The Kingdoms of Eden

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN: The Lighthouse

The small wooden rowboat hugged the uneven shoreline of the east coast of Ireland under the bright light of a three-quarter moon. Away from the shoreline the water was still and mirror-like, but the tranquillity of those waters brought the danger of exposure and capture to the small crew and their prisoner. Next to the stony beaches and rocky outcrops, the waters churned and bubbled, and buffeted the tiny craft as if it weighed nothing at all—a child's plaything at the mercy of a disinterested force of nature. On board the vessel three men struggled to safely navigate towards their destination, while a fourth man lay face down in a shallow pool of salty water. His hands were bound tightly behind his back. A gag of knotted rope kept him silent, and a hessian hood rendered him anonymous. His discomfort protected him from the terror that the boat negotiated—the obvious pointed rocks that broke the surface of the water, and their stealthy, treacherous brothers and sisters hiding below the surface, ready in stillness to inflict a fatal wound to a passing craft. The prisoner knew nothing of the danger around him, but ever if he had a clear view of the situation his mind would not have strayed far from its fixed course—why had he been captured, and what would be his end? If they had wanted to kill him then he would have already been dead. If they had wanted to torture him, why then take him on that lengthy journey? None of it made sense.

Some way off the coast, amidst the calm of the open waters, the diesel engine of a trawler came to a stuttering stop. The men in the rowboat steered their vessel onto a sandy stretch of beach that ran alongside a large, erosion-flattened, rocky plateau. They had been monitoring the fishing boat warily and they knew that once the trawler came to a halt the attention of those onboard would quickly shift from getting to their destination, to surveying their surroundings. That would be the moment of greatest danger for the men in the wooden craft. Voices from the fishing boat drifted across the still air. Electric lights cast wide puddles of white light onto the water around the fishing craft. A well-oiled winch hummed as it strained to draw in the catch-heavy nets. The process took almost half an hour. Eventually the lights on the fishing boat went out and the engine roaring into life. As the craft moved off in direction of the near-by harbour, the rowboat too continued on its way, in the opposite direction. The danger had passed, but it would not be the only danger they would face.

A little further along the coastline another fishing vessel came their way. This craft was lying low in the water; heavily pregnant with a large catch, yet pressing through the still water at an impressive pace. The rowboat ducked into a narrow sea cave, the walls of which seemed to narrow as each breaking wave lifted the boat several feet into the air, before dropping it in a stomach-churning instant. As the fishing boat passed the cave, the rowboat took to the open water once more. They moved away from the coastline as they navigated towards their final destination. The danger of being spotted in the open water as they raced along the final leg of their journey was indeed great, but it was a danger they simply could not avoid. What happened next was beyond their control and beyond their care.

The lighthouse sat on a small rocky island some distance from the shore. The powerful light turned effortlessly, sending a thick beam of illumination sweeping across the open water and then across the hilly, tree dappled land. The boat made contact with the rock at the foot of the lighthouse with a sickening crunch. The men piloting the craft exchanged glances of concern and annoyance, but it was the prisoner, with his ear pressed firmly against a board at the bottom of the boat who felt the impact with greatest alarm. One man jumped from the front of the craft holding a rope that was attached to the bow. He quickly tied the other end of the rope to an iron mooring hoop that was fixed in a block of concrete. The other men pulled their captive to his feet and they directed him in a stumbling fashion off the craft and onto the uneven surface. They pulled their captive sharply, this way and that, as he struggled to keep his feet on the treacherous surface; sheer rock, slimy seaweed, and marble-like pebbles. When they arrived at the iron door of the lighthouse two of the soldiers drew their swords. The drove their thick weapons between the side of the door and the frame, and in one powerful action they prised the door open, busting the lock in the process.

The prisoner was quickly ushered up a winding stone staircase to a chamber at the top of the lighthouse. The massive lamp spun gracefully, drenching the small space with pupil-shrinking light. The prisoner was forced to the ground by two of the soldiers. The third soldier pushed the captive backwards until he was sitting on the floor with his back against a wall. Thin pieces of rope were fixed to the prisoner, and then to the ironwork that ran around the room until the captive was completely secured in the desired position—held firm in an easterly facing direction. As the soldiers moved to leave, one of them pulled the hood from the prisoner's head. A dazed and confused Cathal opened and closed his eyes in quick succession as he struggled to cope with the sudden rush of bright light. The soldiers left without a word of explanation.

Cathal took little time to realise where he was and what it meant. He could tell that is was night-time, but the precise time of night was beyond his deduction. One thing was certain; eventually the dawn would come, and with the dawn, his death. He was back in the mortal realm.