Ulf was very quiet when he came back, as if what he had seen had set an awe on him that would linger far beyond this day. They ate their meal and walked on. One could not come all the way to High Island, Engus said, without going to the sea cliffs. There was a rock stack there, which surpassed even the stone giant off the coast south of the Whaleback. This was a veritable tower, majestic in its size, an ancient marker of boundaries. It was fitting that they should see it. There would be beds and a fire and roast mutton at the western settlement. In the morning they would return to the anchorage.

The climb had taken its toll. Some of Ulf’s men stayed in the valley to make camp and hunt, and some decided to head back to the ship and wait the time out there. Engus sent two of his own men with each group; it was clear he was not prepared to leave any of Ulf’s party on High Island unsupervised. It was therefore a much smaller group that made its way westward down to a fair bay then, after a rest that was all too brief, up and up again along the coast to a place lofty as an eagle’s nest. The track was treacherous; Eyvind had never seen cliffs so high. Here and there the ground was crumbling; great chunks of it had split away and now stood on their own as if ready to collapse into the raging ocean on the slightest provocation. Birds screamed overhead. There were fissures and cracks in the rock, and the wind caught at hair and cloak, tugging him insistently toward the edge. He was glad he had no fear of heights.

It was nobody’s fault that the mist came in early and swiftly. One moment they were striding along, wondering exactly what King Engus meant when he said it wasn’t much farther, and the next they were enveloped in a thick, gray blanket and could scarcely see their own feet on the ground, let alone their companions. Eyvind halted. He heard Engus calling, and Tadhg translating, Stop! Stop here! They gathered in a hollow; it was quite clear they could not go on in any direction, not until morning. The plan had been to return to the western bay, where a scattering of fisherfolk dwelt, and spend the night there in relative comfort.

“I regret this greatly,” Engus told them. “There is no choice but to settle down here and wait for tomorrow’s sun to disperse this mist. Are we all accounted for?”

They moved in closer. Eirik was there, with long-legged Holgar and tow-haired Grim. But Ulf was not there, and neither was Somerled. And when King Engus counted his own men, two were missing. They called through the mist: “Ulf! Ulf, where are you? Somerled!” And once or twice, at first, they thought they heard a faint response. After a while, they stopped calling. The mist clung so close, it was no longer safe to attempt to bring a man to your side by sound, not with such treacherous ground to cover.