Vanora sprinted toward him. “Angus no, don’t look at her!”
He couldn’t help himself. His eyes were drawn upward. A gray hooded cloak with a ragged black veil concealed the Banshee’s face. Behind the tattered lace he saw her eyes, red from centuries of weeping. She stretched out her sinewy arms to strangle his neck. Angus scurried back and fell hard onto the slippery floor. She lunged forward and reached for the shield. He used both feet to kick her in the chest, then rolled onto his back and held the shield out in front of him for protection. The Banshee caught her reflection in the armor and scowled; she leaned closer and studied her image. She repelled back, shielding her eyes from the hideous likeness. Angus’ chest swelled with anger. He held the shield higher, closer to her face. “Look at it, you witch,” Angus shouted.
The Banshee shrieked again and covered her face with her thick cloak. Angus jumped to his feet and took another step closer, driving her back. She floated higher into the air, screaming as Angus drew closer.
“Leave us alone or face your own ugliness,” he yelled.
The Banshee screamed and swirled in tight circles before disappearing into the darkness. Angus sprinted to Vanora. “Let’s go before she comes back.”
Angus ran behind Vanora, glancing over his shoulder every so often. The farther they traveled the brighter the moss glowed. They rounded corner after corner…and stopped short. A beautiful pink waterfall blocked the path. Behind the swiftly flowing water stood two massive gates made from giant fossilized clamshells. In the center, bold words were etched, but Angus couldn’t read them.
He turned to Vanora. “Do you know what it says?”
“No,” Vanora said, still fighting to catch her breath.
Behind them came a familiar voice. “It’s Mermish, for The Hall of Merrows.”
Angus wheeled around to see Fane behind him, dressed in a full-length tunic with his blackthorn stick at his side. Deep scratches lined the right side of his face.
Angus shrugged off his backpack and rushed to him. “What happened to you? Are you all right?
“Fine, fine, let’s keep moving. No time for chit chat. Go on inside. We’ve been waiting for you.”
“We?” Vanora asked.
“Yes, of course.”
Fane knocked on the ornate doors with the head of his blackthorn stick. The doors opened. A sweet smell like lilacs in the rain wafted out. Angus stared in wonder. An immense grotto gilded with gold and multi-colored coral and gems spanned out before them. Fresh cut flowers surrounded pools of peaceful waters filled with exotic fish and plants. Tall, graceful men and women in white robes bustled about. Handcrafted golden torques in the shape of different sea creatures circled their slender necks and gold bracelets around their fine wrists.
The women wore long silky hair in various shades of blue, red, green, and orange piled high on their heads and secured with seashells and glass beads. Some of them tended wild sea gardens, which sprouted from pools in the golden floor. Angus watched a pair holding hands as they stepped into steamy pools of water. To his amazement their long elegant legs transformed into fishtails.
Walls on the south side of the room held soaring glass panes with strange looking sea creatures swimming behind them.
Fane led them over to two golden thrones. Vanora stepped forward and clapped her hands in excitement. “This is just like a fairy tale, the throne of the King of the Sea and his wife.”
Fane placed his hand on her shoulder. “Not quite, but close my dear. These seats are for King Ardal, ruler of the Merrows, and his lovely queen Aoibheann.” He nodded to a handsome couple walking arm and arm. “In fact, here they come now.”
Fane bowed low as the couple approached. The King was attired in a long robe ornamented with silver shells. In one of his strong hands he carried a tall forked object.
Angus leaned over and whispered into Vanora’s ear. “What the heck is he doing with a pitchfork?”
“It’s not a pitchfork, silly, it’s a trident. You stab fish with it.” Vanora sighed and motioned toward the woman. “Just look at the queen’s dress. It’s exquisite.”
Angus admired the beautiful woman. She appeared pale and fragile, like rice paper. Long raven hair reached her lovely waist. She wore an orchid blue velvet gown with gold accents, sheer cream-colored bell sleeves and a cloak that reached the floor. On her head a gold band embossed with sea urchins complimented her dark hair. She glided over to Angus. Her dress rustled softly as she moved, like autumn winds through withered leaves. She smelled sweet like a chocolate bar. Angus bowed and he felt her slip something over his head.
“For you, Angus MacBain. A true hero at heart.”
Angus stood up and stared down in amazement at his dragon amulet.
“But how?”
“You must never question the whys and hows of our world. But you may ask me of other things and I will answer you.”
Her intense nautical blue eyes held Angus in place like a dolphin caught in a net. Eyes like he’d never seen before, filled with ageless wisdom. A lump rose in his throat. He had only one question. “Where is my mother?”
Aoibheann clasped her hands together. “She is hiding, deep within the protective folds of Ceoban’s cool waters. She will come to you when the time is ready, but you must be wary of Dragomir’s wickedness and malevolence. His darkness is spreading. You must hurry to Ceoban, before all is lost.”
“Then my mother is alive and in Ceoban?”
“Yes, but in order to reunite, you must enter her world. This is not an easy task for one so young and with so little knowledge of other worlds.” She waved him to a lavish table filled with food. “Enough talk. You must eat and rest now. You have a long journey before you.”
Angus bit his lip, wanting to press her for more information. She gathered the folds of her velvet dress and slipped into her place at the table. King Ardal took a seat beside her.
The table, made from purple coral, stood stocked with an assortment of sea bass, potato crisps, fresh fruits, breads and tankards filled with sweet nectar that tasted like cherry cola.
Vanora gobbled up a pile of grapes and drank two big glasses of nectar. “I feel like I haven’t eaten in days.” She stabbed some watermelon and handed it to Angus.
“Thanks,” Angus said, heaping his plate with grilled fish and crisps. They ate until their sides bulged with satisfaction.
When everyone had finished, Fane moved the food aside and spread a map on the table. King Ardal strode to Fane’s side and pointed with a long, slender finger. Angus squinted at the spot. It looked like a weird letter D.
“Does that stand for Dragomir?”
“No,” Fane said, shaking his head. “It stands for Thurisax, Norse giants loyal to Dragomir. They will stop at nothing to protect him.” Fane rubbed his chin and pointed to several other symbols. “When seafaring Vikings traveled to new lands they often left their runic inscriptions behind, as warnings and messages to others. Although they had more interest in plunder than writing, they have left a great number of clues for us carved into stone, wood, and metal, enigmatic symbols known as rune stones.”
“Are the giants still protecting him? These writings have to be ancient.”
“Ancient yes, but time as you know it doesn’t pass in Ceoban.” Fane looked away and the lines around his eyes seemed to deepen. “Not only do the giants still exist but it appears they are growing in numbers.”
“What do the other symbols stand for?” Vanora asked, pointing to the map at several other marks in a semi-circle around the giants.
Fane lowered his gaze to the floor and King Ardal placed a hand on his shoulder. He put his trident into a crack in the floor, stared down at Angus and Vanora and lowered his voice. “We keep no secrets here and so you must know. They are symbols of death. Certain death for those who challenge Dragomir.”
13
King Ardal led them to a circular doorway chiseled into the granite wall. In his hands he carried an amethyst candleholder bejeweled with
gems, flower petals, and bits of coral. A skinny candle wedged in the center illuminated the dark entrance with a bright yellow flame. The MacBain crest hung above the doorframe surrounded by words written in Mermish.
Angus stood beside Fane. “What does it say?”
Fane leaned heavily on his blackthorn stick. A sadness came to his eyes. “It’s King MacBain’s ancient warning, translated into several languages through the centuries.” Without looking, he read the message aloud. “Rest and make ready for the black and terrible days when Dragomir’s powers have full sway.”
King Ardal pursed his lips and spoke in a somber tone. “A reminder that we must always be on guard.” He stroked his beard. “Enough of this talk for now. Come, it is time for sleep.”
The king pushed the door open, cupping his hand around the candle as he stepped inside. The flickering flame made long quivering shadows inside the dark room. Vanora scooted past Angus and disappeared inside. He held back, staring up at his family crest, feeling a stab of sadness until Fane placed his hand on his back, and coaxed him inside.
He ducked through the round doorway and into a misty room scented with a delicate fragrance of sandalwood and rosewater. Angus blinked a couple of times to adjust to the dim light. As his eyes sharpened he spotted a blue-bearded man in a nightshirt and cap. The man dozed on a crystal toadstool with a coal lantern at his feet. Beside him a stream of rushing water flowed. In pale hands lined with green veins he held a long iron hook with a crescent-shaped moon and stars welded to the top.
The king cleared his throat. The old man jumped, rubbed his eyes with his knuckles, stood up and bowed.
King Ardal smiled and laid a gentle hand on the man’s bony shoulder. “This is Bohar. He will help you select your sleeping ship.” He pointed to a dark opening in the cavern wall. “As each sleeping vessel emerges you may have your pick.”
Bohar slipped on a pair of silvery gloves, gripped a bronze handle in the stone floor, and, with a mighty thrust, pulled the lever down. Two copper doors groaned open. A cradle-like boat just big enough for a grown man to sleep in floated out of the narrow opening. It whooshed by, followed by another, and another. They passed so quickly no one had time to select them.
The next small ship emerged with a figurehead carved in the shape of an elegant seahorse. Vanora clapped her hands and jumped up and down. “I want that one.” Bohar reached out and hooked the stern just before the boat slipped away.
“All right,” Fane said. “In you go. See you in the morning.”
Vanora took a bold step forward. Fane helped her inside. She slipped off her shoes and nestled into the soft folds of silken blankets.
“Goodnight,” she said, rolling over onto her side. She suddenly sat upright and looked at the king. “Oh, I forgot to thank you!”
King Ardal’s eyes softened. “Sleep well, child. Peace be with you.” He signaled to Bohar to unhook the tiny ship. The bearded man tugged the hook from the stern and the small vessel zipped past in the swift current, down a slope, into the dark unknown.
Angus shook his head. A nervous knot twisted inside his belly. “I can’t believe she just hops in and doesn’t even ask where the ship is going. I’ll never understand her.”
Fane chuckled. “She lets others wear storm clouds over their heads. If only we could all be so worry-free.” He placed a hand on Angus’ back. “To answer your question, the ships go to the main sleeping cave, where we will rest until morning. Do hurry and pick one before the next picture show starts.”
“Picture show?”
“You’ll see. Now hurry before we miss it.”
The next ship swept out of the hole in the cave wall and Fane pushed him to it. Angus frowned. The figurehead resembled a snarling dog that reminded him of the Dobharchú. He grimaced and shook his head at Bohar, who was leaning forward ready to hook the ship. Bohar yawned and put the hook down, letting the ship dart past.
Angus grew even more tired thinking of the soft pillows in Vanora’s ship and made up his mind to select the next one, no matter what. Out of the dark recess of the cave, the next ship floated haphazardly, bobbing along like a drunken rubber ducky. As it drew closer Angus made out the figurehead, a harmless blue dolphin.
“I’ll take that one,” he said quickly.
Bohar extended the long hook and caught the little ship by a wooden fin carved into the bow. He held it steady while Angus carefully climbed aboard. A canopy with swags of titanic blue-gray taffeta dangled around a bed of deep velvet cushions. He snuggled into the sea of soft pillows and blue satin blankets. Angus laid the shield and backpack on the bed beside him.
Fane smiled “Goodnight, my young friend.”
Before he had a chance to respond, Bohar let the ship loose and it zipped away into the dark. The ship sailed over a great slope and into the misty darkness. His heart hammered; if only he had some dragon’s jaw tea, he’d be able to see. The small vessel raced up and over another hump, then leveled out, bobbing side to side in a peaceful wake.
Angus sat up. He was in a great dark cave. In the shadows, the outlines of hundreds of sleeping ships floated on the tranquil waters. He wondered if each one was occupied. Figures flashed above him, through a square hole in the canopy. At first he was confused, until a movie, without sound, started playing on the ceiling. As the pictographs danced, the story began to take shape. A story about Selkies. His mother’s race. And the story of Dragomir’s defeat at the hands of King MacBain. Angus smiled and leaned back, cuddled in the most comfortable bed in the world.
All of a sudden his boat collided with another ship. He sat up. “Oops, excuse me,” he whispered.
“Angus, is that you?” Vanora whispered back.
“Yeah.”
“Isn’t this place beautiful?”
Angus leaned back and watched the Selkies play in the ocean waves on the ceiling. He thought of his mother and smiled.
“Yes, it is beautiful.”
Something buzzed past him. Angus sat up in a panic. Was it a metal wasp? No, it was bigger, like a hummingbird. He pushed his covers aside and jumped up. A wrinkled little man wearing an impish grin fluttered over him. The little man pulled a satchel from a pocket in his golden robe and withdrew a handful of silver sand. He smiled and blew a fine mist of it into Angus’ face. A hot surge of surprised anger boiled Angus’ blood.
“Ouch, you little creep!” He blew the dust from his nose and rubbed his eyes.
Angus reached out to strangle the man, but his arms felt like rubber. He was suddenly exhausted. Lying back down, he snuggled into the comfortable covers and fell into a deep and peaceful sleep.
****
Angus sensed a presence looming over him as he slept. His eyes snapped open. Bohar peered down from a midget-sized tugboat.
“All rested, young master?”
Angus sat upright. “Yes, I think so. Is it morning already? I feel like I just went to sleep.” He yawned, stretched and looked around the massive cave. Only a few sleeping ships remained.
“Where have all the other boats gone?” he asked.
Bohar smiled. “Most of the others awoke hours ago. You’ve slept late and you can blame the sandman for it, always overdoing it with the sand. I keep telling him that after three hundred years he still needs to read the label. He never listens. It’s no wonder folks are always tired, struggling to wake up in the morning. In your case, it’s a good thing you’ve gotten plenty of rest.” Bohar shook his head and pulled on his long blue beard. “You certainly have a difficult journey ahead of you. Harder than one can even imagine. I do wish you the best of luck, young squire.”
Angus’ mind filled with questions, but before he could ask any of them, Bohar attached a rope from his tugboat to an iron cleat on the deck of the dolphin ship. The tugboat jumped ahead, towing Angus’ boat through the peaceful waters. Angus jolted forward and gripped the bedpost for balance.
They sailed past a sleeping ship shaped like a lion with long strands of silky material covering the front.
Angus craned his neck to see who was in it and quickly looked away. The figure resting inside frightened him. It looked like a cross between a pot-bellied pig and his old science teacher, Mr. Marvin. The thing released a great yawn, extended a hairy arm through the fine material and gave Angus a friendly wave. He waved back just as Bohar took a sharp right into a dark tunnel lit only by glowing moss. They took an immediate left into another tunnel, jerking Angus to one side. The tugboat chugged hard against the current and onto a set of steel tracks just under the water’s surface. They gained speed and charged up a steep incline until it slowed and stopped abruptly in the chamber where Angus first stepped into the ship.
A group of hairy creatures the size of kindergarteners, wearing leather aprons and oblong caps, stood on the granite ledge busily stripping the pillows, coverlets, and blankets from each ship. Angus couldn’t help noticing their big bulbous noses and long skinny cow tails.
“Standing there gawking all day?” One of the creatures asked him.
“No,” Angus stammered.
The creature squinted. “Got any chocolate bunnies?”
“What?”
“You heard me. Chocolate bunnies. Got any?”
The rest of the furry creatures stopped what they were doing and listened intently.
“No, sorry.” The creatures dropped the sheets and pillows. They crowded around, surrounding Angus’ ship so that he couldn’t get out.
The fattest one of them waddled close to the water’s edge, jumped onto the bow of the ship and sniffed at Angus. It’s giant nostrils flared in and out. “He’s lying!” It shrieked. “Pudgy boys always have chocolate bunnies.”
“Hey!” Angus yelled, knotting his fist.
Another creature roared from the crowd. “He’s hiding them! Check his pockets for a mooey, gooey melted mess!” The fat one poked a gnarly finger at Angus’ nose. “Give us the chocolate, or we’ll take it from you.”
“Take it! Take it!” The rest chanted, reaching to grab him.
Angus MacBain and the Island of Sleeping Kings Page 11
