That was a strange question, I thought. Why would I have a boat, and even if I did, why would I keep it here?
“No…”
Belis stared at me and I wondered if I had missed something.
“Then how do you get to the island, to Grassholm?” She slowed her speech as if I was stupid. I bridled at that. I thought we had moved past this.
“I run, of course. I don’t go often, every ten years or so. I just wait for a full moon and then run across the path. You can do it in a half- or crescent moon, too, but the path is widest at full.”
“You could run on water?” Belis shook her head. “No, of course you could. Goddess, I remember. What I mean to ask is: how were you planning on getting there now?”
“Well, it’s a full moon tonight so I’ll just—” I broke off, finally understanding. “It won’t work any more, will it? Humans can’t run on water.”
“No.” Belis looked as if she was going to continue, then slammed her mouth shut before anything else could slip out. I appreciated that.
I swung myself off Weasel and down to the ground, wincing as my legs straightened out after hours in the saddle. I tiptoed up to the edge and looked over. Below me the waves were enthusiastically smashing themselves onto the rocks, the sea churned into a roiling foam. I stepped back smartly and went to grip the reins of my pony. My head was spinning at the height and I wanted to cling to something solid. Weasel nuzzled at my hair, whiffling comfortingly.
“Well?” demanded Belis.
“I guess we can’t run. Unless you can magic the water to hold us?” I asked hopefully. Belis dismissed the idea without consideration.
“No, and definitely not while running for fifteen miles. I’m not sure I can run fifteen miles on land.”
“We could swim,” I said, chewing on my lip. I liked swimming usually but hadn’t done more than bathing in a stream since meeting Belis.
“Not for fifteen miles of open water.”
“Do you have a boat?” One look at Belis told me she didn’t think this question was any less stupid coming from me than I had when she’d said it.
“Sorry, I forgot to bring it with me when I fled my home.”
“We need to find a boat then.” I scanned the horizon. The land was completely empty of human habitation. “Could you make one? Your tribe uses little coracles and suchlike on the fens, no?”
“I can make a coracle,” Belis said. “Just give me two deer hides, a basket of cat guts, a stack of aged willow branches, some hooves to boil down for glue and about three months.”
I thought that over.
“Could you use the horse hides instead?” I nodded at the knife on her belt. “And the hooves, horses have hooves, too!”
Belis looked shocked.
“We are not skinning the horses! I was being facetious anyway. I can’t make a boat.”
I sighed. It was difficult not to complain when she said confusing things like that.
“Then we’ll have to go find someone who can. Or at least someone we can borrow a boat from.”
“We haven’t passed anyone on the road for three days. Where are you going to find this fantastic shipwright?”
I considered. It was rare for any mortal dying so close to Caer Sidi to get lost. The pull to Annwn was stronger here, and so I did not have cause to come by often. There had been an incident about fifteen years ago, however, a woman murdered by her husband. Her soul had been so tangled in fear and fury that it had metastasised into something dark and had haunted the community that had failed her. By the time I had arrived and sent her to her rest, the ghost had taken a bloody revenge on her killer, along with half the men in the village. I tried to rememberwhere the village was in relation to here. A lot of my navigation had been helped by my sensitivity to the background magic of Britain. One more thing that was now lost to me.
“I think there’s a fishing village about ten miles north of here.” I said. “They have boats, or at least they did the last time I visited. We can go there and try to buy one.”
“Buy one? I suppose we could. We could trade the horses. I guess it’s better than the alternatives,” Belis said, stroking her horse’s neck. “Ten miles, you say? We should get there by nightfall. If we set sail tomorrow we’ll only have lost one day.”
That agreed, we mounted again and turned our horses to the north. The coastal path wound worryingly close to the edge and though Weasel’s hooves were steady I couldn’t help but worry. Riding along the cliffs made my human stomach flip-flop like a landed trout and I gripped the reins with white knuckles. It was a relief to trot down the winding goat track towards the village.
The houses were tumbledown, shutters flapping in the wind. Wood pigeons cooed down from threadbare thatch as we trotted between the houses towards the sea. A half-sunken wooden jetty floated in the water, tied to posts with rotting ropes draped with seaweed. The village was completely empty.
