Eleven

 

Had Beacon Isle been this green the last time he was here? Erik wondered as the island came into view. He couldn't remember. Last time, he'd been too caught up in the sheer adventure of it all, his first sea voyage, his first journey at all. He'd had responsibilities then, too, which had taken much of his time. Armour did not polish itself and salt from the sea voyage had conspired to make his duties tenfold more difficult.

He'd learned a lot about the sea since then, and those who made their living on it. Enough to know how to keep his sword from rusting, and to wear leather armour, when he wore any at all. He was on a mission of peace, not war, and he was under strict instructions not to risk his life unnecessarily.

Just as his brother, Philip, had not risked his own in anything more ordinary than a sea voyage. A voyage that had both blessed and cursed Erik, for he alone had survived. He and a girl he swore he'd find.

Six years it had taken to convince his father to allow him to go to sea. Anything could have happened to her in that time. She might have died, or married, or run far away from Beacon Isle, but that was the last place he'd seen her, so that was where he would start his search.

That Beacon Isle was at the heart of other, stranger stories than his intrigued him. His father dismissed the tales as the fantasies of sailors embellished by nurses who wished to frighten children. Yet Erik knew something his father did not – he had his own dreams and memories to go on, the proof of his own eyes. A moment of foggy memory that would not leave him alone gave credence to all the tales the way nothing else could.

And yet...

Erik sighed. The tales told so many conflicting things, it was hard to make any sense of them. That was why he sought the source of such tales – and the library on Beacon Isle was famed far and wide. Why, it was said that some of the books from the library of the ancients, which burned a thousand years ago, had been salvaged and were kept even now in the priory at Beacon Isle. Not that he wanted scrolls from so far afield. He wanted the history of Beacon Isle itself and the waters surrounding it. Especially the waters...

Water he would have to cross if he was to find what he sought, Erik told himself, forcing himself to step across the gangplank to shore. There, that was not so difficult, he chided himself as his boots touched the cobbled surface of the dock.

He'd surprised himself with how easy it was. Weren't all seas the same water, after all? He'd sailed many of them in his thankless quest, but still he had no more answers than when he'd started. That's why Beacon Isle must hold the answers. Here his quest had begun, and here it would end, one way or the other. Either he would find the answers he sought, or he would be forced to agree with his father that whatever he'd seen in the water was nothing but an illusion invented by his own fevered brain.

Erik took a coin, tossed it into the air and caught it on the back of his hand. Heads and he was delusional; tails and he would find what he sought here. Erik lifted his hand, and cheered aloud when he did not see his father's engraved profile on the uppermost side of the coin. He would find something here, he was certain of it. If not her, then perhaps the book he wanted waited in the library.

Erik itched to begin his search, but he knew better. Politics demanded he present himself to the Master of Beacon Isle first, for he was his father's son, and his father had his own reasons for keeping the Master happy.

Aside from its value to Erik, Beacon Isle was one of the richest trading ports in the region, accepting goods from all corners of the globe and trading them far and wide. It was strategic to the defence of half a dozen countries that surrounded it, and it had its own navy that served Beacon Isle and acknowledged no king as its sovereign except the Master of Beacon Isle.

A Master, yet not a king. It even piqued Erik's curiosity how a man could hold such power without a crown. Almost as though there was more to Beacon Isle than anyone thought.

Calling his thanks to the captain for the ride, Erik set out across Harbour Town to reach the Master's house, and the priory beyond.

The town quickly dropped behind him as he ascended the hill where legend said one of the saints had founded the first priory on the site. The rude wooden huts that had once stood there were long gone, replaced by the edifice of white and grey stone that occupied the crown of the hill overlooking White Harbour. On a beautiful day such as this, it was a view fit for a king.

Erik stepped through the gate into the bailey, his rich clothing announcing his arrival before he could open his mouth.

Men set off for the port to bring his belongings while another asked for his name and ushered him into the great hall, where he was offered food and wine while he waited for the Master.

Bemused, Erik accepted the offer of wine, wondering how far afield the vintage had come from, for it was surely too cold for grapes on Beacon Isle. A cautious sip told him all he needed to know – the wine was not from grapes at all, but made with berries in the style made famous by a kingdom to the south of his father's that backed onto the mountains, and a particular favourite at his father's court. His father had hinted that a marriage between Erik and the king's only daughter would be advantageous for both kingdoms, but Erik had no intention of marrying a woman he'd never met. Life would include enough unhappiness without sharing it with a woman he didn't love.

"Prince Erik. It is an honour," a deep voice said. The man who entered the hall looked ancient, instead of the same age as Erik's own father. But no one else would walk into the great hall of Beacon Isle like a king granting a great favour to one of his subjects. This ageing nobleman was stronger than he appeared, for no weakling could hold the rich lands of Beacon Isle without even a crown to legitimise his claim to the neighbouring kingdoms.

Erik set his goblet on the table, turned and bowed. "Master Nicholas. I thought you would send one of your sons to greet me. I had no idea that you would take the time to meet me yourself. The honour is mine."

Master Nicholas's eyes clouded with something like grief. "My sons, like so many others, have gone on a long journey to seek redemption for their sins. I hope to see them home soon, but I fear I shall find them changed men, after such a long absence. Many years."

Erik murmured something appropriate about how proud he must be of his sons. While Master Nicholas waxed lyrical about his numerous sons and their even more numerous talents, Erik wondered what it would be like to undertake a crusade to free the Holy Land like Nicholas' sons evidently had. It seemed such a pointless business that one would surely have had to commit some truly grievous sins in order to require such lengthy reparation.

He debated whether Master Nicholas's boys had done something particularly bad, or whether the fervour of others had caught them up like so many other young noblemen. Surely the latter.

"And what brings you here to my humble isle?" Master Nicholas asked.

Erik managed a smile. "Why, a quest of my own. I have developed a singular interest in the history of the region, and I've found a large gap in the history of Beacon Isle. Considering the fame of your library, I naturally assumed the information I sought would be here."

Master Nicholas laughed, though it sounded hollow. He knew as well as Erik that the one thing Erik's father, and in fact all the neighbouring kings, wanted to know, was which king had last held sovereignty over Beacon Isle...and how, if at all, he had lost it. Such a secret would surely be within the archives here on Beacon Isle.

"I will see to it that you have a research assistant who is an expert in all of our library collections, the day after tomorrow. First, you must rest from your journey, and tomorrow is our harvest feast, so you must join us. I will introduce you to my daughter at the feast, too."

Erik suppressed a sigh. What was it with men once they had a daughter? The moment she was old enough, they all wanted to marry the poor girl off, and they all looked eagerly at him as the prospective husband. As if a good marriage began with a desire to please the girl's father, and not the girl herself. When he found the girl he wanted, he would do everything within his power to please the girl. She was the one he intended to share his life with, after all.

He made noises that he hoped sounded eager, then escaped the Master as quickly as he could without being rude.