Cave of Secrets by Morgan Llywelyn Page A

agreed to this job tonight. There is a wee sliver of moon tonight. And I have seen the sun dogs.’
    Séamus replied in Irish. The lantern-holder grunted in response.
    ‘What are you talking about?’ asked Tom.
    ‘The weather,’ Fergal said casually. Too casually. ‘Into the boat with you, Tomás. We have a fair bit of rowing to do before this night’s out.’
    As he climbed into the boat Tom noticed there was an extra pair of oars. ‘Am I going to row?’ he asked eagerly.
    ‘You are more than ballast on this night,’ Séamus told him. ‘Take up those oars and sit in the front. Watch me now. Hold them just as I do. Look at me, Tomás. Hold your oars like this.’
    The man with the lantern lifted it high until Tom was settled , then extinguished the light.
    They shoved off.
    The oar handles had been worn smooth by many hands over the years. They felt just the way Tom had imagined they would. He listened intently as Séamus gave him instructions. ‘The two oars must work as one, Tomás. Never let one go off by itself. The oars and your arms and your shoulders, all one.’ At first the boy did not dig into the water enough. Then he went too deep. The other men tempered their own efforts until he had the feel of it. Biting his lip with concentration, soon Tom Flynn began to row in earnest. Began to become part of the rhythm.
    Within moments they left the shore behind. Tom felt the bay heave under him like a living creature. He was not the least bit frightened now. I belong here, he thought, remembering that Donal had spoken those same words in the cave.
    At first rowing was easy enough, even fun. Soon the effort became uncomfortable. Tom had never appreciated the difficulties of rowing before. The others made it look easy. His arms and shoulders flamed with pain. He gritted his teeth and ignored the discomfort. But he could not ignore the mighty force which was the bay. As if it had a will of its own, the water seemed determined to tear the oars from his hands.
    He refused to give in. Head down, eyes clenched shut in agony, the boy continued to row.
    Thud, swish, thud, swish, and the hiss of the waves. Time itself stopped. There was only darkness and pain and effort. It would last forever. This was Hell and he was in it.
    ‘What o’clock is it?’ the desperate boy asked.
    No one answered. He tried again.
    Séamus said, ‘Look up.’
    Puzzled but obedient, Tom opened his eyes. The stars had come out. So many stars! More stars than grains of sand on the beach; they jostled one another aside in the effort to share their glittering glory with Roaringwater Bay.
    ‘The stars tell us all we need to know about where and when,’ said Fergal.
    ‘But … how?’
    The man with the lantern laughed. ‘Learn, boy,’ he said. ‘Observe and learn.’
    Thud, swish, thud, swish. The ache in Tom’s muscles grew steadily worse. Then, ‘Mind yourself, Tomás!’ Séamus barked.‘There are submerged rocks here.’
    ‘I don’t see any.’
    ‘You will see them right enough if we tear the boat open on one,’ Séamus replied sternly. ‘Row slowly now, keep the rhythm but feel down as you go, down with the oars until …’
    ‘Here,’ said one of the other men.
    ‘Raise your oars, Tomás. Quickly.’
    Tom did as he was told. The man who had reported the submerged rock prodded the water with an oar, then pushed hard against something. The boat glided away from the unseen but deadly obstacle.
    ‘How did you know a rock was there if you couldn’t see it?’ Tom wondered.
    Fergal said, ‘You cannot see your elbow, so how do you know it is there?’
    The boy had no answer. Instead he devoted himself to his rowing.
    Thud, swish, thud, swish.
    And eventually it was a little easier.
    Tom still had only a hazy notion of the geography of the bay, but he knew they were well beyond the river mouth when Séamus gave the order to rest their oars. The boy breathed a silent prayer of thanks. His muscles were trembling with fatigue and his