“Not much to tell.”  Iamerge’s mind raced as he thought over what he should and shouldn’t tell.  The best course always seemed to reveal the least, “I washed up on the Skellig and Gospels was there to pull me out, care for me, feed me, such as there was on that bleak place.”

Jim Cooper nodded, knowingly, “Tis said there’s naught to eat and the saints perch there for months living on water and sea foam, then there’s some who say that their god gives them food, and others that say that they’ve a fat larder there and since they don’t eat here its there they go to eat.”

Iamerge laughed, “Well, as to the larder, I saw none, I ate no sea foam, and Gospels gave me bits of dry fish, some little leaves of green herb, and sometimes raw egg of sea birds on the isle, if it was his god that gave him that to eat then he isn’t a very generous god.”

“You make it sound like there is no fuel at all, nothing to burn.”

“Unless you can make wet stone burn there is naught of that at all.”

“Incredible, how did you live?”

“How did Gospels live before I came?  I’ll tell you I’ve never slept better than I did in their guest house last night.  Not because of any opulence, just not the austerity of the rock.  There are five men out there now.  I don’t know why they do it.”

“No wonder they have produce and more to sell, they don’t eat any of it,”  said Jim Cooper to himself as much to Iamerge.  “What do you know of their god?  I confess, they don’t have much truck with old Jim, but I’ve heard their bell and I’ve heard their weird singing a time or two.  They seem virtuous, but I’d say men that virtuous can only get in the way of a man’s business.  In the end.”

“To tell you the truth I can’t speak to the beliefs of the monks like Gospels, they are new to me as well.  But I can’t say anything against them, they seem virtuous, generous, and good to a fault.  I do take your meaning though, I think.  What’s a man to do who can’t live up to such a standard?  What must they think of those who don’t live as they do?”  Iamerge took another drink from his cup and cleared his throat, “Still, if I understand them, they serve the same God, the Lord they call him, who is served by the Jews that I knew quite well.  It seems to me that they are similar in their kindnesses and that it is their Lord who commands it of them.”

“So, these Jews grew food that they did not eat as well?”

Iamerge laughed at that, “Oh no, not so.  The Jews were adept at trade, at numbers, at drawing value from a thing.  It seems to me that the Jews took part in the blessings that their Lord brought them.  The monks like Gospels are prospered and they choose not to partake, indeed they take pride in denying themselves.  I can’t say if it is their Lord that demands that privation of one and not the other or what the truth of it is.”

“It sounds to me that you’ve travelled a far piece Iamerge.  I’ve never heard of these Jews.  Then again, I’d not heard of these monks either ’til I came here.”

“I would have thought to be the mayor of Rat Town you’d have had to be born here.”

“Oh no, I wasn’t born here, nor most of the rats for that matter.  They come on the boats, but I came from Cooperstown.  I’d be there still if there was one.”  For once Jim seemed a bit sad, “Mayhaps again.  But that’s nobody’s business.  Not yet.” The two men fell silent and they sat and nursed their drinks in the cool darkness.

“So, do you think that Ua Birlinn might have returned by now?”

Jim laughed, “Oh you and Ruaridh will get along famously, all business aren’t you?  I’d like to say that he’d be back by now, but I can’t. I figure you’ve got more of a wait than his returning.  Single minded he is, just like you.  I figure he’ll be about what ever took him out of here so fast a bit longer than it takes him to get there and back.  Don’t you?  Jim got up and moved back around the bar.  “A waste of a day I’d say.  Not like to be see’n visitors, since you’re ask’n me.”  Cooper refilled his ale and looked at Iamerge, “Can I get you a refill lad?”

Iamerge sighed, ”No, thanks.  I think I’ll get the lay of the land at least.  Perhaps I can find out a bit more about what’s happened and when I might speak to Ua Birlinn.  My thanks though, for the ale and the conversation.”

“Suit yourself.  Have a look, but come back by if you like.  I might have found a bit out myself by then.” Cooper winked and walked off toward the kitchen, “I do wonder where ol’ Mare has got to.”

Iamerge rose and went up the dark stair and out into the day.

Gospels clambered to his feet, dusted himself off, and then turned to Smoke, “And a monk I still am. I have Teirt.”

“Your offices?” Smoke was surprised, “Gospels, who would know?”

Gospels laughed, “. . . he asked the hermit.”  Gospels turned to the path that led back to the little compound. “Do hail the boat if you see it.  If it leaves us, we will be eating little bits of dried fish for a long time.”

Smoke looked back to the sea.  There was no sign of the boat that Gospels had assured him would come.  It was a beautiful day, sea birds danced on the breeze and Smoke took pleasure in watching their play.  “Wouldn’t it be best to be like a bird? Free? There in the sky are sailors in truth, who ride the sea winds and touch the sea only when they want,”  thought Smoke. The sun was warm on his face and he lay back against the stone for a moment to enjoy this gift as well.

Smoke started awake to the sound of a laughing gull.  He was chilled with the wind against him and the sun blocked by a passing cloud.  He did not know how long he’d slept.

Below, on the waves, was a small dinghy, smaller than his before it was shattered on this isle.  Both prow and stern rose from the gunnels and for a moment Smoke feared it was leaving.  The oars rose and fell, sparkling in the sun as the sea water fell away from them to plunge back into it for another stroke.

Smoke leaped to his feet and picked his way down toward the moorage, such as it was.  Soon enough he realized that the boat was approaching.  Smoke sighed his relief as he slowed.  He glanced back up toward the hermitage and saw Gospels high on the cliff, he waved when he saw Smoke looking back for him.  Smoke glanced back to where the little boat struggled toward the safety of the little cove.  There seemed plenty of time so he decided to wait for Gospels to catch up to him.

The screams of the sea birds were the only things that Smoke could point to as disquieting, a break to the peace of the day.  Smoke and Gospels sat high on the island above the place, Gospels had explained, where the boat from the abbey would put in. 

Smoke was excited to be off the little pinnacle of rock, a hungry prison in all but company.  He sat with his new friend Gospels and hid his excitement in deference to his friend’s discomfort at facing his brethren.  It would be awkward in a way that he knew something about, other people’s expectations.

And yet, as much as he would like to be appropriately somber for his friend, he was delighted with the day, freshening wind, wind whipped cloud torn to reveal bright sunshine, a day to sail, a day to delight a man like he had always been.  Smoke inhaled the salt freshness of it, “Oh Gospels, this is a day to be on the water.”

Gospels sighed, “God is good.”

Smoke chuckled at his friend’s inscrutability.  Was the sigh impatience, discouragement, awe, sarcasm, praise?  Smoke didn’t know, but he was happy and couldn’t keep it to himself. “You know the worst part of my youth was existing in a stinking port city knowing all the while that I was born for the sea.”

“hmm, I too was raised in a city by the sea.  I rather liked the scent of it though.”

“Oh yes, a Northern port city no doubt.  I did not mean to insult.  And too, it may have been the parts of the city I frequented that stank, not the city itself.”

Gospels laughed, “I’m sorry.  I was just. . .    . . .my mind was elsewhere.”

Smoke let things lay.  His new friend was used to solitude, not just as a hermit, but in his life before he took to his coracle.  Smoke was brimming with questions and conversation, yet he knew that he would get no pearls from the oyster.  Well, that might not be a good analogy. 

It was exciting to think that these monks were literate.  His pattern had often been to seek knowledge when he gave up on a life, cut ties to business and family, and lost himself.  Perhaps this time, more than others, he felt the need to know.  He had been so near to knowing nothing ever again.  Nothing like a good death to bring back the zest for life.  So he would build a new life, and for this one as for all his others, he would seek knowledge, he would plan, and then he would live.

He inhaled the salt freshness,  “I’ve been to your city, I didn’t know there was an abbey.  I might have visited your library if I’d known.”

“The abbey had been half a century before the Navigators even came.  Six monks in a coracle ran aground in the bay and that full two hundreds of years agone.”

“I thought you said you were a Navigator.”

“I was of that people.  But I’m not quite that old.” Gospels laughed again.  He seemed a bit more merry, as if his mind had come to some resolve or comfort as they sat there in the sun. “The abbey came before the Navigators, but I, a Navigator, came to the abbey in a boat.”