Book 2: Chapter 20:
The Well of Wisdom (Bren)

Day 14 of Midwinter, Sunset

At Sea, Well of Wisdom

Annwn

A storm brewed on the horizon. As soon as we’d left the protection of the harbor with its view of houses and city blocks and entered the vast openness of the western ocean, I knew it. The clouds above looked ominous, and the churning water below had taken on an inky black shade I associated with fathomless deep.

I equated the deep with the unknown, a sensation made even stronger by the nothingness I felt on all sides. I felt…adrift, like the currach that was being tossed more and more by the waves around us. I knew I wasn’t putting my best foot forward with the son of the sea god. Still, it was hard to remain cheerful given the seriousness of what faced us and, I admitted to myself, my impatience to get help to Cai and the Fomorians without having to complete whatever “test” Manny had in store for me. Still, I resolved then and there to give the mistrustful man a chance. After all, what’s the worst that could happen to me here?

As if reading my mind, Manannán spoke. “There are worse fates on Mag Rein than death.” Great. And just like that, my irritation returned.

“You’re a real ray of sunshine, Manny, you know?” In my defense, Manannán was doing absolutely bupkis to help with the small boat. I struggled with the sheet and tiller, glancing up to see what looked like a hint of amusement on his face. As quickly as I spotted it, the expression was gone.

“Death is not always the worst-case scenario for we immortals, particularly on the sea.” He gazed critically at where my hands clutched the sheet and tiller, looking as if he was about to comment on my…er, technique. In my defense, I had successfully made it out of the harbor without clipping another vessel.

I quickly spoke. “So…Mag Rein must be a reference to the two Wells?” No response whatsoever. I sighed, deciding I might as well face things head-on. “You might as well just tell me. When do the terrible things start happening?”

Manannán raised his eyebrows and tipped his head to the darkening horizon. “I see it,” I snapped. My temper was close to breaking point. “You had me come out here, and I’m pretty sure you knew this would happen. What exactly am I supposed to do? Steer into the storm? That doesn’t seem particularly wise.”

Manannán shrugged, relaxing even more into his seat while I wrestled with the small ship. “You tell me. But whatever you are going to do, you should do it soon. The wind and waves will only continue to increase in power.”

He was right. The jib, the tiny front sail, was all over the place, and I was fighting the tiller so much that my arm had begun to cramp.

“I get it. This is the test.” I pondered my choices. I could try to turn the currach around and flee from danger (which would make me a coward)…or I could sail directly into the storm (which definitely would make me an idiot). It was an impossible decision. It seemed like situations like this were always set up by someone who liked lording their judgment over others. They always had a “right” answer in mind. I shook my head. “There is no good decision here.”

Instead of replying, Manannán recited an all-too-familiar Irish proverb. “The storm makes the oak grow deeper roots.”

“The storm also makes the oak into driftwood!” I retorted. Even so, I took his meaning and steered the ship directly toward the flashing lightning ahead. Around my waist, I felt an ever-so-slight buzz from Taranis’ belt.

Manannán appeared completely unconcerned by the approaching maelstrom. He stared pensively into the darkness. “The Western Well always makes me think of Uncle Ogma.”

I continued to struggle with the currach in the waves, but found myself curious enough to ask, “Uncle-God of Knowledge, right?”

“Yes. He is wise and full of wondrous stories and poetry. Some believe his great mind is fed indirectly from this very sea.”

“I thought drinking salt water would kill you, not make you smarter,” I said flippantly.

“Indeed… It is said the wisdom of Ogma was given by the salmon he attracted with his velvet tongue. The fish connected him directly to the weave itself and granted a sort of divine inspiration.” It was a confusing story, to be honest, but of all things, fish making someone smart wouldn’t be the weirdest thing I had heard in the past two weeks.

At that moment, I felt a sudden, strong gust of wind yank the ship off course. I found myself fighting even harder with the sheet and tiller. Seeming completely unfazed, Manannán stood suddenly. Without any fanfare, he pulled a flat and worn square of grayish leather from his pockets and folded it in his hands until it resembled the shape of a bag. Then Manny stuffed my loose belongings into it and set a foot on the gunnel with relaxed concentration.

“I will return the rest of your armor and your shillelagh if you survive.” He turned to face the ocean.

“Wait! What are you doing?” I asked, panicking. “You aren’t leaving, are you? You can’t leave now!”

“Survive, God of Chaos. Be the quality that others have seen in you.”

“How? What am I even doing here?”

“If you can understand the mysteries of the sea, I will find you after.” With that, he leaped into the dark, turbulent water.

“You are the worst God of Travelers ever!” I yelled to no one. The currach had lurched sideways, despite my attempts to pull on the ropes and tiller to hold it in line. I was fighting what felt like the full might of the ocean. The wind was now dictating the ship’s orientation. It seemed that even my increased strength simply wasn’t enough to steer it properly.

I had to be missing something. What had Manny said before he left me to fend for myself? Something about mysteries of the sea… I decided to stop trying to break apart Manny’s cryptic goodbye, and instead focus on getting the ship pointed in a direction of my choosing. But where to go?

It was probably a bad idea to steer into the storm. But then again, I was here to prove something to the father-son duo, and I doubted the massive storm was a coincidence. With that in mind, I set about trying to orient the boat toward the flashes of lighting and the roar of… farthing hell, was that a funnel cloud?

The wind was too strong and erratic for me to even try to overpower it. Out of desperation, I let the wind guide my movements, without letting the gusts fully dictate the direction of the small vessel, which I realized picked up a fair amount of speed.

“Yes!” I shouted. I positioned the jib and the tiller such that I was at an ideal angle to propel myself forward, building momentum. With momentum came leverage and the ability to choose my own direction. I aimed directly at the monster of a waterspout sucking up the ocean before me.

As I grew closer, I felt the water from the top of the funnel falling all around me. There was “little bitty stinging rain and big old fat rain. Rain that flew in sideways.” I steered the small currach in and out of the path of the tornado, but I knew eventually our paths would cross.

Have you ever been so fixated on a task that you could only focus on whether you can do something and not whether you should be doing that thing? That was my current frame of mind. I had been trying so hard to accelerate toward the supposed test of “quality” that I hadn’t truly considered what was happening around me and how dangerous it was. Now only about a football field length away, I could see how massive the water cyclone was, and I couldn’t look away.

A wave crashed into the currach, slamming me across the boat. I crashed into the opposite side, half falling out before Taranis’ belt snagged on the side. Though my head and shoulders were actually down under the water, my belt, and dumb luck, had saved me from landing in the ocean, where I would have been without a boat, staring down the worst storm I had ever seen. I yanked myself back up, gasping for air.

I had temporarily forgotten about how dangerous the turbulent waters were. That mistake had nearly cost me everything. If I had died, I would have reappeared back at the Heart-shaped pool, miles from my current position. What would I have done then?

I shook myself out of my thoughts and moved back into position. I grabbed the sheet and tiller, watching as a wave crested close by. Using my newfound knowledge of how to work with the wind, I guided the currach into an arc that would directly intersect the wave’s path.

The currach flew into the air, the new angle preventing the ship from being rolled by the oncoming wall of water. That was the key, I realized. I needed to use the wind and the instruments on the boat to steer myself into the waves. I would still be able to make my way toward the storm, but slowly and carefully. My primary goal was to not capsize before I reached whatever “finish line” Manny had in mind.

It was no sooner than I thought about the end state of this test that the water spout made an accelerated turn in my direction. “Ah, come on!” I shouted at the storm. “Really?!”

Powerless against the true power of the waterspout, I clutched the sides of the currach, holding on for dear life. At random increments, the boat was lifted into the air and then thrown back into the waves below. Despite the battering by the storm, I found myself mesmerized by the huge funnel looming above me. It seemed to stretch all the way into the heavens. For a split second, the whole world went quiet, before I was sucked up into the maelstrom, currach and all.