Paul, gods, Paul with his feet still tied . . . I stagger over to where he lies half on, half off the bench, clutching a broken oar. The rope around his ankles is caught on a jagged length of split wood. A wave washes over me, drenching me to the chest and submerging him. The water recedes. Paul chokes and wheezes, sucking in air. Freyja’s timbers groan, grind, shatter. The ship is in her death throes. Crewmen fall, shrieking, into the maelstrom. Nowhere to climb to. Nowhere to shelter. No surface broad enough, flat enough, high enough for even one man to balance on and wait for rescue. There’s land not far off; smoke rising. This storm will drown us before anyone can come.

“Here.”

I crouch down, fumbling for the rope. It’s underwater, the knots impossibly tight, the strands snagged fast in the broken wood. Too slow. A knife, I need a knife . . . There’s a crewman dead, his corpse washing about in the narrow gap between benches. I snatch the weapon from his belt—gods, let me do this in time, let the two of us live.

I hear Paul speak behind me. “Save yourself, Felix.”

As I turn back toward him a monstrous wave engulfs me. It’s in my nose, my ears, my mouth. Its surging song drowns everything. Iron bands close around my chest. The sea bears me away.

CHAPTER 1

~Sibeal~

I had been just one day on Inis Eala when a ship was wrecked on the reef north of the island. I was on the cliffs, heading out with a basket over my arm to gather seaweed, when I heard the men shouting down near the settlement. As I looked out over the sea the vessel struck the rocks.

“Manannán be merciful,” I murmured, horror clenching my belly tight. The waves were monstrous around that reef. It was as if a malevolent hand stirred the water, reaching up to destroy any man so foolish as to come near. The day was windy—I had kept a cautious distance from the cliff’s edge, for it was a long way down—but here on the island there was no storm. A freakish turn of weather stirred the seas in one particular place out there. Did that ship bear someone who had angered the gods?

I stood frozen as the vessel smashed and twisted and broke up. Men were tossed into the water like dolls. Then, as the shouting from the settlement turned into an orderly series of commands, followed by a disciplined pattern of activity—men running to the anchorage, a flotilla of small boats being launched and heading out to the rescue, women suddenly busy between infirmary and kitchen—I was able to move again, and headed back down the hill. Inis Eala was full of capable folk, but at a time like this another pair of hands could always be put to good use.