John Lenahan - Prince of Hazel and Oak

‘Are you OK?’ I shouted over to them.

Brendan shouted back, ‘I think so.’ Araf looked a bit panicky. I had never seen him panicky. I looked around – the boat was upright and seemed to be doing just fine sailing out to the island without us. I couldn’t see anybody else.

‘Where’s Turlow and Tuan?’ Just as I said that Turlow surfaced gasping for dear life.

‘I lost my saddlebag,’ he gulped. He dived down again only to pop up seconds later in even more of a panic. ‘I can’t see anything. I have to-’ A wave came and knocked him over – he resurfaced coughing. Turlow was not a natural swimmer.

Just then a sealion wearing the remains of Tuan’s shirt came up underneath Turlow and pushed him towards the shore. I started swimming and it wasn’t long before there was sand under my feet. I turned back and saw Brendan was using a lifeguard hold on Araf, dragging him to safety. I waded back in and helped them. Turlow and the now half-naked Tuan were in front of us. The five of us limped back and collapsed shivering on the edge of the surf.

‘You just can’t beat a day at the beach,’ I said while spitting out a mouthful of sand. ‘Is everybody all right?’

I didn’t hear their reply; what I did hear was a familiar voice shouting, ‘Yoo hoo, could you boys use a nice warm fire?’

I looked up. I almost didn’t recognise him with his clothes on. There, straight ahead, standing next to our campfire, which was now fully ablaze, was the strange red-headed man from the night before. I can’t honestly say I was happy to see him but that fire looked like the nicest thing I had ever seen in my life.

We all dragged ourselves off the sand. My frozen joints moved like door hinges that had been without grease for twenty years. We crouched by the fire trying desperately to get some circulation back into our extremities.

‘Thank you for rebuilding our fire,’ I said through clattering teeth.

‘I knew that you would need it if any of you survived drowning,’ he said. ‘I wasn’t expecting all of you to make it though – I guess I’ll have to give your stuff back.’ He walked over to the other side of the fire and came back with the blankets and extra clothes that we had buried in the dunes. All of us were too grateful at seeing a dry set of clothes to yell at him. We stripped, dried off and changed clothes while our thief/saviour brewed up some tea.

‘What is your name?’ Brendan asked.

‘Call me Red,’ Red said, shaking his hair madly with both hands. ‘That is what my friends called me… back when I had friends. Or maybe you should call me The Red Eel,’ he said, doing a snakelike dance.

That perked my interest. ‘You’re Red Eel?’

‘That is the name you gave this island, is it not? I never have heard it called that but since I am the only person that lives out there – I must be Red Eel.’

I should have known better than to get excited by anything that madman said.

‘Have you ever seen a red eel?’ Araf asked as Red handed him a cup of tea.

‘There are eels in the lake but I don’t like ’em. Slimy things they are. I cannot say if I ever saw a red one. Why?’

‘That’s a long story,’ I said.

‘Well then, why don’t you tell me on the way over to the island in my boat?’

‘Thanks,’ I said, ‘but no thanks.’

‘Hold on a minute, O’Neil,’ Brendan said, holding up his hand to me like a traffic cop. ‘You have a boat?’

‘It would be pretty strange of me to offer you a ride in my boat if I didn’t have one. Do you not think?’

‘Everything you do is strange,’ I said. ‘And one thing’s for certain, I’m not getting into a boat with you.’

I sat in the back of Red’s boat with my arms crossed and refused to speak to anyone all the way to the island. I had fostered a fantasy that I was the leader of this group but when everyone ignored me by waltzing into the strange man’s boat, I realised that my leadership qualities only applied to my horse and then probably not even to him. Left with the option of sitting by myself on a cold damp beach or getting a free ride in a sturdy seaworthy vessel, to a destination I had been labouring for weeks to get to, I decided to go but I wasn’t going to do it without getting into a really good pout.

The boat was big enough for us and maybe a couple more. There were two large oars set in iron oarlocks. Red ordered Araf and Tuan to man an oar each and the two of them stepped lively to their stations faster than they ever did anything for me. Obviously Red was now the captain. Well, they’ll be sorry, I thought, when he makes them row off the end of the world. The boat cut through the surf like we were sailing on a millpond. When we got out into deeper waters Red ordered the rowers to stop and climbed up to the edge of the bow. From the floor of the boat he picked up two metal rings that were attached to thick ropes. He clanged the rings together, they vibrated in his hands producing an eerie ringing sound, and then he threw them into the water.

‘Ooh that tickles,’ he said, flexing his fingers and then rubbing his hands together. Then he sat and smiled at us.

None of us spoke. When you are in the middle of the ocean with a leering madman at the helm, silence is definitely the best policy. You literally do not want to rock the boat. Saying that, I was in a bad mood and I’m not very good with uncomfortable silences. I was just about to demand to know what was going on when the ropes in the water went taut, the boat lurched and we started speeding towards the island like we were being pulled by a nuclear submarine.

‘How is this happening?’ I shouted to Red, but he was oblivious, facing out to sea with his arms spread like he was flying or re-enacting a scene from a movie about a doomed cruise liner.

Tughe Tine Isle loomed before us. It looked like your typical volcanic deserted island. There was a lot of vegetation but no trees. I assumed that the lake Red spoke about was up on the island’s plateau.

The ocean air felt warmer the further we got from the shore. About a half an hour out Red turned around and said, ‘Can you feel it?’

‘Feel what?’ Turlow said.

‘Can you feel yourself getting older?’

Turlow was on his feet. Araf grabbed onto the side as the boat shook. ‘Stop the boat,’ Turlow said.

‘Why would I do that? We are almost there.’

Turlow flicked his wrist and his Banshee blade flew into his hand with frightening speed. ‘Stop the boat now,’ he demanded.

‘Turlow,’ Brendan said, ‘what has gotten into you?’

‘He is trying to kill us. He is going to turn us into Grey Ones. He is going to take us out to sea and we will all grow old and die.’ Turlow took a step towards Red. ‘Turn us around.’

‘Banshees think that pointy things up their sleeves are the answer to everything,’ Red said in his light-hearted manner. Then he turned stone-cold serious. ‘Take one more step towards me with that sharp edge, Banshee, and you will go back – swimming.’

Turlow and Red stared at each other for a minute, then Turlow flicked his blade back up his sleeve and sat down.

‘Good,’ Red said, regaining his jovial tone. ‘My island will not kill you, Banshee, nor will it turn you grey. Have any of you been to the Real World?’

Brendan and I sheepishly raised our hands.

‘You will have to go further than my island to wither and die. The island will age you as fast as you aged in the Real World. Stay for eighty seasons and you will notice the difference.’ Red looked out to sea and then quickly turned back to us with concerned eyes. ‘You’re not going to stay for eighty seasons, are you?’