"They had been sailing for many hours when Murrough steered into a bay. It was late at night, and the people living in the scattered huts would surely be asleep by now. However, dawn was not yet so close that the fishermen would be setting off to their fishing grounds. Franz Leopold stood next to Ivy and Seymour at the bow as Alisa and Luciano joined them.
"How could we have missed the meal yesterday? If I don't get blood soon, I'll turn into a berserker and throw myself at anything that moves," Luciano groaned, pressing his hand to his abdomen.
"Then we better watch out for you?" mocked Franz Leopold. Luciano snarled at him, showing his fangs.
"Is our chunky one already so weak that he can't even find words anymore, but only resorts to animal sounds?"
"Shut up," Alisa snapped at him.
"Why? Will you also attack me and sink your teeth into my neck? I must warn you, the blood of other vampires doesn't do much for us," Luciano retorted.
"How do you know that? Have you tasted it? Just like you - supposedly - know what human blood tastes like?"
The two stared angrily at each other until Ivy stepped between them. As usual, her voice sounded deep and calm. "Everyone is hungry now - and the four of us are suffering the most from thirst since we skipped our rations yesterday. Yet, every vampire is capable of enduring much longer without blood. We must pull ourselves together and not indulge in our aggressions."
"Endure longer without blood?" Luciano's voice sounded sharp. "I know what it's like to go three days without anything - unlike you. You managed to avoid punishment in Rome."
Alisa gave him a rib poke. "Now don't be unfair. Ivy didn't avoid it, you know that. She took care of Seymour, who would probably have died from his injury otherwise."
"Yes, and I still don't understand why the Conte spared her punishment for the sake of a wolf!" Luciano exclaimed, refusing to calm down. Alisa and Franz Leopold exchanged a quick glance. Seymour growled softly.
Murrough ended the argument. He came forward to moor the ship at a crumbling quay. The Réalta, the second ship of the Lycana, had already moored, and Alisa could see her brother among the vampires gathered around the gangplank leading onto the quay. The others also seemed more quarrelsome than usual. A scuffle broke out, surely involving the Pyras. She heard Ireen cry out indignantly. Then Malcolm's voice rang out, probably trying to protect his cousin.
"Can we go ashore now?" Luciano pressed. Murrough shook his head. "No, only a few clan members and some of your companions will disembark here."
"They're going hunting!" Luciano exclaimed accusingly.
"Yes, they are," the sailor confirmed. "And they will fetch fresh sheep blood for you. Once they've satisfied their bloodlust, they'll come back and relieve us."
"What a pointless effort, instead of all of us going hunting together," Franz Leopold's eyes sparkled. It seemed like red flames were igniting within them. "We are strong enough to handle humans."
Murrough eyed him. "Are you? Do you really believe that? Or is it just unreasonable greed that drives you to repeat a mistake that nearly destroyed you?"
How could he know that? Alisa and Luciano stared first at him and then at Murrough. Franz Leopold, on the other hand, lowered his head. For a moment, he seemed desperate, helpless, and infinitely sad. It wasn't just in his expression. It surrounded him like an aura. Alisa directed her curious gaze to the Dracas. If only he would talk about it! She would love to know how it had happened and what it felt like to drink human blood."
"Ivy whispered to her, 'Then ask him at an opportune moment. I think he'll tell you.'
Alisa vigorously shook her head. 'Never! I won't indulge his arrogance any further. Look at him! He's already back to his old self.' With her head held high, Franz Leopold stormed off.
'Yes, his control is masterful, and he rarely loses his composure.'
Alisa looked at her, annoyed. 'Ivy, you've taken a liking to him just because he has a handsome face and a perfect figure. Don't you notice that you always defend him?'
'And you? Don't you notice that you always attack him and speak ill of him?' Ivy retorted, unruffled.
Alisa opened her mouth and then closed it again. After a while, she mumbled, 'Just because he's so repulsive - even when he says nothing and just looks at you!'
Meanwhile, Murrough had untied the lines. With weak wind, they glided deeper into the bay, always along the northern shore, which here rose slowly from algae-covered rocks. The stench of mud and old fish filled their noses. It must be overpowering when the tide exposed the huge fields of seaweed. Alisa turned away from Ivy and stepped beside Murrough, who was attentively looking ahead, probably to spot shallows in time.
'Where are we headed?'
'We'll anchor near Carraig an Chabhlaigh or Rockfleet Castle, as it's now called,' the helmsman readily replied. 'But don't expect too much. Countless structures here are called castles and are actually just stone towers. Of course, there are tower castles on the island that are huge in size and can accommodate an entire army of people - but Rockfleet certainly isn't one of them!' He chuckled briefly. 'You can see for yourself.'
Alisa peered ahead. They were sailing between a flat island and the mainland toward a small bay, where a tower six or seven stories high reached up into the sky at its edge. A recessed gable roof extended over the parapet ring of the upper platform. At high tide, three-quarters of the widening base walls were surrounded by water. Murrough moored the Cioclón at the quay. Another sailor pushed the gangplank across. He nodded encouragingly to the young vampires. Seymour was the first to set foot on land and began to prance around like a young dog. Such behavior was unusual for him, as he usually presented himself as a reserved and attentive guardian. Ivy watched him with a smile.
'He doesn't particularly like ships and is glad to have solid ground under his feet,' she said.
'Yes, it seems that way to me too,' Alisa replied, feeling as if the ground beneath her was constantly swaying. She had experienced how quickly this illusion disappeared after arriving at Dunluce Castle. Meanwhile, the second ship had anchored further out, and two Lycana were rowing the first group to the quay. Tammo was the first to land and looked around curiously.
'Let's go inside,' Ainmire urged, who had traveled on the Réalta. A narrow path paved with stone slabs hugged the tower wall to the pointed-arched entrance door, from which steps led directly into the water and were only exposed stone by stone at low tide. Ainmire pressed against the door, bleached and warped by saltwater, until it gave in with a screech.
'Doesn't anyone live here?' Tammo asked.
Ainmire shook his head. 'No, people abandoned this uncomfortable quarters many years ago. We Lycana use it occasionally on our travels. Especially when we want to send messages.'
Alisa looked at Ivy questioningly. 'What does he mean?'
'You'll see when we climb up to the upper floors.'
Curiously, Alisa followed her up a wooden ladder. Only from the next floor did a narrow stone staircase wind upwards. The walls were made of rough, white-washed stone blocks, and the cold they emanated hinted at their thickness. In daylight, it could hardly be brighter in here than now, as only narrow slits were cut into the walls. A good place for vampires, but surely not for humans. Ivy ascended lightly another two floors. 'See?'
In the nooks and small alcoves, birds of prey nested. Everywhere lay twigs and other materials scattered, which they had brought to build their nests. The nests themselves were partly artfully constructed from interwoven twigs, and then again only as messy heaps. Eggshells, feathers, and droppings gleamed white. Fine dust with a sharp smell was stirred up with every step.
"They are buzzards and hawks, and of course, the falcons, who use their abandoned nests. They are at our service - if we handle it skillfully," Ivy said, putting her finger to her lips and ascending another staircase. Alisa followed her. Ivy gestured to a niche. There sat a female peregrine falcon on a nest, gazing at the two vampires with large yellow eyes. Ivy, who had temporarily left Seymour behind, leaned forward and reached out her hand, emitting soft sounds. The bird cocked its head, then trustingly climbed onto the offered hand. Ivy lifted the falcon up. The bird of prey had an imposing size, and when it spread its wings, its wingspan of more than a meter almost touched the walls on both sides of the narrow alcove.
"Call her to you," Ivy urged Alisa. Alisa stepped back to the low door frame. The bird's gaze seemed to penetrate her. She held her ground, probing the currents of its thoughts. The razor-sharp mind that assessed her surprisingly startled Alisa.
"Yes, they are independent personalities who decide for themselves whether to obey us or not. Of course, the stronger Lycana could force them and subdue their will, but we don't do that. They are quicker and more cunning when they serve us voluntarily. Once forced, they fight us to the death. And they pass on their experiences! So we prefer to treat each other with mutual respect for both our benefits. And now call her to you." Alisa focused on the bird and her call. The bird of prey unfolded its wings once more and jumped onto Alisa's hand with a leap. Then she carefully folded her wings again, stretched her neck, and scrutinized the vampire.
A clattering sounded on the stairs, then Luciano came into view. "Ah, there you are!" With a squawk, the bird fled back to its nest, then straightened up, ready for battle or flight.
"Now you've scared her away," Alisa said disappointedly. But before she could make a second attempt, someone else came up the stairs - much quieter than Luciano. It was Catriona, who had already returned from her hunt.
"Our friend is here. That's good." She stepped forward, and the falcon flew onto her shoulder without her visibly calling it. "She will bring us a message," Catriona said, carrying the bird carefully to a window niche.
"I don't know where the Druid is right now. You will have to look for her. Start in the bogs of Connemara." The bird of prey looked around once more, opened its beak to emit a hoarse cry, then fell into the night. Alisa felt almost a sense of regret as her shadow dissolved into the darkness.
"Come down with me," Catriona urged.
"Is there finally blood?" Luciano wanted to know.
A smile played on the beautiful face. "Yes, there is blood for the heirs," she said, and it was no wonder that Luciano dashed down the stairs like a bolt.
Later, after they had all satisfied their hunger, Ivy, Alisa, and Luciano sat on the quay, dangling their legs. They watched the slowly receding water in the bay, which exposed more and more tang- and algae-covered rocks. The other young vampires roamed along the shore or lay in the grass, closely guarded by their shadows and the Lycana, who evidently did not want any of their charges to slip away. Malcolm sat with his two cousins, but kept glancing over at them. Perhaps he would have joined them if Ireen had not taken his arm and spoken to him insistently. Tammo, Joanne, and Fernand played a little further with Fernand's rat. The Dracas were not visible. They had probably already retired to their coffins or were sitting on the other side of the tower on one of the stone walls. Thus, they awaited the morning star, to which the call to the coffins would follow. The Lycana had meanwhile brought the crates from the ships and into the tower. They would spend today in the shelter of the old walls.
"Why don't we continue?" Alisa asked Murrough as he jumped onto the quay with the last two crates under his arms.
"The winds are not favorable. We have to wait for nightfall," Murrough said.
"Will the wind then turn in the right direction? How do you know that?"
Murrough smirked. "I not only know it, I will ensure it!" And with those words, he walked away. The young vampires watched him go.
"The way he talks, you'd think he could command the wind," Luciano said, laughing incredulously.
"Maybe he can," Alisa said, looking over at Ivy, but Ivy didn't respond.
Franz Leopold strolled over, hesitated briefly when he saw them, then sat down next to Ivy. Seymour and Luciano gave him disapproving looks.
"I wonder what kind of people lived in such a building," he said with a shudder. "Are these the halls of the famous Irish families? Truly impressive!"
"Yes, this was one of the tower castles of a famous family in the west of the island, and a very special woman lived here in the 16th century. If you're interested, I'll tell you about her," Ivy said, looking around. Alisa nodded enthusiastically, Luciano more absentmindedly, and Franz Leopold said, "Yes, tell us! Better to listen to the fate of a human woman than to continue to indulge in the boredom of this dreary landscape."
Ivy let her gaze sweep over the expanse of the night sea, then began to tell her story with her melodious voice. "Granuaile, whose Gaelic name was Gráinne Ní Mháille, was a daughter of the O'Malley clan, whose castles were to be found around Clew Bay in the 16th century. She was married twice and had several lovers, but that's not of interest to us right now. After the death of her first husband, she lived in Rockfleet Castle when she wasn't at sea, and that was probably most of the time. Granuaile, or Grace O'Malley, as she is also called, could have lived well off her lands. She was the chieftain of her clan for a time, but that wasn't enough for her. The trade restrictions imposed on Ireland by the English crown were a thorn in her side. So she gathered two hundred fighters around her. Granuaile owned a whole fleet of ships, and with them, she went on raids. Marauding and plundering, she traveled along the coast of Scotland and down to the south of Ireland. The English trembled before the notorious pirate of Ireland, who became a legend in her own lifetime. On Clare Island - that was the island we saw at the entrance to Clew Bay - she owned a castle with an impressive all-round view that couldn't be discovered from the sea. She was a daring woman, proud and successful, and she not only incurred the wrath of the English. The merchants of Galway demanded her head. And indeed, the Earl of Desmond managed to capture her during a raid on his estates. She was imprisoned for two years, then she escaped - and returned to piracy. When the Spanish Armada appeared off Ireland in 1588, she seized the ships that had strayed too far from the main fleet. She always had the survivors executed. Then her son was captured and taken to England. Granuaile went after him. Don't ask me how she managed to get an audience with Queen Elizabeth. It's also not recorded what happened between the two women. But Granuaile returned to Ireland with her son - and with a pension for herself! She died in 1603, the same year as Queen Elizabeth."
The others fell silent when Ivy finished. So they sat there for a while longer until Hindrik appeared and urged them that it was time for their coffins. The four got up and made their way to the tower, but suddenly Seymour stopped whining and stared out to sea. His tail twitched nervously, his ears were perked up. Ivy stepped beside him and laid her hand on his head. Her gaze also wandered out to the ship whose keel cut through the smooth surface of the water.
"It could just be a fishing boat, couldn't it? A completely harmless fishing boat?" Franz Leopold said softly as he stepped behind them.
"Yes, it could," Ivy replied just as softly. "But my feeling tells me something else - and so does Seymour's."
"Ah yes, your so wise wolf," Franz Leopold said, tilting his head as if listening to the sound of his own words.
"Besides, it's not heading out like a fishing boat should at this time. Instead, it's coming into the bay from the sea."
"Ah, a little logic underpins feeling and instinct."
"Do you think I'm wrong? Overreacting?" Her voice lost some of its usual calmness.
Franz Leopold shook his head. "No, I don't think so. I completely agree with you. Out there on that ship are our pursuers, and at the moment, all we can do is go to our coffins."
"Not a comforting thought," Ivy said, holding Seymour close. Franz Leopold raised his arm as if to put it protectively around Ivy's shoulders. Seymour bared his teeth, and he let his arm drop again.
"They will also have to rest during the day," he said instead. "Look, I believe they're heading for the island. They wouldn't make it here before sunrise anyway."
Ivy nodded. "Vampires need to rest, yes, but what about the humans? Last time there were humans on board. Do you think they're traveling alone this time?"
Franz Leopold hesitated with his answer and then didn't need to give it anymore. A pressing clearing of the throat sounded behind him. "Sir, it's time!"
He turned deliberately to the voice. "How fortunate I am to have you. Now that I don't even need you to keep my coats in order, you can focus entirely on saving me from the burning death every morning!"
"Sir, you should follow me to your coffin now," the servant said emotionlessly. Ivy's voice, however, was tinged with bright anger. "Why do you speak to him like that?"
Franz Leopold looked at her in surprise. "He's just my shadow, an impure one who must serve me and who dared to interrupt my conversation with you."
"Matthias is a vampire, a Dracas! He belongs to your clan, whether he's pure-blooded or not. He deserves respect, like any other vampire!" She turned abruptly and stormed back to the castle, Seymour at her side.
"If you so much as utter a sound now, I'll tear your throat out and throw you over the wall into the stinking muck," Franz Leopold threatened with a deep growl in his voice.
The servant only bowed silently and followed his master back to the tower.
What a night! The first hours had seen rain showers pouring down from the bulging clouds, as if they wanted to drown the moor and everything living in it. The black soil greedily soaked up the masses of water. The reeds stood up wet and shiny, catching the raindrops and letting them run down their stems. Everywhere there were gurgles and splashes. Then suddenly the rain from the clouds ceased, the wind scattered them and chased them eastward across the sky. Moonlight made the soaked land shine and bathed it in silver.
The two wolves emerged from under the mighty cover of the dolmen, where they had taken refuge during the last rain shower, to enjoy the night pressed closely together. They had transformed into their human bodies and surrendered to their love, while rain and wind sang them a song.
Now, after the last drops had blown away, they felt like running through the moor and feeling the strength of their wolf bodies. They started running. It was a whirlwind of happiness that let them feel the intoxication of their union once again. Áine and Peregrine ran up the steep slope without slowing down. Only on the ridge did they pause, let their gaze sweep over the wide land on both sides, and then tilt their heads back to express their joy. The sound of their voices soared and then gently faded away. They looked into each other's eyes. His were yellow, like those of most wolves. But Áine's eyes, even in her wolf form, were of the deep green of Irish willows.
Suddenly a sound floated over to them from the ridge in the north, ripping them out of the spell of their togetherness. It was distant and only faintly audible, but it wasn't the echo of their own voices. It was unmistakably the howling of wolves - of werewolves! From the south came the answer. Peregrine bared his teeth. Áine knew he was worried. They couldn't afford to encounter his tribesmen. She herself wasn't afraid, but she knew he couldn't find peace until he had safely brought her back to the valley. She licked his muzzle and then ran down the mountainside at breakneck speed. If they had to go, they would at least have a wild race at the end. With a few leaps ahead, Áine flew towards the valley floor. She managed to extend the distance a bit more, but then Peregrine closed in step by step. Had he only spared her? Anger gave Áine strength to run even faster, but when they reached the edge of the Glengowla mining area, he had caught up with her and leaped onto her neck with a huge jump. The two wolves rolled over each other, snapping at each other's flanks, and then lay exhausted and panting side by side. When they had caught their breath again, they got up, took a few steps back, sat on their hind legs, and disappeared into a cloud of mist. When they emerged from the swirling mists in their human form, Peregrine had also transformed. He embraced her, and they kissed goodbye.
"Will I see you again tomorrow?" he asked as always, and as always Áine gave him her sad smile. "But yes, my beloved, if the moon and stars and the spirits of the night are merciful to us." Then she turned away and walked slowly away. Peregrine didn't move until she had disappeared between the bushes. Only then did he transform back into his wolf form and ran into the moor, behind which the peaks of the Twelve Bens rose somewhere in the rising morning mist.
Perhaps it was the intoxication of love that dulled their senses, so they hadn't noticed the nocturnal listener. He didn't move from the spot, even now, when Áine and Peregrine had already disappeared in different directions. But his expression changed faster than the night sky under the storm wind. Surprise, horror, disgust, and then a sly smile that gave way to a most satisfied expression.
"Disgusting," he murmured and set off on the way home, deeply lost in thought.
The peregrine falcon flew through the night. As the morning dawned, the mountain ranges of Connemara already emerged from the mist. The falcon descended lower. Where should he begin his search? Who could say where the Druidess was at the moment. Aughnanure Castle, inhabited by a handful of Lycana, would be a start. Perhaps the vampires knew where to find the Druidess. The falcon glided over a bare ridge and then through a small forest, which hardly deserved that designation with its few groups of trees. As the sun rose and blinded the falcon for a moment, a sound floated over to them from the mountain ridge to the north. It was distant and only muffled, but it wasn't the echo of their own voices. It was unmistakably the howling of wolves - of werewolves! From the south came the answer. Peregrine bared his teeth. Áine knew he was worried. They couldn't afford to encounter his tribesmen. She herself wasn't afraid, but she knew he couldn't find peace until he had safely brought her back to the valley. She licked his muzzle and then ran down the mountainside at breakneck speed. If they had to go, they would at least have a wild race at the end. With a few leaps ahead, Áine flew towards the valley floor. She managed to extend the distance a bit more, but then Peregrine closed in step by step. Had he only spared her? Anger gave Áine strength to run even faster, but when they reached the edge of the Glengowla mining area, he had caught up with her and leaped onto her neck with a huge jump. The two wolves rolled over each other, snapping at each other's flanks, and then lay exhausted and panting side by side. When they had caught their breath again, they got up, took a few steps back, sat on their hind legs, and disappeared into a cloud of mist. When they emerged from the swirling mists in their human form, Peregrine had also transformed. He embraced her, and they kissed goodbye.
"Will I see you again tomorrow?" he asked as always,
and as always Áine gave him her sad smile. "But yes, my beloved, if the moon and stars and the spirits of the night are merciful to us." Then she turned away and walked slowly away. Peregrine didn't move until she had disappeared between the bushes. Only then did he transform back into his wolf form and ran into the moor, behind which the peaks of the Twelve Bens rose somewhere in the rising morning mist.
Perhaps it was the intoxication of love that dulled their senses, so they hadn't noticed the nocturnal listener. He didn't move from the spot, even now, when Áine and Peregrine had already disappeared in different directions. But his expression changed faster than the night sky under the storm wind. Surprise, horror, disgust, and then a sly smile that gave way to a most satisfied expression.
"Disgusting," he murmured and set off on the way home, deeply lost in thought.
The peregrine falcon flew through the night. As the morning dawned, the mountain ranges of Connemara already emerged from the mist. The falcon descended lower. Where should he begin his search? Who could say where the Druidess was at the moment. Aughnanure Castle, inhabited by a handful of Lycana, would be a start. Perhaps the vampires knew where to find the Druidess. The falcon glided over a bare ridge and then through a small forest, which hardly deserved that designation with its few groups of trees. As the sun rose and blinded the falcon for a moment, its wings became entangled in the thin cords, it recognized the trap only when its wings became entangled in the thin cords. But by then it was already too late. Hanging helplessly in the air, it awaited its captor to retrieve it. Aughnanure would not be reached anymore, nor could it deliver its message.