In the twilight, he saw it. There between the clouds came a strange thing. It was long and pointed—like the ships gypsies talked of. But, above the ship, there glowed a great fish. It was crafted from sticks, covered in leather, and painted with gold.
He gazed around the glen, at the rubble. There was only silence. Even the birds were quiet.
As the ship came closer he noticed something—the clouds hadn’t moved since its arrival. They lay in the sky—static. The ship passed through, without disturbing them. An odd feeling stirred in his heart. Everything was absolutely still. No winds moved the leaves on the trees. It was as if the world had died.
A low, clanking, metallic sound thrummed through the glen, as the ship came closer. The fish twisted this way and that, controlling the ship with each movement. And, as he listened closer, the sounds became music. It was the dark, enchanting song of another world—all soft grinding iron and rhythmic clanging.
For a moment his mind wandered to the devil and sorcery. But the ship was something different altogether—there were no spirits at work here, evil or otherwise. The whole world was calm. His body didn’t ache. He wasn’t tired.
The ship came to rest above the hilltop tree, a few feet away. Then, he saw it—a strange figure; tall and glinting in the light of the moon. As it turned to face him, his stomach tightened. It was a man, made from metal—with a metal beard, and a metal hat. The detail—the workmanship—was astounding. It was as if a real man had been set in gold, and jointed to allow movement. In the darkness, the thing’s eyes glowed faint green.
It lowered a ladder to the ground, and started climbing down from the ship. Its movements were gliding and seamless, but each came to an abrupt, jittering halt.
Angus searched for the terror he should feel, but there was none. Only interest.
He waited as the thing strode across the earth, coming to meet him.
When it was a few paces away, it stopped, opened its mouth, and spoke.
‘Evening, Angus.’
The words sounded like they’d been dragged up from the depths of a huge copper basin.
Angus hesitated, unable to respond.
The thing cocked its head. ‘Mister MacDonald, it’s time to leave.’
Before Angus could think, he found himself following the metal man to the ladder—as if hypnotised.
The ship seemed ancient. The timber was dark and weathered, worn smooth with polish. Metal handles stuck out from the wood. They were golden, covered in intricate detail—worn so much as to be unintelligible. And at the front of the ship, circles of toothed iron interlocked and spun around; creating the song he’d heard before. Now he could hear undercurrents of smaller metal circles, creating an additional jangle.
High above, the sky stretched out—sprinkled with stars, glittering like ice shards. He’d never seen a sky like this. The dark blue was woven with purple, and the clouds seemed like spun silver. Everything was a dream.
There should be so many questions to ask, but his mind was blank. Only his eyes and ears were awake.
The metal man began to sing, and his voice blended with the moving iron circles, until it sounded like the world was dancing away into the night.
When Angus woke, the sky was bright blue, and golden clouds flocked above. The ship was still sailing through the air, but the metal man was quiet now—staring straight ahead.
Angus followed his gaze.
There in front, lay a strange sight. A raft of golden crofts hung suspended from golden fish. Together they formed a settlement. Between them lay pavements of bright shining metal.
The metal man docked the ship next to a small croft, and helped Angus down the ladder, onto the street. They walked through street after street. Soon, Angus noticed the crofts were getting bigger. After a while, they came across crofts with two floors—one above the other. Later, these gave way to crofts with three floors, then four, and so on. Eventually, the golden buildings reached up so high, there was nothing to see but brick on either side. The sky was nothing but a mass of golden fish, all crowded together.
Here it was warm, and the air was infused with the smell of oil. The thrum of grinding iron shivered in the background, making music.
The streets were filled with men and women, all of them metallic and glistening.
As they walked deeper and deeper into the golden mass, Angus realised the music was of all the dances he’d ever danced—woven into one. Then, in the midst of it, he caught a voice—singing in beat. It was low, murmuring, echoing and metallic—yet higher pitched than the metal man’s. It pulsed, pulling them onward.
Soon, Angus realised it was a heartbeat—filling everything with movement and binding it all together.
Its accent was foreign, yet familiar. So familiar.
It rang in his ears.
As they walked further, golden cows jostled amongst the golden men and golden women.
At last they reached an enormous croft. Cows crowded the entrance, and herbs, fish and meat hung in the windows.
Here, the music was clearest.
The metal man pushed the door open.
Inside, the croft was flooded with water. It was warm, and it reached past their ankles. In it swarmed hundreds of small golden fish, flicking their tails and circling together. From the ceiling hung fishing nets, strewn with golden seaweed and glittering shells.
Questions filled Angus’s mind, but the singing filled the place so completely there seemed no room for his words.
Together, he and the metal man passed through room after room. The place reminded him of a honeycomb—so many tiny interlocking rooms. They were in the centre of a hive.
There before them rose a great chair, and behind it burned an enormous fire in a hearth shaped like a fish’s mouth.
In the chair sat a golden woman. Angus felt his heart freeze in his chest as he looked at her.
Her wild hair hung down to her shoulders. Like the rest of her, it was cast from gold. Her eyes glowed faint blue. And, in her right hand, she held a crook—like a sceptre.
‘Mary!’ he cried, recognition flooding his senses.
