Gruff and Mat sat with their legs dangling over the edge of the harbour wall and tried to guess where a cormorant, diving for its meal in the relatively calm waters of the harbour, would pop up next. Fishing boats and a few sailing yachts bobbed at their buoys as the shadows lengthened. Back on the short road along the seafront of Trefynys, Ceri played her violin and Dave his concertina. People were beginning to form into dancing sets, encouraged by the dance caller, Helen.
Everyone was having such a good time, the unnatural things of the past twenty-four hours seemed impossible.
Gruff kept checking behind him, the stone from the museum preying on his mind.
Stones don’t move.
Nain arrived in style at half past six, riding on a bale of straw on the back of Evan’s electric quad bike as if she were a queen in her carriage. Gruff’s dad and Mat’s family weren’t much later. They’d walked from the farm straight through the middle of the island, a much shorter journey than round the coast path.
After fish and chips on the harbour wall, Zosia and John led a resigned Mat away to do the new-neighbourly rounds of meeting people. Dad got talking to Evan and Nain went off to exchange rude pleasantries with Iolo.
Gruff found himself alone. He sat down on the edge of the rowing-boat-turned-flowerpot outside the pub and stared suspiciously at every stone on the road – but none of them were wet and all of them stayed as still as stones ought to.
Before long he became the centre of attention for best friends Prem and Oisín. They both adored Gruff. Playing with them usually consisted of being climbed all over, so Gruff had Prem hanging off one arm and Oisín standing on his knees and using his head as a drum when he heard Nain’s voice somewhere nearby.
‘It could be a matter of weeks.’
‘Oh, Mair. No.’ That was Iolo. He sounded heartbroken.
‘The wool and clothes shop in Cardiff that normally takes an order is under threat of closure itself – not enough profits. We only heard today. If they go under, we could too.’
‘Would it really be that bad?’
‘If we can’t find stockists, we can’t afford to run the farm. And without the farm, how could we afford to live? Owain will have to get a job on the mainland. Evan can’t afford another worker.’
‘But … oh, Mair.’
Suddenly, Oisín using his head as a drum was so unbearable that Gruff had to stop himself from just pushing him off. He gently disentangled Prem from his arm and lifted Oisín carefully to the ground. ‘Look,’ he said, pointing to tall, stringy Tim, who worked in the wool crew and was currently sitting nearby, tapping his feet to the beat of the music and blissfully unaware of imminent attack. ‘I’ve got to go, but you know Tim, right? Tim’ll play with you!’
They ran off and Gruff stood up, balling his hands into fists. A matter of weeks? How could everything fall apart so fast? He was trapped, watching the future roll inexorably towards him, carrying with it the loss of his home. The loss of Dad’s home. The loss of Nain’s home. The loss of the flock.
And in a painful flash, he knew what he needed to do.
He pulled his phone out of his pocket and typed a message. He read it through, and he read it through again. Then he sent it.
With it went a piece of his heart.
‘Gruff!’ Ffion was beside him, taking his arm and pulling him towards the dancing. ‘Come on, then! Dawnsia!’
Helen got them all to walk the dance so that everyone knew what to do, and then the band – which had grown to eight people now – struck up. Gruff danced with a wildness in his chest that burst out in faster spins and laughter that felt close to crying, but by the end of the dance he felt more like himself. He tried to forget the text he had sent.
Mam probably wouldn’t see it tonight, anyway. She never checked her phone.
As Helen called out for people to join the next dance, Ffion disappeared and returned with a reluctant Mat. ‘Here you go!’ Ffion grinned, pushing Mat gently towards Gruff and leading her girlfriend Lucía into the dance.
‘I don’t know how to do it!’ Mat said, looking panicked.
Gruff shrugged and grinned. ‘Helen tells you everything. It’s fun – just try one dance and see.’
‘Fine,’ Mat said mulishly.
She glowered her way through the walk-through of the dance, which was called Jac y Do. First, long lines went forward and back and crossed over. Then you did that again. Then the top couple galloped to the bottom of the set and back, cast away from each other to the bottom and made an arch which everyone else went through. Then you just did it all again, and again, until the music ran out.
‘Easy, see?’ Gruff grinned.
Mat crossed her eyes at him and he laughed. The music started.
By the time they had got to the top of the set Mat was laughing and bright-eyed and had completely forgotten to be embarrassed. The music lifted the dancers and twirled them through the twilight.
Gruff realised what he was about to do a split second before he took Mat’s hands to gallop down and up the set. He had just enough time to take a deep breath.
He held that breath through the gallop, Mat’s happiness pouring out of her in wild, crashing waves that battered Gruff’s heart and lungs. He gasped for air when they parted to cast away from each other, and held his breath again to take her hands in the arch at the bottom of the set. Holding his breath helped him escape the feeling that he might drown, but as the last couple passed through the arch he pulled away from Mat with a stagger and darkness clouding his eyes, his body deprived of oxygen at just the energetic moment he needed it. Next to him, Lucía grabbed his hand as the lines went forward and back, saving him from falling.
The dance ended before Gruff and Mat reached the top of the set again. Relieved, Gruff escaped, saying he wanted some water. He was certain of one thing now, at least. No one else could feel what he felt at Mat’s touch. She had held hands with other people in the dance but none of them had pulled away in surprise.
Gruff got a glass of water from Mrs O’Neill behind the bar and took it back outside, where the last edges of summer light were fading fast. He drank his water slowly, watching the next dance but not seeing it. That woman on the stone was in his mind again. Her face and clothes smudged with the black substance, the metal tongs at her belt.
Finish the sword.
‘She’s a blacksmith,’ Gruff said out loud, surprising himself with the deduction.
She was a blacksmith. The stuff on her skin and clothes, that was soot. And that made sense of the tools at her belt, and the idea that there was a sword to finish.
Blacksmith. That was something to go on, at least.
Gruff pushed back into the pub. Iolo was holding court in the small function room off to the side, telling tales to the little ones and their families in a booming voice.
‘And he came every year to the selkie stone,’ Iolo said, his audience staring at him with rapt attention (apart from two-year-old Steph, who was engaged in a full-blown tantrum about chocolate brownies), ‘and he shed his sealskin and walked on land as a man once more. But before the tide had turned, he would wrap his sealskin round himself and be gone with the flick of a whisker and the swish of his tail.’
Iolo fell silent long enough for everyone to realise that the story was finished, and his audience applauded. Gruff picked his way across the toddler-strewn carpet and sidled up to Iolo as he took a sip of his lemonade, preparing for his next foray into island lore.
‘Iolo,’ Gruff said.
‘Hello, bachgen. No accidental trips to the beach today, I hope? You leave those Sleepers well alone, like I’ve been reminding every person here tonight.’
‘I haven’t gone to the Sleepers. But…’ Gruff wanted to tell the old man everything that had happened, but there were too many ears nearby. ‘Do you know any island stories with blacksmiths?’ he asked.
‘Blacksmiths?’ Iolo repeated in surprise.
‘Or swords,’ Gruff added.
‘Swords? Some of the heroes have swords, but there isn’t a special one – not like Excalibur or anything.’ Iolo furrowed his brow. ‘Blacksmith … there’s a blacksmith in the wish-granting-fish story my nain used to tell me. I leave it out of my version though, because it doesn’t really have a purpose in the narrative.’
‘Fifteen minutes to low tide!’ The call came from outside the pub. ‘Time to find a stone, everyone! Dewch i’r traeth! Come to the beach!’
The function room erupted with excitement as everyone started for the door. Iolo put down his glass and went to follow, but Gruff stopped him. ‘Please, Iolo! It’s important – it’s about the Sleepers.’
‘Really?’ Iolo frowned, worried. ‘I’m sorry, there’s nothing about the Sleepers in my story with the blacksmith. In the story, just before the high tide that washes the talking fish ashore and destroys the village, the heroine meets a blacksmith who tells her that danger is at hand. The blacksmith isn’t mentioned anywhere else. There’s no point in him being in the story, really, and no point in him being a blacksmith. So I just leave that bit out. What’s made you think there’s a blacksmith associated with the Sleepers?’
I’ve met her, Gruff wanted to say, but at that moment Mrs O’Neill stuck her head round the door. ‘Don’t worry, I’ll tell you later,’ he said instead.
‘Come along, dawdlers!’ Mrs O’Neill laughed, and Iolo popped his trilby on his head and took the arm she offered as they headed out of the pub. Gruff hung back, watching them go.
So the blacksmith foretold danger, just like the Weeping Stone did. And Gruff had seen the blacksmith, and the Weeping Stone had wept.
This was the time of year for the Wounded Sea storm, if there was to be one. Wounded Sea storms took lives.
Gruff was left alone in the empty pub, his thoughts terrible.