The day was dying, especially in the shaded landing, but the monks, Ezekiel and all, disappeared up a stairway leaving Smoke by the boat.  He pondered the meaning of this as he made his way up the same stairs but cautiously because of his unfamiliarity and the growing darkness.

As he crested the stairway and looked out over the abbey, for that is what he assumed it to be, he saw the greater sun at the horizon turning the clouds red and gold.  Across the fields he could see the small harbor he had hoped to reach when weather and bad luck had cast him up on Gospel’s shore.

Shining Star had not climbed much above that opposite horizon so it’s weak blue light did nothing to the magnificence of the light show.  Below him were more of the little huts that he’d found so uncomfortable on the skellig.  It seemed that the poverty of Gospel’s order extended to the mainland.  And then he knew why they had left him.  Psalmns began in the cool dusk, praise to a Creator that this moment of startling beauty made real.

Their voices were beautiful too, thought Smoke.  Oddly alien to his ear were harmonies that Gospel alone could not perform.  Did Gospels hear his brothers when he sang alone on the skellig?  Was that the secret of the solitary devotee?  This chorus, this night, was wealth that could not be bought.  And too, Smoke knew they had books.

Beyond the little abbey was the sort of world that Smoke had known.  The bustle of trade, of commerce.  This backwater would be a far cry from the cities he had mastered, but the challenge was the same.  What if his connection, his hold stake, secreted away in this far corner of the world wasn’t safe?  He’d started with less, but nobody wants to start from rock bottom if they don’t have to.

A sigh of relief burst out unbidden.  There was nothing for it but to make his inquiries and then his plans.  A new life awaited and he was master of his destiny again.

This begins Chapter 4, if you have navigated here other than by the Novel Progress Page you may want to have a look at it.  If this is the first part of the story you’ve seen you might want to begin HERE.

CHAPTER  4

The fresh sea breeze cooled his face, warm with the effort of rowing.  It was a beautiful day.  The sea was kind and the breeze was perfect for a sail.  They had no such though, so it was work on the oar and only glances at the shore as they passed the headland and moved into the bay.

Gospels sat the bench in front of Smoke.  Beside his friend, an ancient but still fit fellow named Ezekiel toiled.  Beside Smoke, now known to these men as Iamerge, was a talkative fellow named Hebrews and in the stern manning the tiller a gaunt, even among his fellow monks, man named Kings.  He spoke little, but seemed to eye Smoke with suspicion.

“So, Iamerge,” ventured Hebrews, “Where do you hail from?”

“The South,” Smoke said, focusing all his attention on his oar and volunteering nothing more.

“Don’t pester our guest Hebrews,” Gospels said. “There will be time enough to learn about Iamerge when we get to shore.”

“Pardon Abbott”

To port and starboard now there was land, draped in dark conifers, clinging to dark stone. It occurred to Smoke that everything seemed brighter in the South.  Greyer usually, and yet brighter.  Smoke had seen needle covered trees in his travels, they had a pleasant astringent smell, but most often these sorts of trees lived high in the mountains, in his experience.

They came along a boat not much bigger than theirs, two men hailed the monks.  They almost immediately turned back to their nets, drawing from the deep what it might give up.  Another boat came into view, this one piloted by one man with oars.  He pulled a cage from the water and set it on the gunnels, it appeared full of crab, and then waved, his boat hailed him in return save for the dower Kings in the stern.

Smoke glanced at the man who seemed intent on his tiller to the exclusion of all else, and then, as if triggered by Smokes gaze he put he tiller hard over and the skiff lurched to port.  It was a matter of moments to gather himself for another stroke, he glanced over the side and noticed that the stony bottom was very close.  Perhaps brother Kings had his reasons, there was even a few pillars that protruded out of the bay. 

The monks rowed with more determination now.  Smoke hoped the journey was nearing its end.  He was tiring, but it seemed that Gospels and the older monk, Ezekiel, were struggling even more.  He tried to keep his strokes even with the eager young Hebrews, but feared he could not hold out long.

They were embraced by a little cove.  Kings had steered them true and the rocky shore came up around close on both sides.  “Here we are!” exclaimed Hebrews.

“At last,” panted Ezekiel. “Praise God you and your friend were there to help us home, Gospels.”

The boat glided up into a landing, there was some fumbling as four unpracticed oarsmen shipped their oars and Hebrews blundered about trying to get on the quay to make them fast.  When they realized his plan they made way and balanced his efforts.  Soon enough, they were moored, “By God’s grace,” an exhausted Ezekiel said as he was helped ashore.