for twenty years. We crouched by the fire trying desperately to get some circulation back into our extremities.
‘Thank you for rebuilding our fire,’ I said through clattering teeth.
‘I knew that you would need it if any of you survived drowning,’ he said. ‘I wasn’t expecting all of you to make it though – I guess I’ll have to give your stuff back.’ He walked over to the other side of the fire and came back with the blankets and extra clothes that we had buried in the dunes. All of us were too grateful at seeing a dry set of clothes to yell at him. We stripped, dried off and changed clothes while our thief/saviour brewed up some tea.
‘What is your name?’ Brendan asked.
‘Call me Red,’ Red said, shaking his hair madly with both hands. ‘That is what my friends called me… back when I had friends. Or maybe you should call me The Red Eel,’ he said, doing a snakelike dance.
That perked my interest. ‘You’re Red Eel?’
‘That is the name you gave this island, is it not? I never have heard it called that but since I am the only person that lives out there – I must be Red Eel.’
I should have known better than to get excited by anything that madman said.
‘Have you ever seen a red eel?’ Araf asked as Red handed him a cup of tea.
‘There are eels in the lake but I don’t like ’em. Slimy things they are. I cannot say if I ever saw a red one. Why?’
‘That’s a long story,’ I said.
‘Well then, why don’t you tell me on the way over to the island in my boat?’
‘Thanks,’ I said, ‘but no thanks.’
‘Hold on a minute, O’Neil,’ Brendan said, holding up his hand to me like a traffic cop. ‘You have a boat?’
‘It would be pretty strange of me to offer you a ride in my boat if I didn’t have one. Do you not think?’
‘Everything you do is strange,’ I said. ‘And one thing’s for certain, I’m not getting into a boat with you.’
Chapter Thirty-One
I sat in the back of Red’s boat with my arms crossed and refused to speak to anyone all the way to the island. I had fostered a fantasy that I was the leader of this group but when everyone ignored me by waltzing into the strange man’s boat, I realised that my leadership qualities only applied to my horse and then probably not even to him. Left with the option of sitting by myself on a cold damp beach or getting a free ride in a sturdy seaworthy vessel, to a destination I had been labouring for weeks to get to, I decided to go but I wasn’t going to do it without getting into a really good pout.
The boat was big enough for us and maybe a couple more. There were two large oars set in iron oarlocks. Red ordered Araf and Tuan to man an oar each and the two of them stepped lively to their stations faster than they ever did anything for me. Obviously Red was now the captain. Well, they’ll be sorry, I thought, when he makes them row off the end of the world. The boat cut through the surf like we were sailing on a millpond. When we got out into deeper waters Red ordered the rowers to stop and climbed up to the edge of the bow. From the floor of the boat he picked up two metal rings that were attached to thick ropes. He clanged the rings together, they vibrated in his hands producing an eerie ringing sound, and then he threw them into the water.
‘Ooh that tickles,’ he said, flexing his fingers and then rubbing his hands together. Then he sat and smiled at us.
None of us spoke. When you are in the middle of the ocean with a leering madman at the helm, silence is definitely the best policy. You literally do not want to rock the boat. Saying that, I was in a bad mood and I’m not very good with uncomfortable silences. I was just about to demand to know what was going on when the ropes in the water went taut, the boat lurched and we started speeding towards the island like we were being pulled by a nuclear submarine.
‘How is this happening?’ I shouted to Red, but he was oblivious, facing out to sea with his arms spread like he was flying or re-enacting a scene from a movie about a doomed cruise liner.
Tughe Tine Isle loomed before us. It looked like your typical volcanic deserted island. There was a lot of vegetation but no trees. I assumed that the lake Red spoke about was up on the island’s plateau.
The ocean air felt warmer the further we got from the shore. About a half an hour out Red turned around and said, ‘Can you feel it?’
‘Feel what?’ Turlow said.
‘Can you feel yourself getting older?’
Turlow was on his feet. Araf grabbed onto the side as the boat shook. ‘Stop the boat,’ Turlow said.
‘Why would I do that? We are almost there.’
Turlow flicked his wrist and his Banshee blade flew into his hand with frightening speed. ‘Stop the boat now,’ he demanded.
‘Turlow,’ Brendan said, ‘what has gotten into you?’
‘He is trying to kill us. He is going to turn us into Grey Ones. He is going to take us out to sea and we will all grow old and die.’ Turlow took a step towards Red. ‘Turn us around.’
‘Banshees think that pointy things up their sleeves are the answer to everything,’ Red said in his light-hearted manner. Then he turned stone-cold serious. ‘Take one more step towards me with that sharp edge, Banshee, and you will go back – swimming.’
Turlow and Red stared at each other for a minute, then Turlow flicked his blade back up his sleeve and sat down.
‘Good,’ Red said, regaining his jovial tone. ‘My island will not kill you, Banshee, nor will it turn you grey. Have any of you been to the Real World?’
Brendan and I sheepishly raised our hands.
‘You will have to go further than my island to wither and die. The island will age you as fast as you aged in the Real World. Stay for eighty seasons and you will notice the difference.’ Red looked out to sea and then quickly turned back to us with concerned eyes. ‘You’re not going to stay for eighty seasons, are you?’
A wooden dock loomed up ahead as our magical underwater motor died. Red fished the rings out of the water and reordered Araf and Tuan back to rowing duty.
‘What was pulling us?’ I asked.
Araf gave me a sideways look like he does when I make a Tir na Nogian social faux pas. It’s apparently bad manners to ask how someone’s magic works. Red didn’t seem to mind but that didn’t mean he was going to give me a straight answer.
‘You were pulled by the past – into the future,’ he said.
We followed Red on a narrow path through head-high vegetation. The trail didn’t seem to be used much. Periodically it was so overgrown with gorse bushes that they caught and scratched at our clothing and faces.
‘Red,’ I called out from the back of the parade, ‘where is the eel lake?’
He ignored me or maybe he was just lost in his own little world – both were possible. I passed my question up the line to Brendan, who only succeeded in getting Red’s attention by tapping him on the shoulder. The message was relayed back to me like we were in a schoolyard playing a game of Chinese whispers.
Over his shoulder Araf said, ‘He says we cannot go there today.’
‘Why not?’ I asked – then shouted to Brendan, ‘Ask him why not.’
‘Why don’t you ask me yourself?’ Red shouted back.
I waited then hollered, ‘OK, why can’t we go there today?’
‘Because it is too late and you are almost at The Digs.’
‘The whats?’ I shouted and got no reply. Red had gone back into his hard-of-hearing mode.
The gorse thinned out and we came to a clearing. In the middle stood a wooden guest house not unlike the ones in the Pinelands.
‘Welcome to The Digs. You can stay here the night.’
As we got closer it became obvious that no one had stayed in this place for a long, long time. Vines grew across the porch and there was so much dirt on the windows that Brendan had to wipe the glass with his sleeve to
