girls were always claiming they’d seen wraiths floating out of the higher druids’ windows or sages starting fires by pointing at bushes, or walking at night accompanied by their doubles from the Otherworld, but Ragnall saw only one wraith in all the time he was there, and that really could have been fog.
That didn’t mean there wasn’t plenty to see and do on the island. Despite the numbers of creatures killed in the classroom, the seashore was thick with animals, especially seals. A head druid four hundred years earlier, enchanted by seals’ wide-eyed, undemanding amiability, had decreed that the rotund animals were children of Leeban, the goddess of the sea, and must not be harmed. Now they coated the island’s shores like lazy bees on a hive. In summer there was a constant background of seal barks, coughs, clicks and honks, and pupils and teachers would play in the sea with the seal pups like Ragnall had played with puppies at home.
His friends were even better than the seals. Finally there were other boys and girls nearly as bright as him, and he could have proper conversations. He’d never realised that he was unpopular back in Boddingham, and he didn’t recognise his popularity on the Island of Angels, but it felt more like home than his home ever had. He had, however, been deeply affected by the news that Zadar had taken Boddingham, saddened despite subsequent reports that his father had agreed to pay the warlord a tithe with not a drop of blood lost. A few of the elder boys mocked Ragnall, calling his father a coward. He’d wanted to rush home, but word from his father told him to stay put, and counsel from the druids eased his mind.
So, most of the time, Ragnall put his worries aside, got on with school life and remained true to Anwen despite almost daily invitations not to. Anwen came to see him on the island once, during his final autumn there. They’d walked the beaches, marvelling at Danu’s creatures, discussing the other gods’ roles and planning for the future. She’d told him how the size and power of Zadar’s army had left his father with no choice, and almost all of Boddingham had agreed with the decision to capitulate and pay the tithe. Giving up a tenth of everything was no bother. People worked a little harder and had as much to eat and drink as before.
On her last afternoon, his manly hair blowing in the salt-tanged beach breeze, seals looking on and puffins, gulls, gannets and skuas spiralling overhead, Ragnall asked Anwen to marry him. She said yes, and they agreed to become husband and wife soon after he returned to Boddingham. That had been more than half a year before. He was aching to see her on a romantic level and, more and more, on a physical one. So the journey home – twelve days on horseback – had been too long. Luckily, Ragnall had Drustan Dantanner for company.
Drustan was, Ragnall reckoned, the school’s wisest teacher and the epitome of all that a druid should be. Unlike most druids, Drustan seemed genuine. He claimed no mythical powers of healing and didn’t seem to be angling every utterance to make himself look more excellent and mystical. He seemed genuinely kind. The theory of human sacrifice had replaced practical demonstrations at the school centuries before, but it was Drustan who had insisted that teaching even theoretical human sacrifice was no longer necessary. What’s more, Drustan had never put a clammy hand on Ragnall’s thigh as so many of the other teachers were wont to do. And he looked like a druid from the stories of Ragnall’s childhood. A few of the teachers used shells or iron razors to shave. Some were bald, some were women. Drustan was a good sixty years old but still sprightly, with a long white beard, an arc of curly white hair framing a shiny domed head and eyes bright with inquisitive intelligence. In his habitual long, undecorated and undyed woollen robe, he looked the part.
So when Drustan had suggested that he travel to his own
That didn’t mean there wasn’t plenty to see and do on the island. Despite the numbers of creatures killed in the classroom, the seashore was thick with animals, especially seals. A head druid four hundred years earlier, enchanted by seals’ wide-eyed, undemanding amiability, had decreed that the rotund animals were children of Leeban, the goddess of the sea, and must not be harmed. Now they coated the island’s shores like lazy bees on a hive. In summer there was a constant background of seal barks, coughs, clicks and honks, and pupils and teachers would play in the sea with the seal pups like Ragnall had played with puppies at home.
His friends were even better than the seals. Finally there were other boys and girls nearly as bright as him, and he could have proper conversations. He’d never realised that he was unpopular back in Boddingham, and he didn’t recognise his popularity on the Island of Angels, but it felt more like home than his home ever had. He had, however, been deeply affected by the news that Zadar had taken Boddingham, saddened despite subsequent reports that his father had agreed to pay the warlord a tithe with not a drop of blood lost. A few of the elder boys mocked Ragnall, calling his father a coward. He’d wanted to rush home, but word from his father told him to stay put, and counsel from the druids eased his mind.
So, most of the time, Ragnall put his worries aside, got on with school life and remained true to Anwen despite almost daily invitations not to. Anwen came to see him on the island once, during his final autumn there. They’d walked the beaches, marvelling at Danu’s creatures, discussing the other gods’ roles and planning for the future. She’d told him how the size and power of Zadar’s army had left his father with no choice, and almost all of Boddingham had agreed with the decision to capitulate and pay the tithe. Giving up a tenth of everything was no bother. People worked a little harder and had as much to eat and drink as before.
On her last afternoon, his manly hair blowing in the salt-tanged beach breeze, seals looking on and puffins, gulls, gannets and skuas spiralling overhead, Ragnall asked Anwen to marry him. She said yes, and they agreed to become husband and wife soon after he returned to Boddingham. That had been more than half a year before. He was aching to see her on a romantic level and, more and more, on a physical one. So the journey home – twelve days on horseback – had been too long. Luckily, Ragnall had Drustan Dantanner for company.
Drustan was, Ragnall reckoned, the school’s wisest teacher and the epitome of all that a druid should be. Unlike most druids, Drustan seemed genuine. He claimed no mythical powers of healing and didn’t seem to be angling every utterance to make himself look more excellent and mystical. He seemed genuinely kind. The theory of human sacrifice had replaced practical demonstrations at the school centuries before, but it was Drustan who had insisted that teaching even theoretical human sacrifice was no longer necessary. What’s more, Drustan had never put a clammy hand on Ragnall’s thigh as so many of the other teachers were wont to do. And he looked like a druid from the stories of Ragnall’s childhood. A few of the teachers used shells or iron razors to shave. Some were bald, some were women. Drustan was a good sixty years old but still sprightly, with a long white beard, an arc of curly white hair framing a shiny domed head and eyes bright with inquisitive intelligence. In his habitual long, undecorated and undyed woollen robe, he looked the part.
So when Drustan had suggested that he travel to his own
Similar Books
