Across the Sea (Islands in the Mist Series Book 2)

by J. M. Hofer

  “Not today, Warrior,” the voice said. “However, you were promised an offering for Tegid Voel, and you shall have it—one that will accomplish far more than a haunch of roasted meat.”

  Finally, Bran spoke. “What do you offer, then?”

  The bright edge of the moon began to appear on the horizon and the grass began to shimmer in the light breeze. Bran strained to see who he spoke with, but the creature remained hidden.

  “I offer you this. Go and speak to my friend, Salmon. Follow the stream through the woods to the pool where he lives, and ask him how to free Tegid Voel. He will know.”

  Bran laughed, raising his spear. “You think you can trick me so easily, Boar?”

  “Should Salmon choose not to speak to you, I shall give myself over as the offering of the Isle that was promised.”

  Though his quarry could very likely be deceiving him, Bran found himself unable to strike. After all, the creature had come to him. He lowered his spear and saw the grass move, betraying the path of the boar as it made its way out of the field and into the woods.

  “So I’m to go and speak to a fish, now?” he muttered to himself, in awe of what had just happened. He had heard many tales of animals speaking to druids, but never thought such a thing would ever happen to him.

  He did as the boar advised, and followed the stream through the woods for the better part of the night. It led to a pool, as the boar had said it would. He kneeled down and peered into the water, but could not see past the moonlight that danced on its surface.

  What now?

  The answer came to him as a wave of exhaustion. He lay down to sleep. If there were a salmon to talk to, he would talk to it in the morning.

  ***

  It was nearly dawn when Bran woke. The birds were just beginning to chatter in the trees above his head. He sat up and rubbed his eyes, letting them focus, and then looked into the pool. There, true to the boar’s word, swam the largest salmon he had ever seen. He sat down on the bank and watched it, wondering how he would manage to speak to it.

  After awhile, he noticed a nut would occasionally drop into the pool from one of the old purple hazel trees that surrounded it. The salmon would swim to the surface to eat it.

  Aha. Bran picked a nut up off the ground and tossed it into the water in front of him. The salmon turned and swam over, just as he had hoped. When he surfaced to swallow the offering, Bran seized his chance. “Salmon! I hear you are most wise—please help me, and I’ll feed you nuts for as long as you like.”

  The salmon looked at him with eyes that seemed eerily human, his tail moving back and forth in a languid motion that kept his head near the surface of the water.

  “How might I free Tegid Voel from the lake?” Bran ventured, tossing him another nut.

  The salmon swallowed it and asked, “Where does all water flow?”

  Bran’s heart pounded with the shock of seeing and hearing a fish talk. “To the sea.”

  The salmon swam away before Bran could say anything more. Perplexed, he tossed another nut into the water. Again, the Salmon surfaced to eat it, and again, he posed a question. “How does one separate the water from the river from the water of the lake, or the water of the lake from the water of the sea?”

  Bran was at a loss. “I don’t know—isn’t that impossible?”

  To his dismay, the salmon swam away again.

  “Gods!” He tossed a nut into the water a third time.

  The salmon returned. “Am I a creature of the river, the lake or the sea?”

  Bran could not answer this either, for he knew salmon swam in all three. His silence sent the salmon away again.

  He tossed yet another nut into the pool, but this time the salmon did not surface. Frustrated, he leaned over the pool and cried, “Salmon!” He felt like a fool. He had gotten no answers at all, only riddles. “Salmon!”

  Still, the salmon did not surface.

  Bran sighed in exasperation. He gave up and followed the stream back through the woods to the ancient courtyard, pondering the salmon’s cryptic questions.

  Islwyn saw him arrive and jumped up to greet him. “Bran!”

  His happy expression twisted into a frown as soon as he noticed Bran was empty-handed. “Your hunt was unsuccessful?”

  Bran relayed the bizarre events of the night in as much detail as possible. If anyone could make sense of them, it was Islwyn.

  When he had finished, Islwyn gave him a nod and patted him on the back. “I must say I’m envious!”

  “Of what?” Bran genuinely did not know.

  “Of what? You must be joking. The spirit of a boar and the Salmon of Knowledge speak to you, and you ask me why I’m envious? I am certain the salmon’s questions will provide answers in time. Think on them.”

  Bran felt a wave of frustration. “You take no meaning from them?”

  “The questions are for you, not me, unfortunately.”

  Bran let out a sigh. “As an offering, I would have preferred a roasted boar to riddles from a bloody fish!”

  Islwyn clucked his tongue. “It is not for us to question the blessings of the Isle,” he cautioned, wagging a finger. “Do not be ungrateful.”

  Bran nodded. Angering the Great Mother was far more foolish than asking a salmon for answers. “Let’s go, then. We’ve spent too much time here. Maur must be tired of making excuses for us.”

  They left the courtyard and followed the trail until they came to the outskirts of the village.

  “I’ll go and fetch Creirwy,” Islwyn announced, walking off.

  Bran could tell he had offended Islwyn, and regretted his harsh words. The old man was right. He had acted ungratefully. As he waited for Islwyn to return, he realized he had been irritable since they had arrived on the Isle. Granted, he was hungry, tired, and anxious about failing to convince Tegid Voel to release Ula, but there was a deeper reason for his discontent. Lucia. He knew she must have been told he was there, yet she had not come looking for him, or even sent greetings. She had done nothing at all, as if he were no one to her. He swallowed hard.

  It was not long before he spotted Islwyn making his way back along the path with Creirwy.

  Creirwy smiled and gave him a nod. “It’s nice to see you again, Lord Bran. I’m sorry you failed at the hunt. Follow me.”

  A wave of indignation set the back of Bran’s neck on fire, but after the morning he’d had, he forced himself to keep quiet. There was no doubt that if he opened his mouth, he would end up offending her as well.

  She led them back to their boat. The cask of wine Rowan had promised was in it. Bran took heart that at least they would have something of value to offer Tegid Voel.

  They climbed in and cast off. Creirwy took care of the mists, and Bran simply rowed. It felt good. The rhythm and physical exertion helped to clear his mind and calm his temper, and soon he was feeling a bit better. They were in the middle of the lake when Bran spotted the smoke from their companions’ campfire. “There they are.” He smiled. “No doubt Maur has a hearty meal ready.” Bran’s stomach grumbled in anticipation. He had not eaten in over a day, save for a few hazelnuts. He thought of the salmon and frowned. Should have eaten him.

  Maur waved enthusiastically as they neared the shore, Madoc ever by his side, and lumbered out to greet them. He eyed Creirwy as they glided up on shore. “What have we here?”

  “This is Lady Creirwy, if you remember,” Bran said. “Tegid’s daughter. She’s agreed to come and speak to him on our behalf.”

  “Of course I remember!” Maur boomed. “The most beautiful girl the stars ever had the pleasure of looking down upon.” He took her hand and kissed it.

  Creirwy gave him a gracious smile as he helped her out of the boat and escorted her to shore. Elffin was polite, but seemed unaffected by her. Bran was glad to know he desired no woman but Ula. The same could not be said of Irwyn, however. He nearly devoured the girl with his eyes. The cask sitting in the boat had the same effect on Maur. “Now what’s that?” he asked with
bulging eyes. “Don’t tell me that’s the fabled apple wine of the Isle?”

  “It is, and it’s not for us,” Bran said with a tone of warning, dragging the boat up on the sand.

  “Gods! You’ve wounded me somethin’ fierce, my friend!”

  Madoc barked as if to agree.

  “Well, perhaps, if you’re lucky, Tegid Voel will wish to have company to drink it with,” Bran said. If he doesn’t kill us, that is.

  “And?” Elffin interrupted, glancing out at the Isle. “What happened? What did they tell you?”

  Bran raised his brows toward Islwyn. I certainly can’t tell him I went and talked to a boar and a fish.

  Islwyn took his cue. “What do you know of this curse your father suffers under?” he asked Creirwy. “Even the smallest thing might help us find a way to break it—or bend it, if it proves too strong.”

  “Only that he cannot set foot on dry land,” Creirwy replied. The wind off the lake picked up, and she began to shiver.

  “Here, lass,” Maur said in a soft tone, taking her arm and leading her toward the fire. “Warm yourself.”

  The rest of them followed and sat down around the fire to continue their discussion. Irwyn offered her his horn of ale. She shook her head, so he shrugged his shoulders and drank it himself.

  “Do you have any idea how to break the curse?” Elffin asked her with a hopeful look. “Or how he met his fate?”

  Creirwy nodded. “I do. When I was very young, my birth mother, Cerridwen, told me the story of my father as a warning that men cannot be trusted.”

  Eyebrows were raised among her audience, but no one commented.

  “No one knows how he managed it, but, somehow, my father was once able to navigate the mists that shroud our Isle and visit our shores as he pleased. It was on those shores that he first saw my mother. He approached her and she drew her bow against him, as she had been trained to do, but he convinced her to spare him by confessing that she had stolen his heart. She admitted to me that she had been young and weak, and he was the strongest and most handsome man she had ever seen. She said she would let him live if he left and promised never to return again.”

  Creirwy paused and looked up. “She would always take me by the arms at this point in the story, look me in the eyes, and say she should have killed him.”

  Again, the men remained silent.

  “That was the first promise he broke,” Creirwy continued. “He returned the next night, saying he could not bear the thought of never seeing her again. Again, she let him go, and again he returned, night after night, saying he must have her. After a moon, my mother realized she had fallen in love with him, and told him she would be his if he promised never to make love to another woman.”

  The men cringed or shook their heads, muttering under their breath.

  “And that was the second promise he broke,” Islwyn concluded, giving voice to what all the men were thinking.

  “Yes. For that, she trapped him within the mists of the lake to spend eternity alone.”

  “How long has he been there?” Bran asked.

  “At least since my brother and I were born. Perhaps longer.”

  “Your mother is certainly not a woman to be crossed,” Bran said, fingering the silver brand on the back of his neck. “That we all know.”

  “I’ve always wanted to meet my father, but I was strictly forbidden from seeking him out until now.”

  “Well, my dear girl, it seems fate has at last granted your wish,” Islwyn said. “I see no reason for us to delay any longer, do you?”

  “No,” Creirwy agreed, standing up.

  “I do!” Bran protested, pointing at the pot of stew hanging over the fire.

  Maur smiled and handed him a bowl. “I should make you trade me a hornful of that apple wine for this, but I’ll have pity on you.”

  Bran stood up and clapped him on the back. “Thanks, friend.”

  Islwyn joined him, and Maur decided to have a second helping. After that, they packed up the camp, put out the fire, and all climbed into the boat. Creirwy sat at the bow with Islwyn behind her, Irwyn sat in the back at the stern, and Bran, Elffin and Maur took the center, rowing them deep into the heart of the lake.

  Before long they were swallowed by grey coldness so thick that they were no longer able to see anything but what was directly in front of them. They rowed for some time, until all the sounds of the lake stopped abruptly. It was as if every living thing around them had frozen. All that could be heard were Creirwy’s whispered supplications and the oars entering and leaving the water.

  Irwyn spoke for the first time, surprising Bran, for he had wrongly assumed the man could not speak their tongue. “I don’t like this,” the Saxon said in a deep voice, made even heavier by the harsh accent of his people. “These waters hold terrors. We should not be here.”

  Bran suspected Irwyn was right, for the waters were as quiet and dark as they had been when the afanc had stalked him and dragged him down into the depths of the lake. Only the gods knew what creatures were lurking down there.

  “Shhh!” Islwyn scolded. “The girl must concentrate!”

  Everyone cried out in surprise when the boat unexpectedly lurched forward, as if sails had been raised and a strong wind had filled them. Bran listened for the dreaded telltale splash that would indicate someone had fallen out, but to his relief, it did not come. Like him, everyone was clutching the side of the boat, white-knuckled. “What the hell did we hit?” he asked, poking down into the water with his oar.

  “Something big,” Maur answered with dread.

  Bran could only think of one thing big enough to hit a boat that hard—the afanc. He prayed he would not have to dive in after it again, but that was what he would do if he had to.

  The boat lurched again, but this time the bow hit something solid, and all were thrown this way and that, some out of the boat, some into the bottom of it in a heap. They had hit the edge of the bog, filled with mosses and long grasses.

  Bran heaved himself out of the boat, seeing the water was shallow enough to stand in, but began sinking down into the mud, which threatened to take his boots from him. He made his way out of the mud up onto the bog—a thick, soggy blanket of plants and grasses that offered more stability.

  “This was a mistake,” Irwyn whispered to Elffin, wiping muck from his brow.

  “I’m sorry I asked you to come,” Elffin said to him. “This is a matter that doesn’t concern you—I should’ve left you to your shipbuilding, as my father advised.”

  Irwyn changed his manner somewhat, perhaps moved by Elffin’s apology. He put his efforts into helping the other men tie ropes through the oar loops so that they could drag the boat with them across the bog. It was far too thick to row through, and they dared not leave it behind.

  Islwyn ventured into the bog a bit, doing his best to see what he could through the swirling mist that surrounded them.

  Bran noticed the water came only to his knees, and that he was walking without too much difficulty. He hoped the bog would lead them to more solid ground.

  “How are we supposed to find this Tegid Voel?” Elffin asked Bran, stopping and looking around in exasperation.

  “I’ve no idea,” Bran admitted, swatting a buzzing insect away from his face. “I thought he would come to us if we managed to get through to his domain. Perhaps that was foolish.”

  Elffin raised his eyebrows as if to say perhaps it was, but Islwyn called back to them and said reassuringly, “I’m certain he will make himself known to us before long.”

  Creirwy joined Islwyn at the front of the party. To everyone’s relief, the two of them managed to clear the mists a bit so that they could see their surroundings. The bog was vast, with no visible end to it.

  “Shall we?” Islwyn said, hiking his robes up. “I daresay we won’t find him by staying here.” He began walking gingerly through the bog on his white spindly legs, like a crane.

  Bran hoisted his rope over his shoulder. Maur took up his rope
as well, joining him at the bow. Elffin and Irwyn had shorter ropes tied to the aft, and did their best to lift the boat up a bit to make it easier to pull.

  “Well, if we’re to perish here, at least we have that bit of sunshine to look forward to before we die,” Maur looked back cheerily, nodding toward the wine sitting in the boat. Irwyn cast him a dark glance, clearly not amused.

  “You’ve obviously not tasted it, lad,” Maur said with a wink.

  Bran smiled, glad Maur was there to keep their humors up. “No, and neither will you, big man.” He scooped up the wine and tied it up in a swath of fabric, fashioning it into a sling, and hung it round his shoulders. Maur was a notorious drinker. He would not risk anything happening to it.

  They trudged along, making slow but steady progress, seeking places in the bog where they could step without sinking in up to their thighs. Soon they were huffing and puffing from the effort, Bran and Maur plodding along like a pair of draft horses hooked to a heavy plow.

  Occasionally, they came to a clump of trees, and Creirwy would scurry up to see if the landscape below had anything to reveal. Time after time, she returned with nothing to report. Soon, tempers grew raw.

  “Helledeofol!” exclaimed Irwyn when, yet again, she called down from a tree to say she saw nothing but more bog.

  “Let’s rest awhile,” Bran suggested, dropping his rope into the boat. The others gladly did the same. After catching their breath, frustrations turned into heated arguments, until Islwyn put up his hands and demanded silence. “Something’s not right,” he cautioned, looking all around them uneasily. “Arm yourselves.”

  The men took up their spears and studied the surface of the bog, waiting for some sign of what lurked beneath it. Irwyn murmured harshly under his breath as they waited, and Bran wondered if he was uttering obscenities or prayers. He guessed the former.

  Creirwy then yelled down from her perch, “Watch out! There’s something in the bog!”

  “Let it come!” Bran yelled back with his spear poised. He had suffered a thousand insect bites over the course of the day, and he was eager to kill something.