Manannan's Magic Read online

“I’ll look.” I walked to the doorway and peered out. It was pouring with rain, so we worked inside Stoill’s shelter on the shore. “No one is waiting, but someone is hurrying down the beach towards us.” McLir joined me under the dripping thatch, calling to Shea, who came to stand beside him, with his ears pricked.

  “Do you know him?” He asked Stoill, the fisherman who had lent us his dwelling.

  “No. He’s a stranger to me.”

  I shaded my eyes. “And to me.”

  The figure was still far away along the strand. He walked like a young man and he carried a large pack but no weapons.

  “Only a peddler,” confirmed McLir.

  “I never saw this man before,” Stoill said, peering at him through the downpour. “I thought I knew all the peddlers who trade here.” He paused. “I wonder where he’s from.”

  “The south?”

  “Possibly, but I know most of them too.”

  Southern peddlers sometimes come up here, but not often. The trade is worse in the north because far more people live beyond the mountains. Peddlers are always interesting, with their news and the gossip they bring us.

  This man was small and sturdy. He had long braided black hair but no beard. In the distance, only some of his features were clear. Although he was a stranger to me, his face had a strange familiarity I could not explain. When he came closer, I recognised, in sudden shock, the faint white line of his scar. It furrowed down his right cheek. Startled, my eyes sought McLir’s, and his had the same look in them.

  “His is the face from my dream,” I whispered, low enough so Stoill did not overhear.

  “I recognise him too.” McLir sounded tense.

  “You were right; you said he’d come soon.”

  “Hello,” the peddler shouted to us and waved, as he noticed us watching him. His voice had the lilt you sometimes hear from the western sailors who fish in these waters occasionally. He was dressed in the common work clothes of tunic and breeches. He had thrown an old sack over his head and shoulders to keep off some of the rain.

  “Come in,” Stoill moved aside and gestured for him to enter.

  The young man pulled off the sack and dropped it beside the doorway. As he did so, I noticed his belt was fastened with an unusually fine buckle. It had an intricate design and, although battered and old, it shone as if made of silver. What would a poor peddler be doing wearing such a fine silver buckle?

  “My name’s Edan,” he told us, “I’m searching for the man who treats the sick.”

  “You’re looking at him,” Stoill said, pointing to McLir, whose face was hidden in the shadows.

  The young man looked at him keenly. “I’d be most grateful for your help. I’ve come a long way to find you.” He swung his burden to the ground with a grunt of relief, rubbing his back as if it pained him. His pack rattled as it hit the floor.

  “Your back?” McLir stepped forward.

  “It never used to bother me, but now I ache so much. Some mornings, I can hardly move when I first wake.”

  “I’m not surprised. Take off your tunic and I’ll look at you.”

  “Thank you.”

  The young man, Edan, sat down beside the fire and took off his tunic. McLir examined his back, while Stoill and I prepared food and drink. I kept sneaking glances at him, as he sat there half-naked. I was curious about him and what I saw pleased me, in spite of myself.

  “Would you like to eat with us?” Stoill asked, offering the traditional hospitality, when the examination finished and Edan had put his tunic back on.

  “If you please. I can pay you...”

  “You will not. Not in my house,” Stoill interrupted him. “I don’t know where you’re from, lad, but here such an offer doesn’t come at a price.”

  Edan smiled and took the cup Stoill held out to him. “My thanks then for your generosity. I’m a worker in metals. Can I mend or sharpen anything for you in return? One good deed deserves another.”

  “I do indeed. The pin on my tiller has snapped. A good thing you’re here; you’ve saved me a journey to get the wretched thing mended. I’ll fetch it after we’ve eaten.”

  We drank broth from the cauldron which had been simmering away for hours. I handed out bread I had baked and I brought with me. I served the three men. Edan took his bowl and gave me a word of thanks. As we ate, he told us about some of the places he had been and the people he had met. I questioned him eagerly and the others left most of the talking to us. Edan seemed interesting, for he had travelled further than most people. He had journeyed, not only in this island but also in the one lying to the west. He spoke our language as we did, with a different accent although he sometimes used a word in an unusual way. Occasionally he said something I did not understand and McLir translated for my benefit.

  “Which part of the western island do you come from?” he asked at last. The young man grinned.

  “Near the mouth of the river which flows through Baile Atha Claith.”

  McLir nodded, as if he had understood something I did not, and asked for news from that place. The tidings were not good. They were having troubles over there. McLir looked saddened to find out about the destruction the raiding had caused. Some of the places he had once visited and had affection for no longer existed. McLir said a few words almost in passing, but in a language I did not understand. The young man answered him, in the same tongue. Then he stiffened, as if he realised he had done something he should not do. McLir made no comment, and the talk continued again as before. Several times, Edan tried to draw McLir out about himself. Although he always answered with courtesy, he did not give him much information. In particular, Edan seemed interested in the place where McLir came from originally. McLir’s answers were vague and some even misleading. I understood why, of course, for the tale of Fand and Sétanta was still in my mind. Despite his vagueness, though, I thought Edan had a satisfied look on his face. I wondered why he was so interested in a chance acquaintance, whatever his reputation.

  “What brings you to this island?” McLir asked. “There’s more work and far richer people in the west. I would think few folk here have enough money to tempt you.”

  “I’m sick of going back to the same places I’ve been before. After a while, the road is long, when you remember exactly what lies at its end. I wanted a change and to get away from the fighting. One of the traders told me about this island. I can work anywhere and for anyone, for a little while at least.”

  “You haven’t always avoided battles.” McLir pointed to the scar on Edan’s cheek. The young man only laughed.

  “Not a battle, a skirmish with my brother when we were boys. I didn’t duck fast enough. So now I have something to remind me to keep away from trouble.”

  “Indeed.” McLir’s voice sounded bland but I realised that he did not believe him. I knew his tone of old and Edan’s explanation sounded too glib.

  When the meal ended, Stoill left us. He went to find the tiller pin and the other things he wanted mending. I stacked the bowls and packed up our scattered belongings.

  “You have not done yourself any serious injury yet,” McLir told Edan. “You won’t be able to continue in the life you are leading much longer though. I can take away some pain, but I can’t cure you. I’ve nothing which would enable you to carry heavy loads for the rest of your life.”

  “I’m grateful for any help, but what else can I do? I know no other life.” His eyes were bright as he looked questioningly at McLir. McLir hesitated a little before he answered.

  “Find yourself a place in some town, where people can come to you. Towns welcome metalworkers. Life on the road will cripple you eventually, as you must already realise.”

  The young man smiled. “I do and your advice is good. I tried to live in a town once, but too many people breathed the same air. Too much noise and too many smells for me. I’m happier on my own. I enjoy meeting strangers and going to new places, but I will have to give up the road someday. So perhaps I should, indeed, look around for a to
wn where I can put down my tools and settle.”

  “You’d be wise to do so sooner rather than later, before you’re completely crippled.” McLir pulled out one of the salves, made of broom and woody nightshade, from his sack. He handed it to him. “Use this before you sleep and again in the morning to ease your cramps for a time. Renny, bring me the small bottle you put in your bag.”

  I rose and found the bottle for him.

  “This syrup contains the juice of the poppy. Drink it sparingly, when you can no longer bear the pain. Don’t try to make such a mixture yourself and beware of other mixtures containing poppy. Taken in excess, it harms rather than heals.”

  “I’ll do as you say. Thank you. Please take this in return; I’ve nothing else to give you.” He handed McLir a small coin. Coin of any kind is rare and I was surprised McLir took it from him with a simple word of thanks.

  Stoill came back, bringing the tiller pin from his boat. He also carried an old scythe and a piece of a horse’s harness.

  “Can you mend these?”

  Edan took them and nodded. “I can and I’m pleased to do something to repay you. Heating the metal hot enough to work, though, will take a little time. That’s a job for tomorrow because the daylight’s almost gone.”

  “Stay here with me then. I’d be glad of your company on such a night.”

  McLir caught my eye and rose. “We will leave you. We must catch the tide.”

  “You’d be welcome to stay as well, the rain will cease by morning,” Stoill offered.

  “I fear we must get wet. The rain’s set in for the night, but we’ve things to do. I thank you for the offer.”

  “Will you come back again as usual?”

  “Yes. Next week,” McLir promised. “Come Renny.”

  He gestured for me to go before him out of the house and into the rain. I wasn’t sure whether to be glad or sorry we were leaving them. On the one hand, I needed to talk to McLir about what the scarred man’s arrival meant to us. On the other hand, I wanted to listen to Edan’s news and find out more of him.

  We set well out to sea, rounded the headland and came into quieter waters. Then McLir spoke to me again.

  “That young man’s scar is the mark of a dagger, or I’m no judge of these things. He never got such a hurt in a boyhood skirmish. Boys fight and play with wooden weapons. He’s been a fighter once, for all he plies a trade now.”

  “You seemed careful in what you said to him.”

  “It was prudent. He’s a stranger and perhaps he is, indeed, the man in our dreams. I think he is, so we can expect the other events we’ve foreseen to follow.”

  “What aren’t you telling me?” I asked. McLir had an unusual tension in his voice, which made me uneasy.

  “That young man is not all he seems or pretends to be.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “He speaks Celtic, and his accent is the accent of the people who live near Baile Atha Claith. That’s right enough. No lie there. I think he did grow up in that place or nearby. Have you ever been told anything about that town and the land around?”

  “No. Not much.” Jole had been the only one to travel there. He had told us a little, but I did not remember all he had said.

  “The land’s divided. Celts live there, but it’s also become the home of men from the north. They are fine workers in metal.”

  “What are you suggesting?”

  “Did you notice his belt?”

  I nodded.

  “His buckle is a Norse design, not a Celtic one. It’s old and battered, as if he has worn it for a long time. He probably doesn’t even remember he wears it, but the pattern is still clear enough. So he’s had some dealings, at least, with the Norsemen. Occasionally, he uses a word from their tongue, for the things that are most important to those people. ‘Ship’ is one example and ‘pool’ is another.”

  “You said something I didn’t understand, once. He answered you, as if he understood you well.”

  McLir nodded. “I quoted a few words from one of their stories. He completed my quotation which I had deliberately left unfinished.”

  “Do you speak Norse then?”

  “A little. I passed among the northern men and had a need to use their speech at times. I understand more than I can say.”

  “So you think Edan is a Norseman?”

  “Not entirely. He has Celtic blood in his veins, if I am any judge. He looks like our people but he’s not wholly Celt, I think. He may owe loyalties we know nothing of.”

  “He may be a captive who escaped.”

  “Possibly, but he spoke the northern words perfectly. Most captives learn the speech out of necessity and speak with a strong accent. This man did not. I think he’s spoken Norse from his birth.”

  “What are you suggesting?”

  “Edan grew up among two peoples, fluent in both languages. He sometimes forgets in which one he is speaking. He uses the easiest word or the one which better expresses what he wants to say.”

  “And so?”

  “If he grew up among both races, to which, do you think, would he owe loyalty?”

  “How could I possibly know that?”

  “How could anyone? Edan is dark. He looks and he behaves like one of us, most of the time. He may be entirely of Celtic blood. However, there is the possibility, to put it no more strongly; he is not. Children of mixed race can favour either parent. If I had to guess, I would say his mother is a Celt. She might be a captive or a hostage, taken by one of the raiding parties. This man might have been with her at that time, when he was a child. Possibly, he might be the son of one of her captors. The tale is common enough.”

  “Then why is he here and not in his own country?”

  “Exactly! It’s a frequent practice for the Norsemen to send a scout into the lands they intend to raid. You may have heard of this. Who better to go than a skilled man and one who looks like one race yet is loyal to the other?

  “Oh my God.” Instinctively I raised my hand to my mouth in dismay. “My vision of the battle in which my father died! The men he fought against were tall and fair, like they say the northern people are.”

  “Perhaps I’m wrong. I hope so. Maybe he was simply apprenticed to a Norse smith to learn his trade, making him unusually fluent in his speech. He has a quick mind and it may have happened so. I might be too suspicious.”

  I looked at him sharply. “But you don’t think so?”

  “I don’t, and he may yet bring harm on all of us.”

  I felt slightly sick, and it was not the motion of the sea. I had enjoyed talking with Edan, for he did not know anything about me. His opinion of me was not coloured by my story, or by pity for any abuse I had suffered. He seemed near my own age too and he had made me laugh. More importantly, he was also a welcome distraction. The atmosphere between McLir and me had been strained, ever since the morning by the river.

  We only acted naturally when we were with others. I still felt humiliated and jealous of Fand. I could not help asking myself what she had about her to make McLir love her so and why did I lack it? She still held him to her. I realised I had been a fool to do what I had done. I vowed never to do the like again. Rejection hurt too much. Sadly, I knew our relationship would never be the same.

  Edan had distracted my troubled thoughts successfully - at least, for a little while. Danger, though, might be upon us soon if McLir was right about him. I wondered what the next few weeks would bring. I hoped I had enough courage to face whatever came, for I am not very brave. My heart quailed within me at the thought and I wished Edan had not come.

  18

  Edan’s face haunted my dreams in the night. I tossed and turned for hours, half waking and being pulled back relentlessly into my nightmares. I seemed to have only slept a few moments when McLir woke me and bade me make speed. He needed me.

  “What’s happened?” I felt groggy and my eyes were raw with tiredness.

  “I have been thinking during the night. The more that I think, the more
I’m certain Edan is a danger to us all. The king must be told about him, so he can be questioned.”

  “But he bears a token,” I objected. “He showed it to us yesterday.”

  “A token can be forged easily enough, once the design is known. Only the king can say if he gave his token to this man.”

  “Do you want me to go to the king and ask him?” I felt aghast at the very thought. I had only ever seen the king from a distance. He is a haughty man who does not often come among us.

  “No, he might not receive a young girl like you or listen to what you say. I shall go to him and tell him about Edan. He is the one who must decide what is to be done, but at least he’s been told. I have another task for you.”

  “What is it?”

  “If the Norsemen come, the people of your village might be at risk. They must be warned to be on guard. If Edan comes among them, they shouldn’t say too much to him. If possible, let him see the land is well defended.”

  “But I can’t go back to the village. If I met my father or Keir...”

  “I don’t want you to go to the village. Watch the path leading out of it. When someone comes along whom you can trust, send my message to your father. Tell them to say nothing of your presence.”

  I nodded, thinking about the plan. Then I said, “That might work. Several people would carry a message for me, but they may not leave the village today.”

  “It’ll take some hours for me to reach the king and return, even though the wind is favourable at this moment. I’ll drop you on the strand. Make your way home and pick the path that is used most often. Hide and wait for one of the right people to come along. Shea can go with you for protection. No one will try to hurt you with him by your side. I’ll meet you near the red rock at sunset or as soon as I can get there. Wait for me until I come.”

  He put me ashore where the great river empties into the bay. I splashed through the foam with Shea leaping beside me. I raised my hand as I reached dry land, and he wished me luck and a safe journey.

  “To you too,” I shouted, but the boat had already changed tack and perhaps he did not hear.