text: I’ve found that if I go up to the roof and stand on tiptoes to look over the battlements, I can see the reflection of my uncle’s castle in the water below. It makes a big dark shape like there’s a monster lurking down in the loch and for a moment I can just about believe it's what's keeping us trapped inside. ‘Careful there, Miss Muirenn,’ one of the guards calls out to me. They always do that and I hate it. I was only looking, and I wasn’t about to fall, but I step back anyway. There are always guards along the battlements, even though there’s nothing to see. There’s only the endless stretch of the loch all around us and maybe a few other boats in the distance, but those usually have other guards in them, too. Most of the time the castle guards aren’t actually on the lookout, though. They’re just working on building the new wooden lever machines they have up there or stacking up big piles of stone balls about the place. I’ve asked what they’re for but they tell me it’s none of my concern and to go and play somewhere else. I should; it’s boring up there, anyway. If I go down to the castle harbour, then maybe they’ll let me ride in one of the boats this time. They never do, though. Last time, they said my uncle Eoin said I wasn’t allowed, which is unfair because I'm a very good rower. I don’t even make it to the second floor before I hear the crying. It’s louder than all the noise of hammering and clattering and people rushing up and down that usually fills the castle. I don’t even have to see to know what is making such an awful noise. It’s Colban again, probably wanting to see Father or go paddling in the bay something else he can’t have. He’s such a baby. He’s hardly stopped crying since we got here. He’s always following me around, too, trying to grab at me with his sticky little hands. He whines even more when I pull myself free, so I have to let him pull at my skirts or else he won’t be quiet. He’s lying on the floor of his chambers, rolling around and aiming clumsy kicks at nothing as he screams. Cousin Torcuil is there with him, but he’s just sitting to the side, watching Colban work himself into a pointless fury. ‘What is it now?’ I ask, shouting so that he can hear me over his own wailing. ‘I... I... want to... go... *HOME*,’ he yells, his face red and smeared with tears. ‘Will you stop that,’ I say, kneeling down and grabbing his flailing fists. The shock of it stops his crying, at least. ‘I’ve told you, we can’t go home. We’ve got to stay here for now.’ It’s not even been two weeks since we left home and already I must have told him this a hundred times. I wish he’d just listen rather than getting angry about it every time like it’s my fault. ‘Do you know why you have to stay here?’ Torcuil asks, his voice calm and soothing. Colban shakes his head, sending a spray of hot tears flying across the room. ‘Remember?’ I say, trying to keep my voice calm. ‘Because of the flux. People living across our loch were getting poorly and Father said we had to go and stay here for a while in case we got sick, too.’ There’s a look of surprise on Torcuil’s face at this. I hope he doesn’t think we brought the flux with us, because there are no other children here, and I don’t want to be stuck with only my crybaby brother for company. ‘It won’t be long. You’ll be able to go home soon,’ Torcuil says and pokes Colban in the tummy which makes him smile. ‘Hey, come on. Let’s go adventuring again. You liked that yesterday, didn’t you? Let’s go and see what we can find.’ Colban nods, gulping down the last of his sobs. Trust Torcuil to come up with such a clever distraction. Even small things are grand adventures when you’re so small. The castle is still unfamiliar enough for Colban that it’ll be enough to keep him happy for the next few hours. Until he remembers where he is and starts crying again. ‘Will we find dragons?’ ‘Oh, perhaps!’ ‘And daddy?’ ‘We’ll see.’ I hold my breath until I’m sure they’ve gone because I can feel the prickling in my eyes and my face going hot. I don’t want them to see me cry. Father said we wouldn’t have to stay here for very long, but I don’t know how long that is. I want to go home. &#x200B; **II** I make it as far as the Glancing Loch before they catch up to me, the swinging light of their lanterns leaving long trails on the water like the glowing eyes of a hungry beast. There’s nowhere to hide out on the black expanse of the loch, and one girl in a small boat is no match for a ten-man barge. It’s over. ‘Muirenn! Get in the boat!’ My uncle leans out over the bulwark, hand extended like I need rescuing, expecting me to take it. I only set my jaw and lean harder into my oars. I’d rather throw myself overboard than give them the satisfaction of seeing me give up. When I don’t reply, he scoffs and pulls me into the boat himself, his grip tight and rough around my arm. ‘Ow! Get off me! That hurts!’ I shriek, though it’s not that bad. He does let go, though, and had the decency to look ashamed for manhandling me, though not enough to quell the ferocity of his mood. ‘What were you thinking? Out here on the water at night. Do you think you’re invincible? Anything could have happened to you.’ I roll my eyes. I swear he thinks I’m incapable of doing anything. ‘So you actually noticed I'd left, had you? That’s novel; you’re more than happy to ignore me the rest of the time. Since when did you care what I do?’ I’m willing to bet he hadn’t noticed at all. It’s more likely Colban who gave me up, getting me back for not taking him with me. Little shit. His life won’t be worth living when I get back. Around us, the oarsmen begin to turn the boat around, sending smooth lamplit ripples out and away into the darkness. My uncle rubs his eyes as though he’s tired, though he’s probably the only one who’s not had to row. ‘So that it? This is just some mindless rebellion to get my attention, is it? Well, congratulations. You’ve got it. Where were you even going?’ *Bastard.* ‘This hasn’t got anything to do with you, you idiot!’ I scream with frustration. ‘And do you really have to ask where I was going? Are you that stupid? I was going *home*!’ Home. At last. To the warm wooden hall sitting at the foot of the hill where the river splits. To the gleaming silver waters of the Bounding Loch ringed with blue-grey smudges of distant mountains. Where my parents lie in their cold earthen tomb. My uncle clenches and unclenches his fists, clearly struggling to control his temper. ‘Your father told me to look after you, so that’s what I’m doing. I’m sorry if you don’t like it--’ ‘What do you want from me? You won’t let me do anything! You won’t let me speak to anyone, you won’t let me in a boat, I’m forbidden from going home... Do you really expect me to spend my life sitting around being pretty while your guards ogle my tits?’ Even in the dark, I can see my uncle flush red at this. It’s crass, but it’s true. Fuckers. ‘Gods, what did Aunt Beitris die of? Boredom?’ I regret the words as soon as they’re out of my mouth. My uncle’s face whitens in rage, and he jumps to his feet. He steps forward to grab me or slap me, I don’t know, but the boat rocks wildly beneath him and he stops to steady himself. Then, there’s a shout from behind me and a splash as a man falls overboard. The whole boat falls silent. No one shouts after him or attempts to go in after him. Instead, there’s almost a sigh of resignation. It’s like their comrade had fallen up into the sky and away forever. Like nothing could be done. But then he comes spluttering to the surface in an explosion of churned water and flailing arms, clawing frantically up at the hands now reaching out to pull him to safety. The whole incident must have lasted a matter of seconds, but it felt like hours. It doesn’t take long before everything’s back in order and the awkward silence is broken only by the soothing rhythm of the creak of the rowlocks. I can only watch all my progress skimming away beneath me. ‘She drowned’ my uncle murmurs eventually, not looking at me. ‘Your aunt drowned.’ I only nod but hold this information tight in my heart all the way back to the castle, twisting it every which way I can. The network of rivers and lochs are our life. I can’t remember not being able to swim. I’ve never known anyone who couldn’t. One drowning is unusual, but two is more than unfortunate. How could both she and my mother have drowned? It didn’t make sense. &#x200B; **III** The moon is high by the time I finally get the girls to settle. Jonet and Elspaith have both greeted the arrival of Sorcha with a wave of inconsolable fury, and every sliver of my further divided attention is more precious to them than sleep. It’s as I’m scraping together the energy to return to my own room that I see it. The faint shudder of a lamplit shadow on the wall; shapes leering and stretching with their movements. Like a sinuous creature cut from the night itself. No one should be out at this hour. From the window, I can just make out five figures down in the harbour. There is only one lantern among them, the wick trimmed low, and the half-darkness swallows up their identities. But then there is a fleeting moment when an arm is raised and a head turned and for a second, two of the faces become clear as day. Torcuil and his wife Ciorsdan. I watch until the glow of their lantern is only a distant fluttering ember. I can only make out the hint of their movements in the pale moonlight; the shuffling of seats, a person standing. Then there is the fishbelly-white gasp of a splash against the black water as though something large and heavy was thrown overboard. I’m in my bed before the boat returns but I cannot sleep. The thoughts slip and curl through my mind like eels in a barrel. Torcuil’s empty smile after his son was born. Colban’s stoic distance. My husband’s silent displeasure at siring three daughters. My uncle’s insistence that my father told him to look after me, an unspoken ‘*until*’ hanging in the air like a noose. And among them, all the women I have known who have died suddenly and strangely. I collect them together like bright beads on a necklace and hold them close to my heart. \*\*\* The next day, Ciorsdan is missing. Half the harbour is sent out in search of her, but I know what they’ll find. A lone boat drifting at the far side of the loch with no sign of its occupant. Another tragic accident, they’ll call it. There have been so many. My husband spends the day with the girls, watching the seals sunning themselves on the quay. His attempt to distract them is clumsy but the girls are delighted by this rare fragment of attention from their father. I’m not about to complain. It’s a relief to have a minute to myself without them clinging to my skirts. Who knows if I’ll have such an opportunity again. As I’d hoped, the map room is deserted. Papers and ledgers litter every surface; if what I’m looking for exists, it is surely here. But my search is over before it even begins. A book has been left out on the table, lying open at the correct page. Someone was consulting the text recently, it seems. Time slows to a trickle as I read, drinking in everything I was never supposed to know. ‘What are you doing?’ Torcuil stands at the door, his eyes dulled more with exhaustion than concern. I hold the book up, pages splayed open at one illustration in particular. ‘I thought better of you,’ I say, my voice barely above a breath. His throat works, trying to find the words, a blotchy redness creeping over his face. ‘I--’ ‘And Ciorsdan? Was your own wife not except from this? She survived two days in labour with your son only to be thrown away to satisfy some--’ He steps forward and pulls the book from my hands, his face thunderous. ‘I’m the laird now. It’s my responsibility to keep everything in order. I’ll not take any chances. This has been the way of things for centuries. Some sacrifices have to be made for our safety. If some don’t die, then we all do.’ ‘Funny how it’s always women! Have you ever even seen this thing? How do you know what it wants?’ Is it any wonder it came to this? A kingdom built by generation upon generation of motherless men. All repeating their father’s actions because that’s all there’s ever been. No one knows what they’re doing or why they’re doing it. How do I end this? How long do I have? Time passes faster now, slipping away like water through my fingers. How long until my girls marry and bear sons and are thrown to the loch when the men decide their purpose has been fulfilled? ‘I didn't want to,’ Torcuil says, voice breaking. ‘But I had to. For all our sakes.’ What would I do to save my daughters? The blade slips from my sleeve to my hand and he has the decency to not cry out and cower as I fly at him. &#x200B; **IV** The last of the arrivals clambered aboard from their teetering coracles and row barges and hurried inside. Muirenn ignored them, feeling too keenly the slow creak of her joints as she crouched lower to the water. Then, with a quick snap of her arm, she sent a pebble skipping out across the water, leaving a bright string of silver ripples in its wake. Not bad, but she used to be better. ‘There you are! I’ve been looking everywhere. What *are* you doing?’ Colban said from the doorway, a hint of anger in his voice. ‘Join me?’ Muirenn said, holding up another stone. ‘When did you become such a boring old man? You seem to have forgotten that growing old is mandatory but growing up is optional.’ Colban huffed. ‘Come on. It’s about to begin.’ Muirenn sighed and threw the last stone into the water with a soft *plop*. Despite her legacy, her standing, she was still expected to attend these gatherings. Then again, it wouldn’t be happening if not for her. The flotilla had been her idea all those years ago. The idea that would unite them all, would protect them when the raging floods came in retribution after the sacrifices stopped. Not that the floods ever did come. Moving the laird’s seat to this ship had been her doing, too. Anything to be away from that solid lump of a castle and its ghosts. They christened it after the great beast that had supposedly haunted the depths of the lochs, that so many had lost their lives to appease. Now *The Darkwater Serpent* was something beautiful and honourable, the largest boat ever built, rather than a phantom to be feared. The hall was hot and airless and bubbled with a noise that only increased when Muirenn entered. Such a fuss. Up on the dais, Iagan caught her eye and flashed her a reassuring smile before getting to his feet and addressing the crowd. ‘My friends! I’m so glad you could all be with me today!’ he said, grinning as he was greeted with a tumult of clapping and cheers. There was so much of Torcuil in him, she thought. It seemed fair that she would never be able to forget the things she’d done. But if Iagan knew of the events surrounding the loss of his parents, he’d never mentioned it. ‘Tonight is the last night! The end before the new beginning. These lands have been good to us. The rivers are as much a part of us as the blood in our veins. But there is more out there!’ Muirenn tuned out his words and looked across the hall, finding the bright, round faces of her daughters and grandchildren amongst the throng. The sight of each of them only increased the ache in her chest that had been growing over the last few weeks. What wonderful lives they would live. ‘Tomorrow, we climb upon the shoulders of giants. Tomorrow we set sail. Tomorrow we trace a new path out along the rivers and to the sea and whatever lies beyond.’ The hall was alive with the shouting and the stomping of the crowd, a steady, beating heart. ‘To the flotilla, to the sea, to the future!’ Iagan cried. *To the future!* The hall roared back. \*\*\* The night was deep and the ships dark when Muirenn slipped from her cabin and untied one of the skiffs. There was no one to see her leave. No one to stop her. They would love their new life on the sea, she was sure, but she was much too old for new beginnings. The oars slipped soundlessly through the water, pulling her onwards along the route etched into her mind. As a girl, she used to spend hours studying the maps of the rivers and lochs that hung in her uncle’s castle, tracing the way with her finger. Kings Loch to the Stone River to The Race to the Glancing Loch to the Swordsman’s River and on and on and on. The possibility of this journey had pulled like a weight in her chest all her life. But between children and the boats and ruling in Iagan’s stead until he came of age, there never seemed to be the time. But there was time now. It was evening by the time she pulled her boat ashore at the foot of the hill where the river split. The fire-coloured clouds overhead painted the gleaming waters of the Bounding Loch orange and gold, and the blue-grey smudges of distant mountains were touched with the warm glow of the coming sunset. Just as she’d remembered. The warm wooden hall was still there, worried and worn by wind and weather, but still recognisable. She’d know it anywhere. Muirenn breathed it all in. ‘Welcome home,’ she whispered.