With a final pat on Sean’s flank, she handed Fingin the donkey’s lead. When Fingin turned to thank her, she had disappeared.
He turned in a full circle, but not only had she gone, so had the roundhouse.
Fingin hadn’t imagined the place. He’d spent the good part of the day repairing the thatched roof. His fingers still bore tiny cuts from the straw. He rubbed his thumb over one cut and shook his head. He supposed if one dealt with goddesses, one must get used to magic.
Into the empty glade, surrounded by the fog still clinging to the underbrush in the trees, he shouted, “Thank you!”
The wind echoed the words, and he heard a faint response. “Blessings on your quest, young man.”
The blessings of a goddess surely meant more than blessings from a mortal. Bolstered by this faith, he clucked his tongue at Sean, the donkey, and Bran, the dog. Somehow, after winters of aching loneliness, he’d gained two companions. Better yet, companions who didn’t judge him or his ability to speak.
Friends who make one forget self-loathing are treasures beyond that of gold or silver.
* * *
Fingin’s optimistic faith flagged as he climbed his third steep hill. The first had been a challenge but a choice, as villages lay in the valleys to either side. The second had been a necessity, as rivers cut around the edge of the slope.
This third one ended in a short cliff on one side, and impassable bracken on the other. He glanced at Sean. “Are you feeling tired yet, Sean? Ready for a rest? Or shall we tackle this hill?”
Sean glanced up the mound and glanced over his shoulder at the path behind him. “We can’t go back to the woman’s home? She fed me.”
Brigit had supplied a measure of hay for Sean, but Fingin hadn’t thought he might not have eaten yet that day. “Are you hungry? How about you, Bran?”
He chuckled as the dog’s head perked up. “Fish?”
“No fish, but I’ve some bread and cheese. Stand still for a moment, Sean, and I’ll get some hay for you. Or do you prefer fresh grass?”
In response, Sean yanked a chunk of greenery from the ground near him and munched on the treat in contentment. A few purple clovers dotted the vegetation. Sean seemed pleased with his meal.
Instead of pulling out hay, Fingin extracted bread, cheese, and a waterskin. He quaffed deep of the cool, clear water from Brigit’s well. He poured some for both Bran and Sean and shared his meal with the dog.
His flagging strength returned as he peered up the path. He would conquer this hill. Only another obstacle to surmount.
Fingin and his small band of friends climbed the third hill with renewed vigor, broaching the crown. As he did, the sun burst out from behind the clouds and illuminated the valley before him.
What a sight to see! Fingin had traveled all around the midlands in his short life, but in truth, he hadn’t moved more than five leagues from his birthplace. Now, gazing across the landscape before him, the land extended so much further than he’d ever imagined.
He’d been taught that an ocean surrounded their island, and lands existed beyond that ocean, like the legendary city of Rome. What would a city be like? Thousands of people lived in cities. Did they live on top of each other? Did they have enough space to turn around? How did they all eat? It took a large tract of land to feed just one family.
A patchwork quilt of such tracts, green and black, lay before him. Low, rolling hills of emerald velvet dotted with dark forests and glittering lakes drew his gaze. A cloud to his left roiled with dark moisture, threatening to douse the bright sunshine, but a brisk breeze blew the shadow away to the south. Beams of sunshine played out along the ground, dancing between the white patches in the sky, shading in a merry frolic.
The wind now found him, and he shivered. This hilltop allowed for anyone to see, a place of power but also of exposure. He hugged Bran tight for a moment and closed his eyes, wishing he sat at home in front of a warm, flickering fire, rather than being on this mad goddess-driven quest.
How could he possibly complete this task? To find someone after fifteen winters, someone who had deliberately lost herself in the world, retrieve the brooch, and then find someone to make a family with. A lifetime’s work, and he must complete the quest quickly.
In the far distance, where the horizon kissed the sky, the ocean reflected the sun. As the day waned, the sun would set the sky and water afire.
Brigit had said the monk he sought lived on a western island, a rock jutting out of the ocean, far from shore. First, though, he must reach that shore. As much as he squinted into the soft mist, no islands appeared. Still, he only had to head west, she’d said. West toward the setting sun.
The trip down the hill seemed easier. When he reached the valley, though, he needed to rest. Though the sun still burned in the sky, he stopped for food and water for his small group.
The clouds returned with a vengeance, as if angry that the wind had blown them away. They darkened the sky with ominous speed, forcing Fingin to search for shelter from the sudden hail. Bran found the small cave on the hillside, a series of several along the ridgeline. They huddled within the nearest one as the pellets pounded the earth and
