Suit yourself, Henri shot back, amused. Just don’t expect any help from me. You’ll have to rely on lover boy over there. Oh, but he’s not quite himself these days, is he?
Exasperated, I turned to the tiny door. “It’s too crowded in here,” I announced. “I’m going to wait on deck.”
Before anyone could protest, I threw myself out into the cold.
We’d already cleared the shelter of the harbor and were headed out to open sea. The waves tossed the boat, which seemed even smaller now that it was alone on the water. Ahead of us, a cluster of black rocks jutted up. White-capped waves swirled and crashed around it, sometimes completely engulfing the entire mass.
The boat rocked, falling into the troughs of the waves, then laboring up a new crest. I lurched, grabbing onto the rail to keep myself from tumbling overboard. Over and over again, we plunged and climbed, riding the waves, leaving my stomach behind with every movement.
The pile of black rock was closer now, and it seemed as if we would crash right into it, shattering the tiny boat into splinters as the waves spent themselves upon the harsh stone edges. It was so close now it seemed impossible to miss it. But at the last minute, Del turned the boat and we skimmed by, another surge of water pushing us past the treacherous pile.
I turned back and scanned the shore behind us. We were far away from the pier now. I squinted ahead into the gray sky, scanning the horizon, but despite the distance we’d made, the Skellig seemed no closer. It stood, resolute, daring anyone to violate its isolation. Its smaller companion—an inhospitable fortress, never occupied by humankind—rose to the side, almost as foreboding.
I made my way down the deck, clinging to anything I could find to hold me steady. The spray of the waves was soaking me through, but I needed to get out here. I needed to be as close as I could to the Skellig.
“Hope!”
I looked over my shoulder to see Enoch leaning hard onto his cane, one hand on the side of the boat, struggling his way down the deck toward me. His face had a green tint to it. Sensing he had my attention, he stopped and waved me in before cupping a hand around his mouth to shout.
“Del wants you inside. Now!”
He stood there, clutching some old pulleys and gear, waiting for me to walk back. Reluctantly, I started lurching my way back to the wheelhouse. When I got close to Enoch, he wrapped an arm around me and bent in to explain.
“He wants to plan our landing and needs all of us to listen.”
I nodded, imagining that getting the boat to dock in this weather would not be an easy task.
Inside, Del had stripped out of his top-most slicker. He had a waterproof jacket on, its sleeves pushed up high. He was flushed—probably from the mini heater he’d propped up in the corner.
“Good, now I’ll only have to say it once,” he said, noting my arrival with a nod. “See here?” He pointed on his chart to what looked like the backside of the Skellig. “There are three places we could land on the Skellig, but in this weather, the only one we can chance is this here. It will be nasty, with these waves. We’ll need to catch the dock just so, or we’ll end up a pile of timber on the rocks. And there will be no one there to help us. I’ll need you to crew while I guide her in.”
“What do you mean?” I asked apprehensively.
Del explained patiently. “You’ll all three need to be on deck with the ropes, so we can lash her tight. Might need you to jump right over the side to do it. It’s a dangerous task, it is, but with no other aboard we have no choice.”
“I’m not so sure that’s a good idea,” Michael began. He was looking at Enoch, no doubt imagining our portly friend falling between the dock and the boat as he attempted to jump ashore.
“We’ll do it,” I interrupted, shooting Michael a silencing look. “But Enoch will need to stay on the deck. It will be too hard with him and the cane. Michael and I will handle the ropes.”
Enoch shrugged, apparently just fine with staying off the wind-strafed deck during our landing.
“Good lass,” Del said, approvingly. “I know you will do it just fine.” He reached into a little tin and began repacking his pipe with tobacco, one hand still somehow managing to balance the wheel, his eyes never leaving the horizon.
“ ’Tis a pity you’re not here in better times. Strange weather this is; started just before your arrival, if I understand your travels properly. Normally, this would be the start of the spring season. The entire Little Skellig would be covered in gannets—so many of the birds that the island itself looks like a glowing expanse of white marble. But look at it now. Dead. Black. Nothing to be seen, not even a wisp of spurrey popping up between the rocks. I’d wager the puffins will be missing on the big Skellig, too, but we’ll find out soon enough.”
He was chewing on the stem of his unlit pipe, every once in a while giving the wheel a violent turn to balance the tiny boat atop the whitecaps.
“You’ll be climbing to the monastery, won’t you?” He continued, never taking his gaze from the waters ahead.
Michael looked at me, questioning. I nodded, but it barely mattered. Del was launching himself into a tale while he had a captive audience.
“The monastery is an amazing place, that it is. D’you know how it came to be there, perched high on the rock? Monks sailed from the mainland in a tiny boat made out of animal hides. They were on a quest, a quest of the spirit, and they let the boat carry them where it may, allowing the whims of the currents and tides to steer the boat to whatever God had in store for them. They had no goal in mind but to sacrifice themselves, martyrs to a person, martyrs in a self-imposed banishment from the green and lush land on which they’d been raised. They were cast upon the Skellig, surrounded by fog and wind and not much else. They thought it a most wondrous sight, I imagine, a lonely place, perfect for their prayers and fasting. So they set about building upon the rock. They even had to carve out their own stairs to reach the top, and only then could they build their tiny home, clinging to the cliffs, shrinking away from the howling wind, shrinking away from all worldly things.”
Cast about, directionless, waiting for the fate God had in store for them. I thought of my mom and dad, waiting for me back home, and felt a strange twinge of recognition as Del described the ancient monks’ journey.
“It was a lonely existence. No ships sailed here to replenish their wares. They had to scrabble the rock for the little it would yield and pull what bounty they could from the sea. It was a good thing, I think, that they were a fasting band of brothers, given to strictness in their Order, for the less stout-hearted might not have lasted. As it was, for centuries they lived there and died there, embracing the loneliness and praying for our souls. Praying for the Good Lord to take them away, too, I reckon.”
He paused for just a moment to manage the boat while it lurched into a big trough of sea. We grabbed the sides of the shelter and leaned back for support, feeling queasy.
Del continued, unperturbed. “They had their excitement, though, I daresay. There were shipwrecks aplenty, with poor souls to save and goods to pull from the water. The occasional penitent on pilgrimage, sent to the good brothers to seek forgiveness and salvation. And then there was the apparition of the blessed Michael.”
My ears perked up. I shot a glance to Michael, but his face betrayed nothing. He just continued to listen intently, keeping a watchful eye outside on the sea.
“I cannot recall when that was, but when the angel appeared, the monks built a special font in his name, a font for the holy water. And it was from then on that the island was known as Skellig Michael.”
“Del,” I pressed, intrigued. “How do you know that Saint Michael appeared?”
“As I know all else, girl. It has been handed down to me through the ages by my people. It is common knowledge enough, I would say, though there is some debate as to whether he actually appeared or perhaps just sent a sign.” Del brushed aside my question and kept on with his story. “Either way, it was a change to the routine of the monks. A
nd more change came later, when the whole coast came under attack by the Viking horde. Their longboats sailed the rough seas at will, seemingly unstoppable in their quest for gold and slaves. Soon, even the Skellig, thought to be impenetrable, was attacked. More than once it happened, each time bringing the monastery closer to its end. It is written in the Annals of Inisfallen that the marauders even kidnapped and starved the prior, Etgal. They left him standing alone on a rock in the middle of the sea, where all the monks could watch him waste away.
“And so it was, bit by bit, that the monastery began to send its brothers away, along with the little treasure it had, to keep it safe, until sometime in the eleven or twelve hundreds the last of them slipped away. They left their gravestones and their buildings, abandoning their home to the puffins and the wind.”
I shivered. What if the sign attributed to Michael wasn’t a sign at all, but the arrival of the rock—the rock that Cain used to kill Abel—the very relic we were seeking? Would it still be here? Or had it been taken for safekeeping along with whatever other treasures the monks had spirited away?
“The Skellig has a fascinating history,” Del said, winding up his tale. “She would just as soon chew up your boat and spit it out as she would shelter the birds and the men who clung to her for life. You cannot know which Skellig you get on any given day. As for us, we will find out soon enough, for we’re nearly there. Look.”
I peered through the Plexiglas to where he was pointing. The boat was headed for a sheer cliff wall that blocked everything else from view.
“Aye, there she is. A monster rock. If God is good, we’ll be able to get you ashore. You two bundle up and put on your life jackets,” Del added briskly. “You’ll be needed on the deck in just a moment.”
We began piling back into our outerwear, preparing ourselves for the spray and wind that would lash at us. As I leaned over to tuck my pant leg into my boot, I whispered to Michael.
“You didn’t tell me you’d shown yourself here.”
His forehead crumpled derisively. “That’s because I never did. He’s just spreading old wives’ tales.”
My heart thudded as I stood up. It had to have been the rock that came to the Skellig and set off the tales of old. I just knew it. I turned and pressed myself against the Plexiglas to peer at the stark, bald stone that jutted up from the sea, and my body seemed to thrum in anticipation. This is it, I thought. This is where we’ll find the Key.
As if he were reading my thoughts, Michael gently interrupted me. “First, we’ll need to get safely off this boat.”
I nodded and pushed through the door, back onto the deck, Michael coming behind me. “You stay here and shout out what Del needs us to do. I don’t want him to get distracted from his navigating,” Michael told Enoch over his shoulder.
The wind had shifted. It was a gale now, driving us away from the tiny bit of shore that had been carved out of the stone. We felt a lurch as Del shifted the motor into a higher gear, trying to power our way in.
We leaned into the storm, slowly making our way toward the bow, the puffy life jackets making us awkward and slow, like toddlers taking their first tentative steps. The ropes were coiled, waiting. I braced myself as the boat rose and fell between white-capped waves that crashed against us, daring us to come any farther.
“Ready now,” Enoch yelled, leaning out from the wheelhouse door. “He’s going to ride the next wave into the dock and put the engine in reverse, so we don’t crash. You jump ashore and start tying us off, if you can.”
I eyed the dock warily. Its wood looked like mere matchsticks compared to the force of nature we were dealing with. But we had no choice, if we wanted to get to the monastery.
“Now!” Del shouted.
All at once, the steady thrum of the motor shifted and cut out. We were atop a wave, perched for an instant high above the dock. Before I could think, I wrapped the rope around my hand and flung myself overboard.
I landed with a thud, rolling onto my side on the water-slicked wood. Michael fell next to me. We scrambled up.
The engines throbbed to life, pulling the boat away from the dock just as the waves were crashing it in. In the balance of time, we wrapped the rope around the metal hooks, lashing them as tightly as we could. The Wild Goose crashed against the boards, throwing up icy water and causing the dock to give out a great groan, before she settled in next to it.
“Get back,” Michael said, pushing me behind him as if he were unsure if the boat would stay put. Annoyed, I stepped aside.
“It’s fine, Michael. We did it. The boat is safe and so are we.” I didn’t wait for his answer but carefully picked my way down the tiny pier to the Skellig, keeping an eye out for gaps in the worn planks.
Behind me, I heard the engine cut out, this time for good. The men shouted, but the wind muffled their sound, so I couldn’t hear what they were saying. I didn’t care, though. I was listening in awe to the shrieking gale and staring up at the bleak pile of rock, imagining what it would have been like to live here, knowing you would never, ever leave. Stairs had been carved into the sheer face of the island, beckoning pilgrims upward. I knew from the visitors’ center that the climb was long and steep. I was eager to go, the pull of the Skellig insistent, demanding that I forge ahead.
I started toward the steps, shrugging out of the bulky life jacket and letting it fall to the ground. A heavy hand on my shoulder stopped and turned me. “Together,” Michael insisted. “We climb together.”
I looked over his shoulder. “Where’s Enoch?”
Michael grimaced. “Del insisted they both stay. He’s afraid Enoch is in no condition to climb, and he’s worried about his boat. So they will stay here and make sure the boat is safe while we go up to the monastery.” He gave me a grave look. “Hope, it is very dangerous up here. Some of the trails have collapsed, and the steps themselves are only inches deep. A single gust of wind could knock you off the edge. You have to give all your concentration to the climb. And we have to stick together. Agreed?” He squeezed my shoulder tightly, concern for me shadowing his blue eyes gray.
I nodded, his gaunt face a reminder that I was running out of time. I turned to lead the way up the steps.
Almost immediately, a light rain began falling on the Skellig, adding its misty mix to the wetness left behind by the hammering waves. The steps were slick, not porous enough to drain the water. I carefully reached ahead, using my hands to balance as I began to climb.
We’d not gone far when I saw a strange sight. Not far from where we stood, a set of parallel steps had been carved into the rock. But they started in the middle of nowhere and ended, just as abruptly, with no landing or escape.
“Stairs to nowhere,” Michael muttered behind me.
I looked away, the sight of the mysterious staircase unsettling me. I quieted my mind, focusing on the cracks in the dark stone as we pushed ahead. We were creeping now, careful not to slip, clinging to the rocks when the winds gusted. When I dared to steal a glance about me, I saw nothing but more rock. No plants. No birds. Nothing. It was utter desolation.
The quiet rain eventually stopped. We climbed our way around the island for what seemed like hours before finally emerging onto a little terrace. Man-made walls of stone loomed out of the earth, funneling us toward a slight opening. Lower walls ran out like guardrails, offering those who stumbled scant hope of avoiding a fall to their death. I lowered my hood and peered down over the low rock walls. We were thousands of feet above the sea, the boat no longer visible. I stepped back, closer to the rock, my head spinning.
“Here’s the gate into the old monastery, just where Del told me it would be,” Michael said, gesturing to the gap in the stone wall before us.
I gulped hard, steadying my racing heart. I kept one hand on the rock face behind me as I edged toward the arch, only letting go at the very last moment when forced to step through. I emerged from the darkness of the arch and blinked against the pale light.
Disbelieving, I stopped, my feet ro
oted to the rocky, barren ground.
Stones.
Everywhere.
Everything was made up of stones. Compact beehive-like huts dotted the enclosure, each one made of stones, some bigger than I could hold in my hand. The walls, the pathways, the outbuildings—everywhere—stones. Piles of abandoned stones stood in the dirt. Little, broken stones drifted like snow, trailing away from collapsed walls and buildings.
Enough stones to shelter hundreds of monks through the ages. More than enough stones to kill a man.
I sank to my knees. How would I find the one I was looking for amidst them all?
I felt my body heave with angry sobs and tasted the salt of a single tear as it rolled down my face.
“God’s whim,” Del had said. God’s cosmic joke, I thought to myself bitterly, as I thought about the impulse that had driven me here like a fool. A hysterical laugh escaped between my sobs.
Michael knelt beside me, wiping my face with his thumb. He tilted my chin up and looked gravely into my eyes. “Did you not know then, that this is what you would find?”
I shook my head vehemently, not trusting myself to speak. I realized, now, that this had been the source of his and Enoch’s misgivings from the very beginning.
“I supposed not,” he continued, “since the exhibit was closed at the visitors’ center.”
He cradled my cheek and looked at me sadly.
“You don’t feel it, anymore, do you? The pull?”
I closed my eyes and waited for the familiar thrumming, waited for it to signal me that I was in the right place, waited for it to guide me to the singular stone amongst the multitude we faced. But I felt nothing.
A strangled cry left my lips, and I collapsed in frustration into Michael’s arms.
“It’s okay, it’s okay,” he crooned into my ear, his lips moving against my hair.
“It’s not okay!” I argued heatedly, trying to push him away. “You don’t understand. Nothing will ever be okay!”
He grabbed my arms, holding me tight.
“Of course it will, Hope. This is just a setback. We’ve gotten through worse than this already. We’ll figure it out.”
Dark Rising Page 19
