The Forbidden Land (18 page)

Finn realised there were tears on her cheeks. She was almost overwhelmed with feelings of love and tenderness. She reached out her hand and caught Bran’s, and the cousins clung to each other, sobbing and trying to speak, to explain. All over the ship men were weeping or laughing or singing, many caught up in rough embraces, or pounding each other on the back. Dillon was kneeling, both arms around his shaggy hound, tears pouring down his cheeks. The Fairgean were whistling and crooning in accompaniment, their strange alien faces alight with emotion, their slim, scaled bodies swaying in time to the music.

Hugging Bran as hard as she could, Finn rested her tear-wet face on her cousin’s shoulder. Through the haze of her tears, she saw the captain and the first mate were both weeping and smiling, shaking hands as if they could not bear to let go. Enit’s voice quivered with the intensity of her emotion, the music soared and swooped till it seemed the whole ship was spun in silver light. Weeping and laughing, the three musicians played as if they were possessed, and together the four wrought a spell of such power that all who listened fell to their knees, lifting up their faces in rapture. Human and Fairgean knelt together, choking with feelings too deep and powerful for words, while webbed hands met and grasped unwebbed.

At last the song quivered into silence. Enit fell forward in her chair, only the ropes keeping her from falling. Ashlin too slumped down, the flute falling from his hand, his eyes rolling back in his head. Dide dashed the tears from his face and looked triumphantly at Jay, who stood tall and proud and exultant, the viola and bow raised high.

‘Ye have heard today the song o’ love,’ Dide said, his voice still thrumming with power. ‘Do no’ forget.’

An awed silence hung over the ship and then he was answered, with shouts and whistles and bursts of song. Hats were flung up into the air, and men and Fairgean once again embraced. The sea serpent rubbed its head affectionately against the prow, coiling its golden-green length along the whole length of the ship.

One of the Fairgean strode along the deck and stood facing Dide, his hand making an elaborate obeisance as he bowed. His black hair hung down his bare back like a wet silk cloak and he wore a single black pearl on his breast. Although he had two legs like a man, his smooth, scaled skin had a sheen like that of no human, and his wrists and ankles were braceleted with flowing fins. He wore nothing but a skirt of seaweed ornately decorated with shells and twists of coral. ‘We … will … no’ forget,’ he answered in halting tones. ‘Will … ye … be true?’

‘We will be true,’ Dide answered, awe and amazement on his face.

The Fairgean saluted him, then gave a high whistle. All the Fairgean on board ran to the railing and dived over into the water, and the sea serpent sank away beneath the waves. The Fairgean with the black pearl looked back up to Dide.

‘We … will … be true,’ he repeated. Then he too dived over the bulwark, his whole body curving in a perfect, graceful arc. He plunged into the sea and surfaced again some distance away, his hand raised high.

The next day dawned bright and fair. Finn leant over the rail and stared down at the Fairgean who swam along the side of the ship, whistling and crooning and cavorting through the waves for their amusement. Often they leapt high out of the water, their muscular silver tails curving gracefully beneath them, their black hair flowing liquidly behind them. The sailors threw them salted fish and the Fairgean threw fresh fish back, causing one old seaman to say, ‘Och, I wish they’d swim along wi’ us always; it be much easier than throwing out a line in the hope o’ a bite!’

By sunset most of the Fairgean had dropped behind, following the warrior with the black pearl as he rode his sea serpent back towards the islands. The
Speedwell
was alone on the open sea.

For the next twelve days the little caravel sped along the coast of Clachan, blessed with steady winds and clear skies. In all that time Enit and Ashlin lay as if dead, their breathing fast and shallow, their foreheads fevered.

‘It be the sorcery sickness,’ Dide said, his face creased with fatigue and anxiety. ‘Enit be too auld for the casting o’ such a spell and Ashlin too young.’

‘Will they get better?’

‘I hope so.’ Dide leant his head against his hand. ‘I must say I feel sick and weary myself. Never have I sung such a spell.’

‘Nor I,’ Jay said, exultation still ringing through his voice though he too looked drawn and tired. ‘There be a deal o’ power in that viola. I felt it thrumming all through me.’

‘We all heard it,’ Dide said, grasping his friend’s shoulder. ‘And it were no’ all the viola, my fiddler. Indeed your Talent is bright!’

Enit woke on the twelfth day after the singing of the song of love, and Ashlin three days later. Both were thin and wasted, the old woman looking as if a breeze would snap her in two. The
Speedwell
had left the coast far behind, for they were now off the coast of Arran, a stretch treacherous with shifting sands and notorious for its resident monster, the harlequin-hydra. Many of the sailors took great delight in telling spooky tales of this
uile-bheist
to frighten the younger members of the crew. The harlequin-hydra was responsible for more shipwrecks than any other natural or magical phenomenon, they said. It was a sea snake with a thousand heads. If one was lopped off, another two would grow. It came out of nowhere, rising from, the deep to strangle a ship in its rainbow-striped coils, devouring its crew and smashing the ship till nothing was left but a few stray timbers.

‘Ye thought that sea serpent was a monster, but it be naught but a pussycat compared to the harlequin-hydra,’ they warned.

Finn was glad they sailed far to the south of the coast of Arran.

One afternoon a few days after Ashlin had woken, Finn lay on the deck of the forecastle, playing trictrac with the young piper. It was a warm, fair day and all the sailors not on duty were resting on the decks, playing cards or dice, or sewing up their ragged clothes. Dide was strumming his guitar and amusing the sailors with a song about a sailor on shore:

Dillon was eating some dried bellfruit, his spare hand playing with Jed’s silky black ears, while Jay talked about musical theory with Enit, who sat in her chair throwing stale bread to the sea birds. The air all about the forecastle was white with their wings and their raucous shrieks almost drowned out Dide’s merry voice.

Even Donald had left his galley to enjoy the warm sunshine, dangling a fishing line over the bulwark in the hope of catching some fish for their supper. Only Bran did not share the general air of ease and comfort, for she paced the forecastle, looking anxiously out to the horizon, a heavy line between her brows.

‘Got fleas in your drawers?’ Finn asked lazily, looking up from the board. ‘Ye’re as restless as a hen on a hot griddle.’

Bran flushed and shook her head. ‘I smell a storm coming,’ she answered. ‘It makes me feel very uneasy. I fear it be a bad one.’

Ashlin looked about at the calm sea, the blue sky. He was thinner than ever, the knuckles of his hands very prominent. ‘Are ye sure?’ he asked. ‘I canna see a cloud anywhere.’

Bran moved her shoulders uncomfortably. ‘I canna explain it, I just ken a bad storm is coming.’

The sailors nearby scoffed at her, but Finn flared up in her defence. ‘Bran be no porridge-head!’ she cried. ‘He can always tell when a storm is coming!’

‘Happen we’d best tell the captain,’ Enit said.

‘Och, as if the captain’ll listen to a laddiekin like Bran,’ one of the sailors mocked. ‘The lad’s never even been to sea afore and has no more hair on his chin than a lass.’

‘I’ll wager ye a week’s rations o’ grog that he will!’ Finn said, scrambling to her feet.

‘Done!’ the sailor responded, though one of his friends said curiously, ‘Can the lad whistle the wind, then?’

Bran shook her head, flushing redder than ever. ‘I was born in Siantan though,’ she admitted. ‘Even the youngest goose-girl kens how to knot her apron string for a fine day there.’

A few of the sailors nodded wisely, though the one who had taken up the bet folded his arms stubbornly as Finn and Bran made their way down to the captain’s cabin. ‘Ye had best be careful he do no’ have ye keel-hauled for brazen impudence,’ he called after them.

Ignoring him, Finn clambered down the ladder, Goblin slinking close by her heels. ‘Do ye think we ought?’ Bran said, but Finn pulled her along, saying: ‘If ye smell a storm, Bran, happen the captain should ken, do ye no’ think so? Are ye no’ the NicSian?’

‘Ssssshhhh!’ Bran hissed but Finn only laughed, rapping boldly on the cabin door.

In answer to the shout from within, she answered respectfully, ‘It be Finn and Bran, sir, sorry to be disturbing ye.’

‘Come along in then,’ he answered and Finn pushed the door open and stepped inside, dragging Bran in beside her.

Captain Tobias and the navigator Alphonsus the Sure was bending over a table piled high with maps and charts. Arvin and the second mate were playing chess at a smaller table drawn up between two comfortable leather chairs. There was a silver pitcher of wine and a tray of silver goblets on the table, and a finely woven carpet on the floor. If it had not been for the small round windows and the swaying of the floor, it would have been easy to think they were in a room in a rich merchant’s house, not on a ship.

Looking about the luxurious cabin with interest, Finn told the captain what Bran had said. The navigator frowned and Arvin the Just’s grim mouth compressed until it was a mere crack in his granite-hard face, but the captain nodded and said rather shortly, ‘Thank ye for the tip, lads, we’ll keep a close eye out, as always.’

‘But do ye no’ think …’ Finn began but he frowned and turned away from them. The second mate heaved himself to his feet and showed them the door.

‘But sir!’ Finn cried, only to have a large, firm hand push her none too gently out the door. It was shut in her indignant face and she turned to Bran and made a face.

‘Och well,’ her cousin said philosophically. ‘Happen we should batten down the hatches ourselves.’

They climbed back up onto the deck, to be met by much jeering and mockery from the sailors, which they did their best to ignore. ‘Just ye wait, ye lamb-brained louts! Ye’ll be sorry!’ was Finn’s only comment, and this was met with much raucous laughter.

Above the full-bellied white sails the sky arched, pure and blue. Finn scowled at Bran, and climbed up into the rigging with Goblin, shading her eyes against the bright sun with her hand. She stayed up there for an hour, swaying in perfect rhythm with the wind. At last she came down and ate her ration of bread and salted herring in sulky silence, then took her watch with the others, refusing to answer their teasing.

Slowly, imperceptibly, the sky hazed over. The wind died, and the sea was the colour of beaten copper in the hot glare of the setting sun. The sails hung limp from the yardarm. Finn climbed up to the forecastle to join the others staring out at the sullen horizon, the colour of bruised plums. Far away they saw a sudden glare of lightning and then heard the low grumble of thunder.

‘Them clouds look bad,’ one of the sailors said. ‘Happen we should tell the captain …’

‘He willna thank ye,’ Finn said. ‘The captain doesna welcome advice.’

‘Och,’ the sailor replied, ‘who does?’

The fourth mate lifted the spyglass to his eye. Thunder came again, louder and more insistent. ‘The storm comes,’ Bran said with a certain amount of satisfaction, ‘and it’s going to be a bad one!’

The fourth mate sent one of the deckhands running down to the captain’s cabin and eventually both the captain and the first mate came on deck. The rising wind fluttered their coat-tails. Both stared out at the ominous sky with grim expressions. The waves were high now, smashing against the side of the little ship as she rose and fell, rose and fell. Sharp orders were snapped out and Bran and Finn exchanged glances as they ran to obey. Hauling down the sails, Finn said to the sailor beside her, ‘Och, well, there goes your week’s grog!’ and he shrugged and scowled.

Thunder growled and muttered all around them and the dark, heavy sky was lit repeatedly with lightning from horizon to horizon. The sun had set into the clouds and there was only the light of the wildly swinging lanterns to illuminate their work. Torrential rain lashed the decks, hammering upon the heads of the sailors working frantically to fasten down the hatches, secure the cannons and reef the sails.

One by one the great white sails were lashed into place against the yards. Soon only the gaunt shape of the four masts and the delicate webbing of the rigging were left, silhouetted blackly against the stark whiteness of the lightning.

Suddenly one of the sails was torn asunder by the strength of the raging wind. Ropes snapped and the sail was blown away into the darkness, torn into shreds by the force of the gale. The ship keeled sideways, dragged by its weight. Great grey waves swept over the bow of the ship, racing down the deck and sweeping many sailors off their feet. Shouts of alarm rang out. The sailors struggled to regain their footing, clinging to the ropes or grasping the hands of those still on their feet. Finn watched in horror as one was swept over the railing and into the angry sea below. For a moment his screaming face filled her vision. Then he was swallowed by the waves, rearing up for her with hungry white claws. Staggering, she clung to the railing, bitter-cold spray stinging her eyes. Then Jay was beside her, his arm about her waist.

‘Hang on, Finn!’ he shouted above the crashing of the waves and the roar of the wind. ‘We do no’ want to lose ye overboard too!’

She clung to his hand and he dragged her to a safer position by the main mast. The helmsman struggled to control the spinning wheel. Another wave swept over the deck, swirling as high as Finn’s waist. She fell, swallowing water. Jay hauled her to her feet, coughing, her throat raw. Rain beat against them, obscuring their vision. All was grey and furious: grey sea heaving and churning, grey wind screaming in the rigging, grey rain streaming. Every now and again Finn saw the dark figure of a man stumbling and sliding across the deck, or the twisting white shape of another sail tearing loose, but otherwise all she could see was a grey maelstrom as sea and sky spun together.

The sound of cracking wood suddenly brought all heads round with a jerk. There was a moment of horrific groaning, then suddenly the mizzenmast snapped. Down it came in a tangle of rigging and torn sails, smashing into the deck. Men screamed. The ship lurched and keeled over. The sea roared over them hungrily. Finn was dragged down into stinging, roaring, spinning darkness. She was tumbled over and over, limbs flailing helplessly. Then she slammed hard into something, so hard her ears roared and her eyes were filled with fizzing stars. She breathed water, drank fire. Then her foot met something solid and she pushed against it instinctively. Her head broke clear of the water. She coughed and choked, retching up seawater. Someone seized her hand, dragged her higher. Weak and sick, Finn crawled up the sloping deck, grasped a tangle of wood and rope, clung to it.

‘How are ye yourself?’ Jay’s voice asked anxiously in her ear. His shoulder supported her.

‘Just dandy,’ she answered, coughing hoarsely. ‘What do ye reckon?’

‘Ye look as sick as a half-drowned cat,’ Jay answered with a half-hearted grin.

Finn immediately cried, ‘Goblin! Och, no! My poor wee cat!’

She was answered by a pitiful little mew, and stared wildly up into the rigging. There, far over their heads, hung the tiny elven cat, bedraggled and shivering, barely visible in the swirling rain. Sobbing, Finn held out her arms and the cat leapt into them, creeping up to tremble against her neck.

‘Bran, ye must do something!’ Dide shouted. ‘Canna ye calm this wind?’

Bran shook her head. She was clinging to the main mast, her lip crimson where she had bitten it. ‘I do no’ ken how!’ she shouted.

‘Ye must be able to do something!’ Dide cried. ‘Are ye no’ the NicSian?’

She sobbed aloud. ‘I never had anyone to teach me the proper way o’ doing it! Only my auld nurse …’

‘I thought ye said ye had the Talent,’ Finn said. ‘Ye felt the storm rising long afore we could see it.’

Bran’s hair was plastered against her face, her clothes wet through. ‘Sensing a storm coming is nothing!’ she cried. ‘Anyone with a pinch o’ weather sense could do that. Even whistling up a wind is no’ that hard, but calming a storm like this is something else again!’

‘Canna ye try?’ Jay said desperately. ‘Else we’ll all drown!’

Bran clung to the mast with one hand and fumbled at her waist with the other, at last managing to undo her sash. Holding one end in her left hand, she succeeded in tying a knot in the sash with her teeth.