Description: ~Sibeal~ I had been just one day on Inis Eala when a ship was wrecked on the reef north of the island. I was on the cliffs, heading out with a basket over my arm to gather seaweed, when I heard the men shouting down near the settlement. As I looked out over the sea the vessel struck the rocks. ''Manannn be merciful,'' I murmured, horror clenching my belly tight. The waves were monstrous around that reef. It was as if a malevolent hand stirred the water, reaching up to destroy any man so foolish as to come near. The day was windy--I had kept a cautious distance from the cliff''s edge, for it was a long way down--but here on the island there was no storm. A freakish turn of weather stirred the seas in one particular place out there. Did that ship bear someone who had angered the gods? I stood frozen as the vessel smashed and twisted and broke up. Men were tossed into the water like dolls. Then, as the shouting from the settlement turned into an orderly series of commands, followed by a disciplined pattern of activity--men running to the anchorage, a flotilla of small boats being launched and heading out to the rescue, women suddenly busy between infirmary and kitchen--I was able to move again, and headed back down the hill. Inis Eala was full of capable folk, but at a time like this another pair of hands could always be put to good use. I reached the infirmary to find it full of quiet activity: women putting sheets on pallets, sweeping the stone floor, clearing space. My eldest sister Muirrin stood at the work bench preparing poultices while a young helper checked the supply of bandages. A pot steamed on the fire; a fragrant smell of healing herbs filled the air. ''What can I do?'' I asked. ''Nothing here until they start bringing in the survivors,'' said Muirrin. Her black hair was scraped back under a neat head-cloth; a capacious homespun apron protected her gown. She was a picture of orderly calm. ''Where''s Evan?'' I asked, not seeing the tall, dark-skinned figure of her husband among the helpers. ''He went out in one of the boats. It helps to have a skilled healer there as soon as they pick the survivors up.'' It had looked a substantial ship, with many oars. Norse, I guessed. Such a vessel would require a big crew. Each of the island boats had capacity for only a few passengers. The work of bringing back the survivors might take some time. I headed for the kitchen, where my sister Clodagh was helping Biddy, cook and matriarch of the island establishment, to prepare food. A great cauldron bubbled on an iron trivet. Biddy was kneading a large lump of dough, her hands pummelling and punching with a violence that suggested her attention, like mine, was on those poor souls out there in the water. Clodagh had been chopping vegetables, but she had laid down her knife and was staring out between open shutters. The breeze caught strands of her fiery hair, tossing them around her face. One hand rested on the swell of her belly. Her child, and Cathal''s, would be born within two turnings of the moon. ''Can I help?'' I asked Biddy. ''You could talk to your sister,'' Biddy said, glancing in Clodagh''s direction. I walked over to the window. ''Clodagh? Are you all right?'' I followed her gaze. There was a view from here down the track to the anchorage. Across the water, the small boats were making a steady progress toward the reef. The stricken ship looked almost submerged. I thought I could make out dots in the water, men swimming or floating, but the wash of the waves around those rocks made it hard to be sure. My dreams had not shown me this. I had been weary from my long journey. Last night I had slept soundly. Now, I wished I had resisted sleep and made use of my scrying bowl. But then, if I had been granted a vision of the storm, the wreck, what could I have done to prevent it? A seer was not a god, only a hapless mortal with her eyes wider open than most. Too wide, sometimes. Even as I stood here beside my sister, there was a cacophony of voices in my mind, folk shouting, screaming, praying to the gods for salvation, crying out as lost children might. It happened sometimes, my seer''s gift spilling over into chaos as the thoughts and feelings of other folk rushed into my mind. It was one of the reasons my mentor, Ciarn, had sent me here to Inis Eala. ''Cathal''s down there on the jetty,'' Clodagh said. ''I know exactly what he''s thinking. A freak storm, a boat wrecked so close to our shore . . . He believes it''s his father stirring things up, trying to make him leave the island.'' I could see the black-clad figure of Cathal, his cloak whipped by the wind, his eyes trained on the flotilla moving out across the bay. He could not go with them; everyone understood that. There was a powerful ward over Inis Eala, something ancient and good that held the whole island in its protective embrace. Here Cathal was safe from the clutches of his father, a devious prince of the Otherworld. ''What could he have done that Johnny and the others can''t?'' I asked, ignoring the clamour of voices in my mind. ''He could have calmed the waters, Sibeal. Maybe. But he can''t even try. If he performed a feat like that beyond the confines of the island, his father would soon know about it. That man has spies everywhere. It''s hard for Cathal, standing there watching men drown, knowing he could save people if it weren''t for the need to protect me and the child.'' ''Don''t blame yourself,'' I said, putting an arm around my sister''s shoulders. ''You and Cathal came here so you would be safe, and you are safe. Ask Cathal, and I''m sure he''ll say that matters more to him than anything else. Besides, the storm seems to be over--the water''s much calmer already. And look, they''re picking someone up.'' The sharp rocks jutted from the water like the toothed jaws of some ancient sea creature. Around them the waves had subsided and the ferocious gale had dwindled to a stiff breeze. Two men were leaning over the side of Johnny''s boat to haul someone in. The other vessels had spread out to cover the area all around the reef. ''Thank the gods,'' Clodagh said quietly. She squared her shoulders and turned to walk briskly over to the cook fire. ''Biddy, I''ll start another batch of bread.'' I wanted to help, but the voices were crowding my mind, and if I stayed here I was in danger of fainting on the floor and giving these already busy women still more work to do. I excused myself and headed out into the vegetable garden, which spread between kitchen and infirmary, protected from the prevailing winds by a dry-stone wall. I sat down with my back to the stones and bowed my head onto my knees. My body was tight with terror, the wrenching fear of men at the last extreme. I struggled to catch my breath. My vision blurred. My head was bursting. I whispered a prayer, fighting for control. ''Danu hold us in your hand. Manannn be merciful.'' I breathed slowly, repeating the words over and over to steady myself. The air was full of the sweet scents of thyme and calamint. The stones at my back held the sun''s warmth, anchoring me in the here and now. High overhead, gulls called. Closer to hand, the island dog, Fang, appeared from a corner where she had been digging and approached me, rolling onto her back to demand attention. I reached out my hand to stroke her, glad that she was in one of her good moods, for the diminutive creature had not earned her fearsome name for nothing. I waited, my fingers keeping up a slow pattern against the dog''s warm belly, and the voices screamed on. Perhaps they would not hush until all were dead. It was some time before the cries died down sufficiently to let me move. I stretched and rose to my feet. The little dog scampered off to investigate something under a comfrey bush. Beyond the garden wall the settlement seemed near deserted, but I could hear voices from the communal dining hall that adjoined the kitchen. Nobody near the infirmary, though the door stood open. No movement near the practice yard where the main work of Inis Eala--the training of fighting men--was carried out. Everyone must be busy indoors or out on the rescue boats. But surely the small craft should be back by now. In my mind one last voice called-- Mother, help me! --and fell silent. Inis Eala''s sheltered bay housed the long wooden jetty and an old cottage where a fisherman had once lived. I walked to the top of the steep path and looked down to see a good number of folk standing on the shore in silent clusters. Among them were Clodagh and Cathal, his arm around her shoulders, hers around his waist. I did not go down, but settled to wait on a flat rock beside the path. Johnny''s boat had turned for home. The others passed and passed again around the rocks. A few timbers floated on the swell, but the ship was gone. ''Danu hold you in her hand and bring you safe to shore,'' I murmured. ''And if it is your time to go, Morrigan guide you through the gateway. May light shine on your path; may you walk on without fear.'' After a while Fang crept up beside me and settled, nose on paws, keeping her own vigil. Dogs were not allowed on Inis Eala. For this unlikely creature an exception had been made. The story went that she had been brought back from a mission by the intimidating Snake, a man whom one would expect to see accompanied by a fearsome wolfhound or barrel-chested fighting dog, not a tiny, temperamental ball of white fluff. I hoped I would hear the full tale of how it had happened before my visit here was over. ''You''re a lucky girl, Fang,'' I murmured, scratching her behind the ears. A subterranean growl rumbled through her small form and I drew my fingers away. Fang''s moods were legendary, as changeable as spring weather. ''You fell on your fee

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