Spirit of the Mist (25 page)

Muriel repeated the gesture, stronger this time, and watched as again an enormous wave rose up above the others. Her husband rode the face of that swell all the way to the beach’s edge, struggling in vain to escape its grasp.
 

Three more times he tried to enter the sea, and three more times a great wave lifted him up and carried him smoothly back to the beach. At last, too exhausted to try again, Brendan lay panting in the rushing foam. With the last of his strength he threw his sword up onto the dry sand at the foot of the cliff.
 

Muriel let out her breath and closed her eyes.
 

The men who held her arms looked at each other, then released her. “I am sorry, my lady. He—”
 

“He is alive,” she whispered, and then she gathered the hems of her skirts and ran down the beach to him.
 

He lay where he had fallen at the edge of the rushing waves. “They threw me back,” he said through salt water and grit. He made no effort to get up. “Even the sea finds me unworthy. If you needed any more proof, there it is. Even the water itself knows what I am. It knows that I am no king.”
 

“Brendan, let me help you,” Muriel said, trying to help him sit up—but he only lay gasping for breath on the wet sand as the water swirled around his trembling knees. “We’ll take you back to the dun, and in the morning you and I will return to Dun Farraige. We will find a place there… We can—”
 

“You know what will happen to you if you try to stay with me,” said Brendan. “Perhaps it is happening already. You must get away before it is too late for you—before you are weakened, before your magic leaves you, before you lose your will, as your sisters did.”
 

“I am willing to stay with you! It is my choice! Do you not think I am stronger than—”
 

He rolled over and tried to sit up. At first his head fell back, and Muriel again felt a stab of fear as she saw how deathly pale he was—but then he opened his eyes, held his head upright, and sat slumped on the sand propped up on one arm, breathing deeply of the ocean air as though trying to gather strength from it.
 

After a moment he looked up at her.
 

“It was your mother’s choice to stay with a man who was not a king, was it not? Your sisters’ choice, too? And you know well what happened to them. You know that strength has nothing to do with it. It happened to the other women in your family, and it will happen to you, too.
 

“You must go from me, Muriel. I will not see such a terrible thing happen to you. You must go away and make a new life for yourself.”
 

She crouched down beside him in the chill of the creeping ocean. “I will not go from you. I will not leave you here.”
 

Again he shook his head, then struggled to his feet. “I saw you when they asked if you wanted to take me with you to Dun Farraige. You can do no such thing and you well know it. And I would never allow you to do such a thing.
 

“Our marriage is no more. You heard what the druids said. It was a union of deception. I deceived you into thinking I was a king, though I too was deceived. It was not the fault of either one of us, but now it is over. And now you must go and never return.”
 

Muriel, too, rose to her feet, staggering a little in the powerful pull of the tide. “Do you think that a marriage is only the bond that the druids make? That it is a thing of contracts and bride gifts? You are right when you say that those things can be unmade—but the marriage we have built between the two of us cannot, can never be unmade.”
 

She caught at his arm. “Have you forgotten our wedding night so soon? You know what I risked by giving myself to you! And yet I took that chance. That means that we have made a true marriage, one that all the druids in Eire cannot touch!”
 

He refused to look at her. “I will set you free to live your life one way or another,” he argued. “If I must, I will find another way to take my own life and leave you to yours.”
 

A terrible chill, like a cold winter wind, rushed through her at his words. “You will do no such thing, Brendan,” she said. “I will stop you from taking your life—or if I cannot, then after you have done so, I will do the same. And either way we will be together. Nothing can stop that now.”
 

“Nothing,” he murmured, and then he closed his eyes and let his head drop to rest in his hands. Muriel reached for him, and at last he embraced her. For a long, long time they held each other as the blue water of the sea surged up around their feet.
 

“I do not know where I will be tomorrow,” he said.
 

“For the moment, I do not care,” she answered. Then she rested her head against his chest to listen to the beating of his heart.
 

As they stood together at the edge of the ocean, a pair of shadows fell across them.
 

Sudden fear struck Muriel as she realized someone was approaching—and now they stood right behind her!
 

She whipped around, leaning back as if to protect Brendan with her body, and saw Darragh and Killian standing before her.
 

She could only stare defiantly at them. “Why are you here? Do you mean to finish what he started? You saw him walk into the sea, intending to let it take him, and you did nothing more than watch!
 

“I will not let you touch him,” she warned, trying to push Brendan back from them. “You will have to kill me first! Then you can answer for that to the new king and to my family! You will have to kill me first! You will have to—”
 

Muriel staggered and dropped back in the shallow water, reaching out for Brendan as she fell.
 

He half caught her and eased her down, and, to her amazement, the two men got down on their knees before her.
 

Darragh reached for her hand. “My lady…you have nothing to fear from us. We are here to help him if we can. We are here to help you both.”
 

“You would have let him die a moment ago.” Muriel ignored Darragh’s offer and let her husband help her get back to her feet. “You would have stood and waited until his lifeless body washed up on the shore, just as you did with—”
 

“But he did not wash up lifeless. He is alive. It was not yet his time.”
 

She stood still, pressed close to Brendan, and regarded his former comrades. “You know that he is no longer your king. He is no longer any part of Dun Bochna, unless it is as servant or slave. He is nothing to you now. And neither am I.”
 

“You are wrong, Lady Muriel,” said Killian. “He is still our friend. And we are here to help him if we can.”
 

She reached up and gripped Brendan’s arm, not daring to let hope enter her heart. “He and I must be gone by morning. I will take him back to Dun Farraige. If you could get us horses and a bit of food, that would be more than I could hope for.”
 

Darragh smiled. “We could do that—but is that the wish of both of you?”
 

Muriel glanced at the two men, then back to her husband again. “Brendan,” she said, her voice firm and steady. “We must decide what we will do. And we must decide now. We are required to be gone by the time the sun rises tomorrow.”
 

She tried to catch his eye, but now he would not look at her. Placing her hand on the side of his face, she said, “You and I can ride together to Dun Farraige. We can again be married, with a different contract this time, but married we will be—and we will make a life there, no—matter what it costs.”
 

For a long time her husband was silent and still, gazing down at the surf crashing in and out around his feet. Then he slowly raised his head and began to speak, his voice so soft that she had to lean close to him to hear.
 

“I cannot go to Dun Farraige,” he said. “Please do not ask me to do such a thing, for if you do I could not refuse…and I would become as one who is dead inside, though he continues to walk and to breathe.
 

“I know too well that I would never learn to live as a servant. I have been too long a prince, though I know now that it was undeserved.
 

“I am sorry that I cannot do this thing for you. I never thought there would be anything you could ever ask of me that I could not do for you—but I know that if I should attempt to live as a servant, even for your sake, it would only bring disaster to us both.
 

“Please, Lady Muriel…do not ask this thing of me.”
 

She could only look at him with fear rising inside herself, look into those blue and brown eyes. “Then you must tell me—what do you want to do? What can you do? We must find a way to allow your life to continue. If we cannot stay here, and we cannot go to Dun Farraige, then tell me, Brendan, where can we go?”
 

He allowed his head to drop forward again as exhaustion overwhelmed him. “I do not know,” he whispered. “I cannot think. At this moment my mind is empty, walled off like a fortress, as though it would bring far too much pain to think of what has happened right now. I am like a man struck down in a battle, though I bear no wound that can be seen… I need time to heal, time to think.”
 

“Yet time is the one thing we do not have,” Muriel pressed. “We must make a decision, and we must make it now.”
 

Darragh got to his feet. “Wait here,” he said. “I will return—and I will bring some help for Brendan, who is still our friend if nothing else.” He turned and ran down the beach to the foot of the cliffs, disappearing as he started up the winding path to Dun Bochna.
 

Chapter Sixteen
 

Muriel and Killian each took one of Brendan’s arms and led him to the base of the cliffs. He sat down against the rocks, and Muriel took off her blue cloak and spread it over him. Then she, too, sat down beside him to await Darragh’s return, while Killian kept watch a few steps away.
 

Brendan closed his eyes and looked pale as death. Muriel, too, began to feel exhaustion creep over her, sapping her strength, draining her will to fight back and go on.
 

She knew this was not just fatigue. This was despair, an enemy far worse. She must not give in to it. She must not!
 

Taking a deep breath, she moved close beside Brendan, holding him in her arms and resting her head on his shoulder. She knew some relief at the faint warmth she felt rising up through the cold, wet linen of his tunic. Closing her eyes, she tried to think of nothing else but the slow and steady swell and fall of his chest, and the gentle pressure of his fingers over her hands.
 

After a time she became aware of footsteps on the sand—several sets of footsteps. She opened her eyes, blinking, and saw Killian still standing a short distance away. Then Brendan straightened, pushing her upright as well, and together they looked down the beach.
 

Muriel blinked and shielded her eyes from the sun overhead. She could hardly believe what she was seeing. Walking over the sand with slow and measured steps was Darragh, and on his arm, head high, carefully placing one foot in front of the other, was an old and noble man who was clearly quite blind.
 

This could only be King Fallon, the former king of Dun Camas, defeated and blinded and exiled by Odhran. Brendan had said that the sovereign now lived in the shadows of Dun Bochna with his queen, Grania, who Muriel now saw walked behind him in the company of several warriors, Gill, and two other servant men.
 

By the time this strange party reached them, Brendan had managed to stand, though Muriel could see the trembling in his legs. She, too, got to her feet, and stood beside her husband as the old king approached.
 

“King Fallon,” Brendan said in a voice that was soft and steady. “I am glad that you are here. I am your servant:…what may I do for you?”
 

The king turned to face him, his scarred and sightless eyes directed at Brendan. “I too am your servant,” he said. “I am here to see what I might do for you. If I can be of help to you, then my life might still have some purpose.”
 

Brendan almost laughed. “There is nothing that anyone can do for me, though I thank you for your kind words. My life is not what I thought it was…and now it is over.”
 

“As is mine,” said Fallon. “I too am a man who was once a king, who in the space of a single day lost everything.”
 

The entire group was silent for a time. Muriel could see the renewed grief in Brendan’s eyes, even as he began to speak. “Your kingship was wrongfully taken from you by a cruel enemy. There is no doubt of who you are—of who you were. You were born a free man of the warrior class and then became a king. I have never been anything more than the son of slaves, no matter how fine my clothes or how heavy my gold, or how loudly I boasted of the marvelous deeds I had done.”
 

“I am told that you are also a strong man with a beautiful young wife who offers you love,” Fallon said. “It is too late for me to begin again. I will never have anything more than the memories of a life well lived until it was taken from me by lies and needless cruelty.