“I only see the nest. Can’t you see it? It’s right there!”
“Your eyes are better than mine, Bran. Perhaps he’ll come back when the sun sets.” He squinted again, this time searching to the west. The sun hung close to the horizon. Dusk would be soon. “We’ll sit under the cliff. Come on!”
They pushed through the bracken and bushes, the oak trees and pines until they reached a glade at the foot of the cliff. Small fishbones and other debris littered the ground beneath the nest. Fingin glanced up until his neck hurt, trying to stare the eagle back.
As the sun dipped closer to its evening rest, they ate and rested from the day’s journey. Sean chewed on the sweet grasses while Bran and Fingin ate the last of the morning’s fishing venture. Glad he’d taken the time to fish and cook, he chewed on the last morsel, wishing he had some of the garlic-studded bread Aideen had given them. That part of his life seemed so long ago, another world away.
A screech above him drew their attention. They watched as the massive sea eagle banked and circled over the cliff before diving. However, the bird didn’t land in the nest. Instead, it wheeled in lazy circles, dropping to a tree on the edge of the glade.
He stood and bowed his head to the huge raptor. “Greetings, noble sea eagle. We apologize for intruding upon your home.”
The eagle cocked his head and regarded him with glittering eyes. “How do you speak my words?”
“I have magic that allows me to speak with the animals. I’m honored you allow me to converse with you. The stag suggested you might help me.”
He fluttered his wings and squawked. “What would that silly creature understand about me? I help no one.”
The eagle opened his wings to his full wingspan, and Fingin wanted to run. The creature could snap his arm in two easily, should he decide to. Bran stayed quiet but quivered beside him. Sean ignored the bird and kept eating.
“I am seeking word of my grandmother. She lived in the house on the shore. The stag thought you might remember her.”
“Yes, I remember her. She sometimes shared food with me. What do you wish of her?”
“I would like to find her. Do you remember where she went? Or how long ago?”
The eagle screeched again, flapping its wings. “I do not. She disappeared one day, many, many seasons past. I have since had several eggs, and the chicks grown and gone.”
Fingin hung his head, once again stymied in his quest.
The eagle spoke again. “However, the salmon might know where she’s gone. He spoke with her.”
Startled, he glanced up. “Spoke to her? She didn’t have the magic I do. How could she speak with the salmon?”
Another screech rang in his ears. “He is the Salmon of Wisdom. He decides who can hear him.”
Without waiting for an answer, the eagle took flight, flapping so strong the dust flew around them. Fingin coughed and rubbed the dirt from his eyes. The eagle had gone.
With a deep sigh, Fingin sank back to the ground. Where would he find the salmon? The only thing he could think to do was stick his head in the ocean and call for him. He’d drown before a fish heard him in the water.
No matter. For now, he would sleep. Perhaps a better solution would come to him in the morning.
* * *
The morning, however, offered no fresh ideas. After he’d honored the dawn—ever since encountering Brigit, goddess of the dawn, he made certain to keep his ceremony sacred—he paced along the beach in front of the abandoned stone hut, trying to discern a way to find the salmon.
Bran barked each time he walked in front of the dog. “Why do you walk like that? You aren’t going anywhere.”
“I’m trying to think. I have to find a salmon.”
“Are you going fishing? I’m hungry.”
He glanced out to the ocean, the waves choppy in the gray morning light. “I should. But I need to speak to a particular salmon. A smart salmon who made friends with my grandmother. Possibly the same one that got me started in this whole mess.”
“A smart fish? Like the Fae fish?”
“Maybe. Oh! Maybe the Fae fish can find him for me! Bran, thank you!” He hugged the hound so tight the dog let out a yip. “Thank you! What a brilliant idea.”
After a quick morning cast for fish, he waited impatiently for his fire to cook their meal. In the meantime, he called out a few times for the Fae fish. “Nuanni! Nuanni, are you out there? Tanni? Anyone? Come to shore, I have questions to ask!”
They ate their morning meal and rested on the beach in the overcast morning. The time passed with no answer, but he kept asking now and then. He even stuck his head under the water a few times, spluttering as sand and seawater got up his nose.
One school of smaller fish came to his call but flitted away as a larger fish chased them. He tried to talk to the larger fish, but it swam away almost as fast.
He sat back on the beach hard enough to jar his spine. His head ached from the impact, and he stared out to the islands peeking through the ocean mist. They danced among the wind, winking in and out of view as the breeze played with their white shrouds. He grew mesmerized by them, almost as if they moved in the waves, disappearing and reappearing like Hy Brasil every seventh winter.
His grandmother might have been gone too long for the salmon to remain nearby. Fingin probably wasted his time searching for this intelligent salmon. Perhaps his quest
