Beyond a Darkened Shore
Jessica Leake
Dedication
For Karina, who wouldn’t let this book go
gently onto that good shelf.
1
Kingdom of Mide, Ireland, AD 1035
I learned to hate the sea. Not because it was unbearably cold, and not because I loathed swimming in its salty depths. I hated it because, in spite of its raw beauty, it brought death to our doorstep.
Today, though, I was on the shore below my father’s castle because of my two little sisters. After being practically locked inside the keep for days, they’d begged me for the chance to breathe fresh air. I couldn’t blame my mother for hiding them away in the keep—the place where my family and our most trusted servants lived, as it was the most fortified structure within the castle walls. Indeed, she was so obsessed with their safety that she and my sisters attended Mass at a different time from everyone else. Though I couldn’t blame her for that—not after what had happened the last time we were all in church together.
But unlike our mother, I had trouble telling my sisters no. Nothing made them happier: the sounds of the sea crashing against the rock that made me clench my teeth, the salty breeze that tangled my hair, the gritty sand that swallowed my boots—they loved it all. With so much darkness plaguing our family, the girls needed these moments of happiness.
So when they’d awoken just after dawn, I hadn’t hesitated to follow them down to the stables to retrieve their fat ponies. I knew as well as they that early morning, when our mother was at Lauds, was also the only chance for a proper riding lesson. Our mother had ordered that my sisters’ ponies be kept on leads while they rode, but I was determined to make them independent riders: an essential skill to have should we ever have to flee the castle. And the best way to become more comfortable was to ride without saddles—something I would do only with the sand and water to cushion their falls, and with my mother not around to hassle us.
“Keep your heels down, Bran,” I reminded my younger sister as she trotted her pony toward me. Her blond braid bounced on her back in time to the pony’s hoofbeats, and her eyes narrowed in concentration. For a moment, she looked so much like her older sister Alana that my breath hitched in my throat. I pushed the memories away. Alana was never far from my thoughts, but thinking of her was like the dull throb of pain from a wound not yet healed.
“I thought I was,” Branna said, her tone a little impatient. I didn’t take offense—it was how my sister always sounded, at least since the moment she’d reached her thirteenth birthday. She was only four years younger than I was, though in some ways, it might as well have been ten.
But then, she hadn’t seen the things I had. Nor been the cause of them.
Branna decided to listen to me in spite of herself, and pushed her heels down, which straightened her spine and strengthened her balance.
“That’s much better,” I said, and she smiled. My attention shifted to my youngest sister, trailing not far behind Branna. “You’re doing well, Deirdre.” She glanced down at her pony’s mane—shy as always in the face of a compliment.
The breeze brought the noxious smell of salt and fish to my nose, distracting me from my sisters. Out of habit, I checked the horizon for any sign of square sails. My father and many of my clansmen had answered the call of the nearby monastery two days ago, after the barbaric Northmen were spotted off their coast, too close to the monastery under my father’s protection to ignore. As my father’s heir and the most skilled warrior left behind, I was in charge of protecting his kingdom in his absence. And that meant protecting my sisters as well. The worry weighed heavily on me as I scanned the horizon again. It had been seven years since the Northmen had landed on our shores, but there were frequent raids along the coast. The Northmen never stopped trying to invade the shores of our land.
Thankfully the only movement on the water today was the seagulls—crying stridently to one another and darting just below the water’s crest. In the distance, bells from our small church rang out, signaling the end of Lauds. Our mother would be among the faithful, and there were many prayers being offered today for the deliverance of both the monastery and our men who’d gone to defend it. Had I been welcome in the small chapel, I would have no doubt offended God by my fervent prayers that each and every Northman be shown no mercy and preferably be killed in as painful a way as possible. Devils.
“Do we have to return already?” Bran asked, her eyes on the looming castle. She knew as well as I that the end of Lauds meant the return of our mother.
I considered the weak morning sun. Our mother usually remained in the church for at least another half hour after Lauds to help Father Briain.
“We have a few more minutes. Deirdre, give a little tug on the reins—don’t let him get his head down,” I said as her pony’s nose kept inching closer to the sand. He was a placid beast, but he loved to roll, and I’d rather he didn’t do it with my sister on his back.
A flutter of feathers drew my attention to a rocky outcropping not far from where my sisters rode. I expected to see the white and gray of a gull, but a little jolt of surprise ran through me when I saw the fathomless black of a crow. I tried to relax my tense shoulders. It could be just a normal crow, after all—just an everyday crow out searching for food like any other bird. It could be, but the hair risen on the back of my neck told me it wasn’t.