The Forbidden Land

  ‘I’m sorry,’ Finn said, chastened. ‘I do no’ mean to. It is just my way. I joke when I am most worried.’

  Nellwyn stared at her grimly, then suddenly the thin line of her mouth softened into a smile. ‘Very well then. Be off with ye and get your work done. This cabin be small enough without a great tall lad like ye taking up all the room. Your cousin will be just fine and the auld prophet too.’

  Finn opened her mouth to reply, thought better off it, and went back up on deck, catching up her crossbow as she went.

  The galleon was closer than ever, the round black mouths of her cannons staring at them across the stretch of water. Finn ran to join Enit, Jay, Dillon and Dide in the bow. The old jongleur was sitting in her chair as usual, her twisted fingers gripping the wood. ‘What can we do?’ Finn asked anxiously.

  ‘If we were close enough, I could try and sing them all to sleep,’ Enit replied, ‘but then I’d sing all our own crew to sleep as well.’

  ‘Unless they blocked up their ears,’ Jay suggested.

  ‘Then they could no’ hear the captain’s orders,’ Dide objected.

  Enit made an impatient gesture. ‘It is o’ no use anyway. They will sink us long afore we get close enough to sing the song o’ sleep.’

  ‘They are more likely to try and board us,’ Dillon said. ‘We shall just have to fight them off.’ His fingers caressed his sword-hilt lovingly.

  ‘Why?’ Dide asked. ‘Why no’ just bombard us with their cannon until we sink?’

  ‘They could have done that afore,’ Dillon answered. ‘All the cannon shots were aimed at disabling us, no’ sinking us. I would say they want to capture us alive.’

  ‘But why?’ Finn asked.

  Dillon shrugged. ‘To make an exhibition o’ us. If the folk o’ Bride watched us all burn, it would be a much sharper lesson than if they were simply told we had been caught and sunk. Nay, the Fealde would wish everyone to ken we died an agonising death. They would think less lightly o’ rebelling against her rule that way.’

  It made horrid sense. Finn swallowed, feeling sick to her stomach, and saw both Dide and Jay were pale under their tans. They all looked up at the galleon, bearing down upon them on the starboard side. Suddenly the great ship’s cannons boomed. Once again the cannonballs sliced through the sails and rigging, bringing the mizzen-yard smashing down upon the deck. The Speedwell’s crew scrambled to clear the deck of the wreckage as the helmsman swung the great wheel so that the caravel turned broad on the port quarter. She slipped up close beside the galleon, so that its high poop deck cut out their sun. Then the captain gave his terse order, and the Speedwell’s cannons were fired for the first time.

  The noise was deafening, and it was hard to breathe with thick black clouds of smoke choking the air. Again and again the Speedwell fired, her cannonballs hitting the galleon just above the water line. The galleon was unable to retaliate, since her cannons had a much longer range and were set so high above the Speedwell’s deck. Her sailors were able to leap into the caravel’s rigging though, firing down upon the crew with their heavy pistols or leaping down to engage in hand-to-hand combat. For a time all was confusion, with the smoke obscuring the combatants’ vision so everyone was fighting blind. The caravel’s cannons kept firing away, however, and the galleon began to take in water, causing her to begin to keel over.

  Dillon had drawn his sword with a wild joyous yell and as the smoke drifted away, Finn could see him fighting off four Tìrsoilleirean sailors, his teeth bared in a grin. Jed fought with him, the great dog leaping up to close his heavy jaws on one swordsman’s arm so that Dillon could run him through or using his substantial weight to bear another to the ground before he could attack Dillon from behind.

  So ferociously did Dillon fight that Finn was frozen for a moment in a sort of awe. He had no hesitation in using his fists and feet as well as his sword and Finn recognised some of Iseult’s techniques in the way he somersaulted high into the air to land behind his attackers, or jabbed one in the throat with his elbow at the same time as he kicked another in the stomach. Iseult was trained in the art of the Scarred Warrior and most adept at hand-to-hand fighting, and had evidently passed on many of her secrets to the young squire. Dillon’s sword was not still for a moment, and he often tossed it from one hand to the other, taking his attackers by surprise. All his movements were as swift and graceful as if he engaged in a dance, not a fight to the death, and he laughed as he fought.

  Finn had no opportunity to watch for long, for more of the enemy were swarming down the ropes to land on the forecastle where she crouched by Enit’s feet. Finn shot down two in quick succession, but they came faster than she could reload. Dide was fighting by her side, however, throwing his silver daggers with quick and deadly accuracy.

  ‘Come about!’ the captain roared. The Speedwell turned swiftly and slid away from the galleon, causing many of the enemy clinging to her rigging to fall screaming into the water or crash down upon the deck.

  With Dillon fighting like a madman at their head, the Speedwell’s crew slowly overcame those of the enemy still on board. The Tìrsoilleirean dead and wounded alike were thrown overboard as the caravel sought to put as much distance as possible between them and the crippled galleon. ‘Look, she’s going down!’ Tam shouted, pointing over the port bulwark. ‘We hit her where it really hurts!’

  Finn turned and stared, amazed at how quickly the galleon was keeling over with all the weight of its sails and the huge carved poop and forecastle dragging it down. Suddenly the cannons on its near side fired again.

  Finn screamed as the cannonballs tore their way into the Speedwell’s hull, causing the ship to lurch and shudder. She was thrown down, a tangle of rope falling across her back and pinning her to the deck. She fought to free herself, sick with anxiety as she heard the moans of injured men. At last she could scramble free and looked about her. Once more the Speedwell was listing at an unnatural angle, the deck sloping sideways. Men everywhere were trying to get to their feet, cradling their heads or shoulders. Many lay unmoving.

  Finn crawled up onto the forecastle, feeling her pulse hammer in her skull as she saw Enit’s chair overturned. The old jongleur lay unconscious on the deck, the carved chair broken and half-covering her limp body. Finn turned her over and saw blood seeping from a bruised cut on Enit’s temple.

  ‘Abandon ship!’ came the captain’s stentorian roar. ‘She’s going down!’

  The crew hurried to unlash the boats. Ashlin came staggering up the ladder, Bran’s drooping body in his arms, and tenderly laid her down in the little dinghy with Donald beside her to watch over her. Enit was laid out in the long boat, with Nellwyn tending her bleeding head, then Jay came running up from below with his precious viola, which he tucked in tenderly beside Enit’s unconscious body. Donald was hard at work passing up sacks of grain and vegetables which were hastily stacked into the boats, then he clambered up the ladder with his arms full of a side of mutton, his wrinkled old face unusually grim.

  ‘Can ye swim, lassie?’ he asked Finn and she shook her head.

  ‘Och, neither can I,’ he answered. ‘Happen ye’d best try and hang onto a plank o’ wood then. Take off your boots and leave your bow and arrows. They’ll only weigh ye down.’

  ‘Tuck them here in the boat,’ Nellwyn said. ‘By the looks o’ those rocks, ye’ll be wanting your boots.’

  Finn nodded and did as she said, then scooped up Goblin and dropped her into the long boat too. ‘She doesna like water,’ she said to Nellwyn rather pleadingly. ‘She be only a wee thing; she willna take up much room.’

  Nellwyn nodded and went to pat the frightened little cat, who hissed and struck out with her claws. Nellwyn snatched back her hand, then cast Finn an angry, embarrassed glance. Finn said, ‘I’m sorry. She is still an elven cat, ye see. Ye canna tame an elven cat.’

  ‘Happen I should’ve reminded your mother o’ that,’ Donald said affectionately. ‘Come, Finn, jump in. Hang onto the back o’ the long boat and ye s
hould have no trouble staying afloat.’

  Finn smiled at him, though her face was so stiff with fear it took a real effort to move her cheek muscles. She stood on the ship’s deck and stared down at the wild waves tossing about below, throwing up spray and spume. Quite a few of the crew were already bobbing away down there, clutching broken planks and struggling to keep their heads above water.

  There was a wrenching, groaning sound and the caravel suddenly lurched sideways. Everyone shouted. Jay seized her hand. ‘Come on, Finn, jump!’ he urged. ‘Else the ship’ll take ye down with her.’

  Finn hung onto his hand and jumped when he did. They fell down and hit the water below with a great splash that knocked the breath out of her body. Deep into the water she plunged, then she felt the drag of Jay’s hand as he kicked for the surface. Finn kicked too and at last her head broke through and she was able to gasp a breath of air.

  Then another wave broke over her head and she sank again, choking on water. Jay dragged her up, putting his arm under her armpit. ‘Kick!’ he ordered.

  Desperately Finn obeyed. Occasionally she saw one of the boats rising up beyond the waves, or a glimpse of the sinking Speedwell, but otherwise the whole universe was heaving grey water, bitter as grief and cold as death. Then Jay found a plank and heaved her onto it, and she was able to rest for a moment as he clung to its edge. She put down her head and closed her eyes, and found she was choking now on tears instead of seawater. I wish I had said goodbye to her, she thought. My poor mam!

  They drifted for a while, too exhausted to kick any longer. ‘Are we coming close to the shore?’ Finn whispered, her throat raw from the salt.

  Jay raised his head, wiping his salt-stung eyes with his hand. ‘I canna see,’ he answered. ‘I canna see anything.’

  Finn peered through the dusk but the waves all about were too high and wild for her to see anything but their white-veined grey backs, their curling white-maned crests. She sobbed aloud and Jay shifted his hand so it rested on her back. ‘Do no’ weep, Finn,’ he whispered. ‘There be salt enough in this water. Try and rest. The current will take us to shore, never ye fear.’

  Finn sniffled and wiped her nose with her hand. Every now and again she hiccuped with tears but otherwise they were quiet, clinging to the plank, as darkness fell about them.

  Suddenly they heard a high-pitched whistling and then the smack of water as some great sea-creature leapt out of the water close to hand. Finn stifled a shriek. ‘Are … are there … sharks in this water?’

  ‘Are they no’ sharks everywhere?’ Jay replied grimly. ‘I do no’ ken, Finn. Crawl a wee bit higher on the plank, there’s a dear.’ His face was a smudge of white in the dark. Finn obeyed, lying on the plank with nothing but her feet in the water. Jay had all of his body in the icy-cold water, only one arm hooked over the plank as he paddled with the other. They heard the smack of water again.

  ‘What about ye?’ she whispered anxiously. ‘Jay, canna ye climb up too?’

  ‘There be no’ enough room,’ he answered. She could hear the strain in his voice. ‘Come, Finn, let’s kick again.’

  She kicked as hard as she could, straining to see through the darkness. Again and again a wave surprised her with a shock of cold, filling her eyes and her mouth with water, and sending her pulse hammering. Then suddenly she felt something brush against her bare foot. She recoiled with a shriek, falling off the plank into the water. Jay called her name anxiously.

  ‘Something touched me!’ she gasped, grabbing hold of the plank again. ‘Something scaly! Oh, Jay, what if it be the harlequin-hydra?’

  Right in their ears, they heard the whistling sound. Jay raised himself up on his arms so he could hear more clearly. Then suddenly a long body thrust up through the waves, shining oddly in the darkness.

  Finn leapt back, flailing her arms as the water closed over her head. Then strong arms seized her and lifted her up so she could breathe. Coughing and retching, Finn kicked out and the arms tightened, twisting her away. Finn felt silky scales against her skin and saw, frighteningly, a strange flat face with tusks curving up on either side. ‘It’s a Fairge!’ she cried hoarsely.

  She stopped fighting, even though she was so frightened she thought her heart would pound right through her ribcage. She fully expected the Fairge to drag her down under the water and drown her, and there was not a thing she could do about it. This was the Fairge’s natural element, and Finn was the alien here. In a way it was a relief, to know the fight was over and she could relax and let the sea swallow her. Fatalistically she lay back in the Fairge’s arms and waited to drown.

  The sea-faery held her securely, however. She could feel the powerful motion of his tail as he swam through the waves, his arms holding her high so that she could breathe easily. The two moons were rising, casting a silvery radiance over the sea. She could see the black mass of the cliffs ahead of them, and the white break of waves at their feet. Again her body tensed with fear but the Fairge quickened his speed and she felt the power of the wave as it caught them and sped them towards the shore. Then she was being flung up on the shore. She landed with a thump that knocked all the breath out of her body. The sea tried to drag her back, but Finn grasped at the wet, slippery rocks, ignoring the pain of her bruised and cut limbs. Frantically she dragged herself higher, feeling the tug of the water as it swirled back into the sea. At last her legs were free of the water and, sobbing, she glanced back. All she could see was the flash of a silver tail as the Fairge dived back into the moonlit waves.

  The Skeleton Coast was a wild, inhospitable place. The cliffs reared several hundred feet from the sea, with nothing but sharp black rocks at their base. All along the coast crags of fantastic shape rose from the waves, some near as high as the cliffs themselves. The only sign of life was the sea birds, who screeched and fought and soared all about.

  As the sun rose slowly out of the sea, giving the water a strange red shimmer, the survivors of the shipwreck slowly gathered together on the shore. With their clothes torn and stained, their eyes red-rimmed and their faces bruised, they were a pitiful sight but, as they all agreed, miraculously alive. Thanks to the Fairgean, not one of the crew or passengers of the Speedwell had drowned. The sea-faeries had even saved Jed, Dillon’s big shaggy hound.

  Dide was able to light a fire for them, despite the dampness of the driftwood, and Donald cooked up a salty stew. Nellwyn the Yedda tended the worst of the injuries, as best as she could without any medicinal supplies and still so weak herself. She was astounded by the action of the Fairgean, having thought of them as implacable enemies all her life and having always used her magic to destroy them. She had heard about the jongleurs’ singing the song of love and had thought it foolish, but was now quick to admit that perhaps she and the Coven had always been wrong.

  ‘Who would’ve thought they would rescue drowning men,’ she said as she bandaged up cuts and splinted broken limbs. ‘I’ve never heard o’ such a thing!’

  Once all were warmed and fed, there was much discussion about what to do next. Although they were still alive, they had little food and even less fresh water. Many among them were incapable of walking, let alone climbing the great height of the cliffs. The Bright Soldiers would be searching for them and it surely would not take them long to find the floating wreckage of the Speedwell. It was clear that an expedition had to set off in search of help as soon as possible.

  ‘Could ye climb these cliffs, Finn?’ Dide asked.

  She nodded and shrugged. ‘All my climbing equipment went down with the Speedwell, so it would no’ be easy,’ she answered.

  ‘There is naught but a few farms up top,’ Captain Tobias said. ‘And they be strict, dour people. I do no’ think they would offer assistance willingly, no’ even to help Killian the Listener.’

  The old prophet was sitting hunched by the fire, his spindly arms and legs clutched close to his body. His wrinkled face turned from one person to another as they spoke but he showed no sign of comprehension on his bruised
face.

  ‘I wish I kent exactly where we were on the coast,’ Alphonsus the Sure said. ‘The last time I marked our position on the map we were only two or three days’ sail east o’ our meeting place with the MacCuinn. We had a fair wind and so had been managing a hundred and fifty or so miles a day. No’ matter how swiftly any party travelled, they would still be on foot. We are talking about three weeks at least afore they reach the rendezvous point. Then the Rìgh would need to travel back to reach us and that would be another week or two, even if they whipped the horses. No’ even the strongest man among us could survive that long without food and water, let alone the auld man and woman.’

  There was a long silence. Everyone looked at the frail old prophet and then at Enit, who had regained consciousness but looked very sick and weak, with a great dark bruise discolouring one side of her face. All knew that she was crippled with arthritis and could not walk a step unaided. They then glanced around at the injured men lying uncomfortably on the sharp rocks and at the sea which surged and swirled a scant few paces away.

  ‘It’s low tide now,’ Arvin the Just said dourly. ‘Soon the waves will be rising again. Tide nor time tarries for none.’

  ‘Och, he’s such a joy to have along; he be like the honey bee and brings us naught but sweetness and light,’ Finn whispered to Ashlin, who choked trying to stifle his involuntary burst of laughter. Arvin turned his granite-hard countenance upon them in disapproval and both giggled again.

  ‘Well, happen our first task should be to find a less exposed spot in which to make camp,’ Dide said, casting Finn an exasperated glance. ‘Happen there may be a cave or grotto somewhere along here where we may get some shelter both from the elements and from anyone searching for us.’

  ‘Excuse me, sir,’ Tam said rather hesitantly, ‘but there be some caves along here somewhere, I do ken that. I do no’ think we’d want to be sheltering in them though.’