“Oh, of course, of course. Sit, be well. I shall fetch a drink.”
Maol Odhrán ducked into his hut and returned with a waterskin, but no mugs. He swigged from the skin and passed it to Fingin. This time, he expected the sweet mead and drank deep. The buzzing in his head soon reduced his confusion to mere happiness.
“Now, Cliodhna. I haven’t seen her in, oh, so many winters. At least fifteen. She’d been a tricky one, no doubt, but she disappeared into the hills. No angry mob would catch her. Even if they laid hands upon her, she’d simply call up the storm winds, and they’d scatter. A little thunder and lightning can do wonders to scare the masses, eh?”
“D-d-did you know her well?”
The older monk chuckled. “Well enough, well enough, my lad. We had many long, lovely conversations in the abbey gardens. I tried to convince her to become a nun. I tempted her with sacred texts and magical secrets, but she’d have nothing of the idea. The Abbot at the time didn’t like her in the slightest. Accused her as a witch and threatened to take her children away. Well, that certainly didn’t work! She called down her pet thunderstorm. I only saw her a few times after that at the village. I heard she’d lived near here, in a hut on the shore, but that was before I arrived. The monks had all sorts of outrageous tales about her riding dolphins, like some ancient sea goddess.”
So much of his story confused Fingin, he didn’t know where to start. He grasped the one unfamiliar word. “D-d-dolphins?”
“Dolphins. They seem like fish, but breathe air. You can see them off the coast from time to time. Helpful beasts. Sometimes they save a shipwrecked fisherman. Quite personable.”
The Fae fish. Those must be the dolphins. He felt foolish for assuming them to be magical.
“Where d-did she go?”
“Oh dear, I’m afraid I’m not sure. She lived nearby, somewhere along the coast, but I had just made my vows here, so I daren’t leave to visit her.”
Fingin bowed his head. His only lead offered little value. He’d have to search the entire coastline.
Then an idea occurred to him. Perhaps the Fae fish—the dolphins—remembered her.
Eager to test his theory, Fingin nodded to Maol Odhrán. “I th-thank you for your help.”
The older man raised an eyebrow. “And what will you do now, young man? I noticed you never answered my question. Are you a weather-witch as well?”
Fingin shook his head. His grandmother had warned of telling others of his power, and he’d had enough lessons in such things through the seasons. Truthfully, he possessed no command over the weather.
A small bird chose that moment to swoop in and land on Maol Odhrán’s shoulder. Fingin had glimpsed the birds, but only in the fog. This had been the first time he had the chance to study them. Its black and white feathers contrasted with a bright orange beak. It cocked its head back and forth, studying him.
“What sort of b-b-bird is that? I’ve never seen one before.”
“This? This, my dear boy, is a puffin. Delightful creatures. Quite playful. Excellent at finding tiny fish. See? He has a few in his beak.”
Fingin hadn’t noticed the thin minnows, but as Maol Odhrán spoke, the puffin gulped them down. In his head, the puffin said, “Sometimes they take my fish, but I can always catch more. Bye!”
Away the little bird flew, flapping his wings madly. It disappeared into the mist.
* * *
Fingin rested after the climb down the almost endless column of steps. He stared at the empty landing area. The coracle had gone.
Onchú scratched his head. “Uh, one of the other monks must have gone to the mainland. You might have to wait until tomorrow to get back.”
They both glanced back at the steps. Fingin shook his head. “I won’t survive another… t-t-trip up those. If I c-c-can’t find my way b-back today, I’ll sleep down here. I should be safe, right?”
The monk frowned, glancing up. The cloud still clad the top of the mountain, but now other clouds crowded in the sky. Darker clouds, full of rain and fury, swept across the sun, and the temperature cooled, despite his sweat.
“I shouldn’t leave you here, but I have duties I must tend to. Are you certain?”
“Go home, Onchú. Th-th-thank you for all your help.”
With a brief embrace, the young monk walked up the steps to his mountaintop home. Fingin waited until he disappeared from sight, swallowed by the white mists.
He cupped his hands around his mouth and shouted across the water. “I need help to get back to shore.”
At first, nothing answered. Then a tiny puffin flittered near him. “You want my help with something?”
He grinned. “Not you, but some of the Fae fish… I mean dolphins. The big fish who breathe air like us. Do you know them?”
The bird dipped a few times, his version of a nod. “I do! There are several on the other side of the island.”
“Can you lead them here?”
The bird hesitated. “They don’t talk like you do.”
“See if you can make them realize I need their help. I would be grateful.”
For an answer, the bird flew away. Fingin hadn’t realized how fast the little bird flew, but he barely made out the speck of white against the far rocks before it disappeared around them.
Not very much later, the familiar chittering of the Fae fish filled the air. Tiny birds swooped several times and then flew up toward the monks’ enclave.
A Fae fish complained, “Those birds pecked our heads! We chased them here. Now they’re gone!”
“I asked them to get your attention, but I’m sorry if they hurt you. Will you
