groped for the wall of the tower, holding on to the rough stones until his sight returned. He’d experienced this before when he’d been prone too long. As expected, it soon passed. Just moved a little fast, that’s all.
“I’m going for the anchor from the boat,” he mumbled as he sat on the threshold of the doorway and swung his legs out. Maybe fresh air would help.
After walking down to the muddy bank, he stopped to view the rising fog and the sinking sun. If he wanted to find what the ghost man desired, it would be easier before the light failed.
He cut the pickaxe free from its rope and tied the boat directly to the tree. On his way back to the tower, he spied the dead branch lying next to the rock where Igerna had sat with Arthur earlier. Picking up the limb, he whacked it on the stone to test its strength, which didn’t disappoint. Next he compared its thickness to the hole in the rusty pickaxe and found that a little whittling would make it a perfect match.
Magnificent!
Back inside the tower, he joined his family and Colvarth, who were all sitting on a linen cloth in a corner, eating cold venison and barley bread. Taking a few nibbles of the bread his wife offered, he noticed the worry in her eyes — her brows two trembling arcs tethered tightly in the center. Ignoring this, he whittled the end of the thick branch until he could fit it in the hole of the pickaxe. Taking the branch out again, he worked a deep notch on the end with his blade. Fitting the pickaxe head on again, he chose three wedges he’d whittled off and hammered them into the gap with a rock. But his hand shook, and since Igerna was watching him like a concerned mother, he walked to the other side of the room to finish the job.
Why does my hand shake so? he wondered. Perhaps it’s only hunger. I simply need to eat more bread.
Colvarth joined him and studied the pickaxe with a curious eye. “My … king. What is the purpose of this … digging? You attack the ground as if to slay it. And now the pick?”
“You think I make a grave, eh?” Uther tucked his shaking hand behind his back.
“No, I do not.” Colvarth’s words faded, and his face contorted, eyes bulging out. His skin changed to blue and then white.
Was the world going mad? Uther closed his eyes and shook his head. When he glanced again, Colvarth’s face appeared normal. “Say this prophecy,” Uther whispered. “Whose grave is this? Who is buried here?”
“Speak not of such things!” And Colvarth turned away.
Garth’s feet were cold and wet before McEwan finally heaved their boat onto the gritty shingle. He tied the rope to a bent cypress tree that leaned out from the bank, its roots sucking at the mud and slime. Even though the island was quite large, finding the northern landing had been harder than Garth expected, what with the fog so thick. The white dampness filled his lungs, made his throat itch, and clung to him like the shreds of a ghastly cloak as he stepped ashore.
Although he loved to fish here, he’d never been on the marsh at dusk, and it was nothing like the open, and rolling ocean he longed for. Out of the mist, birds squawked from sharp beaks, their chirrups ethereal and their eyes unseen. The frogs croaked so loudly that surely each would be found and plucked from its hiding place by the bill of some gray heron of death. And all the while the insects wailed a song of mourning as the gloom sped its way over the marsh.
While McEwan was distracted, swinging his stout club, McGoss pinched Garth’s shoulder and whispered, “Remember, no tellin’, or I make fish bait out o’ yar guts. Hear?”
Garth held his breath and nodded.
The warriors in the other boat finally pulled ashore, disembarked, and began whispering to each other in low Eirish murmurs. Garth tried to draw close to them, but O’Sloan pushed him away. “Stay wit’ the boats.”
Alarmed to discover he’d be left alone, but equally fearful of going with them, Garth pulled his cloak more tightly over his shoulders. “W-when will you be back?”
“Soon enough. How far is the ruined tow’r? I canna see it.”
“Ten throws of a stone, I’d say. Take the trail through the apple trees.”
The six warriors walked off into the mist, and soon