Not so long ago, in a village not so far away from here, there lived a boy named Cai. His people were poor people and they lived by their wits, day to day, generation to generation.
Cai was a smart boy, but he had no time for school. Nobody on the island had time for school; not when there were little brothers and sisters to be fed, chores to be done, and a whole world of caves and dells and crannies to be explored.
Cai’s dad worked at sea. Everybody’s dad did; all summer long, and sometimes well into the winter too. As soon as the first green shoots appeared on the shrubs that dotted the dunes, the men would catch the spring tide across to the mainland to look for work at the docks. And whilst the men were away, the task of finding food and firewood to keep their families fed and warm, fell to the boys.
The lucky families whose dads found good jobs for the summer looked out for fat envelopes of cash whenever the mail boat came. Sometimes gifts came, too, and strange goods from abroad. But never the men themselves – not before the nights drew in and the hoarfrost rimed the grasses. From spring to autumn, the island was left to the women and children, the invalids and the very old – and to Cai and the boys.
For as long as he could remember, Cai’s days had been spent fishing and foraging; hunting and hiding. The boys knew the island inside out. They knew where to root for wind-nipped fruits, nuts and seeds. They knew where to snare whatever unsuspecting fish or fowl were too slow to escape them. With their sharp eyes and quick hands, the boys brought food to their families tables, and the island held no secrets from them.
Or, no secrets but one. There was one craggy cave, bearded with trailing moss and not far from the bay, where the boys didn’t go. For it was whispered – softly, and after dark - that the wellbeing of the island folk depended on that cave. In that secret cave, the Spirit of the Island lay sleeping.
Long, long ago, it was said, a bargain had been struck between the Spirit and the island’s first settlers. No one remembered the how the deal had been struck, whether it was made in friendship or in enmity; but every man, woman and child knew its terms, and they were simple: the island would provide for the settlers, and in return, the settlers would leave the Spirit to rest alone in his cave. The settlers could roam all over the island; they could explore its deepest nooks and corners; discover its hidden coves; feed on its plants and animals and make the island their own – but that single craggy cave belonged to the Spirit, and no one must ever enter it.
The story of the Spirit was handed down from father to son, mother to daughter, and all the while the island provided for its people. It was rarely bountiful, but never mean. Years passed, and no one ever dared to disturb the forbidden cave. But there is a first time for everything …
In the summer of his 12th birthday, Cai was hungry. Everyone was hungry; late frosts had blighted the harvests, and there didn’t seem to be enough of anything to go round. Long days spent scouring the rock pools yielded nothing but seaweed and, all too rarely, a small crab or fish; never enough for a good, rich broth. Cai’s mother’s soups grew thinner; boiled-up dregs of last week’s gatherings. Across the island, tempers grew shorter; faces grew longer. The boys' hunger grew sharper; competition between them was played out now in earnest. In other summers, they had stuck together as they roamed the beaches and coves, playing between the pools. Now, they grew solitary. Each boy ranged as far from the group as he dared, alone, hoping to be the first to spot a store of food or fuel and claim it as his own.
Cai roved about the beach, sharp eyes sweeping the rockpools and the shore. Squinting against the setting sun, he edged further and further from the other boys. And as their figures dwindled to distant dots, the unmistakeable, bearded mouth of the forbidden cave loomed larger. The waves lapped its shady mouth, water glinted in the shadows just inside; the promise of rock pools unpillaged, and rich with salty, mouth-watering goodness …
The tide crept in and the sun inched lower. Cai gathered up the day’s lean pickings with a sigh, and turned for home.
Days came and went. Cai’s mum’s face grew paler and the broth grew greyer, the flavour long washed out. Finally, one afternoon, Cai’s roving feet brought him right up to the mouth of the cave. He hesitated. Wind ruffled the cave’s mossy curtain and released the scent of rockpools teeming with sea-life and shellfish – forbidden feasts! Without a further thought, Cai ducked through the moss and stood up blinking.
As his eyes grew accustomed to the darkness, all thoughts of fear and apprehension were forgotten: Cai was consumed by his hunger for the fresh fish, sweet seaweed or shells that surely lurked beneath the surface of the rockpool at his feet. Eagerly, he peered downward – but saw only his own reflection peering back at him.
He leaned in closer. The pool showed nothing. Only the reflected blackness of the cave, and the pale cheeks and tousled hair of a boy with wide eyes locked on his. Bending lower, Cai plunged his hand into the reflection. The watery boy shimmered and wavered, shattered into a thousand pieces – but almost at once, the reflected world closed in around his wrist. The pool showed nothing of the rough shells his probing fingers found; no shimmer betrayed the fish whose silky skin slipped by his hand. By touch alone, Cai plucked a fat cockle shell loose from the rocks – then another, and a third. Soon he was scraping jangling handfuls of shellfish from the pool’s rocky edges, and he laughed aloud – in effortless moments, he’d gathered more food than he'd seen in weeks.
- Aren’t you hungry?
A voice spoke from the depths of the cave, and Cai leapt away from the pool, guilty and startled, dropping his clutch of shells as he spun around to face the blackness.
- Poor scraps like that would hardly feed a seagull! Don't be shy. Take all you can eat!
Cai gaped and stammered, and the unseen speaker laughed.
- Yes, I am the Spirit of the Island. You know of me, perhaps? You’re the first visitor I’ve had in … oh, longer than I care to remember. I must admit, I’m surprised to see you. I wasn’t expecting a guest. But you are welcome. My pools are rich with fishes, so please, take what you want. Rainbow fish and silver fish. Flat fish and fat fish. Oysters and crabs, if you want them. Crayfish and starfish, if you like them. Please, help yourself.
Cai’s brain whirled with questions and with possibilities. Who …? Why …? What if …? But politeness and curiosity could wait; hunger could not.
- But I can’t see them! I can’t see anything!
The spirit laughed again, this time as if in delight.
- Aha! You can’t see past your reflection! Is that it?
Cai nodded in the darkness. The amused voice of the spirit continued,
- And you really are hungry, aren’t you!
Cai nodded again, and at last he remembered his manners.
- Yes, sir. Yes, I’m very hungry – and I’m sorry to have disturbed you, sir, and to have come into your home unasked - but you see my family are very hungry; my little brothers and sisters; and my friends are starving too. We’ve not seen fish for weeks, sir – not even a tiddler. If I could take just one fish for my mum to cook tonight … oh, sir, or a crab - I’d give anything for a fish or a crab; anything at all.
- Anything, you say? Well, perhaps I can help you there. You’d give anything at all for the fish in my pools, would you?
- Oh, yes sir!
- Anything at all, the Spirit repeated, his soft voice quickening. Well, alright then. I think we can help each other. Look again!
Cai looked down again to the pool. In place of his hollow-cheeked reflection, he saw a living larder of flat fish and fatfish and shellfish and crayfish, just as the Spirit had promised! He gasped in delight, dipped his arm elbow-deep into the pool and grasped a fish, fat and fresh and unresisting.
- Oh, thank you sir, thank you!
- Oh, please. The pleasure is all mine, crooned the smiling voice of the Spirit. Come back whenever you like; these pools are all yours. Yes, they’re all yours now, the voice murmured, growing more distant even as it spoke.
- But – wait! What can I do to repay you? You’ve saved my brothers and sisters from starving; you’ve saved our lives! And I have nothing to give!
- Oh, you’ve given enough, called the voice, fainter now and far away. Goodbye, boy!
Cai paused a moment as the silence settled back around him. The lapping of the waves on the shore reminded him of the incoming tide, and he thrust the still-wriggling fish into a pocket, together with the shellfish that he’d collected before. He hesitated a moment, then snatched a surprised crab from the water and turned to run for home.
As he drew near to the village, Cai thought only of the delight of his little brothers and sisters; his mum’s proud face as she would take cook up a supper fit for a king. He ran up to his front door and let himself in silently, planning to surprise his mum where he knew she’d be worrying over the watery pots at the hearth. As he tiptoed through the hall, he cast a glance at the mottled mirror that hung there – and stopped.
No eyes looked back at him. Blood drained from his unseen face as he looked through his unreflected self to the papered wall beyond. He held a hand before his eyes, pinched his skin to feel it. He waved at the empty mirror, perplexed then suddenly frantic. His shadow waved on the wall, but in the blank window of the mirror nothing stirred.
Far out at sea, the Spirit laughed. Too long invisible, too long imprisoned; far too long subsisting on the fish and weeds of one dark cave. Far out at sea, he slipped alongside the worn hull of a fishing boat that rocked on the swell, hungry eyes fixed on the figures of fishermen who leaned against the rails above.
A bearded face glanced down to follow the flicked ash of a cigarette that arced out to the sea – then spun back in shock to look again.
- Cai? Cai!? Isaac!! Isaac, it’s your boy!
- Wha’? What’s that, mate?
- Isaac! It’s Cai! He’s here; he’s drowning!
Beneath the waves the Spirit gaped, waving up at the stricken face at the rail.
- What? How? What do you … A rumble of boots on wood, and a second, younger face appeared, wild-eyed, at the railing. Cai! Cai! Hold on, boy, I’m coming!
Pulling off his jacket, Cai’s dad vaulted over the rails and into the dark swell.
Cai was a smart boy, but he had no time for school. Nobody on the island had time for school; not when there were little brothers and sisters to be fed, chores to be done, and a whole world of caves and dells and crannies to be explored.
Cai’s dad worked at sea. Everybody’s dad did; all summer long, and sometimes well into the winter too. As soon as the first green shoots appeared on the shrubs that dotted the dunes, the men would catch the spring tide across to the mainland to look for work at the docks. And whilst the men were away, the task of finding food and firewood to keep their families fed and warm, fell to the boys.
The lucky families whose dads found good jobs for the summer looked out for fat envelopes of cash whenever the mail boat came. Sometimes gifts came, too, and strange goods from abroad. But never the men themselves – not before the nights drew in and the hoarfrost rimed the grasses. From spring to autumn, the island was left to the women and children, the invalids and the very old – and to Cai and the boys.
For as long as he could remember, Cai’s days had been spent fishing and foraging; hunting and hiding. The boys knew the island inside out. They knew where to root for wind-nipped fruits, nuts and seeds. They knew where to snare whatever unsuspecting fish or fowl were too slow to escape them. With their sharp eyes and quick hands, the boys brought food to their families tables, and the island held no secrets from them.
Or, no secrets but one. There was one craggy cave, bearded with trailing moss and not far from the bay, where the boys didn’t go. For it was whispered – softly, and after dark - that the wellbeing of the island folk depended on that cave. In that secret cave, the Spirit of the Island lay sleeping.
Long, long ago, it was said, a bargain had been struck between the Spirit and the island’s first settlers. No one remembered the how the deal had been struck, whether it was made in friendship or in enmity; but every man, woman and child knew its terms, and they were simple: the island would provide for the settlers, and in return, the settlers would leave the Spirit to rest alone in his cave. The settlers could roam all over the island; they could explore its deepest nooks and corners; discover its hidden coves; feed on its plants and animals and make the island their own – but that single craggy cave belonged to the Spirit, and no one must ever enter it.
The story of the Spirit was handed down from father to son, mother to daughter, and all the while the island provided for its people. It was rarely bountiful, but never mean. Years passed, and no one ever dared to disturb the forbidden cave. But there is a first time for everything …
In the summer of his 12th birthday, Cai was hungry. Everyone was hungry; late frosts had blighted the harvests, and there didn’t seem to be enough of anything to go round. Long days spent scouring the rock pools yielded nothing but seaweed and, all too rarely, a small crab or fish; never enough for a good, rich broth. Cai’s mother’s soups grew thinner; boiled-up dregs of last week’s gatherings. Across the island, tempers grew shorter; faces grew longer. The boys' hunger grew sharper; competition between them was played out now in earnest. In other summers, they had stuck together as they roamed the beaches and coves, playing between the pools. Now, they grew solitary. Each boy ranged as far from the group as he dared, alone, hoping to be the first to spot a store of food or fuel and claim it as his own.
Cai roved about the beach, sharp eyes sweeping the rockpools and the shore. Squinting against the setting sun, he edged further and further from the other boys. And as their figures dwindled to distant dots, the unmistakeable, bearded mouth of the forbidden cave loomed larger. The waves lapped its shady mouth, water glinted in the shadows just inside; the promise of rock pools unpillaged, and rich with salty, mouth-watering goodness …
The tide crept in and the sun inched lower. Cai gathered up the day’s lean pickings with a sigh, and turned for home.
Days came and went. Cai’s mum’s face grew paler and the broth grew greyer, the flavour long washed out. Finally, one afternoon, Cai’s roving feet brought him right up to the mouth of the cave. He hesitated. Wind ruffled the cave’s mossy curtain and released the scent of rockpools teeming with sea-life and shellfish – forbidden feasts! Without a further thought, Cai ducked through the moss and stood up blinking.
As his eyes grew accustomed to the darkness, all thoughts of fear and apprehension were forgotten: Cai was consumed by his hunger for the fresh fish, sweet seaweed or shells that surely lurked beneath the surface of the rockpool at his feet. Eagerly, he peered downward – but saw only his own reflection peering back at him.
He leaned in closer. The pool showed nothing. Only the reflected blackness of the cave, and the pale cheeks and tousled hair of a boy with wide eyes locked on his. Bending lower, Cai plunged his hand into the reflection. The watery boy shimmered and wavered, shattered into a thousand pieces – but almost at once, the reflected world closed in around his wrist. The pool showed nothing of the rough shells his probing fingers found; no shimmer betrayed the fish whose silky skin slipped by his hand. By touch alone, Cai plucked a fat cockle shell loose from the rocks – then another, and a third. Soon he was scraping jangling handfuls of shellfish from the pool’s rocky edges, and he laughed aloud – in effortless moments, he’d gathered more food than he'd seen in weeks.
- Aren’t you hungry?
A voice spoke from the depths of the cave, and Cai leapt away from the pool, guilty and startled, dropping his clutch of shells as he spun around to face the blackness.
- Poor scraps like that would hardly feed a seagull! Don't be shy. Take all you can eat!
Cai gaped and stammered, and the unseen speaker laughed.
- Yes, I am the Spirit of the Island. You know of me, perhaps? You’re the first visitor I’ve had in … oh, longer than I care to remember. I must admit, I’m surprised to see you. I wasn’t expecting a guest. But you are welcome. My pools are rich with fishes, so please, take what you want. Rainbow fish and silver fish. Flat fish and fat fish. Oysters and crabs, if you want them. Crayfish and starfish, if you like them. Please, help yourself.
Cai’s brain whirled with questions and with possibilities. Who …? Why …? What if …? But politeness and curiosity could wait; hunger could not.
- But I can’t see them! I can’t see anything!
The spirit laughed again, this time as if in delight.
- Aha! You can’t see past your reflection! Is that it?
Cai nodded in the darkness. The amused voice of the spirit continued,
- And you really are hungry, aren’t you!
Cai nodded again, and at last he remembered his manners.
- Yes, sir. Yes, I’m very hungry – and I’m sorry to have disturbed you, sir, and to have come into your home unasked - but you see my family are very hungry; my little brothers and sisters; and my friends are starving too. We’ve not seen fish for weeks, sir – not even a tiddler. If I could take just one fish for my mum to cook tonight … oh, sir, or a crab - I’d give anything for a fish or a crab; anything at all.
- Anything, you say? Well, perhaps I can help you there. You’d give anything at all for the fish in my pools, would you?
- Oh, yes sir!
- Anything at all, the Spirit repeated, his soft voice quickening. Well, alright then. I think we can help each other. Look again!
Cai looked down again to the pool. In place of his hollow-cheeked reflection, he saw a living larder of flat fish and fatfish and shellfish and crayfish, just as the Spirit had promised! He gasped in delight, dipped his arm elbow-deep into the pool and grasped a fish, fat and fresh and unresisting.
- Oh, thank you sir, thank you!
- Oh, please. The pleasure is all mine, crooned the smiling voice of the Spirit. Come back whenever you like; these pools are all yours. Yes, they’re all yours now, the voice murmured, growing more distant even as it spoke.
- But – wait! What can I do to repay you? You’ve saved my brothers and sisters from starving; you’ve saved our lives! And I have nothing to give!
- Oh, you’ve given enough, called the voice, fainter now and far away. Goodbye, boy!
Cai paused a moment as the silence settled back around him. The lapping of the waves on the shore reminded him of the incoming tide, and he thrust the still-wriggling fish into a pocket, together with the shellfish that he’d collected before. He hesitated a moment, then snatched a surprised crab from the water and turned to run for home.
As he drew near to the village, Cai thought only of the delight of his little brothers and sisters; his mum’s proud face as she would take cook up a supper fit for a king. He ran up to his front door and let himself in silently, planning to surprise his mum where he knew she’d be worrying over the watery pots at the hearth. As he tiptoed through the hall, he cast a glance at the mottled mirror that hung there – and stopped.
No eyes looked back at him. Blood drained from his unseen face as he looked through his unreflected self to the papered wall beyond. He held a hand before his eyes, pinched his skin to feel it. He waved at the empty mirror, perplexed then suddenly frantic. His shadow waved on the wall, but in the blank window of the mirror nothing stirred.
* * *
Far out at sea, the Spirit laughed. Too long invisible, too long imprisoned; far too long subsisting on the fish and weeds of one dark cave. Far out at sea, he slipped alongside the worn hull of a fishing boat that rocked on the swell, hungry eyes fixed on the figures of fishermen who leaned against the rails above.
A bearded face glanced down to follow the flicked ash of a cigarette that arced out to the sea – then spun back in shock to look again.
- Cai? Cai!? Isaac!! Isaac, it’s your boy!
- Wha’? What’s that, mate?
- Isaac! It’s Cai! He’s here; he’s drowning!
Beneath the waves the Spirit gaped, waving up at the stricken face at the rail.
- What? How? What do you … A rumble of boots on wood, and a second, younger face appeared, wild-eyed, at the railing. Cai! Cai! Hold on, boy, I’m coming!
Pulling off his jacket, Cai’s dad vaulted over the rails and into the dark swell.
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