Chapter 8
Wallace knew well enough the tale of Knife Island. It was contained within the only book in the house he had grown up in. The farm itself was little more than a shack on the edge of the village of Cromarty.
Inside was divided into two spaces, one for the people, the other for the livestock. The animals got the better part of the deal.
They were given fresh air in the summer and fresh straw to lie upon during the winter. Wallace got nothing of the kind. His bed was made of old reeds taken from the thatch, laid straight upon the beaten earth floor.
During the dark nights when the wind howled outside, he had been unable to sleep. Taking the one candle that was permitted for the task, he would sit up and reach for the book.
He had no idea how to read but the symbols and drawings that filled the pages helped to spark his imagination and distract him from his fear of the monsters that might lurk out in the winter’s night.
As the years went by his understanding of the story grew. Occasionally his guardians, the old man Farrow and his wife, Mabel, would answer one of his questions.
“What is this word?”
Connecting the dots over the weeks and months he slowly learned to read. His enjoyment of the tale grew. He could connect the text and the images, using the map in the flyleaf to begin to grasp the layout of Knife Island.
He was here for real for the first time.
He had no doubt there was some powerful magic in the silver key the woman held.
No doubt that was why the barefoot man wanted it.
A key that could open any door and lead you through to another location, that was a tool that could be used for great good or great evil.
He wondered if there were rules to the use of the key. Could it lead anywhere? Or only to certain locations? Was he lucky to have been sent through to Knife Island or did perhaps the key have an agenda of its own?
He looked around him. There was Black Rock, looming up like an angry giant. To one side, the great Long Fell and the escarpment where the climax of the story had taken place. Orientating himself based on Black Rock, he recalled the layout of the island.
“Where are we going?” Natalie asked as he began to walk without looking back.
“To the boats,” he replied. “The hamlet of Osterley should be ahead of us.”
“How far is it?” she asked, jogging to catch up to him.
“No more than a mile.”
“And you know the way?”
“Down this valley and up the other side, then we cross through the marshland and we’re there.”
“We go through a marsh? Isn’t that dangerous?”
“We use stepping stones that have been there a thousand years.”
“All this knowledge of yours comes from a story? What if you’re wrong?”
“I’m not.” The hill started to slope away in front of them. They began the descent. Wallace strode ahead, Natalie struggling to keep up as she slipped down the rocky slope. Eventually he was forced to pause to wait for her to catch up.
“What’s the plan?” she asked, joining him on the wide grassy floor of the valley. “When we get to the boats I mean?”
“Row to the mainland.”
“And then?”
“Walk back to the castle.”
“And then?”
“Get you home,” he said, not mentioning the part where he would give the key to the barefoot man.
He began marching again, barely slowing down as they started the climb up the far side of the valley.
The grass petered out, becoming bare rocks.
The only signs of natural life were a few sprigs of heather that blew in the light breeze, releasing a fragrant scent that Wallace had not smelled for a very long time.
“And just how do you plan to do that?” She was panting for breath as she talked, the climb taking far more effort for her than for him.
He stopped, frowning. “I haven’t thought that far ahead.”
“So you don’t know. How do you know I can even get home?”
He shrugged. “Maybe you can’t.”
“That’s great. You make a deal with me to show me around the Middle Ages in return for the silver key. I come back here and all I’ve seen so far is an island in the middle of nowhere. Now don’t get me wrong, it’s a nice island, but it’s not quite what I had in mind.”
“Down there.” He stopped at the top of the hillside, pointing down toward a huddle of shacks by the water’s edge. From the end of them a jetty pointed out into the sea. Rocking on the choppy water, a single rowing boat called out to them.
“We’re going to get back to the mainland in that?”
“Aye, why not?”
“Because we’ll capsize before we get ten feet. Have you seen the size of the waves?”
He looked out at the sea, the white foam as water crashed into the jagged rocks that jutted out into the air as if guarding the island from what lay beyond. “Where there’s one boat, there’ll be others,” he said, starting on the long descent to the village.
Gradually, the shacks grew larger. As they approached, Wallace saw some signs of life down there. Chickens roamed across the dirt paths, pecking at the few straggly weeds that managed to survive in the salty air.
A fisherman was mending a net down by the water’s edge. From two of the huts smoke rose up through the thatch and a voice could be heard singing inside. “I saw some ships come sailing by, sailing by, sailing by. I saw some ships come sailing by, but my bairn was not upon them.”
“I ken that song,” Wallace said. “It was in the book.” His stride lengthened and he was at the door of the shack in under a minute. He rapped on the wood with his knuckles.
The song stopped and there was a scraping sound within before the door swung open and a middle aged woman leaned out, a ball of yarn in one hand and a kitten in the other.
She looked surprised for a brief moment but then anger flashed across her eyes.
“You interrupted play time,” she said. “This better be important.”
“We need a boat,” Wallace said. “At once.”
“No pleases, no thank yous?” The woman stood to one side, waving them both in. “Honestly, you’d think the next laird would be more polite to one of his own.”
“You’re a MacGregor?” Wallace asked. “How do you ken me?”
“I see the mark on your arm. I hear your accent. Most of all, I helped to raise you before the war and my banishment.”
By now they were all inside and the door was closed again. The shack was dark with only one tiny window which faced out to the sea. There was just enough light for Wallace to see where she was pointing, a wooden bench by the fireplace.
He sat with Natalie beside him. The kitten immediately hopped onto her lap and promptly curled up, purring as it went to sleep.
“Who are you?” he asked the old woman as she put the ball of yarn away.
“Deirdre is my name for now, not that it matters. What matters is sitting next to you.”
He turned and looked at Natalie who was gently stroking the kitten. She glanced up at him, and then looked away. “Her?” he said, turning back to Deirdre. “What about her?”
“She has the silver key.”
“How do you ken that?”
“Did you leave your brains in that dungeon. You appear at my house demanding a boat. That means you dinnae have one of your own. That means you did not row or sail to Knife Island. Unless you have wings I cannot see, that means you used the key to go through the door to get here. Or am I mistaken?”
Natalie spoke up for the first time. “What is this key?”
“It is very special,” Deirdre replied, sinking into an armchair and folding her arms across her chest. “As are you. You are a woman from the future, aren’t you?”
“How did you know that?”
“I’ll take that as a yes. Now listen carefully, because this is where it gets complicated.
There are many futures and many pasts, some of them real, some of them little more than smoke.
I have been blessed with the sight into some of those paths and so, sadly, has the barefoot man.
He knows that the time of reckoning grows near.
Even now his tentacles spread throughout the highlands as they did a generation ago and as they will again unless you do something about it. ”
“Me?” Natalie asked, looking confused. “What do I have to do with anything?”
“When the MacGregors lost the war, their loss was not a fair one. The barefoot man…how can I put this? He…tweaks things. His help gave the remaining MacCallisters the power over this land but it was not a power they were ever supposed to wield. Even now, their grip on things grows slight. Soon, they will be as lost as us all unless the barefoot man can be dealt with.”
“Who is this barefoot man?”
“That is a question that has vexed many for a very long time. I can tell you only a little, and much of what is said of him is contradictory. He is old, very old, though he looks little older than Wallace here. He is not working alone, that much I can be sure of. He yearns for power but he has been thwarted thanks to a dash of luck and a lot of effort on the part of the MacGregors. Each defeat has made him more dangerous. He once wished to travel to the future but he does not know he is bound to this time as a dog is bound to its master. Whenever he tries to travel forward, he is pulled back. Soon he will seek a different goal.”
“I don’t understand.”
“That doesnae matter. What matters is this. Laird MacGregor was locked up under a curse that was supposed to last forever. That key was able to break an unbreakable curse. That makes it a powerful tool in this struggle. You wield the key, that makes you a powerful tool as well. It is in your hands that the fate of our land now rests. It is up to you what happens to all of us.”
“Me? But I’m no one.”
“You are not no one. You are the one.”
“I’m not who you think I am, I’m just-”
Deirdre held up a hand to silence her. Then she turned and glanced out of the window. “Time runs short. Take this.” She got up and reached behind her bed, pulling out a dagger, the blade black as night. “If you are the one, you will know when to use this. Now go.”
Wallace got to his feet, seeing the look in Deirdre’s eyes. “What’s out there?”
“The captain is waiting for you by his ship. All you have to do is get to it.” She grabbed Wallace’s hands. “Whatever you do, do not let any harm come to her. If we meet again, I shall have something very important to tell you. I wish I could tell you now but it would be too dangerous. Take care.”
He glanced past her through the window. Several boats were growing near the shore. “An army,” he said. “What are they doing here?”
“Looking for you,” she replied. “You must go. Take the goat track to the north.” She hurried them both out the door, calling after them, “Good luck.”
Wallace began running. He glanced over his shoulder. Already Natalie was falling back, struggling up the steep path that led along the rising cliff edge.
Swearing under his breath and seeing the boats less than a minute from the shore he turned back. “What are you doing?” she asked.
“This,” he replied, hoisting her over his shoulder. He began to run, the weight of her doing nothing to slow him down. As he ran he kept glancing at the dagger she held in her hand. Why had she been given that?
More thoughts crossed his mind. Deirdre had not mentioned his deal with the barefoot man but he had the strangest feeling she knew about it, nonetheless. Was that the secret she referred to? And why had he the feeling he knew her from somewhere?
While he’d been sitting inside her shack he was sure she was reading his innermost thoughts. He shook off the feeling. That was not possible.
He knew he would have to make a choice at some point. Let that point be far off. For now what mattered was getting away from the people chasing them.
If they were working for the barefoot man, they would snatch the key from him and his chance at being reunited with his father would vanish. Only by keeping her and the key safe did he still have a chance at getting his deal honored. For now, it was the two of them against the world.
The goat track vanished a little further on. For a moment he was unsure which way to go but then he saw a narrow track leading into the undergrowth, dipping below the boughs of a giant hazel tree.
Once out the other side, he was gratified to see a ship down by the shore. He put on a fresh burst of speed, ignoring the crashing sounds of men following behind, their shouts fading as he put some distance between himself and his pursuers.
A minute later he was down on the shoreline with Natalie back on her feet. A man in a battered old leather hat was climbing out of a rowing boat, dragging it up onto the sand. “Captain,” Wallace shouted. “We set sail.”
“I am not your captain,” the man replied. “Nor am I going anywhere. I am going hunting for gull eggs.”
“We must get to the mainland at once. Deirdre sent us.”
“That old witch. She just wants me gone because of what I called her last time I was here. You tell her from me, there is nothing that will get me sailing off here until I am good and ready. I’m staying put.”
At that point, the pursuing army reached the clifftop above. With a cry they began to sprint down toward the sand.
“On second thought,” the man said, pushing his rowboat back into the water. “It might be time to get going after all. Well, are you coming or not?”
Wallace dropped Natalie into the stern of the rowboat before climbing in next to the captain, taking the oar he offered. Together they began to row out to the waiting ship as their pursuers reached the shore and ran out into the water, trying to swim after them.
“They’re coming,” Natalie said in a panicky voice. “They’ll kill us.”
“They’ll drown,” the captain said. “There are currents in this bay that would overpower the strongest swimmer.”
Wallace watched as the men began to struggle. Some went under almost at once, pushing and fighting each other as they battled the current. The others returned to the shore, a few drawing bows and firing arrows out at them.
“What if they get to their boats?” Natalie asked. “How can we take on that many ships?”
“This is the Merry Jane,” the captain said, nodding toward his ship. “Fastest ship in the highlands. They will never catch us.”
More arrows flew out toward them, landing harmlessly in the water and vanishing from sight.
“What’s the matter with you?” Wallace asked as Natalie ducked down as low as she could.
“I’m scared,” she replied. “I’ve never had arrows fired at me before.”
“Dinnae worry. They cannot reach us this far out. You will not get hurt under my protection.”
He grunted as an arrow pierced his side a moment later.
“I thought you said we would not get hurt,” she said as they finally left the range of the bows behind them.
“I promised you, not me,” he replied.
“Dinnae worry,” the captain said with a grin. “If you die, I will take good care of her for you.”
“That’s very kind of you,” Wallace said. “I’ll bear it in mind.”