The Children of Lochlann 2009

Children OF Lochlann
Part 1
JEMMA CASTLE
A Windy Isles Story The Children of Lochlann – Part I
This book belongs to
...................................................................................................................................................................
...................................................................................................................................................................
© Copyright Jemma Castle Page 2

A Windy Isles Story
The Children of Lochlann

Part I

A Windy Isles Story

Part I
by
Jemma Castle
© Copyright 2009

For Rubi and Starr

“My precious”
Written in the Windy Isles

Acknowledgements
Thanks to my family who tolerate my constant tapping away at the keyboard at all times of the day and night and
for listening to the fruits of my labours with gleams and grimaces on their faces, and for their words of
encouragement.
/ote: This story is an amateur children’s story and is not intended to be geographically and tribally/clannishly
correct.

CONTENTS
Introduction ................................................................................................................................................................................................................. 1
1. THE ATTACK........................................................................................................................................................................................................ 1
2. SOBBING SEAL...................................................................................................................................................................................................... 7
3. SEAL DREAMS....................................................................................................................................................................................................... 9
4. THE AWAKENING ............................................................................................................................................................................................... 12
5. THE SPY-GLASS................................................................................................................................................................................................ 15
6. SEAL KILLER....................................................................................................................................................................................................... 20
7. FETCHING HELP................................................................................................................................................................................................. 34
8. RUSHING............................................................................................................................................................................................................. 37
9. THREE MEN ....................................................................................................................................................................................................... 43
10. THE TALE .......................................................................................................................................................................................................... 48
11. THE WOUND ..................................................................................................................................................................................................... 52
12. THE FEAST HALL............................................................................................................................................................................................. 57
13. CLEANING UP................................................................................................................................................................................................... 64
14. NIGHT VISIT ..................................................................................................................................................................................................... 69
15. THE CHANGE..................................................................................................................................................................................................... 76
16. STEPPIN’ STONES .......................................................................................................................................................................................... 77
17. THE GALE ......................................................................................................................................................................................................... 85
18. HELPING OUT .................................................................................................................................................................................................. 88
19. THE STORE ..................................................................................................................................................................................................... 95
THE SEA WITCH (Preview) .................................................................................................................................................................................... 104
Unfamiliar Words..................................................................................................................................................................................................... 105

Introduction
T he Windy Isles are a small, long chain of separate islands on the westerly coast of the Main Overland.
They are insular units and clannish in that they keep to themselves. Travel off the individual isles is
only by boat and people rarely leave the island, except the men for fishing.
Islefolk live in stone homes with heather thatched roofs. Each home has two chimneys and these
fireplaces burn throughout summer and winter.
The winter winds are more severe than the summer ones and often the roofs have to be completely redone
each year in order to survive the following winter.
Sheep are the main domestic animals that forage on the land. The land is enriched with seaweed which is
abundantly deposited on the beaches during storms. Once the small fields have been topped with
seaweed, the yearly crop of potatoes is planted. Occasionally corn is grown and stacked during the
harvest.
There are no trees, just grassy, rocky hills and flat areas near the shore called machair. In the summer
months these are a riot of colourful wild flowers and a mass of bumblebees.

1. THE ATTACK
O n the day this particular story begins, a young, grey seal called Brighde, played, as she searched
for fish and crabs in the Realm of the Windy Isles.
Some days she spent in caves, far back and under, the mighty cliffs of the shoreline.
Brighde also shared with her family, a magnificent Palace, far below the sea.
Unfortunately in those long ago days, there were seal killers. These were Islefolk who would club,
shoot or knife seals to death, after invading their cave kingdom.
The menfolk would come in groups by boats called curragh. Burning torches attached to their hats,
they would wade up to chest deep, far into the caves until they came to a small pebble shore. This is
where the seals used to lie and rest.
Then the menfolk would attack en mass and drag the dead seals off back to their curragh.

Islefolk used these stolen seal skins for making waterproof waistcoats and purses and the oil for
alleged healing properties.
It was said that a small bottle of seal oil could heal arthritis, rheumatism and several other ailments.
A curious thing about seal skin though, was that it was said to live well beyond its time. The short fur
rising in certain foul weather and the colour of the skin lightening and darkening with the seasons and
as humidity in the air changed.
Nevertheless the less, a seal waistcoat was said to keep the wearer far warmer than any other fabric.
“Better still on a real, living seal”, Brighde thought to herself.
Curious and harmful was the talk of the Islefolk and much harm they did to seals - even to their own
kind.
It seems they never could control their tongues.
Constantly wagging, to the detriment even of the speakers. Such tales they could summon up. Any
piece of untruth that could do harm was spread about, as though it was some precious uncovered truth
- so it became. Sadly though.

Tales of the Sealfolk where spread about with the wind, and although most were completely untrue,
many Islefolk believed them and throughout times passed, great harm had befallen the Sealfolk
because of Islefolk talk.
This day, Brighde was swimming with her grandfather, Lochlann when rocks had began to pelt them in
the water.
They were near the shore, always curious about human ways. If they could get near a human without
them noticing they would watch them for a long time, sinking under and swimming away, usually just
before of just after they were noticed.
Music or singing, especially the old lilting type also caught their attention and they became
mesmerised by it.
Not all Islefolk were bad though. As the ages past, so did the feeling towards seals.
There were always those who would never do bad to a seal and there were always seals who helped
small sea boats and an almost ‘drownded’ fisherman, in trouble during fierce storms.
One of the large stones hit and stunned her grandfather - full and firm at the back of his head and he
turned to try and swim away.

Brighde saw him go limp in the water. Before she could get her thoughts in order, there was the seal
killer, wading out towards her stunned grandfather. In his hand, a long, hunting knife.
She gasped and sank below the waves. But not soon enough to escape the agony of seeing the long
knife plunge deep into her grandfathers haunches.
Beneath the waves, Brighde was frantic, what could she do! She feared it was too late to save him
and trying on her own, she would only succeed in too being killed.
It was so senseless. These island folk spread untrue stories of how the seals damaged the nets and
stole their fish, hundreds of fish.
In truth it was the men who stole the fish from the seals. Whilst men lived on land and gathered roots
and leaves of plants, so too they raised sheep and cows for milk and meat. Not only that but hens too
for flesh and eggs. But men were a greedy race and they were never satisfied. So they raided the sea
too and such waste was theirs. It was precious little of their catch that they ate. Most was dumped
back in the sea, putrid and rotting to pollute the water.
Often the seals came by to tidy up the mess and brought the storms to pulverise the rotting mass of
fish waste left by the men, against the rocks of the shore. It would make a mess of bubbling foam but
the next day the salt in the sea would have cleansed the water again.

Bridge could smell and almost taste the blood as the cruel knife wound drained the life force from her
precious grandfather. Lochlann was one of the oldest and wisest seals in the colony. She raced
beneath the waves, sleek and streamlined. She pushed herself hard, until she burned from over
exertion.
Finally she reached her father and uncles and sobbed her story out to them.

2. SOBBING SEAL
T
he sobbing of a seal is enough to break the heart of a human. Many a grown man has felt his
heart wrenched from his chest hearing the sad, lone sobbing of a seal.
Today was no exception.
Unknown to them, a young boy had crept down to spy on the seals through a spyglass, he had found
on the hill.
He was precariously perched up on the edge of the cliff edge of the hill, high above. Half hanging over
the water, he peered deep into the cave, longing to catch sight of the mesmerising creatures.
Suddenly there was a massive splash and out burst a young seal from the watery depth. Such a
commotion followed with such a howling that it sounded like the sobbing of one whose heart was deep
with grief.

Seals were known to make such noises from, time to time, and it made many of the Islefolk
uncomfortable enough for them to deny that they could hear it.
This young boy crept back just far enough that he was safe from falling and he laid his head deep in
the long grass that grew beyond the reach of the ever-hungry sheep.
He too sobbed, deep long sobs. Unable to contain the grief that the noise of the seal had made him
feel.
Brighde spewed out her story, between gasps of anguish for her grandfather, and soon the seal elders
were off to see what could be done.
Sometimes a seal could be saved if it had only been beaten. If its lifeless body was left for morning
collection the seals could pull it out into the water with the aid of the tides and slowly, softly the water
would breathe life back into that bruised body of the seal. That seal would live again, healed by the
salty sea water.
Brighde lay alone on the pebble beach and sobbed. She knew that her grandfather had been stabbed
and that there was little hope that he would live. Her sobs echoed throughout the cavern and it
sounded as though the air and the hill itself rang too with her sobs.

3. SEAL DREAMS
S he stopped a while, surprised by the sound of her sobs echoing so loudly.
It was a rare time, and there was no wind at all. The haunting, deep calm that rarely settles on
the Windy Isles and their costal waters. Silent and still without even the call of a gull.
After a few moments she could still hear the sobs, they were the sobs of a young Islefolk boy, moved
by her sad song.
Slowly and silently, Brigdhe swam out of the cavern and looked upwards towards the cliff above.
“Sure there was a young boy lying there sobbing into the long grass,” she thought aloud. “sure there
was!”

As Brighde gazed at the sandy hair on his head, the rest of his face hidden in the grass, she was
moved by his mirrored sorrow. So rare in these times to find one of their kind with feelings for the
seals.
As she gazed at him, he grew quiet and still and she realised that he had cried himself to sleep,
unaware of why she herself had cried.
Slowly Brighde crept onto the rocky coast and lumbered up against the gusty wind to the top of the
cliff. She was as mesmerised as he, and soon she was close enough to touch him.
Unaware though, she was that she had ventured so close. She quietly laid her head next to his,
breathing in the boy smell that was his alone.
Traumatised by the attack on her grandfather and her earlier exertion, she too was soon fast asleep at
the edge of the cliff. Two youngsters sleeping, unusually side by side, beneath the starry sky. Both far
from their familiar abodes.
The boy dreamed seal dreams. Diving, heart beating, swimming far beneath the surface to the
underwater cave that was their majestic kingdom beneath the waves. There was a banquet prepared
for the seal folk and he was only a spirit watcher. These dreams were familiar to him as he often
dreamed seal dreams.

Alone he was though, unable to share these dreams with anyone. His mother and father would hear
none of it and he had long given up trying to tell them anymore. Islefolk did not like to talk of the seals
at all. He often wondered at this, in the quiet waking time after his ‘too-real’ dreams.
Now, touching him lay a young seal, not much younger than he. Her head right next to his.
Unknown to him, she dreamed boy dreams. She was running, wind in her hair - stick in hand, chasing
the sheep in the hills. Drinking fresh cows’ milk and licking the creamy, foamy moustache from her
upper lip. So many things that she had never experienced, made her sleep giddy with delight. Sitting
next to glowing fires till her skin tingled and yet she was only there in spirit. Yet it felt real enough and
hauntingly familiar.
Dream spirits, they shared the night side by side, dreaming each others dreams.

4. THE AWAKENING
B righde awoke slowly, the mesmerising music and singing of the fireside softly on her seal lips,
“Ho i ho i hi o ho i ho i
hi o ho i i ho i ho i hi o ho i
Cha robh mi'm' aonar an raoir.
[I was not alone last night.]”
The young Gaelic boy awoke from a dreamy sleep. He found himself high above the water, on the top
of a cliff. Amazed that he had slept safely there, and with an unusual calm upon the air and sea, he
was still freshly connected with his dreams.
He clearly remembered dream-living the life of a seal, skimming the waves and bobbing, watching the
shore for humans. He could still feel the soft, silky feeling of the seal skin as he had brushed against
the other seals in the colony.

The fresh, salt familiar smell of seal pervaded his senses. He felt utterly happy and relaxed. He turned
his head to stretch the aching muscles in his neck. His eyes were still closed and yet he was suddenly
certain that he could feel the breath of another on his face.
He started and opened his eyes. There beside him, right beside him was a seal! A real, living seal.
It was all he could do, not to scream, jump up and rush away. He forced himself to be quiet and still.
His heart was beating so wildly that he thought it would explode. Then as he watched the eyes of the
seal flickered and slowly opened.
Brighde started. Though her dreams were still fresh on her mind, her memory of how she came to be
sleeping next to a young human boy were not. A frantic squealing noise came from her lips as she
remembered the attack on her grandfather and she made to leave. Anxiously she watched the boy for
a sign that he might hurt her.
The boy gazed into her surprisingly human-like eyes. They were sheer liquid colour and contained so
many emotions. Fear, anxiety, trust. He could not look away and his heart beat rapidly. He could feel
her seal breath on his face still and it was clear and fresh.
Some of the islanders festered a hatred of the seal saying that they were unclean, mangy animals and
spread disease. Clearly this was not true. There was nothing he had ever seen that was as
impeccably clean and fresh as this beautiful young seal. A noise escaped her lips. It was just the
same as a human sigh of anxiety.

Unable to stop himself he reached forward to touch her shoulder in reassurance that he would do her
no harm. Her skin was so smooth and soft. Not slimy at all. Just fresh and clean.
Brighde was taken aback when the boy reached out to touch her but like him she was unable to resist.
At first she wondered if he was to strike her but his eyes told her otherwise. Kind, deep eyes as
though they touched his heart. He closed his eyes as he stroked her smooth grey skin. She felt weak
and giddy. Unable to move. She sighed again, differently this time.
For an endless, breathless moment the two youngsters lived as one, hearts beating together and then
overwhelmed by concern for her grandfather, Brighde took the fastest route to the water that she knew.
Suddenly, with a sharp twist and flick of her lithe body, the seal was gone. She sailed through the air
above the caves and then before he knew it she had hit the water with an awesome splash and was of
his sight. The sea water splashed up so high that it hit his cheek. He blinked rapidly in surprise but
could not bear to brush away the last trace of the seal.
He waited long minutes for his seal to breach the surface, but she did not and he realised that she
must be long gone beneath the waves.

He peered through his spyglass deep into the caves but there were either no seals to be seen or the
early morning light was too dim to discern their shape on that far pebble beach at the edge of the
caves below.

5. THE SPY-GLASS
R ealising that he would soon be missed by his parents, he gathered himself to make his way
home.
Unable to leave the coast quite yet, he stepped slowly along the sheep paths that rounded the shore.
Many ended haphazardly but he could make his way to another soon enough and before he knew it he
was some distance away.
All of a sudden, something caught his eye.
There was a huddled, bedraggled shape on the pebble beach, some distance beyond the cliff.
Was it another seal?
He gasped and without thinking clearly he rushed toward the figure. Now running down the familiar
grass worn path that followed the line of the coast.

Grazed low by the dedicated sheep it was easy to sprint along it, as he often did. Soon he was flying
along at a great speed flowing the twist and turn of the path. As each sheep trail ended abruptly he
would find a new one to link up to.
Careless in his haste and now closer to the figure, he twisted his ankle in his rush.
The ground near the shore was covered with large rounded stones, half hidden in the short grazed
grass. He wobbled for a moment grasping the painful throbbing ankle and then sat down awkwardly.
The noise of his sitting was punctuated by the tinkle of glass. He turned to find that the spyglass had
smashed on the stones. He cursed himself aloud for sitting down so suddenly and carelessly. Yet his
ankle throbbed and pained unbearable. Lifting up his trousers he peered at it and prodded it. Nothing
ever showed up straight away when you hurt your ankle and yet it ached so. He glanced about.
The shards of glass were scattered around and there was no way the spyglass could be repaired. He
turned it around in his hands, to see the damage and cried out in dismay.
His favourite possession now destroyed, by some careless fancy of seeing a seal so soon on the
beach. He should have looked first before he ran to it.

Now closer he could see clearly that it was no seal. It was the hunched, unmoving figure of a grown
man in wet oil skins. He looked drenched, as thought the sea had just spat him out. The boy
wondered if the man was drowned and washed ashore or still alive.
Carefully placing his damaged spyglass on the soft grass around the stones, he crept slowly forward to
observe the figure on the shore.
He wondered if he should just run for his father, or if he should first see if the man was still alive. He
knew briefly what to do, having grown up near the sea.
His father was fisherman himself although he did not take the boy with him. As a young baby, there
had been an incident, that was rarely mentioned and the boy himself did not know the details. Save to
say that something untoward had happened and he could have died.
As such his mother had forbidden his father to take him in the boat ever again and he was kept to the
hills, watching the sheep in the summer holiday break from school.
Little did his mother know of his obsession for the sea and the seals. He felt a deep longing in his soul
for the sea and the nearby company of the seals.
What had happened last night was beyond his wildest fantasies. Imagine sleeping next to a seal. He
still clearly remembered the seal dreams he had.

He paused and drew the image of the young seal into his mind. She was such a perfect smooth grey.
Not a single speckle or spot, just perfect smooth grey. He breathed in deeply and could still feel the
smell of her on his cheek. He closed his eyes and enjoyed the familiarity of the memory. He
wondered how soon he could see her again. It felt clear to him that she was his seal. And yet who
could he tell?
No-one would believe him or understand. Surely they would ridicule and ruin the memory. His
memory and his alone.
There was a noise nearby and he felt repulsed by the rancid smell that accompanied it.
His eyes shot open and there not far from him was the lurching figure of the drowned man. He was
clearly alive and violently retching.
The boy called out to him, “mattin vah, kimmer a ha hu?” (Good Morning – how are you?)
The man startled and it seemed he, himself would run in terror and then suddenly the boy recognised
him.

6. SEAL KILLER
I t was the seal hunter Donny-Dubh. He was a man who made his living from killing seal, using
their skins to make rivlins and such and he sold their oil as a remedy for aches and pains.
That any healing could come to humans from the senseless slaughter of innocent Sealfolk - the boy
could not fathom it.
His ankle throbbed as he limped his way across the giant pebble beach. A lone gull shrieked above,
but the sea was glass smooth - the wind undetectable. A rare occasion indeed.
The seal killer was clearly in a state of distress and not from ‘drink’ either. He was whimpering and
mumbling something terrible and the boy could barely make out what he was on about.
He moved closer and placed his hand on the seal killers shoulder to calm him. It worked almost
instantly. Some said the boy had a special way about him and some attributed this to what had
happened to him as a young babe.

What ever it was he felt it deep inside him and knew the right thing to do to help others in distress.
Though he did not like this man for the very thing that was his livelihood, he could not help himself in
trying to calm him.
Part of him wanted to know what had happened. Part of him knew that it would be an excellent excuse
for being out all night and might redeem him to his parents.
The man turned his tormented eyes upon the boys’ innocent face. “You” he stammered, “and so it
would be, who else would it be”.
“What do you mean, who else would it be?” questioned the boy.
“You are as good as kin to them, that are what” grunted the man.
“Why would you say such a thing, I don’t understand?” repeated the boy.
“Ah, that’s because they never told you the truth of what happened, is it not?” stated the man.
“Do you not know who I am?” he demanded of the boy.
“Aye, I know who you are. You are the seal killer” replied the boy. Still he was wondering at the mans’
aggressive statements.

“Seal hunter if you must,” he growled, “but no more, alasI.. no more!”
The boy was silent, knowing that more was to come.
The man leaned and retched again. The smell of brine water accompanied the spew that erupted from
his mouth and lungs.
“Ah, but will I live long enough to tell my tale, I wonder” he spluttered, coughing again and wiping at his
lip.
The boy noticed that the man was shivering and shaking. His skin had a strange sheen to it, almost as
if the man was already dead. A strange grey sheen. He moved away from the man, suddenly repelled
by the pallor of his skin and wondered how a man could earn his living killing innocent seals.
“Do you already know what I am to tell you? He asked of the boy. “Is that why you move away?
“I would too if I were you”, he continued
As the boy looked down at the figure of the man, he noticed that blood seeped through his trousers.
“You are injured, Donald-Dubh” he pointed out to the man.

“Ah so you do know who I am,” He grunted. “Hmm, aye, so I am injured and it pains me, but not as
severe as my mind and memory pain me this day”.
He continued, “For a man to have seen the sights I have seen this night, does no good to the mind, no
not at all!”
A deep pause filled the air and there was no sound to fill it. The boy felt uncomfortable, as though he
could not breathe. This was odd indeed and odder still by the minutes that were slow in passing.
The man was mumbling incoherently and the boy could not catch his words. They mingled together in
a mass of Gaelic with the odd English word between. It was all he could do to grasp at the ones he
could hear and to try and make some sense of them.
“100 skins III.. And now I have had me own knife in my thighII and a troubled mind. Tis not
natural for a man to travel so far beneath the sea. NOT NATURAL.
The boy wondered what the man was on about.
He waited.
Presently the man became aware of his presence.

“Sssstill here, aaaare yyyyou?” He stammered. “Well, help a man, will you”. “Can you not help me
to move to higher ground, I canna lie here all day”.
“Can I fetch my father to help you, he is not far away” the boy ventured.
“Aye that you can” Donny-Dubh agreed. “But first let me tell you of your own story, for you will not get
a chance to hear it again”.
“What do you mean my own story” he asked.
“Hush boy” Donny-Dubh gasped. Then he lay down again shivering.
The boy looked up at the day. Though overcast, it was clearing well and he could afford to lend the
man the warmth of his jumper. It was large enough to use as a small blanket and surely it would ease
his chills. It seemed the man was determined to tell a story before he would let the boy go for help.
“Here” he motioned, pulling his jumper over his head, “you can cover yourself with this, it will ease your
chills”.
Although the man made no move to take it from him, the boy leant down and opening it out, he tucked
it over and around the man as he lay huddled on the beach.

It seemed he had passed into sleep, as he still breathed, but seemed no longer present in
consciousness. The boy made a move to run for help when the man cleared his throat and began to
speak in a strange voice.
“Has no one told you of it?” he suddenly demanded; pushing his straggly, black hair away from his
eyes.
“I have heard that something happened and I am not allowed with my Da to sea. My Ma keeps me in
the hills with the sheep but I do not know the reason. No one speaks of it” he explained. “What of it?”
“Ah, well I wonder, perhaps I should not say then” the man resolved.

The boy kept still and quiet. He felt uncomfortable and ill at ease. What a thing to spoil his day,
happening on this half-drowned madman on the shore, when all he had in his head was the beautiful
seals of the sea. If only he had not come this way at all. He glanced distastefully at the man below.
“Well, no matter”, the man continued. “You know what I am and what I do. Let me make it quick for I
pain sorely. I ken your pa those days and came to fetch him to accompany me to help get some young
pup for its pelt seal oil. The blubber of a young pup produces far more oil than that of a grown one for
far less bother. The pelt is pure white and in high demand. There had been a travelling man after both
seal oil and the white pelt, that same yestermorn.” He cleared his gravely throat.
Before long he continued “Well your pa would have none of it, your ma was away and he was taking
care of yourself, a wee bairn wrapped in your swaddling cloths. Had it been a whim, I would have
given in,” Donny-Dubh suddenly shouted. “But no, it was a matter of sorely needed coin and I forced
him to come with me, saying that you would be safe in the bottom of the curragh. It was all set to be
quick and easy but such is the flow of life that things do not go as planned” he sighed.
A long moment passed as the man lapsed into silence. The boy peered at him. The mans eyes were
closed. The boy felt repulsed by him and yet it seemed he was about to tell him something that had
plagued his curiosity for many a year. He knew something had happened when he was wee and yet
no one would speak of it.
“What happened?” he demanded of the man.

Donny-Dubh started. His glassy grey eyes fixed on the boy and they hardened. “Aye, well, I’m feeling
poorly so perhaps this should wait. You be off to find some help off your pa. No doubt he will come to
help me in my time of need as I did help in his”.
“No!” shouted the boy. “Tell me first, tell me first!” he demanded.
“Ah, some fire in you yet,” commented the man. He seemed excited, now that the boy had shouted at
him and he continued, “A good night it was for a quick task and all was well as we passed by the
mouth of the caves. I anchored the curragh and your pa picked you up as he climbed out. There was
no good place to leave you and your pa did not want to leave you alone in the boat, for his own
reasons. As we crept along, he found a rock shelf protruding from the cave face and placed you upon
it. It seemed safe enough. Then we proceeded along the way, ready to grab a pup as soon as we
saw it. I had my hunting knife ready for the mother seal if she got in our way. Luck was with us and at
the end of the cave it was clear to see that all the seals were resting. There was a mother seal and her
snow white pup away from the rest. The pup was curiously asleep a distance from the mother,” He
paused. “She must have known we were there, though she showed no proof of it”.
His eyes came suddenly alive as he continued, “All of a sudden a blast of wind entered the cave and
we became aware that a gale had sprung up and was howling outside. It had seemed mere minutes
we had been stalking the seals but it must have been longer. Then before our eyes the waves began
to pummel the cave and as they hit the beach at the end, where the seals lay, the waves returned even
larger towards us. Some call it ground swell.

With the raised water level there was no path to walk along the side. There was no option but to try
and blindly rush back to the boat and hope that all would be well for a safe return” he cleared his throat
again.
“Now, you must have heard that those blasted seals can raise a storm if they want it. They have a
magic - being kin with the sea. Some say they are enchanted, some say cursed”, he growled.
As the bedraggled man remembered the events of that fateful night, the boy watched his eyes flicker
left and right as if he was trying to get the correct sequence of that historic night.
“Ahem”. The man coughed and spat. “Ah, where was I then?” he asked.
“You were saying you had to go back to the boat!” reminded the boy, “But what about me lying there
on the cave shelf?” he asked.
“Hmm, don’t get ahead of the story now, boy!” he criticised. “What is your name again?” he asked.
“Ruraidh” said the boy. Ruraidh mhic Finlay mhic Donald Ruadh. “And what of it, that you remember
my story but not my name?” he queried rudely.
“Ruiraidh, the man whispered, as if to himself, “yes and that travelling woman said you would make a
fine swimmer, that’s what she said, yet your ma doesn’t let you near the shore. Tis a small wonder you
found me lying here, it is” He stared at the boy as not seeing him at all.

“Tttravelling wwwoman, I.mmmme a swimmer, I I I don’t understand?” stammered the boy.
“One never does, one never does,” concluded the man.
He breathed deeply, almost a sigh, before continuing, “We just made it back to the boat and had to
wade, chest high through the wild water to get to it. Firmly anchored though it was, that barely held it
steady for us to alight. Before we were in a massive wave rebounding off the cave shore hit us fair and
square and the anchor held no more. We were swept off on some unknown course and the mist came
strangely up. The wind stung our cheeks; the rain pelted sideways biting at our faces. We could
barely see and the wave had knocked our one oar overboard. We were lost in the stormy waves with
only one oar. Aye, and we needed that one to keep us off the rocks. To cut a long story short we were
found in the morn, washed upon this very shore that I find myself now. Just as half sea-drowned too,”
he groaned.
“BUT WHAT ABOUT ME?” demanded the boy, “what about me?”
“Aye, well that only entered our heads when we were safe inside and recovered under the warmth of
the fireside of the folk that rescued us.” The man explained. “Your pa was up and trying to bound
away to search for you but they held him back. They had to restrain him with ropes, some say, for he
was grieving for you so bad. Your ma was still away, you see, and he was determined to find you.
They raised searcher parties for two days, they did. Searching up and down and the priest was all for
ending it all” he stopped.

“Your father was up and recovered after 2 days and he was the one that found you. He was searching
the rocks above the cave, hoping that the waves had washed you higher and onto land. As he
searched in the long grass that the sheep leave untouched, near the edge of the cliff, he heard the
lonesome, almost human-singing of a seal.
It came from far below, inside the caves and it caught his attention, so that he could think of nothing
else. He was drawn to it beyond his better feelings. He leaned so far over the top of the cliff that he
fell forward and landed with a great splash - right in the place where the curragh had been 2 nights
before.
He waded to the side and climbed up, pausing at the shelf where he had lain your wee sleeping body,
when we had gone into the caves that night. He was still drawn, compelled by the haunting singing of
the seal. It pulled his heart and tortured his memory of you and yet he moved forward, trudging
through and along the watery path. Up above other searchers had heard the great splash and moved
to the edge to see what had caused it. They could just make out his shape moving into the depths of
the cave. No one else claimed to have heard that, all consuming singing of the seal, but I myself did
hear it. Though I would not admit that to anyone except yourself, you see, because yourself was there
too, that night your father went into the depths of that cave,” he concluded it seemed.
“What, I don’t understand, please finished the story” the boy pleaded. Though disturbing the mans’
story seemed to make some sense and it awoke in him such and emotion as though he could
remember that far distant day. Surely he could hear the singing of the seal himself. And why would

this man choose to tell him such a story when the man was half-drowned. It seemed the man had to
tell him because it was the truth the boy would never hear from his own parents.
The wind was coming in ever so slowly and the smallest waves began to lap on the shore. All four
seasons in one day, that was summer for you here on the Windy Isles.
“I had planned not to tell you more, youngun” stated the man, “but if you insist I can finish the tale. The
good Lord knows that your story will not be heard again aside from this and perhaps I owe it to you as
you have near saved my life, Yes I think I do owe it to you!” he sighed, crossing himself.
“Well,” he continued” “I was there some distance from your da, but I saw what he saw. At the far end
of the caves on the pebble shore there was a huge female seal and it was nursing a pup, a snow white
pup. I couldna believe me eyes. It seemed it was the same pup we had seen two nights before. I
reached for my hunting knife, though I knew it was not the right time to do this task, I could not help
myself.
Coin is a rare thing here on the Windy Isles, and coin promised by a travelling man even rarer.
Suddenly I heard your father cry out, “its him, its me boy!” I though he had gone delusional and was in
a fever - imagining that the snow white sea pup was you. Then he rushed through the shallower water.
The seal song had ended now and only the rough sound of the waves breaking on the seal shore
could be heard. That and the loud drip, dripping of the land water, permeating through rock above and
falling hard and repetitively onto the waves below.

The great ma seal carefully placed the young pup on the beach and lumbered off; looking back in a
way that I could myself say sadly, sadly, longingly. I could not believe my eyes. A mother seal, as big
as she leaving her pup in the face of danger. Unbelievable and then as I neared the beach myself,
wading as fast as I could without crying out aloud in my astonishment,” he stopped suddenly in his
usual way.
The boy gasped aloud, “What is it, now?”
“Ah, patience my boy, patience. I is illing and short of breath. I know you are keen to understand so I
will go on,” he continued. “You see your pa was right, there upon the beach, there lay a bundle of a
babe, wrapped still firmly in its white cloths, fast asleep and contented. It was your pa’s wee baby boy,
it was.
Much to say about it, folk did have. Your ma, when she returned, would have none of it. Save to say
your pa was never to harm a seal in his life nor play no part in any of it. So she forbade your pa from
seeing myself again and so it has been, although I do hope that your pa can come and help me the
noo as I lie dying on the shore”.
Astounded as he was, the boy could only exclaim, “but what happened to you, how did you get this
way?”

No answer did he get and looking closer he saw the man was again deathly grey and shiny, his
shivering ceased and for all the boy know he may well be dead.
“Uh, I’ll get my pa,” he shouted to the dead man and off he ran.

7. FETCHING HELP
L ungs burning like they would burst right out of his body and teeth aching in their gums from his
exertion of running all the way up the hill from the beach, the boy burst through the door shouting
as loud as he could, “Come Da, come Da, come”.
The boys father was still sound asleep. Although it gets light early on the Windy Isles in summer, the
day is still to come. “What’s wrong my boy,” he cried, “what are you blethering about?”
“Quick Da, Ddd Ddonny-DDDDubh, he’s on the shore Da, he’s drownded Da, come quick” he shouted.
“Shush boy, you will have your Ma waking and wondering why you were on the shore, hush now and
we will talk along the way”, whispered his Da whilst he pulled on his oilskins and boots.
As they half-ran, half-stumbled along the way, the boy told his Da that he had been watching the sheep
in the hill. He had seen the body of the man on the shore through the spyglass he had found in the hill.

Some weeks before he had been scratching absent minded at a raised grass turf in the hill, whilst
watching the sheep making their way through the day. His peat blackened finger nails had struck
something hard and he had know immediately that it was not a stone. Excavating it in a sudden rush
of excitement he had discovered the soiled, rusted spyglass.
His grandfather, Donald mhic Ruiraidh Ruadh, had once received a spyglass as a gift and it had been
handed down to his own Da, Finley, so he knew what it was.
He briefly wondered to himself, now if he could beg his grandfathers’ spyglass off his Da. He was so
used to having one with him now, he could not bear to live without one by his side.
He had taken the one he had found in the hill home to his Da and together they had cleaned it up.
Carefully sanding away the worst of the rust and oiling it so it could move.
Now, Finlay mhic Dhomhnaill could bare get his thoughts together as they rushed down the path to the
shore. If his wife caught him helping Donny-Dubh, there would be hell to pay for.
She was none to keen on his long, forgotten companion. Ten long years had passed by, since they
had last had words. Ah, that was a sore memory, the memory of his wee boy feared dead - all for the
sake of Donny- Dubh’s seal killing. “No matter, no matter”, he thought, pushing his wife’s voice out of
his head.

All that he could gain from his boy’s mumblings was that something had happened to Donny-Dubh and
he lay injured, half-drowned, perhaps dead on the shore way beyond the seal caves. Surely the man
had not gone to hunting seals again, surely after what had happened. He wondered aloud, “for
goodness sake Donny, what have you got yourself into?” He hurried toward the dark shape he could
see huddled on the shore.

8. RUSHING
B righde dove straight from the high cliff into the depth of the welcoming water below. After a night
out of the water, her skin absorbed the salty water and soon she was swimming down deep,
deeper seeking through the blue green of the water for the feast hall where she knew they would
have taken her grandfather, Lochlann.
She did not pause by the cave as she first dove in. She knew no one would be there. The deep
channel that she reached, when she dove straight from the high cliff above was the one that she knew
would take her deep.
Scarcely minutes had passed but it seemed like hours. She remembered the sweet boy that she had
slept beside on the cliff. His beautiful blue eyes and his golden brown hair echoed in her mind,
competing with the hurtful memories of the attack on her grandfather.

She wondered when she would see him and again and then sadly she wondered if she would see him
again. She must, she must, she could not bear it she must see him again,I. soon. With that she
pushed him reluctantly from her mind and concentrated on the task at hand.
After much wriggling and flippering she soon reached the ocean floor, the anemones waved at her in
unison and the fishes swarmed around her in greeting. Nearby a basking shark nodded silently to her
and continued on his way.
She flurried the seaweed with her flippers to reveal the hidden door that lay in the ocean floor. The
pull-ring exposed, she used her human like webbed fingers to open it and quickly, quietly slipped
inside.
The door swung shut silent behind her and by then the transformation was complete. It was Lammas
the time of the change and she was just in time.
There was pandemonium inside and shouting and wailing. She walked over to her grandfather, where
she could clearly see him slouching in his golden throne and knelt down in front of him. “Grandfather,
how is it that you are well?” She asked.
“Ah, my child, I did not see you enter and we had feared the worst for you, where have you been?” He
greeted her.

“I will explain later grandfather, but I have been so worried for you. I was sure that that man had
stabbed you with his long hunting knife. I thought I had seen blood cloud the waters near the shore?”
she exclaimed
“Aye, my child, that you did but much has happened since last night and indeed I need to tell the
others that you are safe as they are still at their wailing and greeting,” he explained.
“Hear ye all, hear ye all, Brighde has returned to us and she is unharmed,” he shouted above the din in
the underwater hall.
The clann crowded around Brighde and her grandfather and the noise rose before it settled enough for
Lochlann to speak again.
“So you see before you, that Brighde is unharmed and alive and so we must prepare for a banquet
where the stories will be told. Make haste, make haste, there is much news to share,” he bellowed.
Brighde ran to her mother and hugging her wiped her tears away. “Mother I am well, do not be
worried,” she consoled her.
“Brighde where have you been, we thought you dead and skinned for your pelt. How could you stay
out so long, at this time?” her mother demanded.

Brighde drew her mother aside. “Hush Ma, I have much to tell you. Can we go somewhere private to
talk,” she begged.
Glancing back to smile at her grandfather and the crowd assembled before him, Brighde and her
mother made their way down to the end of the long hall into one of the back chambers.
As they passed the end wall of the hall, she stared briefly at the golden crest and motto that hung
there, mirrored with an identical one at the other side of the long hall.
An image of a great crown, the same as the one that her grandfather wore (and his grandfather before
him) was surrounded on one side by the figure of a seal and on the other -the figure of a prince. The
motto below read
So long had they been there that no one noticed them any more. She usually gave them no thought
but bearing in mind her recent encounter and the strong feeling it had provoked, she gave it one last
lingering look as they rounded the corner and walked into one of the sleeping chambers.
They seated side by side on the bed and she noticed its flowing cover embroidered with the same
crest and motto.

Her mother took her daughters hand in her own and said, “Brighde, I can’t wait any more, please tell
me where you have been?”
Her mind still on the crest, she murmured “Mother is it really true that our ancestor was the King of
Lochlann?”
“Yes, my dear, but what has that to do with where you were?” she blurted with disbelief.
“Just wondering Ma, that’s all. Just wondering. Please tell me the story again, please, please” she
pleaded.
“Caught off guard, as usual, by her beguiling daughter, she began to recite the history of their origin.
“In all of the Windy Isles, at all events, it was traditionally believed that the seals are the children of the
King of Lochlann - under spells (clann rìgh Lochlainn fo gheasan).
An evil stepmother, so the tale went, jealous of their beauty and character, spent dark years and
darker days learning the black art. Thereupon she put them under a wicked curse, to be neither fish
nor beast for ever. That their sea-longing should be for land and their land-longing for sea - as long as
wave beat upon shore
According to some accounts the curse provided that they should regain human form three times a year

at the full of the moon, lest their sorrow for the loss of their human state should be drowned in
forgetfulness. Many stories are told of these two identities.”
There her mother stopped. “This you know, my daughter, for it is always told at feast days, but still I do
not know where you were last night?” she announced.

9. THREE MEN
T he man, Donny-Dubh was still unconscious. The boy’s father rallied around whilst the boy
watched the man’s grey, shiny skin and listened to his shallow breathing with the almost
imperceptible rise and fall of his chest. That was all that indicated that he was, in fact, still alive.
For by all other intensive purposes you would have said he was no long with them.
Two of the men, Seonaidh Ruairaidh Mhoir and Eachan Aongais gathered the man up and lifted him
onto a stretcher that they had hastily constructed using an old wheelbarrow in Eachans’ yard. Eachan
collected and stored all manner of rusty scrap-metal, confident that there would be a use for them -
perhaps he was right.
As they wheeled the injured man away, the boy stayed by the beach. He looked out across the waves,
hoping against hope, to see the bobbing head of his seal. His seal, he thought again. But no, there
was nothing, the sea was as still, as flat and calm as the strangely windless sky.

Already small clouds of midges hung about and the boy knew better than to brush them off his face.
Kill a midge and a thousand came to the funeral. No, he knew better than that. The best way to deal
with the midges was to ignore them as if they were ghosts and never, never brush your hand across
your face for then they would never let you be.
He followed the group of men shuffling along with the makeshift stretcher-wheelbarrow across the
pebble beach adjoining the machair. Occasionally they would lift it to make the trip less bumpy for the
occupant, who was, it seemed unaware. To the boy it looked as though they thought him drunk and
wondered to himself if he had told his Da about Donny-Dubh being injured and his mumblings. Surely
they must have seen his blood stained trousers?
It might have been better if they had used Curstaid Mhor’s old white pony and the seaweed-cart to
move the man easier, though there had been little time for that.
As he made to call out to his Da, the boy saw his jumper slip off the man. He ran up to collect it before
it hit the ground. At the same time he saw something slip from the man’s hand and it fell loose to the
side, no longer supported by the boy’s jumper.
He knelt to inspect it and saw it was a large Molluka bean. It was pitch black and from what the boy
knew that meant that all its luck had run out and judging from the appearance of the man, it appeared it
had indeed run out! Never the less he retrieved it in case the man still wanted it. That is, if the man
lived to want it.

“Da,” the boy shouted. “Da, did you see that Donny-Dubh is injured; his leg is bleeding. He is not
drunk Da, something bad happened to him”
The boys’ father stopped to listen and then mumbled away to the men in Gaelic as they walked. The
three men stopped briefly to inspect the man. After a couple of exclamations and examinations they
made some re-adjustments and moved off. The boy was sure they were proceeding more carefully
that they had been and silently thanked himself for speaking up.
Sometimes it was so hard to make adults notice one and very rarely was one taken seriously. He
thanked God silently for his Da and raised his eyes to heaven. It was Sunday and they should be off to
Mass. His Ma would be furious for it was the Sabbath and she was very strict about observing it.
The Molluka bean felt hot in his hand and he opened his fingers to gaze at the black bean in
astonishment.
Molluka beans were seldom found on the storm blown coasts of the Windy Isles. Those few that
walked the beaches and looked among the mass of seaweed and shells, might occasionally find these
large sea-beans in shades of grey, brown.
There was a girl he knew from school, who had recently found a pure white one – that must have a lot
of luck in it he thought to himself. Some of the fishermen used the real big ones as snuffboxes, but
others kept them in their pockets and valued their mysterious virtues of protection from the evil eye or

used them in an old man method to help cure sick cattle. Though the priest would hear none of it, so it
was kept a secret amongst the Islefolk.
The men were some distance off when the boy looked up and he hurried to catch up with them.
Hugging his jumper for warmth and firmly holding the Molluka bean in his small fist, he briefly glanced
at the sea, hoping again, beyond hope to see his seal or any seal for that matter. Seeing nothing, he
put it far from his mind and concentrated on the task at hand.
Secretly he was hoping that the man would regain consciousness and that they would hear his story,
around the fire. He wondered about the story the man had already told him and wondered if he had
pressed the man too hard. He knew he had. He felt guilty but what was he to do? No-one else would
ever tell him of the hidden secret of his early days of life.
He did not know what to think but perhaps it would explain his close affinity for the gentle sea
mammals. If fact he held them in an even higher regard now that he knew one of them had saved his
life. Perhaps twice because that young seal least night seemed to have saved him from falling off the
cliff in his sleep.
He cast his mind back to the night before and remembered how it had come to pass that he had fallen
asleep up there on the edge of the cliff.

He remembered the human-like crying of the seal and how it had affected him. He too had started to
cry and then he must have fallen asleep, still sobbing into the long grass and wild flowers at the edge
of the machair.

10. THE TALE
a, I swam back to the cave, as you know, to tell Da what happened to us near the shore.
"M The seal killer was there and we had not seen or smelt him. He has been away for so long
that we had grown careless in our play.” She explained to her mother. “I was sobbing for
long after they had gone, in shock, I think. Then I became aware that there was an echo to
my sobbing and I stopped in surprise. The sobbing carried on and I realised it was coming from way
above me. From the land, you see, above the caves. I swam out and looked up, bobbing and saw
that there was a young human boy lying there at the top of the cliff, above the rock. It was he who was
sobbing,” she continued.
“No, Brighde, you DID NOTII, you must be careful, especially after what happened to your
grandfather. You are too naive thinking that you are in your Realm and that nothing will happen.” Her
mother chided her. “You think that because there are less seal killings of late that they are over, but
always, as long and far back as we can remember the Islefolk have killed us for our skins and our
blubber,” she reminded her daughter.

“Yes Ma, I remember, it was just that he seemed moved by my sobbing that he too had started to cry.
He was lying there at the top of the cliff, with his head in the long grass, as if to muffle the sound of his
sobbing. Then as I watched him, he fell asleep,” She told her mother.
Her mother sighed. There were stories told of Islefolk who were moved by the seals cries and songs
but she had seen too many horrors in her life time to go near any of them. In truth she feared for her
daughter.
“Brighde, did you stay and watch him the whole night?” she asked.
“Well, MaI..”
“Brighde!” she pressed.
“Um, yes, I well sort of” she avoided the details.
“Brighde, please tell me everything. It’s for your own safety and its better if you share it with me, you
know. You do know that, don’t you?” she pleaded. She felt anxious and alone in her fear, away in that
room, away from the others. It seemed so natural and unnatural to be there and yet it happened so
seldom that it made her feel suddenly isolated.

Cursed they were, her family. Wretchedly cursed and didn’t they know it, hard as they tried to forget.
For come the times when they became human for a short time, whether they wanted to or no, it was so
hard to return to the sea. So hard to leave their comfort.
“Oh Ma, I could not help it. I felt compelled. Before I knew it, I had clambered onto the shore, not quite
knowing how I got there and then there I was waddling up the sleep slope to the top. I have never done
such a thing, I promise, but he seemed so innocent, so much like us. It was as though he were my
own kin” she explained.
Her mother said nothing but her whole body tensed with anxiety.
Brighde waited before her mother signalled for her to go on. “Oh, Ma. Before I knew it I was so close
to him I could smell his boyish smell. And then I too fell asleep right next to him.
Her mother gasped in shock. “NO, BRIGHDE, NO!” she exclaimed.
“Ma, hush. It was the most amazing thing Ma. I dreamed boy dreams. I did really. I dreamed of fresh
cow’s milk, of running with the sheep of, ofI. Some many things I have never known” she stopped.
Before they could continue, the horn sounded for the start of the banquet and they both stood up,
knowing what was expected of them. After a brief hug, they moved back to the long hall.

Much had changed in their absence and absorbed as they had been in their ‘talk’ they had missed
hearing all the commotion and moving of benches.
So many tables set out, as always had been but far fewer of them filled up with the clann.
As they seated themselves near her father at the head of the grand table, her grandfather, Chief
Lochlann stood up and cleared his throat.
“Ahem, I.We are gathered here today to celebrate the occasion of our being, as we do these three
times of the year when we have the chance. Today especially I, myself am pleased to be here, as you
well know. I too am pleased to have the pleasure of the company of my granddaughter, Princess
Brighde, who we all thought was lost to us, as well,” he announced, opened the banquet.
“Let us eat, drink and be merry for tomorrow we may die,” he shocked everyone by saying.
Despite this, there were shouts that rang out of “cheers” and the bashing of goblets.
Brighde felt ill at ease and distracted. She looked around. There were fewer of them as the years
went by, even she as a youngster noticed it. She picked at her food. It seemed strange to eat cooked
food. She knew they did it at these times but today it seemed strange.

11. THE WOUND
T he three men passed the man’s stone bothy and its heather thatching and searched for some dry
clothes for him. It was stale inside and the boy went back outdoors whilst the men were dressing
him. They briefly inspected the wound in his leg and all agreed that it was a knife wound. He
also had a swollen lump on the back of his head. Finding some empty bottles of whisky beside Donny-
Dubhs bed, they found enough drops in there to pour on the wound. The dressing would wait until
they had him beside the fire.
After some discussion, it was decided to take him to their house. His mother would be away to Mass
and there would be time to deal with him before she came back. The men sent the boy head to add
peat to the fire. Luckily it was summer and there had been no rain for some weeks. The peat was
crumbly and dry and would light easily from last nights embers.
Each night his mother said a prayer around the embers, drawing them close to last through the night.
Even in summer the fire was lit, not so much for warmth - although the cold still came in summer - but
for cooking and heating water for tea.

Depositing the man’s ‘bean’ deep within his pocket, he ran off at great speed, paying heed to his Da’s
words for haste. Still panting from his long run up the hill to his familiar house, he pushed inside the
narrow doorway and called for his Ma but there was no answer. He quickly checked her room but she
was away.
Mara, their sheep dog however came bounding to greet him. He patted her briefly and then tied her to
a tether outside. He had no time to be bothered by her bumping him about. He had a task to do.
Then he carefully brought in some of the smaller pieces of peat and lined them around the edges of
the fire. He bent his head low, careful not to disperse the thick film of ash with his rasping breath. He
breathed in deeply through his nose and then closed his eyes, blowing out long and slow to bring the
embers alive. He opened his eyes and saw the faint orange glow that signalled that the heart of the
fire was still alive through the sleeping ash.
He looked about and saw some of his father’s thick woollen fishing socks hanging up above the fire, to
dry. Today his father should be out fishing, for the weather was fine and yet he was not. It was rare
indeed to see men ashore when the fishing weather was fine as this. His father came home each
night. Going only as far as the uninhabited isles further south. Each day they went out together, him
and his fishing partner. The two of them harvesting enough fish and crabs to feed their families and
some more. Often there were tales to be told beside the fire and it was a comforting place to be with
all its shared memories.

Time and time again he drew in long, deep breathes and exhaled long and slow. Blowing a steady
stream of air into the heart of the embers. Soon the peat was smouldering and he moved the pieces
nearer to the centre of the growing fire before going back outside and getting some larger peat’s from
the store. The peats were stacked next to the wall of the house. He felt a bit giddy from the run up the
hill and then getting the fire going straight away. He staggered slightly and leant against the stone wall
of the outside of his home.
Briefly the world greyed out, even though he could still feel the warmth of the sun on his back and face.
He closed his eyes, enjoying the rare heat of the sun. Midges milled about his head but he felt nothing
as he let himself fade into a daydream that had forced itself on him.
As the grey mist cleared he found himself within a great feast hall. Before him were tables of folk,
dressed in a unfamiliar fashion. Harsh guttural language that he could not understand but somehow
familiar all the same. He gazed at the speaker, a great bear of a man with a strong mane of red hair.
There seated near the speaker, was seated the most beautiful girl he had ever seen. He drew his
breath in sharply. Long flowing hair and the smoothest, glowing skin on her lovely face. She looked
lost in thought, paying little attention to the man who was speaking. The woman seated next to her
glanced between her daughter and the speaker, not sure which one to focus her attention on.
Clearly all the other folk were in rapture of the speaker as he wove his story and the boy almost felt as
if he could understand the meaning of it.

He drew his awareness back and looked around him. He was leaning against a stone wall and it was
strangely bright and sunny. He could feel the heat of the sun around him although he felt strangely so
close to the salty sea and waves. He could almost still feel the beach sand under his feet. A lone gull
made its harsh cry and he looked up. He was learning against the wall of his own house.
He shook his head and felt too late the peat’s drop from his hands in disbelief. He could have sworn
he was in a feast hall. Perhaps he had not got enough sleep last night. Remembering his task at hand
he picked up the damaged peat’s, careful to kick the crumbs away so his Da would not see that he had
carelessly dropped them, almost wasting precious peat.
Not wasting anything was an enforced way of life for there was little enough to go around. Everything
they had was the result of hard work and winter always came too soon.
Hurrying inside to place the peat halves on the fire he again clearly saw the beautiful girl seated at the
grand table. Behind the speaker there hung a golden crest but he barely had time to glimpse what it
was before the vision cleared. The fireplace was in front of him and he was so close he bumped his
head hard on the arch above the fire. Colliding loudly with the thick chain that held the blackened
kettle and cooking pot above the flames.
He cried out in surprise and pain and as he lifted his fingers to his forehead he again dropped the peat,
making a mess of crumbly peat on the floor before the fire. Painfully, he explored his head and winced
in pain at the bruised and grazed injury. His fingers came way with a trace of blood and he cussed
himself for not paying attention.

He felt clearly distracted this morning.
He grabbed the brass brush and pan that lay beside the fire and squeezed his eyes shut against the
bright glow of the fire against the shiny surface. He quickly cleaned up the dispersed peat and emptied
them carefully on to the fire. Even so a cloud of ash filled the air and some of the ash flakes landed on
his fathers drying socks.
Clumsily he tried to brush them off and then he filled the blackened kettle with water his mother had
collected earlier from the spring nearby.
Sunday was the day of rest and his mother went to Mass without making breakfast. They slept late on
Sunday mornings and ate after they came back. So the kettle was cold from the night before.
They would need the hot water for cleaning the man’s wound.
Outside the boy heard the voices of the three men as they neared the house. Their voices were loud
and raised in conversation but he could not catch the words. Although he spoke Gaelic, he was
educated at the school in English only and so did not have as good a command or understanding of
the familiar Gaelic language, as his parents.
Many of the Islefolk were angry that the children were forced to learn in English at the school but there
was little their grumbling achieved. The boy had found the early years the most difficult for he had to

learn the English language from scratch and then after some time the English had come easier. Now
the children often spoke it unconsciously when together, much to the annoyance of their parents and
the old Isle-folk. They were concerned that the Gaelic language would die and be lost forever but he
doubted that.
Still he struggled to follow the conversation of the men and made a silent promise to speak more
Gaelic with his parents - around the home anyway.

12. THE FEAST HALL
F ar beneath the sea, a young girl Brighde sat next to her mother, barely paying attention to the
words of the speaker.
She was lost in wake-dreaming. Through a misty cloud she could visualise a boy, HER boyII
carrying blocks of soil next to a stone house. He seemed confused and leant against the wall
steadying himself. He had dropped the blocks and they had fallen to the ground shattering. From her
dream the previous night she knew those blocks as peat’s and knew too that they were burnt to
produce warmth for the fire.
Her folk, when in human form used wood for making fires. They had a huge store from days gone by,
in their feast hall. These days there no trees grew on the land of the Islefolk. She herself had yet to
see a living tree, all of them burned for fire fuel or cut down to provide building material for roofs and
boats.
She had seen drawings of trees in the book chamber, off the back off the hall.

So strange these days of the change. Although she had been through some years of them and was
aware that this happened, it seemed so uncomforting to her.
Yet as the day wore on and on it began it seem odd to return to the icy cold of the sea water. Usually,
for at least a day she reviled the taste of raw fish before she got used to it again. She felt naked and
exposed without her hall clothes. Swimming felt cold and unpleasant and she wanted to escape from
it. The others felt the same but rarely spoke of it.
“Did the Islefolk ever turn to sea form?” she wondered aloud.
Surely not, for they killed from the sea with such vigour that they surely had no connection with it at all.
She wondered a the strangeness of their existence and promised herself to pay more attention to her
grandfather in future.
She drew herself away from the boy, breaking what seemed like a direct contact into his world and
focussed on the speaker.
Being the day before Lammas the Sealfolk had known the change was coming. They had called on
the waves and the seal killer had been forced to return the land without retrieving his kill or his weapon.
The waves had drawn her grandfather back and deep down to the waiting Sealfolk and they had taken
him to their feast hall. Returning after midnight to the bothy of the seal killer. There they had appeared

in human form asking him to accompany them to meet their leader. They had told him that their leader
wanted to purchase seal skins from him and this had piqued his interest.
Lammas meant that their faithful water horse too gained land form and her father himself had ridden
the mighty water horse accompanied by 2 other of the seal folk-men. They had mounted the man
behind them, then set off like the wind for the top of the cliffs. There they had stopped and the man
had looked a paler shade of greenish-grey from the speed they had travelled at.
There they had dismounted and grasped the man around the waist firmly, before leaping off the cliff.
There they had descended deep and far beneath the surface until they had reached the hidden door of
the feast hall.
Once inside the man had claimed distress at having never to return to his land and how he would pine
for it, wasting away in this underwater world.
Not wanting to disclose all their secrets to him they had merely brought forth his hunting knife and
asked if he knew it. He knew it alright and had said as much, continuing to say he had struck it deep
within a seal that same day but had been unable to retrieve it or his kill for the waves which had
suddenly increased in size making him lose his footing, his knife and his kill.
“Well”, they told him angrily, “there was a man badly injured by his knife and perhaps he had been
mistaken for he had actually plunged his hunting knife into the flesh of a living man and there was only

one cure for this”. They continued, saying “He himself the perpetrator of the injury was to seal the
wound with his own fingers and the man would recover”.
This they explained was the reason why they had lured him there with false tales knowing that he was
motivated by money and greed for seal skins and that had been the only way.
Strangely as the matter had sunk into his mind, he had greened further realising that he would be
receiving no coin for any transactions.
He had followed them as meekly as a sheep on land to the slaughter. He had done as he was told for
the promise that they would return him back to the land after he had healed the man.
He had been confused insisting that he had stabbed a mighty seal not a man but they had stared at
him knowingly and he had shivered despite the warmth of the underwater hall.
He had seen all the tables and seating and feared for the number of men that must be there and he
had known that there was no way he could escape.
At the far end of the hall, on the way to the chamber that held the injured man, he had seen a crest. A
golden crest it had been and he had read the words aloud:

Then he had remembered the stories about the Children of Lochlann and he had trembled more.
They had taken him to the injured man, a great bear of a man with thick, long red hair. The man was
obviously near death and as Donny-Dubh had looked at the mans leg, he had seen the gaping wound
that his knife had wrought.
Again the burly men instructed him as to what he must do.
He had done it, numbed in a type of waking sleep, where time passed differently. Then they had taken
him out of the chamber and back into the hall. Repeatedly forbidding him to drink or eat of their feast.
The same man had again grasped him around the waist and together they had returned breathless to
the surface.
After wading to the shore, one mighty horse had waited for them. Dripping with water, seaweed in his
mane, the seal killer had hesitated to mount up behind the man. He knew the legend of the water
horse all to well.
Those that mounted him were dragged into the water and drowned a watery death. But the man
insisted and the seal killer knew to well, that he had already, unknowingly been aboard its back.
Although far too fast for his liking, he reached his bothy by horseback, breathless and more that slightly
nauseous, as the events of the past hours sank in.

They had left him there. Confident now that he was back on his own stead, he had rudely demanded
his knife be returned to him. The man had chanted a wirry-rhyming ditty, before retreating unseen into
the night.
As soon as the seal killer was safely back inside he had collapsed on his bed-sitter and was
surprisingly soon fast asleep.
He had dreamed seal dreams. He had been swimming in the sea near the shore watching a man.
Suddenly the man had thrown rocks at him, stunning him and then leapt into the water, plunging a
harsh hunting knife deep into his leg! The knife had remained in his wound as he sunk deep into the
water calling on the waves to protect him.
A touch of his own torture!

13. CLEANING UP
T he boy stood and watched as the men fussed over Donny-Dubh on the sitter beside the
fireplace. They had removed his trousers and placed a warm, woollen blanket around him.
His Da was busy collecting clean sheep’s fleece to place on the wound once it was cleaned and had
found some clean linen cloth to clean it with.
Pouring some of his precious whisky into a cup he tore off a strip of the linen to clean the wound.
The man was still unconscious and they dribbled a slow stream of whisky onto his lips. Very soon the
man was murmuring and muttering. In some sort of daze he was blethering about the very same stuff
as when the boy had found him at the beach.
As the water had boiled and began to cool, his father prepared the linen strips to clean the wound. The
other two men were trying to get some sense out of the man and keep him awake. If he drifted off
again he may well not return, for men half-drowned often died anyway.

Together with his injury the whole events could well be fatal to the man. From the boys story and the
mans mumbling they were more than curious to hear what had really happened.
With warm water cooled with cold water from the spring they cleaned his face and brushed his dark
hair from his eyes. They brushed his hair back and tied it loosely with a thong - away and sterile.
Whilst the wound water cooled the two men shaved his face so that soon he looked clean and
respectable. With his fresh shirt it was unlikely that Ruraidh’s Ma would recognise him as the seal
killer, if she returned from Mass early. They washed his hands with warm water and cleaned his
stained finger nails.
They hung a crucifix belonging to one of the other men, around his neck on a thin leather thong. Now
he looked more presentable and less villainous.
Then the boy’s father tested the boiled water and deemed it cool enough for the wound. They moved
the man outside onto a wooden bench, which sat beside the stone house. Securing him to the bench
with fisherman’s rope they set about cleaning the wound. They set a cord of the rope through his teeth
for him to bite his pain away and the two men straddled his feet preventing him from moving. Then his
Da’ poured the water fast onto the wound and rubbed the area around it gently to remove the grime of
a fisherman.

Baths were uncommon and because of the cold people rarely did more than a face and hand wash. It
took some work to get the area around the wound clean. The man was rolling his eyes and squirming
about on the wooden bench, despite being restrained.
From his constant muted muttering, a line of frothy spittle was running down his cheek towards his ear
and the boy turned away as it made him shudder.
Finally they dressed the wound with fresh heather and snow-white sheep fleece before binding it in
place with clean strips of linen. Then they untied him and un-gagged him and dressed him in his fresh
set of trousers again.
The boy was given the task of clearing up the evidence and he quickly collected the blood stained
cleaning linen strips and tossed them in the fire. Fresh water had been set on the boil and the
leftovers of last nights supper had been hastily re-heated. Suddenly the boy was famished and
remembered that he had slept on the cliff above the seal cave, eating no tea. It was now nearly
midday and he had had nothing to eat and drink.
He wolfed down his supper from the previous eve and a portion was easily spooned by the men into
the mouth of the injured man. It livened him up a bit and after a fresh cup of fragrant heather tea he
seemed quite coherent.

It was discussed briefly that it would be better if the man be taken back to his bothy for a sleep and the
men would go off fishing, to avoid an suspicion. They would all keep it to themselves and then they
would call on him tonight again after Finlay’s wife was asleep.
The boy worried briefly that he would be the only one to face his Ma and so he hastily scribbled her a
note saying, “Hi Ma, off with the sheep on Ben Taigh. Have taken Mara with me, today.”
Mara was their sheep dog but he seldom took her with into the hill as she required too much watching.
Today however, he felt like he needed the company and he chatted to Mara the whole afternoon. It
made the time pass quicker. Soon it was getting chilly and the wind was picking up.
Mara knew all about the seal and his dreams and she wagged enthusiastically at his story. Not much
sheep watching he did, but the lambs were getting quite big enough to look after them selves and there
were few predators on the Windy Isles. The large, black crow and the golden eagle alone were their
enemy.
That was, “apart from the Islefolk”, the boy thought aloud to himself, “who eat them when they were big
enough”. The boy unusually thought it was strange and repulsive to eat animals. In the spring the
lambs were so cute and full of life. They leapt and bounded playfully and he loved them so much and
knew them so well, that by the winter he could barely bring himself to eat their flesh no matter how his
mother cooked it.
He could never think of eating his darling Mara either and he spent just as many days with her too.

Long ago the story goes in the bible, God laid out laws for his people of what they could eat and what
they could not eat.
Animals with cloven hooves and that chewed the cud were allowed to be eaten as were those with
scales and fins from the sea. This excluded a great number of animals and he though about this a lot.
Seals for example had no scales and therefore should not be eaten. He thought this meant that they
should not be killed either, nor used for skin and blubber.
Even crabs should not be eaten, as they had no scales and fins, and yet although the Islefolk
devotedly went to Mass each Sunday and observed some of the rules. Here there were many rules
that were overlooked and the boy wondered at this.
He had asked the priest once, when he had visited their school. The priest had given him a knowing
smile and said he had a good, enquiring mind. Even when the priest saw him now before or after
mass he gave him a special look to say he remembered his question and approved.
His parents were different though and other adults. They did not like questions especially the ones you
really, really wanted answers to.
His mind drifted back to the seal killer story this morn. Had the mother seal actually found him and
cared for him. It seemed amazing. He could still remember the gentle, brown-liquid eyes of the seal

from early this morning and he now knew why they looked so familiar. Something must be firmly
etched in his mind that such eyes looked after him when he was just a tiny baby. Instead of worrying
him as it might have perturbed some, he felt a warm, happy glow thinking about it.

14. NIGHT VISIT
T hat night, soon after tea his Ma went off to bed. She had said the usual evening prayer over the
embers and then retired to the bed box she shared with her husband.
It was starting to get dark earlier and earlier as they edged to the end of summer and Sunday was
always a good night to sleep early.
His Da had kept her busy deep in conversation about the boat and the fishing and she had barely
thought of her young son’s mysterious night away from home. In fact she had thought perhaps he had
come home late and left early.
In all accounts, his Da had not mentioned any worry and so she had put it out of her mind.
Finlay mentioned to his wife that he might be back at the boat to do some resealing and asked that he
might take his son with him for company.

She had offered no resistance.
Careful not to make a noise, Finlay had gathered some more sheep fleece, clean linen to make
bandage strips.
On the way they had gathered so fresh heather to make a healing wash for the wound.
They had called for the two other men and an old Bodach had accompanied them to the bothy by the
shore.
The seal killer was still asleep and they had gently woken him. His brow was beaded with sweat and
he was hot to the touch. He was running a fever, which was no small wonder considering his previous
night’s event.
They were all beside themselves with anxiety to hear his story and after cleaning and rebinding his
wound, they had hand fed him with nourishing brochan and freshly baked bannocks.
Donny-Dubh livened up a bit after the food and they were sure that the wild garlic in the brochan had
begun its effect.
He seemed dazed though and still incoherent to say the least.

The men poured him a cup of whisky and he gratefully gulped it down. Spluttering at its strength. In
between he had a cup of healing water the Bodach had gathered from the healing well that was
supposed to have been blessed by St Columba (or Collum Cille as he was known) so long ago.
Steadily he began to talk more and they poured another and then another cup of whiskey for him.
Piecing the story together and odd tale began to emerge and the men muttered to each other in
Gaelic.
Donny-Dubh had seen a massive seal just off the shore and overcome with the need for coin he had
thrown a large rock at it, as it had turned to swim away. The rock had collided with the back of its head
and it had been instantly stunned. He had rushed in with his hunting knife and embedded it into the
haunches of the seal.
All of a sudden the sea had become rough and the waves much bigger than they had been. He had
lost his footing and been unable to stand in the deep water. The large seal had been far to large for
him to manage on his own and he had lost both his knife and his kill. He had had to swim for the
shore and cold and wet he had lumbered home, complaining sorely to himself for the loss of his
precious knife.
Later that same night a loud knocking had come at his door and 3 broad strangers had stood outside.
They had offered him a large quantity of coin for 100 seal skins. He had balked at the amount but

knew there were no longer that amount of seals around the coasts and he would have had to travel the
length of the Long Isles for many weeks to gather such a quantity.
The strange men had insisted that he speak with their boss straight away and they had heaved him
onto one of their massive black horses. Travelling faster than the wind they had galloped across the
machair stopping above the cliffs. They had dismounted there and the men had said he would meet
their leader soon.
He had been confused, at first thinking them to be some different band of travelling folk. Then one of
them had suddenly moved behind him and grabbing him tightly around the waist, they had all jumped
over the cliff with him.
The water had been icy and the depth unbearable. His lungs had been bursting for air. The man had
been so strong that he had been unable to break free and he had been convinced that he was being
murdered.
They had come to an unexplainable place far beneath the waves and there they had entered what
must have been some sort of cave for - there was air in there and a door.
Inside had been many strangers and he could only think that they must have been a band of travelling
pirate smugglers.

They had produced his own hunting knife and insisted that he had stabbed and injured their leader.
They had taken him to the injured man and forced him to grab and seal the wound with his own hands
and before his own eyes the wound had healed.
Then they had released him, forcing him to make a solemn pledge never to injure in any way a seal
again.
He understood none of it. They had returned him to his bothy but refused to return his hunting knife.
Later that night he had dreamed of swimming in the sea, diving in the waves when suddenly he
received a sharp, hard blow to the back of his head and before he knew it he had been stabbed in the
leg, with his own knife.
He had seen other shapes in the water and on the land but had soon become unconscious. The other
shapes be they men or seals, had done nothing to help him and he had come to only when Finlays son
had found him lying there washed up on the beach.
It seemed a likely tale but in truth the man was not drunk when they had found him and he did have a
large swelling from the blow to the back of his head and a knife wound in his thigh.
Though the men were sure some unknown event had taken place and the injured mans head was
away with the faeries, they left him in his bothy to sleep it off and perhaps he would make more sense
in the morning.

On the walk home the men had talked amongst themselves. The old Bodach had talked a lot which
was rare. He seemed to think that there was some truth in the seldom discussed seal tales and
repeated some others he had heard.
The men seemed to ignore Ruraidh, but he did get a good chance to listen in.
They parted ways at the home of the other men and Ruraidh and his Da walked home in silence.
That night, the boy slept a deep, dreamless sleep.

15. THE CHANGE
B righde had dosed off during the evenings proceedings and missed much of what went on. She
was exhausted from all the excitement and her mother had given an abridged version of what
had happened to delay her.
Then they had all settled for the night. Not the usual events of Lammas but the unexpected attack on
her grandfather had left everyone in poor spirits and the usual story telling and dancing had not gone
ahead this time.
Her grandfather did not have his full strength back and the wound on his leg, although visually healed
still pained him. He walked with a marked limp and his brow was beaded with sweat.
Her father called the Clann healer for him and they took Lochlann to heal his weary body. There was a
place where the steamy, hot sea water issued forth in hissing bursts through the rocks far beneath the
sea. It entered into a natural rock pool deep within the chambers behind the hall and smelt of sulphur.
This was where Lochlann dosed that night soaking up the healing powers of the natural steambath.

All the Isle were volcanic in origin and unknown to the Islefolk there were still active points far, far
beneath the surface.
Brighde slept a dreamless sleep and awoke late, having returned already to her usual seal form.
Her grandfather seemed fully recovered after being back in the cold, salty sea water and they all made
their way far out to sea, away from the island.

16. STEPPIN’ STONES
W hen the boy awakened, he had a quick breakfast with hot tea and then set of with Mara to the
hill. He was anxious to be on his own to puzzle over the nights events.
As soon as he located the sheep, he sat down on a rock and started to talk to Mara. It calmed her and
she listened alertly to him.
He told her of how, the Bodach had told them all stories the night before. They had been on their way
home from the bothy by the shore.
One of the stories he had told the men was of the People of Lochlann and how they had laid stepping
stones beneath the water, across all the lochs of the Windy Isles.
Neither Ruraidh nor the other men knew much about this tale and Ruraidh could not wait to corner his
father. Perhaps they could go exploring together. He got to spend precious little time with his Da.

Last night his Ma had allowed him to go with his Da, supposedly to fix the boat. Now he thought there
might be the way to lead onto other outings.
Ruraidh liked his Da a lot. He was a kind, reasonable man. He did not drink too much, like some of
the other men, and he was always good tempered with his Ma. They got on well and looked after each
other in a companionable way.
Ruraidh often longed for the company of a brother or sister but he was an only child. This was very
unusual as most families on the Windy Isles were large with as many as ten children.
The shock of his disappearance as a baby, had disturbed his mother so much that she had retreated
from the world for quite some time. Even after he had been found, she had not allowed herself again to
be away from his side, until he was much older. For reasons unbeknown to him, his parents had
already been older when he had been born and so by the time he was big enough to get around by
himself, his mother had been to old to bear more children.
This did not stop his parents from getting on well but he felt the emptiness sometimes for he would
have liked to have had company.
Mara was a good friend though.

On the way home, the boy and his dog took the path along the shore past the seal killers .
Ruraidh peeked in the door but the man was asleep. The air smelt foul in there and he wondered if the
man would live.
The bothy was small stone building little bigger than a hut. It had formerly been a storm ruined building
and the previous occupant had left to work on the mainland. Donny-Dubh had restored it to a basic
shelter, providing himself with a generally windproof and watertight home. It had a small sleeping area
on a raised platform, which kept him clear of cold air and draughts at floor level. It also had a small
fireplace, and was near a natural spring.
Not suitable for a family but more often used as a summer sheiling for travelling fisherman. The seal
killer though unusually had neither wife nor family and so he lived alone. It was very small inside
though and the boy wondered how the seal killer could manage to spend the winter in such cramped
conditions.
He wondered what the seal killer would do now for a living. Everyone knew he sourced goods for the
travelling folk and kept their company but many times they wanted seal goods.
Though according to the seal killer, he had not done much trade in seals since the day when Ruraidh
had been found in the ‘arms’ of the seal. Definitely he now insisted that he would never do seal trade
again.

How did a person like this survive? Most of the Islefolk raised sheep and planted a yearly crop of
potatoes and corn. The men were often fishermen as well. Some had the odd cow for milk but most
raised sheep alone.
Even that was not enough to manage and life was often very hard. It was the close support of ones
family and neighbours that helped each other stumble for year to year and recover from the fierce
winter storms.
Ruraidh wondered about the travelling folk. He remembered the seal killer saying that one of the
travelling women had said he would be a great swimmer. It seemed hardly likely and he dare not
speak to his Ma about that. More than the mere talk of his regarding the water and swimming, she
would definitely explode at the mention of a Cailleach. His Ma was a devotee to the Trinity and the
virgin Mary.
Anything of the old beliefs was scorned and rejected by her. Some folk still held fast to some of the
traditions and the travelling folk were some that did have their own pagan ways, but not his Ma.
Not wanting to stay at the bothy, he wandered off along the meandering paths along the shore and
then up towards the familiar cliff. Strangely there were no seals about and he wondered at this. If the
seal killer had injured a seal, then perhaps they had moved away for their safety. He hoped not. He
longed to see one.

There were many months each year that they spent entirely out to sea. But when they were breeding
they returned to their cave beneath the cliff. They did this each year without fail and they raised their
cubs there.
Sometimes you did not notice them straight away and then suddenly there they were, close by,
bobbing and looking at one.
Once he had wanted to see one and had started singing in a strange high pitched voice. He had
started to quite enjoy his instinctive, childish song and when he again became aware of his
surroundings there had bee a number of them. Each bobbing and looking at him. He had counted
about thirteen. Some had been quite large but they had kept a further distance. Once had swim right
up close and stared at him curiously. Then as he had stopped singing his strange song they had
swum off, apparently bored.
He walked up the hill path and sat down near the edge of the cliffs. He always kept a sharp lookout for
any areas that were eroded and never sat too close to the edge.
Frustrated that his spyglass was broken he tried to remember his wirry-song.
Then he closed his eyes and tried to think of how it would sound if he were singing under water.

When he opened his eyes again, he saw Mara with her head turned sideways, looking curiously at him
and she had tried to lick his face. Then when he carried on with his song, louder and louder, she
started to yelp a bit - ending up howling like a wolf.
“No”, he thought aloud to himself “this would have to wait until he was alone”.
This was one of the reasons he did not take Mara with him often and usually left her tethered at home.
He was always having some sort of exploration or activity and she got over excited, often spoiling it for
him.
“Hush Mara, you will chase off the seals if you call up your blethering”, he complained.
He gazed over the edge and peered at the waves. Nothing, nothing at all.
He was starting to wonder if he had imagined the seal. Perhaps he had just been dreaming.
“What do you think, Mara”, he asked his dog.
Mara yelped, appearing to nod her head rapidly up and down.
“Does that mean yes, Mara? He asked. “or does it mean you think it was real”

Mara turned her head sideways and he could have sworn she winked at him. He laughed and set off
for home.

17. THE GALE
After the change the Sealfolk felt restless and they usually travelled about trying to find themselves.
This time was no different.
Lochlann lead them off to the uninhabited isles. They were some distance away but he was feeling
much better. The long distance swimming usually helped them forget and often they saw interesting
sights along the way.
This time however, Lochlann stopped near a rocky outcrop off the shore of one of the smaller islands.
No Islefolk lived here and though they passed at times in their fishing boats, they did not bother the
seals.
It was low tide and the sun was out. The sky was blue and they lumbered up on to the seaweed
covered rocks and basked in the sun.
In between they would go off solitarily and swim about in the shallow water to cool off.

Brighde explored the shallow water peeking at the anemones and enjoying their vivid reds. She poked
them gently with her nose and they tickled her before closing. She spotted a tiny crab and tried to pick
it up with her flipper. “Ah, just a casing”, she thought aloud. She had not wanted to eat it, just admire
it. She loved the other sea creatures and yes, she ate out of need but when she was not hungry she
loved exploring and studying the other creatures that shared the sea with her.
Especially she loved the other sea mammals like the dolphins. Though they had not been around so
far this season. She wondered what they were up to, for usually they swam up and down the coasts,
even following the fishing boats and performing for the fishermen who usually delighted in their
displays.
Suddenly she spotted a tiny green starfish. Amazed she swam closer. It was adorable. So small.
She wanted to show someone but everyone else was basking in the sun.
She swam up to the surface and rolled over onto her back. Curling up, she closed her eyes and
rocked herself to sleep in the water.
She awoke later to find that as she had slept so too the tide had risen higher and higher. So too their
place of respite had disappeared beneath the now growing, angry waves. A gusty wind had come up
and a gale was brewing.

The young pups ran into difficulty in stormy weather, either getting injured in the rough seas or getting
separated from their mothers. Without the richness of their mothers’ milk they can’t survive, even if
they manage to get to shore uninjured. They died then of dehydration and starvation before the clann
could find them.
This year’s breeding had been especially slow with only 2 pups born. So they were especially careful,
usually hiding out in their cave beneath the cliffs and off the shore.
Today however the storm had come up suddenly and they were far from home.
They decided to head for The Arch. It was a feature of a nearby uninhabited island and because of its
structure and position offered unique shelter in storms. It did not matter what direction the wind came
from, there was always somewhere to hide.
By the time they reached The Arch, Lochlann was no longer in top form. He was weaker and the
boiling, foaming sea battered him against the rocks as he tried to find the clann a safe place to clamber
ashore.
There was a side wall of resistant black intrusion rock that protruded from The Arch. If you could get
behind, it was raised and the waves did not reach there, even in the worst storms. The wall of rock
also protected them from the worst of the wild wind.

They huddled together, blocking out the rain, with Lochlann and the two young pups in the most
protected spot. Then they settled down to sleep off the gale.
Normally seals could easily sleep in the sea. By rocking on their backs, they could stay afloat and
close their eyes. Their nostrils would close automatically if they went below the water.
Seals could stay under water for an hour and a half before having to come up to the surface for air.

18. HELPING OUT
W hen his Da got home from fishing he was tired. A wind had started to blow and bringing the boat
in had been a challenge.
He was wet and cold from the spray. In summer when the sun was behind the clouds the temperature
plummeted fast.
After their evening meal of small, but freshly harvested potatoes and fresh cockles his mother had
collected from the Traigh Mhor, his father announced that he needed Ruraidh again to help with
moving the catch to the store. He explained that it had been a good catch and would last through the
gale that was coming later in the night.
There would be no fishing tomorrow due to the foul weather.
His Ma sighed loudly and did not answer.

“Please Ma”, he begged. “I’ll be careful, sure I will.”
Careful not to annoy his mother, he did not press her further.
His parents moved to their sleeping area and he heard them talking in muffled tones.
Then his father came back. He silently took his sons arm and led him towards the door.
Whispering in his ear, he said “You need to go and talk to your Ma!”
“Be nice to her, he continued, “you have been ignoring her lately and you have hurt her feelings”.
“Be careful not to let anything slip,” he warned. “I will be back to get you shortly.”
With that his father slid on his oilskins and held firmly onto the door as he slipped outside.
Ruraidh slowly made his way over to where his Ma was sitting on the edge of her bed. Her shoulders
were hunched and the boy placed his small hands on her weary muscles and gave her a short
massage.
When he stopped, she turned around and smiled at him.
How have you been, my son? She asked. “I have not seen you much lately”

“I’m fine Ma, just busy with the sheep and the lambs” he did not elaborate.
“Tell me about it” she pressed.
Ruraidh had an idea. “Ma, do you want some hot tea and we’ll chat, as you drink and relax?” he
asked. “I’ll do the washing up later, you look tired”
His mother smiled up at him. “Yes son”, she said quietly.
Ruraidh returned after a minute, bringing with him a steaming cup of fresh tea. It was gently fragrant
and his mother smiled.
“Chamomile, is it?” She asked. “You know me too well” she laughed.
“Yes Ma, I picked them especially for you on my way back from the hill. There’s plenty drying on the
ledge above the fire for later. I found some mint growing down by the river too and I will get some later
in the week.” He carried on.
This was part truth as his Da had given him clear instructions on which herbs to gather so that they
could treat the injured man. He figured that it would do no harm to treat his Ma as he had harvested
quite a lot.

“You are such a lovely boy,” she said as she cupped his face in her wrinkled hands.
“Love you Ma” he blurted.
“Love you too, son.” She laughed, happy again.
“Now tell me about your summer holidays, I know you have been keeping yourself busy but I sense
you have something weighing on your mind” she probed him.
This was going to be easier than he thought.
“You are right Ma, but I did not want to bother you with it.”
“What is it son?” she looked worried.
“Nothing to worry about, just a sad thing for me that’s all” he said. “You know that spyglass I found in
the hill?” reminded her.
“Mmm” she raised her eyebrow.
“Well I was running in the hill with Mara and I twisted my ankle a bit. It made me lose my balance a bit
and then I sat down a bit too heavily on the rocks. As I sat down, the spyglass which had been
hanging from my shoulder - on the strap Da made for it – collided with the big rock I had sat on and,

wellI.. I, well it smashed. I’ve been really sad about it and I’m sorry, I should have told you I guess”
he mumbled, finishing his story.
It was part truth so he did not feel bad about it at all. This way his mother would be satisfied and
relieved too.
“Oh, Ruraidh, I feel sorry for you, that’s awful.” She exclaimed.
“Don’t worry Ma, I’ll get over it, I suppose. I guess I have to learn to be more careful and it was a big
lesson to me”, he confessed.
He felt better now. He had been neglecting his Ma and usually they were very close. It was silly to let
a secret get in the way of their friendship. Most kids at school did not get on with their parents but he
did and he knew that was special.
“That’s a good boy,” she said quietly giving him a hug and patting him on the back, comforting him.
“Lessons learnt are never easy, that’s for sure”.
Not wanting to press his Ma, he did not mention going out with his father. They chatted for a bit longer
and then he heard his father open the door outside.
“Go on son,” he mother pushed him forward towards the door. “Dress warmly its getting cold outside.
Don’t be long” she warned.

Suddenly filled with excitement, Ruraidh gave her a quick peck on the check and then ran towards the
door. Careful to grab his bag of gathered herbs without raising suspicion.
His father smiled briefly, knowing from the look on his son’s face that he had done a good job pleasing
his Ma.
Carefully shutting the door on their way out, whilst still pulling on his jacket and knitted woollen hat, he
ran after his father.
“Hey Da, wait for me”, he shouted against the wind.
“Quick son, we really do have to off load the catch. There is something there that I thought might
interest you though,” he explained as they made toward the pier.
”What Da, what is it” he gasped.
“Patience my boy, patience” he father growled. “First - lets get it to the store,I and hurry” he added.
“Uh, Da,Iwhat about the man” he reminded his father.
“Shush boy, not now” he warned.

Ruraidh followed his father, his mind reeling. Something was up. He wondered what? Life was so
predictable and well, boring usually and now everything was happening at once. It had become so
exciting ever since he had found that spyglass, he remembered.

19. THE STORE
T he next morning when Ruraidh awoke early, he found there was a wild gale blowing outside. It
had started to come in late but was blowing full-force by the time he got up.
He opened the door to go out side and it was snatched violently form his grasp. It collided loudly with
the outside stone wall of the house and the edge splintered against the hard, rough surface.
Rushing outside to reclaim it he found he could hardly walk against the force of the wind. Leaning right
forward, he was unwillingly gifted with stinging, freezing rain deep in his ear.
The door was banging back and forth against the wall and he heard his fathers voice shouting loudly
“What on earth is going on, Ruraidh?”
“Sorry Da, he shouted back, competing with the howling of the wind. “It’s the wind, it ripped the door
right out of my hand before I knew it,” he apologised.

“Close it!” his father commanded.
Grabbing hold if the door and wrestling with the wind he finally managed to closed it and it settled
closed with a loud slam.
“Ruraidh,” his father exclaimed “be careful, you will have the house coming down on our heads!”
The boy cringed and remained silent not trusting himself to reply. It was an accident, surely his Da
knew that.
He wondered if the noise had woken is Ma up but he heard nothing further.
A few minutes later his Da came through to seat himself at fireplace. Ruraidh had already got the fire
going and was already heating the water for early morning tea.
He was convinced that he was going to be stuck in the house until the weather cleared.
He was famished after his wrestle with the door and the rough wind and scratched about the shelves,
looking for something to eat.
“Growing again, boy,” his Da laughed at him.
Ruraidh glared at his father furious at being teased.

“Come, let’s quickly slip out to the store” he said raising his one eyebrow, up and then down.
With a blinding flash, the events of the previous night came flooding back to Ruraidh.
He glanced out the door, buffeted by the wind. Briefly torn, knowing his mother would not approve, but
still not able to look adventure in the face and scream “No, thank you”.
“Now this is the weather you needed rivlins for,” he said to himself.
Pulling his spare woollen cap down firmly over his ears, and his jacket closed tight against the wet and
cold, he hurried after his Da. He was really careful to close the door, as quietly and firmly as he could.
Rushing along the sodden path, he dug his hands deep into his pockets trying in vain to drive off the
rain. His clenched fist encountered something hard and he opened his finger to briefly explore it. It
was the wishbone whistle his father had given him the night before, after it had come up in their fishing
nets.
He wanted to draw it out and look at it but the weather did not permit that. He rushed inside the door
that his father was struggling to hold open for him. Inside the store, they were alone still at this early
hour and his heart thrilled at this.

He pulled out the carved, bone whistle and put it to his wet lips. Placing the fingers of both his hands
on the two shafts he breathed in deeply and blew out a strong steady breath.
His father’s eyes opened wide with surprise at the beautiful haunting melody that emitted from it.
“Hey, son you are getting good at that!” he exclaimed. “Where did you find the time to practice?” he
asked.
“Da, you know, I’ve not had a moment to spend on it, this is my first go!” he echoed in surprise.
Secretly he was delighted with this new toy and planned to spend long hours with it, perfecting his
newly found skill.
A second blow was enhanced, or so he thought by the delicate, random movements of his carefully
placed fingers and he saw the gleam on his father face.
“Thanks Da”, he beamed, “I totally love it”.
“Aye, it’s a pleasure my boy, glad to see you happy,” his father replied, still smiling broadly.
It was a good moment for more often than not there was precious little to smile about.

The harvest last night had been exceptionally good and there was more than enough to sustain them if
they got it prepared quickly. On top of that there was a good deal to sell.
Once a week a big trawler came from the mainland to collect fish. This took the sea harvest of the
Windy Isles on to the large Overland Continent, for their tastes were fond of Isle fish and other sea
offerings such as prawns, lobster and crayfish.
Despite the urgency they had not done much last night because of the pressing need to rush down to
the seal killer bothy to care for him.
Why it was being kept secret, Ruraidh was not entirely sure but a secret it was right enough.
He grazed down at the mess of empty stacked creels, in the dim light. They took up too much space,
being unused. His Da did not have the heart to get rid of them though as they had belonged to his
family for such along time.
The crates of fish however where overflowing and needed to be dealt with. It was going to be hard
work in the cramped space but it would shut out the knowledge of the howling gale outside.
Most times the men prepared the fish whilst still on their long sea journey back to shore. Yesterday
however their concentration had been elsewhere and nought had been done despite the awesome
harvest.

On the return trip, from the Realm of the Far Isles, they were both certain that they had spotted a
mermaid.
Not a malicious siren that bode no good for fishermen, but an innocent mermaid. Not sure they could
believe their eyes they had strayed from their usual path and proceeded along the rocky shore that
lead to The Arch, a prominent feature of one of the Further Isles. There the sea had become wild and
choppy and the wind had come up.
Fearing they would be placing their lives in danger they had quickly returned to course and made
speedily for the pier.
As they had raised their nets just prior to docking they had been amazed by the huge catch. It was all
they could do to get it aboard in time for docking.
It is a faerie legend that if a mermaid takes a fancy to a fisherman then she would gift him with a
harvest from the sea. It was every fisherman’s dream to see them but more often it was the malicious
sirens that they saw. A siren was an angry, vindictive sea spirit that was on closer inspection actually a
hideous spirit of a sea hag. She would raise the sea to a fury, in an instant, dashing the unsuspecting
fishermen to their deaths.
Usually though it was not without provocation and more than often you could say that they had done
something to offend her. Sometimes though, they said she was just pure evil, she hated men and had
been rejected in her youth. This had made her bitter, angry and hateful toward all humans.

These days few fishermen knew the difference between a mermaid and a siren and as such there was
a prejudice against anything of that sort. This way, however, the unyielding fishermen often lost out on
a sea bounty of note.
Ruraidh’s Da and his fishing partner were good, kind men who often did noteworthy deeds and went
out of their way to assist the sea creatures who were not needed for their catch of survival.
Earlier that day they had felt a huge weight in the nets. It had slowed the boat to a sudden stop and
when they had pulled in the nets to investigate they had found a huge sea turtle lodged firmly in the
ropes of the net.
They had battled to free it, intending it no harm and without any injury at all they had set it free on its
way.
Such a deed is well deserving of a good turn from a mermaid if done of humble heart. It was the
breeding season of the sea turtle and injury or death to such a large sea mother would have resulted in
a tragedy to her unlaid eggs.
Year by year, his Da would tell him they were noticing a loss of sea life. There were ships that came
from far across the oceans and they hunted with a ferocity and greed. Killing all that became
entangled in their nets. Killing dolphins, whales, turtles and squids with no care for the pregnant
mothers.

This took its toll on the populations but his Da had a different policy.
“Take only what you need and return Gods animals to the sea” said his Da.
They themselves did not harvest any sea creature that did not have both fin and scale, as commanded
in the Bible.
They had taken up the nets several times on their trip, each time overflowing until their large boat could
take no more.
In the foul storm that had come up they had briefly wondered if they should throw some overboard to
ease the load but the somehow their boat had seemed sheltered from the worst of it.
Several treasures had come aboard too, not the least of which being a ‘carved bone whistle’.

In part II of this series
A Windy Isles Story

Part II
THE SEA WITCH (Preview)
“Out with you into the cold, wild waves, Beloved Children of the King Lochlann!
Henceforth your cries shall only be heard by the fish and gulls.”

Unfamiliar Words
Bhan Fair / light haired

Bodach The word is a Scottish Gaelic term for "old man"
Bothan Gaelic for bothy. A small shelter or hut. Used by travellers or fishermen during the
summer. Similar to a sheiling.
Brochan Gaelic for thin gruel
Cailleach The word simply means 'old woman' in modern Scottish Gaelic
Curragh The curragh is a light weight boat made with strips of wood and covered with a canvas
or skin type cover. Curraghs have been made for many hundreds of years and it is
believed that St. Brendan of Ireland went across the Atlantic in one. They were
extensively used as fishing boats in Ireland. Found by experience to be more likely to
survive the foul weather than heavier boats.
Gaelic An ancient language of the peoples of Ireland, Windy Isles and Scotland. Different
dialects exist.
Machair The flat land bordering the sea, covered with a mass of wild, indigenous flowers in the
summer months
Mhic Son of
Rivlins Shoes made of seal skin

Words: 19728

The Children of Lochlann 2009

Uploaded by

Document Information

Copyright

Available Formats

Share this document

Share or Embed Document

Sharing Options

Did you find this document useful?

Is this content inappropriate?

Copyright:

Available Formats

The Children of Lochlann 2009

Uploaded by

Copyright:

Available Formats

Children OF Lochlann

This book belongs to

© Copyright Jemma Castle Page 2

A Windy Isles Story

The Children of Lochlann

© Copyright Jemma Castle Page 3

A Windy Isles Story

The Children of Lochlann

© Copyright Jemma Castle Page 4

For Rubi and Starr

Written in the Windy Isles

© Copyright Jemma Castle Page 5

© Copyright Jemma Castle Page 6

© Copyright Jemma Castle Page 1

© Copyright Jemma Castle Page 2

“Better still on a real, living seal”, Brighde thought to herself.

It seems they never could control their tongues.

© Copyright Jemma Castle Page 3

© Copyright Jemma Castle Page 4

© Copyright Jemma Castle Page 5

© Copyright Jemma Castle Page 6

Today was no exception.

© Copyright Jemma Castle Page 7

© Copyright Jemma Castle Page 8

S he stopped a while, surprised by the sound of her sobs echoing so loudly.

© Copyright Jemma Castle Page 9

© Copyright Jemma Castle Page 10

© Copyright Jemma Castle Page 11

© Copyright Jemma Castle Page 12

© Copyright Jemma Castle Page 13

© Copyright Jemma Castle Page 14

© Copyright Jemma Castle Page 15

All of a sudden, something caught his eye.

Was it another seal?

© Copyright Jemma Castle Page 16

© Copyright Jemma Castle Page 17

© Copyright Jemma Castle Page 18

© Copyright Jemma Castle Page 19

© Copyright Jemma Castle Page 20

“Do you not know who I am?” he demanded of the boy.

© Copyright Jemma Castle Page 21

“Seal hunter if you must,” he growled, “but no more, alasI.. no more!”

The boy was silent, knowing that more was to come.

“I would too if I were you”, he continued

“You are injured, Donald-Dubh” he pointed out to the man.

© Copyright Jemma Castle Page 22

The boy wondered what the man was on about.

Presently the man became aware of his presence.

© Copyright Jemma Castle Page 23

“What do you mean my own story” he asked.

“Hush boy” Donny-Dubh gasped. Then he lay down again shivering.

© Copyright Jemma Castle Page 24

© Copyright Jemma Castle Page 25

“What happened?” he demanded of the man.

© Copyright Jemma Castle Page 26

“No!” shouted the boy. “Tell me first, tell me first!” he demanded.

© Copyright Jemma Castle Page 27

© Copyright Jemma Castle Page 28

“Tttravelling wwwoman, I.mmmme a swimmer, I I I don’t understand?” stammered the boy.

“One never does, one never does,” concluded the man.

© Copyright Jemma Castle Page 29

© Copyright Jemma Castle Page 30

© Copyright Jemma Castle Page 31

The boy gasped aloud, “What is it, now?”