Age of Secrets: Druid's Brooch Series: #8 by Christy Nicholas

Author:Christy Nicholas [Nicholas, Christy]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Tirgearr Publishing
Published: 2020-03-10T18:00:00+00:00

Chapter Eight

The storm raged on for the rest of the afternoon. After Fingin found a small cliff overhang for Sean to rest under, he searched up and down the shoreline for any sign of Bran.

Fingin called until his throat rasped hoarsely. He examined every lump on the ground, in case he found the remains of his beloved friend.

He cried, but the tears washed away with the constant rain.

Soaked and exhausted, Fingin trudged back to where he’d left Sean. The donkey, miserable and alone, huddled against the bare stone ledge, trying to keep away from the steady dripping.

The raft had disappeared, as well as the pannikins and all their supplies. He didn’t even have flint for a fire. He still had Brigit’s pendant, safe around his neck, but nothing else.

And he had no Bran.

The Fae fish had all swum away, no longer interested in the strange boat and its inhabitants. At least they’d helped him and Sean to shore. Maybe they’d also helped Bran find dry land. Maybe the dog would find them if they stayed here for a little while.

Despite the storm, he curled up next to Sean and descended into a fitful, restless sleep.

He woke several times, certain he heard Bran’s bark or voice on the whistling wind. Once, lightning struck the water just past the rocks where they sheltered, lighting up the entire shoreline in bright white light. Fingin searched but saw no dark form walking toward them in the brief flash of lucidity.

The storm eased as darkness enveloped them. The rain didn’t stop, but settled into a fine misty drizzle, enough to keep them in their bare shelter until the sun rose again in the morning.

Fingin had no wish to greet the dawn this day, even if the sun showed its face. His heart grew heavy with Bran’s absence. No joy sang within him.

Sean didn’t want to travel anywhere, either, but he grew hungry. Their supplies drowned in the storm, so he found a patch of grass to chew while Fingin searched again. This morning, the sun struggled to burn through the fog, revealing a waterlogged landscape with rocks, trees, and little else. They had landed on some small spit of land sticking out into the sea. He’d have to head back east to continue his journey south.

In his exploration, he came across a few scraps from his pack. A bowl. A spoon. A strip of ragged fabric that may have been from a léine he’d had. He found no twine, no knife, no flint, no food.

He sat on a rock, gazing out into the still-choppy ocean, begging for Bran to pop his head through the surface and bark. Even a whine would be great. Sean brayed behind him, and he sighed.

Something broke the surface. For a moment, Fingin’s hope soared but fell as the trout swam away. Perhaps one of the Fae fish. As helpful as they had been, he felt relieved they’d parted company. The raft had been swift, but too dangerous.

He’d blame himself forever for drowning Bran.

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