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know where he might have gone. Why?”
    This one must be answered carefully. “He was my father. It is of some interest to me whether he lived or died.”
    â€œI can speak of possibilities, Thorvald. But nobody can say what happened. Your mother told you, I imagine, that there has been no news of Somerled since that day, no sign at all that he ever reached safe shore. All I can give you is surmise.”
    â€œThat’ll do,” Thorvald said, trying not to sound too interested. It was important that nobody got any hint of what he intended to do.
    â€œVery well. Under conditions such as were apparent that day, my guess is that the boat might have traveled somewhat north of due west. Perhaps sharply north. We have no proof that there’s land of any significance to the west, but there are some very strange tales. I heard that a fellow came in to the Northern Isles some time back, in a state of shock so severe it was almost as if he had lost his wits entirely. He was one of our own kind and had sailed the same path as I did, but was blown off course by contrary winds and failed to touch shore in the Light Isles. His words were a stream of nonsense, but he seemed to be telling of a sojourn of two or three seasons on another group of islands further to the northwest. They’d be several days’ sailing from here at least, and maybe considerably more, since we’ve heard so few reports of such a place. One or two other accounts do seem to confirm their existence. That would be the last land to the west, a marginal place. It would be easy to miss it. Should your father’s craft have drifted somewhat northward, it is possible he may have reached that shore.”
    Thorvald’s heart was thumping. “Why was the man in such a state of mind?” he asked eagerly. “Was he deranged by the journey itself, or something more?”
    Tadhg frowned. “My account is third-hand, of course. The fellow was terrified out of his wits; they could get little sense from him. He was frightened of staying by the seashore, as if he expected an enemy to come from the water. He spoke of stealing children, and of some kind of singing. It was quite odd. Very probably his long voyage and the isolation had caused these waking nightmares. It’s not the easiest experience. A man’s faith can be sorely tested.”
    â€œYes, well, that’s why you do it, isn’t it?”
    Tadhg smiled. “Indeed. And I will be honest with you, I have often wonderedwhether such a voyage would change Somerled for the better, as Eyvind hoped it would.”
    â€œPerhaps he was unable to change,” Thorvald said. He could hear the crunch of Sam’s boots on the path outside. “Maybe he was so evil that he could never redeem himself.”
    â€œAh,” Tadhg observed, “while we cannot say what did happen to your father, I can tell you one of God’s most profound truths, and you would be wise to ponder it, Thorvald. No man is quite beyond salvation. God’s grace is in all of us. If nurtured well, that little flame may grow into a radiant goodness. We are all his creatures; we are part of him. To change, all we need do is learn to love him. Even Somerled could do that. You must believe it possible that he did so, in his own way.”
    The arrival of Sam with a string of pale-bellied fish dangling from one hand and his bundle of gear grasped in the other put an end to that conversation. Cups were filled with ale, a meal was cooked, and easy talk flowed: of the weather, of the arrival of new lambs on the brothers’ small farm, of a forthcoming wedding and the death of an old man down at Hafnarvagr. That was where Tadhg was heading: quite a way. Sam offered him a bed for the night, but the priest refused. He’d a lift arranged with a local farmer; indeed, he’d best be heading over there now, before it got too dark. They’d sleep at the fellow’s house and take the