‘Why aren’t we going faster?’ said Dúngal. ‘Isn’t your friend supposed to control the wind?’
‘He can’t when he’s in a shape-change,’ said Thora.
‘Then I wish he’d hurry.’
Thora glanced hopefully at Oddo, but his boy shape still gazed unseeing ahead of him.
Dúngal yawned loudly. Twilight was closing around them.
‘One of us’ll have to stay awake,’ warned Thora, ‘and look after the fire.’ Dúngal leaned back, and closed his eyes. ‘I guess it’ll be me,’ said Thora.
As the world beyond the boat disappeared into darkness, the little fire seemed to glow brighter. The boat bobbed and dipped, the dancing flames picking out a flutter of sail, a glimpse of Dúngal’s cheek resting on his hand, and the glitter of water on Hairydog’s fur.
Thora caught a glimpse of a sleeping gannet resting on the waves, then it was swallowed up in the night as they sailed past.
Gradually the sky lightened, and Dúngal opened his eyes.
‘Oddo back yet?’
Thora shook her head.
‘I’m hungry.’ He scrambled to his feet, rocking the boat as he tugged at a dried fish dangling from the stay. ‘Catch!’ he shouted.
Thora tried, but she was numb and stiff. The fish slipped through her fingers and Hairydog snapped it up.
‘Too slow.’
The hours dragged, and Dúngal fiddled impatiently, adjusting the sail, tightening knots, and checking the horizon every five minutes for a sign of land.
The wind swelled and it began to rain. Thora leaned protectively over the cauldron.
‘Hurry up, Oddo,’ she called. But there was no sign from the still figure at the foot of the mast.
‘How fast can a bird fly?’ asked Dúngal.
Thora shrugged. ‘It could take ages.’
The second night, neither of them slept. Thora knew that Dúngal too was peering into the gloom, vainly trying to see what lay ahead. His ears, like hers, would be straining to hear any sound that might warn them they were nearing a shore.
There was the distant shriek of a seabird. For one hopeful moment Thora thought it might be Oddo, then she remembered that she wouldn’t hear him.
Dawn was breaking. Thora glanced at Dúngal. His hair and the fur blanket around his shoulders were sparkling with tiny beads of moisture. She looked over the side of the boat. A mist clung around them, but it was slowly lifting. She saw seaweed swirling in the water beside them, the dark shapes of rocks, and then . . .
‘Land!’
As they drew closer, the blurry outline took on the shape of scattered islands. They could see a jagged coastline and the white crests of surf pounding against the cliffs.
‘Uch, look at those waves,’ said Dúngal nervously. His voice was almost drowned by the buffeting wind and the cries of seabirds.
Thora hugged Hairydog tight, and eyed the cliffs. ‘Where can we make a landing?’
Dúngal pointed to a channel running between two islands. ‘We’ll head over there,’ he yelled.
As he steered towards the gap, the little curach was snatched up by the tidal stream and hurled between the islands. The wind, funnelled through the cliffs, rose to a screech. The water bubbled and heaved as if it was boiling in a cauldron.
Clinging to the pitching boat, Thora searched for somewhere to land.
‘There!’ She pointed eagerly at a pebbled beach.
Dúngal leaned on the steering oar. Nothing happened.
‘It won’t steer!’ he shouted. He pulled at the leather bindings, and they came away, broken and useless in his hand. ‘Get the sail down!’
They tore at the lines, while spray lashed their faces and the wind howled and tugged. But even without the pull of the sail, the current spun them helpless past the little bays and tiny sheltered beaches. Jagged rocks reared out of the water, and Thora felt the little boat thump and grind against them.
‘We’ve got to stop,’ she wailed.
She could see sheep grazing in meadows, houses with smoke drifting upwards, and people shouting and waving. And then they reached the last beach, the last few rocks, the last glimpse of land, and they were out of the channel and back in the open sea.
‘I don’t believe it!’ Thora gazed back at the Isles of Faer dropping behind them. ‘We went right past!’
Dúngal snatched up the oars. ‘I’ll row us back!’
‘Wait, I’ll help. Don’t try . . .’
Before she could reach him, a wave tore the oars from his hands. Thora thumped the side of the boat, tears of anger and frustration burning her eyes.
‘I said to wait.’
‘Don’t worry. I’ll get them back. I can swim.’
Dúngal hurled himself into the sea, and immediately vanished below a wave. By the time he rose again, coughing and spluttering, the oars were tiny sticks in the distance. Thora flung a rope towards him.
‘Dúngal, they’re too far! You can’t reach them.’
For an agonising moment, Dúngal hung on the end of the rope, gazing after the bobbing oars, then he turned and hauled himself aboard. The curach tilted alarmingly and the sea poured in. Thora just had time to catch Hairydog by the tail before the dog was swept over the side.
‘You idiot.’ Thora glared balefully at Dúngal sitting there with water streaming off his hair and clothes. ‘You could have drowned. And you nearly tipped over the boat!’
At that moment, Hairydog raised her head to the sky, the ruff at her neck lifting in the wind, and gave an urgent howl.
Oddo scanned the sea, eager for a sign of the curach. He’d been flying two days and nights without rest, but he’d found Ireland, and now he could stop being a bird. The muscles in his wings were aching. And he was hungry, too. Those bullying skuas never let him eat anything. Every time he caught a fish, they snatched it away.
He looked enviously at a flock of gannets diving for their food.
‘I wish I’d chosen a big bird like that for my shape-change.’
The thought had barely crossed his mind when a fountain of energy surged through him. He rolled his eyes and saw he now had long snowy wings tipped with black.
‘I’ve turned into a gannet!’ He steered towards a skua and felt a thrill of triumph as it darted out of his way. ‘Now I’ll be able to eat.’
He glanced at the horizon, and saw a cluster of knobbly shapes against the smooth line of the sea. The Isles of Faer! Oddo sped towards them, dancing on the updrafts from the billowing waves. In a moment, he was circling, straining for the sound of Hairydog’s bark or the ring of Thora’s laughter. He spotted the little curach, bobbing on the waves beyond the islands. Shrieking with relief, he dived towards it.
There was Thora, and the cauldron . . . In a moment he would see the flames. Now he could change back to a boy! In a flurry of feathers, he dropped onto the masthead and peered excitedly downwards. He stared, and blinked, unable to believe his eyes.
He was vaguely aware of Hairydog scrambling to her feet, whining up at him, the ruff at her neck lifted by the wind. He saw Thora tilt her head, following the dog’s gaze. Her hair too was blowing wildly, and she reached up her hands to clutch at the strands streaming across her eyes.
‘Oddo, are you up there?’ she called. Her voice sounded hoarse. ‘Please, speak to me.’
Oddo stared at the tears running down her cheeks. He opened his beak. A feeble squawk trickled out, but of course, Thora couldn’t hear.
She would never be able to hear him again.
The cauldron was toppled on its side, seawater sloshing in and out with every roll of the boat.
The fire was gone.
