my work was done.”

  “Of course. But Cole, no one here is a servant or a king. We are just friends trying to help each other survive, and we will all need each other if we are to make it through.”

  Finally, as darkness descended over the island and a faint mist began to rise, the little clan wrapped up in their cloaks and lay down on their leather pieces, as close to the overhang of the rock face as they could comfortably get.

  The overhang was the only shelter they had, for they had decided not to try to bring up the other curragh. It was just too large and heavy to bring up in one piece, and even if they could manage the weight it would almost certainly be ripped and scraped against the sharp rocks. It remained where it was, weighted down by stones on the landing far below.

  The wood pieces from the first boat’s broken frame lay in the open so that the winds could blow over and dry them. There would be no fire tonight; the wood must be saved for emergency use. Cole’s puffins had been thrown into the sea, for there was no way to cook them.

  Muriel knew that she should go and lie down. She never remembered being so exhausted, simply drained in every possible way. Yet she was still wide awake, her hands shaking a little, as though she was too tired to sleep.

  She wrapped her still-damp, heavy blue cloak over her rough brown tunic, and walked out toward the rocks at the far end of the ledge. Here, along with the cups and the cauldron and the leather pieces, rested her water mirror, awaiting the rain.

  The clouds were high this night, some thick and heavy, some light and fleet, and seemed to hold little promise of rain. Muriel looked out to the east. She knew the mainland was there, though she could see nothing of it in the heavy darkness. Occasionally, when the clouds thinned and the stars broke through, she could just make out the white-coated peak of the Island of the Birds, but that was all.

  Her empty bronze basin shone faintly by the starlight. Muriel started to reach out and touch it, but then drew her hand back again and looked away.

  She closed her eyes and told herself that she must go and lie down and try to sleep…there would be so much to do tomorrow…but then she heard the sound of a footstep behind her.

  Turning quickly, she saw that it was Brendan. Without a word she went to him, and the two of them held each other in the darkness at the edge of the world.

  Chapter Eighteen

  For a long time, neither of them spoke. The day had been so long and draining that they drew comfort and a measure of healing from simply standing and holding one another. Muriel wished that she could remain so forever, her eyes closed, feeling nothing but Brendan’s strong arms around her and hearing nothing but his heartbeat…but eventually he drew back a little and looked down at her.

  “It is so strange,” he said, his voice sounding as if he were very far away. “I am angry with myself for allowing you to come to this place…yet at the same time, I am so glad that you are here.”

  She smiled. “I told you that I would go wherever you go, and I meant it. Now that we are here, we have to think of the future.”

  “Future?” He released her and stepped back to lean against the mountain.

  “Look at them,” he said, waving his hands toward the rock face, where all the others slept. “I know I promised you and Queen Grania that I would not allow myself to show any further regret—but how can I keep that promise when I look at the people who are supposed to be in my care?

  “A king is supposed to see to it that his people have food and shelter and protection from their enemies. My people—my little kingdom of eight—have nothing but a handful of half-ruined food to eat and no shelter but
a sheer cliff of rock. The birds that Cole risked his life to catch for us had to be thrown into the sea, wasted, because we have no way to start a fire. And for protection?” He laughed. “At least they will be safe from enemies here, unless there is an enemy who is as mad as we are and tries to brave the sea. I know very well that not even Odhran would try this journey.”

  “You are right,” Muriel said. “That is why we made the journey—to keep you safe, and allow you to heal.” She shook her head. “No one said it would be easy, Brendan. Did you think a king’s life was always such an easy one, with no testing and no hardship?”

  “Perhaps I did,” he whispered. “Always it was so easy for me…never a doubt, never, ever a doubt…”

  He looked toward the rock face again. “If I were truly a leader, much less a king, I would have managed to heal myself on my own—or I would never have been seen again. I would never have allowed any of these good people, these fine men and women whose only crime is misplaced loyalty, to be exiled here with me. And most of all, I would never have allowed you to suffer such a fate.”

  An edge of anger began to creep into Muriel’s voice. It was the anger of frustration and exhaustion, and not a little fear. “Brendan—you still do not understand. If you have so little respect for me, and for those people who have come with you, as to think that we did so out of nothing but ’misplaced loyalty’—then perhaps you do deserve to be nothing but a servant.”

  He fell silent at that, and she knew he was looking at her in the darkness. “I will tell you again, for the final time: none of us would have come with you if we did not believe there was a future to be had with you, if we did not believe that you are, indeed, a king worth saving. So, Brendan, I suggest that you start behaving as a king should behave, for you have eight people counting on you to do so. Our lives—our futures—depend on it.”

  He kept his silence for a time. For a moment she thought that he, too, was angry. But when Brendan spoke again, his voice was as gentle as she had ever heard it.

  “I do understand, my lady. I know what all of you believe, and I will try with my last breath to live up to your belief. Yet there is one thing that a king must serve above all else, even above loyalty…and that is truth.

  “Your doubts about my kingship were always the greatest, and with good reason. You were the one who turned out to be right. Now we must all face the truth and see our situation for what it is: a dangerous, miserable exile—one which we may never escape.”

  Muriel looked at him just as the clouds parted and a little starlight filtered through. He was very still, leaning back against the mount, looking down at nothing. Beside him on the rocks sat the cups and the cauldron and the leather, all waiting for the rain…and with them, now sitting out to collect drinking water just like any other common household object, was her water mirror.

  She turned away from the sight of the mirror and tried to look only at Brendan. “I am here because you are my husband. Because I love you. Because I am bound to you. Where you go, I go. If I can help you, I will.”

  “Yet I can do nothing to help you.” The bitterness was evident in his voice. “That is another truth.

  “I thought to give you everything when I brought you to Dun Bochna. You would have a fine big house, an endless supply of furs and fire, the finest new linen and woolen clothes, the very best food, the most beautiful of all the gold ornaments to wear…and if there was anything else you desired, I had only to swing up on my horse and ride out to get it for you.

  “But here I cannot even offer you a roof over your head. Here I can give you nothing.”

  “Here you can heal,” Muriel insisted. “Here you can be safe and know that you will not be captured and held for ransom—or worse—by someone like Odhran. Here you will not be forced to live out your life as a servant.”

  “We are all servants here in this place,” he muttered. “We are all slaves to the wind and to the sea and to starvation.”

  “We will find a way,” she said quietly. “There is food here.”

  “Food? The raw flesh of birds?”

  “The rain will bring us water.”

  “You will not have enough to so much as bathe your feet, Lady Muriel. There are nine people here who must have enough to drink. And if you think to wash in the sea, it will be the last bath you ever take.”

  “We will find a way,” she murmured again, staring at the dull shine of the bronze basin in the faint light of the cloud-covered stars.

  He took her by the shoulders and forced her to look at him. “Muriel, listen to what you are saying! You should be angry that I have brought you here. You should be outraged that I have reduced you to eating bits of sea-soaked apple and sleeping on rocks beneath filth covered cloaks! You should be fighting with all your strength, with all your power, to find a way out of here and be restored to the life you were born to, the life you deserve!”

  She took a deep breath and looked up at him, knowing that he was right, feeling the cold dread that she had held at bay for so long beginning to rise up in her. “Perhaps…what you say is true. I would never have come to this place… would never have allowed you to come to this place…before…”

  “Before what?”

  “Before we were married.”

  They looked up at each other, their faces barely visible in the few stars shining down through the broken clouds. Muriel could feel only the pounding of her heart, hear only the roaring of the sea.

  “You used your magic today to help us reach land,” he said. “We would never have survived without you and your power over the sea.”

  She nodded slowly, gazing out at the dark and glistening surface of the sea, swirling far below. “But the second curragh wrecked, and nearly killed some of us. And it took the last of my strength. It often makes me feel weak, but every other time my power has quickly returned. This time it has not. I feel as empty as these wooden cups awaiting the rain…and fear I will remain so.”

  He reached out and touched her bronze water mirror where it sat on the rock. “Look at this. It sits among the cups like any other thing you might find about your house—nothing special, nothing magical. Is this what is happening to you, too?

  “You told me most clearly what would happen to you if you married a man who was not a king. Well, you have done exactly that…and what is happening to you now, Lady Muriel?

  “Look there!” He pointed to the east. “The moon is rising. It is just past full. Here, I will go and fetch some seawater to fill your water mirror. Will you use it? And if you do, what will you see?”

  Slowly she reached up and with both hands touched the sides of the basin. It felt cold and plain and ordinary, no different from any other plate or bowl or other common thing.

  “Shall I fill it for you?” her husband pressed.

  Muriel drew her hands away from the basin. “There is no need,” she whispered.

  “Why? Do you fear what you might see?”

  “I do not.”

  “Then what are you afraid of?” he asked harshly.

  “I fear …that I will see nothing at all.”

  They both stood very still, and thick clouds obscured the last light of the rising moon so that deep darkness fell over them. And then slowly, with his head lowered, Brendan reached for her. There was sorrow in his voice.

  “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.”

&nbs
p; 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—”