𝐂𝐀𝐋𝐘𝐏𝐒𝐎 | ᴍɪʟʟᴀʀᴅ ɴᴜʟʟɪɴɢꜱ

𝟖] 𝐀𝐍 𝐎𝐅𝐅𝐄𝐑 𝐈 𝐂𝐎𝐔𝐋𝐃 𝐃𝐄𝐅𝐈𝐍𝐈𝐓𝐄𝐋𝐘 𝐑𝐄𝐅𝐔𝐒𝐄

CHAPTER EIGHT ˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➳❥ AN OFFER I COULD DEFINITELY REFUSE!

FOG CLOSED AROUND US LIKE A BLINDFOLD.

     When the captain announced that we were nearly there, at first I thought he was kidding; all I could see from the ferry's rolling deck was an endless curtain of gray.

     Jacob clutched the rail and stared into the green waves, contemplating the fish who might soon be enjoying his breakfast, while my father stood shivering between us in shirtsleeves. It was colder and wetter than I'd ever known June could be.

     I hoped, for their sake and mine, that the grueling thirty-six hours we'd braved to get this far--three airplanes, two layovers, shift-napping in grubby train stations, and now this interminable gut-churning ferry ride-would pay off.

     Then my father shouted, "Look!" and I raised my head to see a towering mountain of rock emerge from the blank canvas before us.

     It was my grandfather's island. Looming and bleak, folded in mist, guarded by a million screeching birds, it looked like some ancient fortress constructed by giants.

     As I gazed up at its sheer cliffs, tops disappearing in a reef of ghostly clouds, the idea that this was a magical place didn't seem so ridiculous.

     Jake's nausea seemed to vanish. Dad ran around like a kid on Christmas, his eyes glued to the birds wheeling above us.

     "Guys, look at that!" he cried, pointing to a cluster of airborne specks. "Manx Shearwaters!"

     As we drew nearer the cliffs, I began to notice odd shapes lurking underwater. A passing crewman caught me leaning over the rail to stare at them and said, "Never seen a shipwreck before, eh?"

     Jacob turned to him. "Really?"

     "This whole area's a nautical graveyard. It's like the old captains used to say-'Twixt Harland Point and Cairnholm Bay is a sailor's grave by night or day!'"

     Just then we passed a wreck that was so near the surface, the outline of its greening carcass so clear; that it looked like it was about to rise out of the water like a zombie from a shallow grave. 

     "See that one?" he said, pointing at it. "Sunk by a U-boat, she was."

     "There were U-boats around here?" I asked him, staring at the water.

     "Loads. Whole Irish Sea was rotten with German subs. Wager you'd have half a navy on your hands if you could unsink all the ships they torpedoed." He arched one eyebrow dramatically, then walked off laughing.

     Jake and I jogged along the deck to the stern, tracking the shipwreck as it disappeared beneath our wake. Then, just as I was starting to wonder if we'd need climbing gear to get onto the island, its steep cliffs sloped down to meet us.

     We rounded a headland to enter a rocky half-moon bay. In the distance I saw a little harbor bobbing with colorful fishing boats, and beyond it a town set into a green bowl of land. A patchwork of sheep-speckled fields spread across hills that rose away to meet a high ridge, where a wall of clouds stood like a cotton parapet.

     It was dramatic and beautiful, unlike any place l'd seen. I felt a little thrill of adventure as we chugged into the bay, as if I were sighting land where maps had noted only a sweep of undistinguished blue. The ferry docked and we bumped our bags into the little town. Upon closer inspection I decided it was, like a lot of things, not as pretty up close as it seemed from a distance.