Sibeal is watching me closely. She knows I am avoiding something. My mouth stretches in a yawn. There is no artifice in this. I am bone weary.

“I’ll bid you good night, then,” she says.

“Good night, Sibeal.” I hope she cannot see in my eyes how much I want to put my arms around her and feel the warmth of her lips against mine. To press her body close; to touch her. I release her hands and step back politely to let her go past me.

Halfway to her little chamber, she turns to look over her shoulder. “Felix is Latin, isn’t it? Does it mean the happy one, or something like that?”

I feel my mouth twist, but I am not smiling. “Joyful,” I say. “It means joyful. Sleep safely, Sibeal.”

“You, too. Dream of home. Remember, Paul is close by, watching over you. He would be proud of what you’ve done tonight.”

I bow my head, lest she see that my eyes have filled with tears.

~Sibeal~

Sleep was elusive. I lay with eyes closed, breathing slowly. When I judged it to be almost dawn, I got up, dressed and went outside. From the infirmary proper there was no sound of movement, and I hoped both Gull and Felix were sleeping.

I walked to the place of the boat burial, where nine drowned men lay under their earthen mound. Grass was already starting to creep up over it. The place was serene and quiet in the morning light. I sat on the ground, thinking of the nightmare voyage those men had endured, and how cruel it was that on the very point of reaching the home shore again, the crew had fallen victim to the wild seas and the wind. I considered the long reach of Mac Dara.

“Paul,” I murmured, “your brother is going back there. He’s going to save the men whom you were forced to leave behind. Be proud of Felix. Now that you are gone, he has to take the lead himself, and he’s not used to that. Help me watch over him, if you can. You were the best and most loyal of brothers. He loves you and misses you.”

I stayed there awhile as the sun rose slowly in the sky, and the community of Inis Eala awoke and began its daily business. Men went down toward the jetty. A girl drove a small herd of goats out of one walled field and into another. Folk moved between sleeping quarters and dining hall; between dining hall and practice yard. After some time I got up and headed back, taking a roundabout way that would give me a view of the main bay and the fisherman’s cottage where Knut and Svala were housed. He would not be there, of course, but she might. Some time soon, someone must try to explain to her what was planned. That task would most likely fall to me.