Brendan stared at the artefact in his hands, as the westering sun of the short autumn day slanted through the mullioned windows of his monastery. His mind was a blank made of wonder and awe and bewilderment. These were hard times for the community of which he was abbot, out here on the western fringe of civilization, the sacred and ancient island of Erin. Confused tales of the desperate raiding Norsemen had reached him from Britain, bringing fear in their wake.

He came back to the marvellous object that lay in his hands. If he was not mistaken, the map depicted the fruit of an imram, a navigation west to the lands of the setting sun. It appeared to show a series of islands like so many stepping stones into the sunset. He was so full of the sight of it that the sweat stood out on his brow. He had longed for years for a find such as this. He would make ready a ship and a crew, and set sail.

Brendan brought his attention back to the map. He looked harder at what, at first glance, he had taken for an island. It was a huge whale, upended in the water to form a strange smooth mountain. Could he land on something so unheard of? He would soon find out. The next island was populated with a dense flock of seabirds of all descriptions, from cormorants and black-backed gulls to albatrosses. Their caws and croaks would fill the air, he surmised, the excitement of the journey already within him.

The next island was home to an abbey very like his own. What wonders did it hold in store for him? He peered closer at the surface of the map. There was text written there in Gaelic. "Abbey of the ever-young," he read. "Cauldron of plenty", "a place caught in time." His excitement grew. Another island caught his gaze. It was entirely of black soil, and it chilled his heart to look upon it. On a rocky outcrop sat a man, which a rubric proclaimed to be Judas bewailing his suffering. Finally, his mood lightened as his eye was drawn to the mountain of paradise, guided by an angel with wings all of gold leaf. He sat back, thrilling with his discovery.

Brendan set out with fourteen fellow monks, and none of them ever came back. Whether they found the mountain of paradise that the strange map purported to depict, or whether they drowned in the turbulent seas of the far west or fell off the edge of the world, this tale does not tell. But ever after that monastery lived enshrouded in a cloud of fear.