“It’ll be long and dark,” growled Eyvind, “and, unlike you, I get no pleasure from endless games of dice.”

“There’ll be work for you,” Somerled said quietly.

“What work? Feeding pigs? Cutting turf?”

“We’ll find something closer to your heart than that, old friend. Trust me.”

They beached the Golden Dragon and, carrying their small packs, set off in King Engus’s wake up a barely discernible path toward the hills. There was a hidden vale, Engus had said, a fair, sheltered place tucked away between these forbidding peaks, and there they would find an ancient tomb, carven from living stone before ever the Folk walked on this isle. Not all could go close; he would take Ulf to see it, and the others must wait at a distance. Then they would go on to the high cliffs on the island’s western margin, for those were a wonder to behold.

They had taken a full complement on the Golden Dragon, to show her speed under oars: thirty for the crew, including Eyvind and Eirik, and with them Ulf and his brother. Engus had brought ten of his own warriors, and the indispensable Brother Tadhg.

Ulf was concerned for his ship’s security. It seemed to him a high tide and a strong wind might be enough to drive her off the shingle and out to sea, leaving them stranded, but Engus said that would not happen. There would be the usual mist, no more; the ship would be safe, and so would they as long as they made camp while they could still see their noses before them. Best move quickly. Ulf was not convinced. The ship was his jewel, his treasure. So he left a good number of his men by the anchorage, and these were willing enough to stay behind, having seen the way that track went up and up like some pathway to the heavens themselves. They’d make a fire, and catch a few fish, and be ready when the others came back. Two of Engus’s men remained with them.

Eyvind enjoyed that day. The pace was brisk, the climb hard. He liked that feeling, once so familiar, of pushing himself until every muscle in his body ached. Besides, the grandeur and beauty of the place were irresistible. For all the barrenness of the slopes, devoid of even the smallest tree, High Island put him in mind of home. This was a wild, dark, secret land, a land where there was not such a distance between man and god. His companions were mercifully silent, saving their flagging energy for the climb. Ulf’s seasoned warriors struggled, panting and rubbing their backs, while the islanders seemed tireless. Evidently they were not such weaklings as their stature suggested.

They reached the sacred place, and waited by the track while Engus took Ulf close. It was a great stone, lying on its side like a stranded whale.

“It is a tomb,” Brother Tadhg told them. “Hollowed out inside, with chambers and a passageway. Very old: hewed in a time before memory.”