After he had prayed over him, Brendan took Aidan’s body from his cell and made a bier of green branches. With the help of those who had come to mourn with him, he carried him to the coast. There he placed him in the currach that he and Aidan had built to go fishing in the sea. He pointed the prow westwards and sent it out with the tide into the light of the setting sun. He felt the tears fall as he watched the tiny boat go further and further away from him.
But even as Aidan’s body was pulled away from him, Brendan felt a presence beside him. He looked towards the west and the light of the evening sun dazzled his eyes, but he thought he could see a familiar figure standing at his side. He was holding something out to Brendan. It was the Book.
He heard Aidan’s voice on the wind:
‘The Book was never meant to be hidden away behind walls, locked away from the world that inspired its creation. Brendan, you must take the Book to the people, so that they may have hope. Let it light the way in these dark days.’
And then the wind rose, and the sun was lost behind the line of the ocean, and the shadowy figure was gone.
Brendan was lonely without Aidan’s company. Sitting in his cell, he thought of Aidan’s words and wondered where he should bring the Book. The Northmen still raided the monasteries and villages, although not as wildly as they had done during the years before. They had even begun to settle down in some places, planting crops in the soil and marrying and trading with the Irish. But where would the Book be safe from their wilder cousins, who still landed quietly in the night and pillaged the holy places? He thought of Clonmacnoise and Cashel and Glendalough, all of them great monasteries with master illuminators who would look after the Book well. But in the end, he realised that there was only one place for the Book to go. That there was only one place where he himself wanted to go to. He gathered his few possessions into the same leather satchel that held the Book long years before. He looked at Pangur as she dozed by the fire, with one eye open, watching his every move.
‘I’m sorry, old cat,’ he said. ‘You are too old for this journey. Stay here with your children and grandchildren. The villagers will look after you.’ Pangur did not even miaow her protest. She simply jumped onto his shoulders and dug in her claws, determined as always not to be left behind.
After many weeks travelling, they came at last to the edge of the great forest. Brendan looked at it in dismay. It was a tangle of undergrowth, of branches and furze and nettles and thorns.
‘I’ll never be able to find my way through this,’ he said to Pangur.
Pangur did not look too worried, but merely lay down under a convenient oak tree and closed her eyes. And so Brendan, who had no better ideas as regards what to do next, did the same.
Brendan woke up. While they had slept, the moon had risen and was shining brightly. The light seemed to show a path through the thickety undergrowth. He was sure that the path had not been there when he went to sleep. Brendan thought he heard a child’s laughter. He shook his head slightly, trying to clear his mind. Was he dreaming? Was this his imagination? Along the path grew a drift of snowdrops. And on the path, so far away that Brendan could not be altogether sure of what he saw, there seemed to be the figure of a girl with long white hair. He started up, hardly daring to believe his eyes. But as he watched, the figure grew taller. It was no longer a child but a beautiful white-haired woman. He blinked, trying to see more clearly, and now it had changed again, changed into an old, old woman, stooping low over the flowers. All of this happened within seconds.
‘Aisling,’ he tried to say, ‘it is you, isn’t it? Won’t you talk to me? Won’t you let me see you and hear you the way you did before?’
But it seemed as if his voice was no longer working, for no words came out. There was only silence and stillness in the forest. This can’t be real, he thought to himself. This can’t be happening.
Then a further change came upon the figure. It was no longer human. A white wolf stood before him, watching him, its eyes bright green, shining in the moonlight. Brendan drew back, holding his breath in wonder. Aisling had indeed come to lead him through the forest.
‘Aisling,’ he said again, and now he knew he was awake because he could hear his voice in the darkness. ‘Can’t you speak to me?’
But the white wolf did nothing but incline her head in the direction she wanted Brendan to follow. Brendan gathered Pangur up and followed her lead deep into the dark wood.
A storm was breaking over Kells. Black clouds raced across the sky and the wind howled through the broken stones and lashed the ivy against the crumbling walls. Rain came down in sheets and lightning flashed, illuminating the frail figure that stood at the window of the Round Tower, looking out into the darkness. The great Abbey of Kells now housed only a handful of monks and villagers. The stones that had been piled up, one on top of the other, with so much thought and with so much labour by the Abbot and the brothers, had almost all fallen to the ground. The gate hung loose on its hinges, and vines and green brambles covered the walls. The forest had reclaimed Kells. Indeed, it was hard to tell where the forest ended and the monastery began.
But there were still some signs of life. Smoke rose from the huts that circled the chapel, now rebuilt as a smaller but solid little building. There were vegetable plots scattered around the enclosure; cattle and sheep lowed in the pens, and pigs grunted as they scrabbled in the mud. A goose flew by, with a small boy in pursuit, determined to catch it so it could be put inside, safe from the storm. The bird stopped for a moment on the broken cross, then flew on towards the roofless Scriptorium. Doves nested there, and during the day they flew in and out, carrying food for their young from the forest. But tonight the doves were huddled in their nests.
Brother Tang, older now and even wiser, went to the window and placed his hand gently on the shoulder of the man who stood there.
‘Please rest now, Abbot,’ he said.
‘How can I rest when I think of what we have lost? Of our most precious treasure?’ asked the Abbot. But he finally allowed Tang to lead him back to bed. There he tossed feverishly, still unable to sleep. Tang looked at him anxiously. He knew that Abbot Cellach would not be much longer in the world, and he wished that his old friend could find some peace before he left them.
‘There is no time,’ said the Abbot feebly. ‘Oh, I don’t want to die, Tang. Not yet. I could go happily if only I knew I had done some good in the world. But all my life, everything I tried to do has been a failure. I could not save my brothers nor my people. I could not save Brendan. I could not save the Book. Oh, if only Brendan could have been saved!’
‘Do not fret yourself,’ said Tang softly. ‘Try to rest.’
But the Abbot sighed deeply and said, his voice fading to a whisper. ‘We are lost.’
A hooded figure moved forward out of the shadows at the top of the stairs. Tang looked up, aware that someone had entered the tower.
The Abbot drew back in terror. ‘Angel of darkness!’ he called. ‘Not yet! Do not take me yet! I need more time!’
The figure moved forward.
‘Oh, let it not be the angel of death!’ said Cellach again. ‘Or some fairy creature come in from the forest!’
With a start of joyful recognition, Tang moved towards the cloaked figure with the small white cat at its side. The stranger put his finger to his lips, motioning Tang to stay silent. Then he moved forward towards the bed.
‘You always said there was no such thing as fairies, Uncle,’ said Brendan, throwing back his rain-soaked hood and laughing. The moon came from behind a cloud as he clasped his uncle’s hands in his.
‘Holy God and all his angels!’ said Brother Tang.
But the Abbot could say nothing. His mouth moved but no words came out. He held onto Brendan’s hands as if he would never let them go. Finally, he found his voice. ‘Brendan!’ he said. ‘It is a dream.’
‘This is no dream, Uncle,’ said Brendan. He himself was finding it hard to believe that his uncle had not been killed; that he and Tang had survived and stayed in the Abbey, keeping a light burning in Kells through all the long years since the Northmen’s raid.
‘My boy!’ Cellach whispered. ‘You survived! And have grown up so tall. How did you manage it?’
‘How did I manage to grow up?’ Brendan laughed again. ‘I didn’t have to do much, it just happened!’
But now Abbot Cellach was moving restlessly again, his memories of the raid bringing back the guilt that had tormented him for many years.
‘So many dead … so many innocent lives lost. All of it my fault.’
‘Please, Uncle,’ said Brendan, ‘Don’t distress yourself.’
‘You don’t understand,’ said the Abbot. ‘You were right. About Kells. About Aidan. About the Book. I shouldn’t have acted as I did.’
He opened his hand and showed Brendan what he held in it.
‘This is all I have left,’ he said. ‘This is the only comfort I have in the world.’
Brendan looked closely and saw that what he held was the tiny piece of vellum which Brendan had been illustrating just before the Northmen raided. The piece of the Book that his uncle, in his anger, had tried to destroy. Cellach had kept it, treasured it as a memory of Brendan and as a small piece of beauty, ever since that dreadful time.
Brendan reached into his satchel, but as he did so, Tang, unable to contain himself any longer, asked excitedly, ‘But Brendan, how did you escape the Northmen? We were sure that you and Aidan had been killed or captured!’
So Brendan told them the story of how Aidan and himself had managed to escape from Kells through the secret entrance. Then he asked what had happened in the Abbey after they had made their escape.
It was Tang who told the tale, for his uncle had been very ill for a long time after having been wounded by the raiders. Tang began:
‘It was the strangest of things, the way it happened, the way they left. I watched everything from the Round Tower. Those of us inside were safe from the raiders, as we could defend the door. They were still at their burning and destroying when some kind of fight broke out. A tall one with a black beard began to shout. It looked like he wanted something that the leader, the red-haired one, had. I couldn’t see what it was, but we thought afterwards that it must have been the lunula from the Abbot’s cloak. Anyway, they argued and argued and shouted at each other and then the axes came out. Then one of them pointed at something, and I saw, perched on the windowsill of the Scriptorium, a white bird. I have never seen a bird like it. It was a big one, and it cawed like a raven.
I could hear the Northmen getting anxious. I heard some of them mention Odin, and it seemed as if they had started to think that this place held bad luck for them. In any case, they decided not to wait around any longer. I don’t know if they went into the forest or back to their ships. They took most of the villagers and the monks with them – or at least those that were left alive – but they didn’t go near the Abbot, because they thought he was dead.
When I was sure they were gone, I climbed down from the tower and went over to Abbot Cellach. I could hardly believe it when I found he was still breathing. Those of us that were left nursed him, until he woke up …’
Tang paused.
‘That was nearly the hardest part, Brendan. Because of course, the first thing he did was ask after you. And I had to tell him that I thought the Northmen had taken you and Aidan. He nearly didn’t want to come back to us then, from the dark place he was in. But I reminded him that he had to lead the few of us that were left in Kells. That he was the Abbot of Kells and he still had his duty to do. After that – well, after that – there were many long days of re-building and replanting. It’s hard to do such work the first time, but it’s harder still the second time, when all the work you did at the beginning has been destroyed. But there were small things that gave us hope, small lights in the darkness. And now that you have returned we can see that our hope was justified.’
‘Yes,’ interrupted Cellach. ‘Because you and Aidan survived. But if only I had listened to Aidan!’
Brendan said, ‘Brother Aidan never did pay you much heed, Uncle.’
Cellach looked surprised for a moment, and then laughed. ‘I suppose he didn’t,’ he said.
As they spoke, the night ended and the storm quietened over Kells. The room in the tower was gradually filled with the light of a new day.
Brendan smiled at his uncle. He reached into his satchel as he said, ‘Brother Aidan lived to see his work passed on and completed.’
And he handed Cellach the Book.
For a moment, Cellach looked into Brendan’s eyes, as if afraid to believe what was in front of him.
‘Go on,’ said Brendan. ‘Look.’
Abbot Cellach slowly opened the Book. His hands turned page after page, as tears of joy rolled down his cheeks.
‘So beautiful,’ he whispered, ‘So beautiful.’
And then, when he came to the Chi Ro page, he could go no further, dazzled by the light and caught as he was in the intricate web of colour and form, the jewelled patterns that shone and sparkled and seemed to fill the whole room with brightness. Finally he said,
‘The Book of Iona.’ ‘The Book of Kells?’ said Brendan, a question in his voice.
And his uncle repeated after him, his voice full of wonder, ‘The Book of Kells.’
