Tasty Tidbits: 9/29/09 - Consigned to the Sea Excerpt
This is one of my favorite stories of all time. Somewhat atypical of my normal writing, it has a voice of it's own that just begs to be read. Based on the selkie myth of the British Isles. To read the whole story, look up a copy of Sails and Sorcery (978-0-9713608-9-1) edited by Will Horner and published by Fantasist Enterprises, http://www.fantasistent.com/books/anthologies/sails.html.
Enjoy!
Danielle
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Seven tears fell into the sea.
They spread my sorrow among the foam and surf, mingled it with the waves until it was destined to touch every shore upon the earth ere the water’s wandering was done.
One tear for every year gone by since my husband went his way.
Seven tears fell into the sea.
’Tis said we all return to whence we began; why shouldn’t they?
It was high tide. The ship that bore me away recklessly hugged the rocky shore off the Orkneys. At my back I heard a thudding tread, familiar and hated, measuring the length of the weathered deck, owning it. Louder with each step, closer with each tear. The rest turned to hot ash in my eyes as the devil drew near.
“Well, have you decided, poppet?”
I remained turned away and silent, my back stiff and straight and indignant. Captain Darian Gow merely laughed and wrenched me around; his large, thick fingers bruised my bare shoulder, his hard, shadowed jaw lowered inches from my face.
“Have. You. Decided?” His words were measured and deadly calm. Overhead, terns cried a strident warning as they hovered just past the rigging. Below, waves pounded the hull in a siege as old as seafaring ways. My voice rebelled against any answer.
I stood before him with my back pressed hard against the rail, shivering despite the sun, in a dress of crimson crushed velvet he’d flung at me earlier, replacement for the widow’s weeds they’d torn from my body before they’d even brought me aboard. It was a whore’s dress. Quite literally, in fact, I had no doubt. Blood rubies and rare black seed pearls crusted what bodice there was and the black-satin-lined skirts were indecently slit, fore and aft. A costly whore’s dress, but one just the same. I’d been given no petticoats to serve my modesty.
Anger mingled with the fear in my heart. I smothered it for a time with slow, even breaths. I tried one final bid, begging freedom for my daughter. “Will ye na set her safe upon Eynhallow? An ye do, I’ll gladly shew ye the way ye seek.”
Captain Gow straightened. His eyelids lowered half-mast and his mouth curved but a degree at one corner. He looked back at the crew on the deck and in the rigging. He looked forward and pointedly scanned the shore as if the route he sought would magically appear to him; we both knew he had no hope of hiding his ship among the Islands to evade the King’s Navy without a native such as myself to guide him along the safe paths. Finally, he leaned forward once more, the other corner of his mouth joining the first, as if he were amused.
I lifted my own chin and forced myself to ignore his massive hands settling on the hilts of his saber and cutlass. No expression at all did I allow upon my face.
He laughed as if delighted and came even closer by my ear.
“What a pretty package you make in my gift,” he said, his breath stirring the fine ebon locks curled around my ear while the wind tugged at the rest of the tresses forcefully unbound at my capture. “You’re lucky for the decency of even that dress, you know . . .” He turned away to swagger toward the stern, calling out over his shoulder when he was far enough amidships for his voice to carry to both myself and the crew. “Your bonnie lass . . . she has none.”
Lust glimmered in every eye I could see, and none of it directed toward me. My gut clenched and my pulse tripped faster. I was driven by the need to rush for the hold where my daughter was imprisoned, but I knew I would not be let near it. I gasped and clutched the rail until a nail tore. The pain of my finger kept me anchored firm against my instinct. I remained still, the cold flow of the North Sea filling me up. The fires of hell licked at my thoughts, sparked by his implicit threat. I could not hold back the growl as fury crept over my fear, burying it. The vile Gow heard. Heard and laughed once more.
“I’ve the charts laid out in my cabin, woman, if that will help you get your bearing.”
I trembled such that the satin lining of the dress brushed my bare flesh in an obscene caress. My teeth clenched and every muscle flinched away from the sensation until I was a hard, tight effigy of myself. I spun around to stare out at the sea, battling both rage and despair. I closed my burning eyes and lifted my face to the constant breeze, letting it dry those tears that escaped the confines of my lashes. The wind whipping about me murmured empty comfort. Mingled with its fickle whisper I heard a call that haunted both my waking hours and my sleep. My fingers locked upon the rail and my body strained. To hear. . . . To leap. . . . I could not say.
The wind carried but the sounds of surf and gulls. I eyed the rocky islets and the choppy wake. Nowhere did I spy a trace of life not on the wing. Had I imagined that familiar call?
Hope bled away.
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Today's Questions: What do you use for the basis of your writing? Or like to see used when you read? For me I use various mythologies (with my own twist, generally) and a lot of popular culture reference.