For the next several hours, the two of us labored, hauling trees, removing their roots and branches, and arranging the trunks side by side on the beach. Sand and flecks of bark got in my mouth, eyes, and hair. Yet despite all the grit and the aches in my back and upper arms, the raft began to take shape. The trunks fit together nicely, when placed so that the thicker end of one lay next to the thinner end of another. And by working some of the larger limbs into any gaps, I made the fit even tighter. I felt increasingly convinced that our vessel would indeed hold us all—and be ready to sail by the next morning.
As we worked, we were flanked by a large group of children who sat on the dunes watching our progress. Lleu did more than watch, however, as did the athletic girl, Medba, and a few of the older youths. They helped me trim the branches, whacking at them with shafts of driftwood, and also hauled off the debris. When the trimming was done, I asked them to round up some onlookers for another task. Before long, I had two teams, one led by Lleu and one by Medba, scouring the beach for the supple strands of kelp that I needed to bind the logs together.
By late afternoon, the job was nearly done. As bronze hues dappled the dunes, and shadows started to lengthen, I stretched my stiff back and surveyed the vessel. It looked quite seaworthy, thanks to the sturdiness of the logs. All that remained was to secure them with kelp—and push off.
Tempted though I was to finish everything now, before sunset, I knew that another, less satisfying, task took precedence: burying Stangmar. I’d promised my mother we would do it by nightfall, and the light was steadily dimming. Besides, I could see from her solemn pacing along the beach that she was ready. The raft’s completion would have to wait until tomorrow.
Calling Lleu to my side, I asked him to build a bonfire for warmth, using all the scraps from the trees, as well as any driftwood he could find. Clearly delighted, he jogged off, kindling in hand. I then turned to Medba and asked her to take her team and dig up as many mussels as they could find in the wet sand by the shallows. Roasted mussels, she agreed, would make a fine meal. Then she told me something else: In the bowl of the giant’s hat were generous supplies of oatcakes, bread loaves, dried fruit, and caskets of cider, contributed by some villagers while Shim was gathering the children. I told her to break out some of the cider, but to save the rest for later.
My attention turned to the burial. Again I asked for Shim’s help, and with a single swipe of his hand, he dug a deep hole in the sand at the base of the dune where Stangmar had leaped to our aid. As my mother and I lowered the heavy, bloodstained body into the ground, I struggled with another, far greater weight—my own tortured feelings. How could he have expected me to forgive him? And yet, for all the pain she’d experienced, my mother had done so. Why, then, couldn’t I?
As I bent over Stangmar’s grave, smoothing the last sand over the spot, Shim’s enormous finger tapped me on the back. The force of the blow knocked me flat. I rolled over, spluttering sand, and gazed up at him.
“I is leaving now, Merlin.” He pointed his arm, as hefty as one of the trees he had uprooted for the raft, toward the east. “I shall sees you, though, soon. In just three more dailys at the circle of stones.”
“Stay the night, Shim,” I urged, using my sleeve to wipe some more sand off my tongue. “You can leave in the morning when we do.”
“No,” he replied with a cavernous yawn. “There’s something I is wantings to do for a long time.” His wide mouth twisted in a strange smile. “A verily long time.”
Assuming he meant his long-awaited chance to sleep, uninterrupted by children crawling all over him, I nodded. “Good luck to you, my friend.”
“Samely to you.” He looked doubtfully at the nearly finished raft. “You is still full of madness, Merlin.”
“Always will be,” I replied with a grin. “Now, don’t forget your hat over there on the beach.”
Shim’s massive head swayed from side to side. “The childrens love playing with it so much.” He paused, watching a group of fifteen or twenty taking turns leaping off the brim into the shallows, splashing and shouting boisterously. “I is happily leaving it heres.”
My grin broadened. “They’re going to miss you when you’re gone.”
“Aw, I already says good-byes to mostly of them.” He gave me a wink, and lowered his voice to a gale-force whisper. “Anyways, I is leaving verily sneakingly. So quietly nobodies will notice.”
My eyebrows lifted, but he turned to go. He stepped over the dune, and his footsteps started thundering across the floodplains. Several dozen children, seeing him go, raced to the tops of the dunes, waving their arms and calling after him. They stayed there, shouting merrily, until the echoes of his lumbering strides had long vanished.
As I stood, brushing some of the sand off my knees, a sudden thought made me gasp. What if Shim’s goal was not to find a quiet spot to sleep, but to go to the dwarves’ realm in search of Urnalda? Hours earlier, he’d mentioned trying to win her support—and my warning had been interrupted. He’d be walking right into her death trap!
In a frenzy, I ran to the top of the nearest dune, stumbling in my haste. Breathlessly, I stood on the ridge, hoping to catch a glimpse of him, to warn him somehow. But I saw only a wide stretch of dried grasses and bog holes, tinted a dusky purple by the setting sun.
Grinding my teeth, I kicked at the sand. If there was ever a time to fly, this was it! No—this was truly a time for Leaping. That way I could travel to Shim in an instant, warn him, and be back here before anyone even knew I’d gone. Yet that was utterly impossible.
I shook my head glumly. Tomorrow’s voyage with the children, now that it was upon us, seemed almost as difficult. I turned around, studying the beach shot with shafts of crimson and purple. Girls and boys were everywhere, hurling stones at the shallows, digging themselves into the sand, frolicking on Shim’s hat. Two boys had started to scuffle near the raft, and my mother was pulling them apart. Several children had gathered around Lleu’s bonfire, which was burning vigorously, sending up a tower of orange flames against the dark blue wall of mist beyond the shallows. No one on the beach, I knew, understood the risks of tomorrow’s journey.
But I did. And now, on its very eve, I felt a deepening pang of uncertainty. Perhaps the better course was to remain right here. It was likely Slayer had drowned. Or if he hadn’t, he’d surely need some time to recover before he could attack again. Could I take that risk, though? And what about the risk of Rhita Gawr himself attacking these children, if his invasion succeeded?
I gazed at the wall of mist, which was transforming into another shape: a high, steep-sided mound. The island, perhaps? The dangers of going there couldn’t be any worse than the dangers of staying. And they might well be less. Even assuming some trouble at the barrier of spells, the voyage shouldn’t take us more than a day. Then, with the children safe, I’d have two days left to run as a deer to the battle with Rhita Gawr. Enough time—barely.
Brimming with doubts, I strode down the dune to the bonfire. I spied my mother, and veered toward her. She was seated cross-legged on the sand, watching not the fire but the place where we had laid Stangmar to rest. As I joined her, I followed the line of her gaze. Sparks floated upward, dancing brightly, never quite reaching the grave before they were extinguished.
I cleared my throat, and she turned to me. We studied each other, our faces lit by the wavering flames, for some time. I felt certain that she, like me, was thinking about the man who had affected our lives so profoundly, and yet who remained, even in death, such a mystery.
The small girl with protruding braids, whose name I’d learned was Cuwenna, pranced over, chewing on a roasted mussel. She flopped down on the sand between my thighs. “Do you mind, master Merlin? I’m cold.”
I couldn’t help but grin. “No, Cuwenna, I don’t mind. You can stay right here as long as you please.”
“Thank ye, master Merlin.”
Even as I patted her shoulder, some instinct made me turn away from the fire, toward the long line of dunes. Suddenly I glimpsed a vague shape on the farthest dune, the one closest to the water’s edge. The shape seemed to be moving toward us, but so slowly that it might have been just a stray curl of mist. Yet something told me this was not mist, but a man.
A man who was creeping stealthily, like a cat stalking its prey. The light from the fire reflected dully on something metallic by his side.
My heart slammed against my ribs. Slayer! But how? I must have underestimated his strength—and his hunger for revenge. He had returned!
Frantically, I scanned the beach, looking for anywhere the children could conceivably hide. But there was no shelter anywhere, other than the sea itself. If only we’d finished work on the raft! Then we could sail off before he arrived. If only—
Wait! There was a way, a vessel we might sail. It might work . . .
Hurriedly, I scooped up Cuwenna and called to everyone, “Come now, all of you! Follow me.” Seeing my mother’s look of puzzlement, I said urgently, “He’s coming back.” To Lleu I cried: “Come! Bring everyone. We’re going to the hat!”
Down the beach we dashed, every last one of us, tripping over ourselves on the soggy sand, to the great hat. The waters of high tide licked the willow branches around its base. I couldn’t tell if it would hold together on the water, nor if it would even float. But it was our only chance. Slayer, most likely, had seen us leave the fire; he could be running along the base of the dunes right now, closing in on us fast.
“Shove, everyone!” I shouted, leaning my shoulder against the hat’s tightly woven branches. Children large and small did the same, as did Elen. Voices grunted and groaned, feet dug into the sand, but the massive object wouldn’t budge.
“Again!” I shouted. “All together!”
Backs and legs strained. One of the smaller children started sobbing. Then, at last, the whole hat jolted. It scraped along the sand, sliding over a rock-rimmed tide pool and into the shallows, toward the roving wall of mist that separated us from the sea.
To my relief, the hat floated, its mesh of branches bobbing on the water. Like a troop of ants climbing into their mounded home, the children scaled the sides, slithered through gaps on the brim, and dropped down into the bowl. Older children helped younger ones: Medba lifted a frail-looking boy onto her back, hauled him to safety, then jumped back down to the water for another load. Meanwhile, I saw Lleu carrying little Cuwenna up to the brim.
As more children climbed inside, I pushed the vessel into deeper water so we wouldn’t run aground. At last, all were aboard. Shreds of mist wrapped around my arms as I gave a final shove and leaped onto the hat. I scrambled higher, grabbing hold of the knobby branches.
Suddenly I heard heavy boots pounding across the sand. I was right—it was Slayer! Now he plunged into the shallows, his skull mask askew, leggings torn, and armor coated with wet sand. He waded swiftly toward us, slashing the air with his murderous blades.
“Come back here, you coward! Come back and fight!”
Clinging to the side of the hat, I pleaded to the deep, ever-churning powers of the sea.
Deliver us, please. Take us away from this shore!
Waves continued to surge, slapping the vessel, but with no greater strength than before. Slayer drew nearer, and nearer. I could see his chin protruding from under his mask, and hear the whistling of his blades. Then, without warning, heavy mist closed over the hat, cutting us off from the shore—and from Slayer. I could see no sign of him through the impenetrable vapors, though I could still hear his cursing. As the mist thickened, that sound gave way to a slow, ceaseless rumbling, fathoms deep.
The sea had accepted us.
P
ART
T
HREE
24:
T
HE
V
ERY
D
EPTHS OF THE
S
EA
Darkness spread over the evening sea, and over our vessel.
The great hat bobbed and swayed on the water, while the children, my mother, and I perched on its brim like a mass of gulls on a rocky ledge. Some, including me, dangled our legs over the edge of the brim. Others lay on their backs upon the knobby mesh of branches; still others sought shelter from the briny breeze by climbing down into the recesses of the bowl. I looked past all the anxious, awestruck faces and into the folds of mist surrounding us. Even probing with my second sight, I saw nothing but vapors swirling darkly—vast, impenetrable, and as mysterious as the sea itself.
Waves slapped against the sides of the hat, making the tight weave of branches creak incessantly. I peered into a gap where some rebellious branches had pulled loose, exposing the interlocking layers of willow, ash, and hawthorn. A complex splicing of vines supported every bend and wrapped around every joint, while something like spider’s silk reinforced the knots. Spruce resin, carefully applied, gave the outer branches an eerie gleam, as well as extra resilience. I shook my head, wondering how the burly fingers of giants could have crafted something so intricate as this hat.
For a timeless moment, I watched the dark waves. They surged and withdrew, surged and withdrew, in a pulsing rhythm I could feel as clearly as that of my own heart. The waves hissed and sloshed, seeming almost to speak, sounding out their watery words, pondering meanings both deeper and wider than I could imagine.
Then, from somewhere inside myself I felt a vague stirring, the same indescribable yearning I’d always felt in the presence of the sea. Whether it was the lingering touch of my mer ancestry, or a half-remembered dream from my childhood, I couldn’t be sure. Yet it told me that, for now at least, we were safe, cradled by the whispering waves. And I knew, without knowing how, that the currents were bearing us westward, along the coast—in the direction of the Forgotten Island.
Someone nudged my shoulder. I lifted my head to find myself looking into eyes as blue as the sky after a summer rain. Elen smiled at me gently.