For all that I knew that my dream might be a prophecy, or a glimpse of things that had happened beyond my sight, I still put it aside the next morning, and did not mention it to Brother Finán at first. I asked him if I might look at his mirror, and he smiled and fetched it for me. It was a contrivance of marvellous design, with glass set into metal in some cunning fashion, and the reflection was clearer by far than in any of the bronze mirrors that I had seen.
“It was made by the Romans, long ago, and is of great value,” he told me. “It is a tool of our work, and should not be used just for a woman’s vanity; yet you are a young girl, and it is spring, and I shall allow it.”
I stared into the glass. My skin was clear, my eyes were dark, and my lashes were long. My lips were full, my nose was without flaw, and my face was indeed as pretty as that of any of the other girls that I knew, or more so. I was lovelier than Ealish, or Bahey Bane, or Sorcha of Laxey who had twelve suitors. “I am well content,” I declared, and returned the mirror to Brother Finán.
Now that my curiosity was satisfied I moved to more serious matters, and I told him about my dream. Dead men had climbed from graves, and seized a young man and a woman, and plunged sharp teeth into their necks and drank the blood from the wounds. Then they had carried off a young woman of perhaps my own age, and bore her away to a burial mound, and King Brodir had climbed forth from the mound and feasted likewise upon the throat of the maiden, and then all the dead had run away together into the hills.
Brother Finán’s face became grave as he listened. “It seems the foretold danger is indeed at hand,” he said, frowning. “The shipload of the dead that the man called Halfdan brought across must have been infected with the blood of the dearg-dul. They will rise from their graves and prey upon the living, and will seek to turn the living into dearg-dul to create more of their kind.” He rested his chin upon his hand and sat for a moment deep in thought. “I wonder, is your dream a prophecy, or a vision of things that have taken place? We must go forth and listen for news, and we should seek out this Halfdan.”
“And visit the burial mound of King Brodir,” I suggested, and he nodded agreement. “It is well that you bought us horses.”
We went to Purt-ny-Hinshey first. Halfdan’s ship was gone from the harbour; it had sailed to Hramsá, we were told, or perhaps to Dubhghlais, or to Olig. We knew that it was not in Dubhghlais, from whence we had come, and it became clear to us that in truth no man knew its true destination. Nor was it clear where Halfdan resided, for each man who thought he knew told a different tale to the next.
There were but few who would even bother to answer our questions, for the people of the town were all agog with a more serious concern. There had been a murder, of a young maiden, and a boatman was missing. The word was that he had slain the maid and fled, and yet some were inclined to disbelieve this, for the girl had died by a wound in her throat like unto the bite of an animal.
“We are too late,” Brother Finán said to me. “Your dream was of things as they came to pass, not of the future, and the dearg-dul rose last night.”
“Including our late king,” I agreed. “His mound is on St Patrick’s Isle, and the boatman must have been forced to carry the other creatures and their captive across to meet him, and then to bear them away.”
“And they will have fed from the boatman, and perhaps turned him into a creature like themselves,” Brother Finán said gloomily. “The danger is upon us indeed. I had hoped we would have had a little more time, for it is tonight that is the night of ill omen, and I thought that is when the dearg-dul would have arisen.”
“I had forgotten,” I replied. “Yes, tonight is Oie Voaldyn. Easter was late this year, and it had not struck me how soon it would be upon us. My grandmother will be making crosses from twigs of the cuirn and tying them above the door tonight.”
“The customs of your people are similar to those of mine,” Brother Finán said, nodding his head. “Yes, tonight is a night when evil will be abroad. Yet this is perhaps a good thing for us, for the crosses of rowan twigs will serve well as protection. The dearg-dul cannot enter a dwelling without an invitation, and even if they trick their way into a house the crosses may hold them at bay. I would guess few of your people would willingly leave their homes tonight, and the creatures may find themselves without prey.”
“I pray you are right.” I smiled briefly, but then a fresh thought struck me and I frowned once more. “Not all of the Norse among us have chosen to follow Christ. There are still those who follow their own gods, and they do not put crosses above their doors, nor do they see tonight as a night of evil. There may be victims for the dearg-dul after all.”
“It is our task to save them,” Brother Finán announced, and then groaned. “But how? We do not know where the dearg-dul are, and it would be fruitless to ride hither and thither across the island hoping to stumble upon them by good fortune. Was there naught in your dream to give a clue?”
I recounted the dream to him once more, with every detail I could remember, until he stopped me. “Wait,” he ordered. “You say King Brodir was wearing his coat of mail?”
“He was,” I confirmed.
“Strange, for such a thing would have great value, and it could be rightly claimed as recompense for the slaying of the High King,” he mused. “You are certain?”
“I am,” I said firmly. “You are right; it would have been taken as weregild for King Brian Boru’s death. Yet see it I did.”
His brow furrowed. “Perhaps Wolf thought it to be ill omened, for indeed it brought your king no good fortune. Were it not for the armour Brodir would have died a clean death as a hero rather than being taken alive and put to death as a murderer. Wolf may have sent it back to be buried with the fallen king. Yet why would Halfdan, who we now suspect to be a villain, not have taken it for himself? The armour is ancient, from before the coming of the Norse to Mann; yet still bright, not corrupted by rust. I sense magic.”
“It is said that it was made by Manannan Mac Lir himself,” I informed him.
“If so then it will bear the traces of strong magic. There may be a way that I can detect those traces at a distance and follow the trail until we find the wearer. I must consult my books.”
I was of but little assistance in searching his texts; in fact I was a hindrance, for I had to say each letter aloud as I read, and I distracted Brother Finán so much that he sent me home with instructions to concoct a story that would explain an overnight absence. I remembered that Halfdan had departed from Purt-ny-Hinshey in the direction of Cronk Keeill Eoin, and I thought it likely that our expedition that night would take us to that vicinity, and so I told my family that Brother Finán and I would be staying with the priest there for the night.
My tale was met with suspicion, for I had been seen in the company of Egil the Icelander, and word had got back to my parents. They feared that my night would be spent with him, rather than with holy men, and my denials fell on deaf ears at first. I had to return to the keeil and fetch my Watcher before they would believe me, and I was angered by their distrust, for I had always behaved properly. Never had I given them cause to doubt my virtue, nor had I lied to them; save only when I had told them that we were staying with the priest at Keeill St Connaghyn when I had in truth been fighting the Buggane, and that had been on the instructions of Brother Finán.
I was angry when I set out to fetch Brother Finán, and that anger grew hotter when I encountered Egil on the way. “I told you I would not speak to you again,” I said to him. “Why, then, do you continue to pursue me?”
“This is a chance meeting, Bahey Dhone,” he replied. “I did not know that you would pass this way. I am gathering wood in return for a meal, for I have no great store of coin, and I must make my way by menial tasks until I can win a position in a household. Yet I count this a good day, for I am glad to see you even if your words are harsh.”
“They will remain harsh while hope yet remains for Fynlo to return,” I reminded him.
“What if he returns safe, but has married Queen Gormlaith?” Egil asked, his mouth turning up in a smile.
My anger melted away and I laughed. “It is unlikely, for he was one of the few men at the battle who had not been promised her hand,” I replied, with a smile of my own. “You have a ready tongue, Egil of Iceland, and you are not unpleasing to the eye. Had I met you before I promised myself to Fynlo who knows what might have been?” It struck me that he would not know that Oie Voaldyn was a night of ill omen, and he might wander out of doors, where he might be set upon by the dearg-dul. “This night I shall spend at the church at Cronk Keeill Eoin, and so you shall not happen upon me again. Stay indoors tonight, Egil, for the night before May Day is an evil night, and the faerie folk and other evil creatures are at large.”
“I fear no troll or like creature,” he said with the confidence of a warrior. “Yet I shall indeed stay indoors, for I do not know my way around in the dark. What place is Cronk Keeill Eoin?”
“The site of our Thing,” I explained. “There will be a great meeting there at midsummer, but otherwise it is a quiet spot; unless the Thing is called early to debate the matter of who shall be king in Brodir’s place. There is little there except the church, and the mound on which the Thing meets, but it is my teacher’s will that we stay there tonight. Now get you gone, for my family have been told of your pursuit of me, and they are not well pleased.”
“I shall go; but I will see you again, Bahey Dhone,” he declared, and departed.
Brother Finán was deep in thought when I returned, his attention firmly fixed upon a book, and he gestured me to silence when I began to speak. I went out into the enclosure that surrounded the keeil and practiced with my sword while I waited for him to finish. At length he came out and explained to me why he had been so engrossed.
“There is a curious prophecy within one of my texts,” he revealed. “Perhaps you can shed light upon it, for you know more of this island than do I.” He beckoned me into the keeil, and began to read aloud.
“When the King of the Dead walks amongst the living
And grief lies heavy upon the families of Mann
Then shall the Dead King take his mail coat
The armour of Manannan
Marred not by time nor blow of axe
And lay it over all the soil of Mann.
Blood shall flow
Sacrifice be made
Words of power spoken
There at the heart.
Manannan shall respond
The Cloak of Mist he shall send out
To lie over all things
Cloud and fog hiding all
Shutting out the light of the sun
Friend turned foe.
Then shall the dead walk freely in the light
The living their cattle
All shall be in their dominion
Save only for the Chosen.”
A chill crept over me as he read. “The King of the Dead must mean Brodir,” I said. “As to the rest – you have told me that the dearg-dul can go forth only by night, for the light of the sun is deadly to them, but what if there is cloud and fog?”
Brother Finán shook his head. “I fear that it would give protection enough. The creatures would not normally sally forth by day, even in foul weather, for if a wind sprang up and dispersed the clouds they would perish. If magic held the mists in place, however, they need have no such fears, and could walk by day as freely as do we.”
“An end to sunshine,” I said gloomily. “Bleak and sad would the island be in such case, with naught but fog and rain, and monsters seeking to drain the blood of the unwary. We must stop them.”
“We must indeed,” Brother Finán agreed, “but how? If there is a clue in this prophecy as to where we must go, it eludes me. Is there some place especially linked to Manannan Mac Lir?”
“The mountain of South Barrule,” I told him, but something else was at the edge of my mind.
“Then that is where we must go,” my Watcher declared.
“Wait!” I spoke up. “Repeat the prophecy to me, for I think I have the answer.” He did as I asked, but I stopped him after a few lines. “And lay it over all the soil of Mann,” I repeated. “There is but one place where one could lay down a coat of mail and have it cover all the soil of Mann and that is at Cronk Keeill Eoin. The mound where the Thing is held was made with soil from each sheading of the island. Tynwald Hill.”
“I think you have the right of it,” Brother Finán said approvingly. “The meeting place of your parliament could be said to be the heart of your island, as Tara of the Kings is to Ireland, and a ritual at such a site would have great power. That, then, is where we shall go, and tonight. Evil is at its strongest on May Day Eve.”
“And,” I said with a grin on my face, “this means that I will have told no lie to my parents after all.”