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.
It cocked its head at me once before letting loose a harsh caw-caw-caw. The sound sprang memories free in my mind: a murder of crows so large it was like a blot against the gray of the sky. My clansmen dying, and my own sister . . . no, I wouldn’t allow my mind to stray to such a place. Again, I looked toward the sea, but the line of water stretching toward the horizon was unbroken.
“Ciara!” Deirdre called, her tone sharp. I jerked my head up in time to see her pony sink to its front knees in preparation for a roll.
I rushed to her side and grabbed the pony’s reins. Ignoring me, the pony grunted as he continued to lower his considerable bulk to the sand. I held my hand out to Deirdre, an exasperated smile playing on my lips. “You’ll have to jump down. He won’t be dissuaded.”
She slid the short distance to the ground, and I pulled her out of the way. Free of his rider, the pony rolled nearly all the way onto his back, kicking his hooves into the air and snorting.
“Stubborn thing.” I shook my head. Beside me, Deirdre giggled.
“Oh no,” Branna groaned from somewhere nearby.
I turned to see our mother hurrying down the winding path to the shore, the velvet of her skirts swishing angrily in her wake.
“Ciara!” Máthair called as soon as she was within hearing range, her voice as sharp as a blade. Her entire focus was on me.
Her sleeves trailed nearly to the sands of the beach as she stopped before me, her long blond hair in waves down her back. She reached out and pulled Deirdre to her. “Did you fall, child?” she asked, her hands cupping Deirdre’s cheeks.
“No, Máthair,” Deirdre said.
“Ciara was only giving us a riding lesson,” Branna said from the back of her pony.
“Come down from there, Branna,” our mother said, letting go of Deirdre. She gestured vehemently toward Bran as though she was astride a great menacing wolf rather than a docile pony.
Frustration evident in the set of her shoulders, Branna slid down.