It was quiet with the men gone. Still, the evening would not be without entertainment, for Brother Tadhg was here. Everyone remembered the boat that he had arrived in with three others of his kind, all the way from some distant place called Ulster. Nobody believed, at first, that a tiny craft of wattles and skins, with the merest scrap of sail, could carry men safely across the sea to land them, ragged, thirsty, and windblown, on the sandy beach at South Bay. Fishermen there said the brothers had knelt down on the shore with the wavelets lapping around their long robes, and uttered some sort of prayer, and then had walked calmly over and introduced themselves. Not that anyone there had understood their speech; that came later. Nessa had asked Brother Tadhg about the voyage, and he’d told her God’s hand had guarded the boat, and held back the waves and the storms and the sea serpents, to bring his children to safe haven.

They were crazy men, but harmless. Their madness showed not only in the folly of their voyage and the blind trust that inspired it, but in the home they chose once they arrived. Engus had offered them a house and a patch of land well sheltered from the wind and bordered by sweet pasture. But they chose a spot long uninhabited by humankind, an isle whipped on either side by a violent tide race, a low-lying, windswept place. There were enough tales about that island to keep any man in his right mind well away: disappearances, strange lights, mists, and shadows. Everyone knew the place belonged to the Seal Tribe, a race ancient, elusive, and deeply dangerous. The brothers sailed their rickety boat across and began to build a dwelling house, a prayer house, a sheep pen, a chicken coop. From that day on, the Folk began to call it Holy Island.

The brothers did not beg; they did not ask for help. Their small community grew slowly, one or two more drifting in to the shore as the first had done, in scrappy boats hardly fit for lakeshore fishing. A couple of the local lads had gone over to Holy Island to offer help with shifting stones or shearing sheep, and stayed to work and to learn. In time, there were eight on the island, and seven of them kept to themselves. The exception was Tadhg. He had learned the tongue of the Folk with remarkable speed, and was now a frequent visitor in most parts of the islands. Indeed, he knew many languages, having traveled widely as a younger man and lived among many kinds of folk. He delighted in teaching what he knew. Nessa, an eager student, could now keep up a passable conversation in basic Latin and a better one in Norse. Others of her people dismissed such knowledge: when were they ever likely to need it? But Nessa said, all knowledge is precious, and Tadhg agreed with her.