Halfway to the island, wind and current died. The sail slatted as the raft’s dip and pitch made the animals sick. As if it had waited this chance, the sun glared and winked off an oily swell, malignant. Taur and I had some protection from flax hats and tunics. We lowered the sail, rigged it to shade the animals as well.
The raft nudged into a belt of seaweed like a bridge towards the island, thick tangled straps of what Taur called kelp. I pulled one aboard, fastened it around the mast so we did not drift back towards the Salt Men.
The animals soon drank most of our few pots of water. As I wondered if I should tell Taur about the smoke signals, the nestled straps of kelp came undone, stretched, and pointed in the direction of the island. A current beginning, a breeze with it. I hacked the kelp loose from the mast. We worked our way out under sail again.
Taur looked at the island standing higher and made a mooing noise, trying to remember the name his family had called it. I helped with various sounds, but each time he shook his head. “Marn!” I said at last, and Taur leapt in agreement so the logs jostled under him. The goats looked uneasy.
“Marn Island!” I said. Taur grinned and smacked the steering paddle, shouting, “Gurgh, Marn!” I thought it was a good sign. We moved closer, Taur steering towards the grassy flat at the south-east end where a stream tumbled down.
The goats sniffed the air as if they could taste the grass already. The sheep seemed to realise we were safe. The dogs leapt to see what they could. Taur roared his song, and we braced to run the raft upon a beach of rounded boulders.
I could have taken a rope and leapt ashore dry-footed. And just then, the wind died. The sail fell slack. A current formed along the beach and carried us away. Taur worked his steering paddle. I thrust a pole to keep the raft moving, touched bottom, saw sand puff at the pole’s prod – then we were swept into deep water, the current strong. On my own I might have flung the animals into the water, led and called them to the beach, but Taur could not swim. I cursed myself for not jumping when there was a chance.
Off the northern tip of Marn Island we drifted past outliers, rock towers and pillars. Coiling in endless ribbons, thousands of gulls swung and cried and jostled for air, somehow keeping their distance from each other. Huge yellow-headed seabirds dived, closed elegant angled wings. Their feathers whistled and they splashed about us. Their dives still pouted the surface as they came up with fish. The current here weakened, and we paddled for the cliffs of the northern end.
The island dragged itself away again, and Taur shouted and spat. He saw me look and grinned. We could never have climbed the cliffs anyway, he said. When the wind came up from the north, we sailed down the outside of Marn Island, its western side facing the South Land, all cliffs. Along their rocky base, logs were pitched helter-skelter, enormous skeletons rinsed by the sea, bleached by the sun.
Towards evening, the northerly dropped. A black cloud came up from the south. Cold rain hit. Taur and I were both sick, so lost in despair we left up the sail. With a bang that set the goats lamenting, the mast broke, and the sail ripped free, flapped, and winged into the murk. Steering was useless. We could not see land. Soaked, cold, we lay and vomited.
In the middle of the night the raft tilted. The animals must have broken out of their pens, run to one side, but I was too miserable to lift my head. We were going to drown anyway, the sooner the better. Then I thought of the trials we had overcome, and heaved on to hands and knees.
The southerly had dropped. There was the smash of breaking water somewhere, the animals’ cries. I shook Taur who moaned to be left alone. At the misery in his voice, its unusual quietness, I grinned and felt much better. I pulled myself up, bumped my head on the broken mast, and crawled forward. The dogs whimpered and followed. Jak ran and leapt out of sight. I croaked his name, he barked back, and Jess knocked me down following him. The other dogs ran over me.
I made out a boulder high above, and drove the animals on to some flat rocks where they stood, heads down, knees wobbling. The raft tilted, lurched, slid backwards into the sea, but this time I leapt with a rope, lashed it to something in the dark.
“Taur!” No reply. I felt around. He must have rolled into the water when the raft tilted. Then I heard him laugh. He had found a basket of cooked food, was gulping a potato. “Gurgh!” he called, and something that meant at least we were alive. I growled but was thankful. In the dark he shoved a chunk of meat into my eye, and I was surprised to find myself hungry. More cheerful, we climbed on to the rocks, fed the dogs and, surrounded by the animals, warming each other, we slept.
I woke to a roar. “Urgsh!” The animals had disappeared. Taur stood on top of the boulders. I crawled beside him. Beyond, the sheep and goats, misery forgotten, grazed across a grassy flat divided by a stream.
“Glawgh!” Taur pointed east. I looked and recognised the North Land. The southerly wind and incoming tide had carried us on to Marn Island, on to the very boulder spit where we had almost landed before. All that previous day and night, the magic island had drawn us toward itself, rejected and pushed us away, and drawn us back.
I looked for signs of the Salt People, but the coast was too far off. Still the thought of yesterday’s smoke signals worried me, as if they were tall eyes in the sky that could see us even on Marn Island. I shivered and told myself to be sensible.
The Salt People might be on their way to the South Land, seeking the green stone. With luck they might continue to the broken ruins of Elltun, giving no thought to us. At worst they were hunting us, in which case they would probably search the inlet. Once they saw the donkeys and other animals, would they think of the island?
There was no sense keeping it secret. I told Taur of the smoke signals. Guffawing, smacking my back with his huge hand, he said he had watched them coming closer for several days, but kept it quiet since he did not want to upset me. We laughed at the dogs’ wondering faces as we capered, shouted, stored our goods, and took possession of our island kingdom.