by Andrew Symon
“Can’t we at least look for the bodies?”
“No point. The Blue Men will have taken them to the bottom. We’ll have a wake for them tonight.”
Jack looked over at the now calm sea. Kelly gone? He hadn’t even believed in the Blue Men. Jack was grateful for a smooth sail up the island coast; but what a price to pay. They hadn’t even got to Tula, and they’d already lost a boat.
“Who are they?” he asked of Iain Dubh when they docked in a small bay for the night. “Those Blue Men.”
“Some say they’re fallen angels. They only emerge in the winter months. You could sail for years and never meet them.”
“But you warned us against them. You must’ve known they were around.”
“I did warn you all. But Kelly never believed me. You can’t prepare yourself for an enemy you don’t believe in.”
“Couldn’t you have told him what to say?”
“You never know what riddle they’ll come up with. So well done for knowing the answer to that one. Now, get some food, and rest well. We’ve another few days to reach Cape Wrath. I’ll keep Enda and the others company.”
As Jack nestled down that night, he was grateful for the insulated tent Gilmore had made. It was almost like being inside with a roaring fireplace. But the keening sound of the McCools as they mourned their dead comrades made him think back to funerals at Rangie. First Telos; now Kelly and his whole crew. Death was following them: how many would make it to Novehowe?
16
Kelly’s Wake
Jack woke to the sound of a furious argument.
“To lose a boat and its crew is bad enough …” (Jack recognised his grandfather’s voice) “… but to sacrifice another precious day is madness!”
“’Twouldn’t be right to go; not for a day or two. We must mourn them, and pray for their rest.” Enda spoke equally firmly, and Jack heard his grandfather’s exasperated gasp.
The scene around the bay was not quite one of chaos, but it was easy to see that the camp was divided. The McCools were refusing to leave until they had paid sufficient respect to Kelly and his crew; Grandpa Sandy was getting increasingly agitated about the delay; and the Hebseelie were divided. The different crews had lined up behind their respective leaders.
“Who knows what the weather will do in the days to come? We must make progress while the weather is fair.” Sandy’s voice urged action, but it was easy to see that this was having no effect on the McCools.
Fair weather? Jack looked up at the sky, and shivered. True, it was clear, but the cold wind was a forceful reminder that winter had now set in.
“Jack!” called Iain Dubh. “You must settle this. Your grandfather is all for leaving now. What does the Mapa Mundi show?”
Keen to keep the group together, Jack looked uncertainly at his grandfather, then at Enda. Nervously, he tugged Tamlina’s ring from around his neck, and put it on his finger. The flag formed slowly into a sphere once more.
The two circles formed, but both remained blank. Murkle strode forward, demanding to see.
“Ach, these islands!” he spat, seeing the blank sphere. “Nothing works here.”
The Mapa did indeed seem to be lost for pictures. Jack concentrated hard.
The Mapa shows our true path. What do we really need? We have to raise the Novehowe Shian; but Dad says we have to get to Tula as well, to find the Raglan stone – and the Gusog feather.
He stared at the sphere. Still nothing.
“Jack; use the ring.” Ishona spoke softly. “The cailleach told me you have it, and that it can show the future.”
Jack took Tamlina’s ring from his finger, and stared at it. Two spiral arms had faded: the first had shown him Ploutter’s execution, but that had already happened; the second was floods in Edinburgh, and the cailleach had said they were happening now. The third vision was to show him the future. The spirals began to blur, and he closed his eyes.
It’s me! In a big hall … there’s a huge fireplace; and snow on the window panes … I’m being forced to my knees … Boreus is standing in front of me … he’s smiling … he’s got a broadsword in his hand … He’s raised it above his head … he’s about to strike …
The tableau in Jack’s mind froze; he remained, kneeling, waiting for the sword to fall … But then a soft voice called in his head: “And the father shall die for the son … the father shall die for the son …”
The tableau started to life once more, and Jack saw his father move forward purposefully, and stand immediately in front of Boreus … Boreus smiled evilly and began to bring the sword down …
Jack opened his eyes, gasping for breath.
No! Anything but that!
“The images are showing!” called Murkle with glee.
Sure enough, the circles in the Mapa Mundi were now revealing shapes. Boats … in both of them. Then the circles faded, one to reveal Fractals’ Seer once more, the other to show Novehowe.
Jack was confused. The crews weren’t supposed to separate until they got to Cape Wrath.
“It means we part company here; until we meet again at Novehowe.” Enda spoke emphatically. “Sandy will take his boat and two others for Novehowe today. The other four boats will follow on later; but for Tula.”
Jack nodded – he could put no other interpretation on the images. But what had his vision meant? He looked at Tamlina’s ring: all three spiral arms were faint.
Phineas came up and put his arm around Jack’s shoulder.
“Well? Are you going to tell me what you saw?”
Jack found it hard to look straight at his father.
“The image was fuzzy … I couldn’t make out much. Just a big hall, with a fireplace. There was snow outside.”
Phineas looked hard at his son, then grasped him violently to his chest.
“I would do anything to protect you.”
Jack felt tears welling up inside, and he pulled away.
“Is Grandpa going now?” he sniffed.
“Aye. The southerly wind will carry the boats far.”
“But it’s freezing.”
“Believe me, freezing is when it blows from the north. We’ll stay here for a day or so and mourn with the McCools. Then we’ll head for Tula.”
“Why’s Fenrig coming to Tula? And Morrigan?”
“Jack, everyone was chosen for this quest for a reason; except Rana and Lizzie, obviously. Fenrig has qualities that you may not appreciate: he was good with the selkie, and he’s been helping Gilmore with the warm clothes.”
Jack thought with distaste of his fellow tailoring apprentice. Is he really a better tailor than me?
“What about Morrigan?”
“Maybe she’ll be able to help us against the Boaban Shee,” said Phineas evasively. “She’s a nasty bit of work. And we may need that if we’re going to fight really evil creatures.”
“Fighting fire with fire?”
“I just sense that she can think like them. That may give us an edge.”
“Well, what about Petros, then? He’s been as sick as a dog most of the time.”
“I wouldn’t tell him this; but he’s what they call a lightning rod. Him being so seasick makes everyone else feel better about feeling just a bit sick. It’s an old sailors’ trick; a bit mean, but it works.”
Jack could see his cousins getting ready to leave. While Lizzie was hugging Ossian, Rana was noisily checking that they had enough food for the journey. Despite repeated assurances from her grandfather and Dara, she was insisting on checking the provisions.
Jack watched the three small boats leave the bay. As Phineas had predicted, they quickly caught the southerly breeze, and were soon lost to sight as they headed north.
“We’ll maybe catch them up,” said Phineas, joining him. “I know Grandpa’s keen to get to Novehowe; but the McCools are excellent sailors. They’ll get us there.”
“Is the mourning like when someone dies at Rangie?”
“A bit. They’ll tell stories of Kelly and his cre
wmen, then sing. And they’ll probably have a drink or two to note the passing.”
Jack could see the McCools building a cairn on the beach, beside which they stacked driftwood. Iain Dubh and the two Hebseelie crews watched, occasionally helping to drag a branch over. Armina was engaged in conversation with Finbogie and Gilmore, while Murkle sat at a distance and observed the Irish activity.
Building up his store of Shian tales …
As Phineas had indicated, they sat around the fire, and told stories. With each tale, a bottle was passed around the company, and the laughter got louder.
“I thought they were mourning Kelly,” said Jack to his father. “It sounds more like a party.”
“It’s their way. Come on, let’s practise our swordplay. We’ll see if we can find Ossian and Fenrig.”
However, Ossian was observed walking along the beach with Morrigan, and Fenrig was nowhere to be seen. Jack and his father moved to a sheltered spot above the bay and rehearsed their sword routines. After an hour, Jack was feeling hot and sweaty, and he sat down to rest.
“Phew! That’s hard going!”
“You’ll need to keep going a lot longer than that on Tula; I’m certain of that.” Phineas sat down beside him and stroked his chin thoughtfully. “The Boaban Shee I think we can handle; but the witches – nobody really knows what they’re like.”
“Will they all be in Fractals’ Seer?”
“Anyone’s guess. But first we have to get to Tula, and that’s not going to be easy. Come on, let’s see how the wake’s going.”
When they got back to the bay, Arvin was playing on his squeeze box, and the McCools were singing along. Several empty bottles were strewn around.
“Come in!” said Enda cheerily. “Ah, it’s a grand wake. Kelly would’ve loved it.” He waved his arm extravagantly, indicating several sleeping figures around the fire.
“Are you going to be able to sail tomorrow?” Jack’s tone was reproachful.
“Ah, we’ve only just started. But we’ll be fine by the morning; I promise.”
Enda turned out to be quite correct in his assertion: the McCools had only just started their celebrations. They seemed to take it in turns to sleep on the beach, while others sang, or told long, rambling stories. But, amazingly, all the McCools were awake at first light, and ready to leave.
“Well, Jack,” said Enda as Jack emerged shivering from his tent, “’Twouldn’t be true to say we’re all bright-eyed this morning. But we’d be ready to leave, if only …”
“What?”
“Well, look at the sea.”
Jack peered out to sea where the light danced off the water. It was another bright day, but still freezing cold. Jack pulled his charmed jacket closer around him. There’s white horses on the waves, but it doesn’t seem so rough. Am I missing something?
“The wind’s from the north. We might get across the Minch, but then we’d have to hug the mainland coast north, and there’s too much danger in that. We’ll have to sit it out until the wind changes.”
When this news became known, there was consternation.
“But we delayed leaving yesterday for your wake!” shouted Armina above the sound of the rising wind. “If we lose more time we may never reach Novehowe by the solstice.”
“We’ve no option,” said Enda emphatically. “We can’t get north in this wind.”
“These setbacks will ruin everything!” Murkle joined in now. “Sandy may even have crossed the Minch already and be making his way along the north coast; and we’re stuck here!”
“Sure, we can’t control the weather,” butted in Finnegan. “We’re not Kildashie.”
“No one knows if they’re controlling the weather,” put in Arvin. “They just like the winter.”
“And if we don’t get back to Edinburgh and clear them out, then we could be stuck with winter the year round,” roared Armina. “Who wants the Kildashie to be in control?”
“I don’t.” Morrigan spoke calmly.
Jack had not even seen her join the growing argument; but she stood, relaxed, her eyes glinting in the wintry December light. Ossian and Fenrig were beside her.
“And so what do you propose to do about it?” sneered Murkle.
“I’ll take you to Tula. I know how to open the Bridge of Impossibilities.”
17
Papa Legba
The Bridge of Impossibilities?!
“This is insanity,” screeched Armina. “Only dark magycks can open that bridge; and who knows how much time would be lost in that vortex?”
“Do you want to go or not?”
Iain Dubh held up his hand.
“Look at the sky,” he commanded. “The north wind may blow for six or seven days. We might not sail now for a week.”
“A week!” spat Murkle. “Then we’ve no chance of making Novehowe if we delay for a week. I said that wake was a mistake.”
“It delayed us a day. And the north wind will be delaying Sandy and his crews, wherever they are,” stated Finnegan emphatically.
“Not if they got across the Minch yesterday,” admitted Enda. “The coastline will shelter them – as long as they can keep out of sight of the Kildashie spies.”
Ossian was looking strangely at Morrigan. “Do you really know how to open the bridge?” he said, a mixture of awe and fear in his voice.
She looked back at him calmly, but said nothing.
Phineas now walked up to her, and looked hard at her. There was a brief flicker of a smile, then he turned away. As he saw Jack looking on in astonishment, he winked quickly.
What’s going on? Dad can’t be doing deals with an Unseelie like Morrigan!
“I demand to know how this … this girl can work such dark magycks!” spluttered Armina. “It is far beyond her age!”
Without speaking, Morrigan took out a small crystal sphere from her pocket. She passed her other hand over it, and revealed a distorted image in the globe.
“It’s Fractals’ Seer!” exclaimed Gilmore.
Wordlessly, Morrigan threw the globe high into the air and clapped her hands. Instantly changing into a hoodie crow, she flew up, and caught the globe in her claws, before descending and hovering in front of Fenrig. With a squawk, she dropped the globe into her brother’s waiting hands. Settling onto the ground, she changed back into her usual figure.
Jack was impressed. It was the first time he’d seen Morrigan shapeshift since Dunvik, more than a year before.
Fenrig smiled, and embraced his sister.
“Parlour tricks!” sneered Murkle dismissively.
In a flash, Morrigan had grabbed the globe back, and cast it at the Shian tales tutor. It hit him in the forehead, and exploded with a shower of sparks. When the sparks cleared, Murkle had vanished.
“Does anyone else doubt me?”
Morrigan’s voice had deepened to a growl; fierce, powerful … and exciting. Jack felt the hairs on the back of his neck bristle.
“Where … where have you sent him?” asked Daid nervously.
“To the end of the bridge; if you wish to see him again, you’d better come to Tula.”
“Enough!” Iain Dubh spoke firmly. “You have the gift; from where, I do not wish to know. So tell us: where is the start of this bridge?”
Morrigan eyed him playfully for a moment, enjoying her moment of triumph.
“It’s nearby; it’s always nearby, if you know where to look.”
Jack thought he heard Armina mutter “Dark magycks!” under her breath.
“What about the boats?”
Morrigan now eyed Enda carefully. “Leave one man on each boat,” she said simply. “The rest will come with us.” There was no mistaking the authority of her voice.
Jack turned to his father. “What’s so dangerous about the bridge, that Armina doesn’t want to use it?”
“It plays tricks. For one thing, you lose all sense of time on it. Armina was right: we could be stuck on it for weeks. But we’ve no choice now: we can’t sail, and we can’
t fly. So, the bridge it is.”
“Why’s it called the Bridge of Impossibilities?”
“Because it does things it shouldn’t. I’m only going on what I’ve been told; and that was many years ago. The one thing you can count on is that it won’t be like any other bridge you’ve been on. And there’s no time to lose; our hand is forced. Do you agree, Enda?”
The Irishman looked back at Phineas.
“I hate to leave the boats; they’re our home. But you’re right. Let’s get ready.”
“We may be on the bridge for a while,” barked Morrigan. “Take only fresh water and fey biscuits; anything else is too much to carry.”
The crews had soon taken what they needed from the boats. While Gilmore distributed the food and haemostat bandages, Finbogie ensured that everyone had a sword.
“Remember the hexes,” he warned. “And aim for their ankles.”
“We’ll sail for Novehowe when we can,” promised Dermot, as the group set off.
When she reached the cliff face, Morrigan began to move along it, adjacent to the sea line. The pebbly beach scrunched as the crews followed her. Every few paces she would pause, and tap the rock face.
“Is she looking for a way in?” asked Jack.
“I don’t know how the bridge is opened,” admitted Phineas. “We were never taught dark magycks like this.”
Murkle never taught us anything useful, thought Jack. Then he reflected that one or two lessons had managed to seep into his memory – such as waking the giant’s bridge. Columns awake! he mused. I wonder if this bridge is like that one?
Morrigan had stopped and paused a number of times. The incoming tide was close to the rock face here; the water soaked their ankles.
I don’t like Trog’s knife getting wet, thought Jack, aware of the blade strapped to his right leg. It’ll rust.
“Are you sure you know where it is?” asked Ossian, his teeth chattering.
Morrigan spun round and flashed a look of contempt that had Ossian turning scarlet. Mumbling, he looked down at his feet.
The sea was up to their shins now.
“It’s freezing!” said Jack, as the feeling in his toes died away.
