To the Sea Page 18
Slowly and gently, her fall stopped. Ornice felt a great mass against her body and she thought, I am on the bottom of the sea. But the mass was not the white sandy floor she had expected. It was moving. It was alive. It rippled beneath her. It held her. She was enveloped in silver bubbles and swirls of green and gold. Warmth surrounded her. It brushed her skin and stroked her face. She was moving up. Fast. The green sea above her was getting lighter. But the end was near. She had not taken a breath for the longest time and her mind was wandering. Her tight chest would soon explode with the unbearable pressure of her empty lungs. She could not think but she watched as she rose ever closer to the surface.
And then there was nothing.
Ornice opened her eyes and she was in a cabin. It was not the cabin of anyone she knew. Its stone walls were finely crafted and it had a rounded end wall which held the massive fireplace and chimney next to where she lay. High above her spread an oddly patterned thatched roof, steeply pitched and held high with wide thick beams. The floor was not dirt but tightly fitted smooth wooden planks, on which were several fur skins. She was lying on a well-padded pallet in front of a bright fire that almost filled the enormous rounded hearth. She was under a white fur rug of a kind she did not recognise. Outside, she could see daylight through a small window beside the black stone chimney but it was a soft day and the light was weak. She guessed that the mist she had walked into this morning had not yet lifted.
She was dry but she was cold. Her blood frozen in her veins, her bones icy twigs beneath her flesh. She could not feel her arms and legs. Her body ached and her chin was quivering. She wanted to lift her head and look about her but she knew she could not. Her body was heavy and brittle in its frozen state. She could not see or hear anyone else in the cabin. She was not glad to find herself still alive. It was only a matter of time before Lorcan arrived to claim her. Wherever she was, he would not be far away. Cold tears filled her eyes and ran down her white cheeks and she fell back into the darkness.
When she woke again, it was dark outside. The fire flamed bright and loud with more turf bricks in it than Ornice would use in a week. The chimney drew well as there was no smoke in the cabin. It smelled of the clean salty sea air. There was a candle burning on a low table against the far wall. Ornice was not used to such clean warm light. The cressets filled with seal oil in her own cabin burned greasy hot and smoky. This golden candlelight was soothing. The few pieces of furniture in the cabin made long flickering shadows on the stone walls. Ornice lay still, looking up into the dark roof space above her as she listened to the fire. She could also hear the sound of big waves breaking close by. She remembered the Perigean tide and wondered how long the sea would continue to swell and smother the land.
After a few moments, she heard a faint rustling sound and a man walked slowly into her line of vision. She could not have guessed his age but he was not old. He had long bright hair falling well past his shoulders with two braids down either side of his face. Ornice thought she could see small white shells woven into the braids but she could not be certain as his hair was as white as any shell. He had wide-set blue eyes and his lined tanned face was free of any beard or facial hair. He had a wide relaxed mouth which Ornice thought gave his face a kind mien. He was dressed oddly in pale skin pants and a loose, strangely stitched blouse. His feet were bare. Around his neck was a thin silver band with strange markings carved into it. It shone in the firelight.
He was the biggest man Ornice had ever seen. He knelt down beside her and spoke to her in a deep quiet voice. She could make no sense of his words. He gently cradled the back of her head in his huge hand and lifted her head slowly off the pillow. Her head exploded in pain and she tried to pull out of his grasp. His strong hand would not allow it. He spoke to her in a language she did not know and lifted a shallow bowl to her lips. It was warm broth. It tasted of herbs though she could not have said which ones. She just wanted to place her roaring head back on the soft pillow of her bed but she understood that the man would not let her do so until she had drunk the broth. She sipped it and was glad of its warmth and fragrant wetness in her mouth. She drank it all. He said some more strange words and lowered her head gently back on to the pillow. He continued to kneel beside her although he said no more. Ornice was engulfed in darkness again.
It was still dark when she woke again. The fire had died down but was burning warmly. Someone was tending it through the night. Although her arms and legs were rigid and she could not move them, she could now feel them. If she stretched or twitched them, they burned with a biting heat. Her body was thawing. She could move her head from side to side on the pillow but it still hurt and she knew better than to try and raise it.
On a wide low bed covered with furs at the end of the cabin she could see someone sleeping. She knew it was the man who had given her the broth. She could not see if he had a wife sleeping on his other side. There were no children in this home. The animals must be in a separate croft. There was no smell or familiar sounds of any animals, not even chickens. A candle was sitting on a small low table in the middle of the room where, in her own falling-down cabin, the fire pit would be sending out its sooty smoke.
As her eyes adjusted to the light, she could see the man more clearly. He was lying on his side, facing into the room towards Ornice, with one arm lying on top of the fur rug covering his body up to his chest. His white hair fell across his bare shoulders. His silver neckband glistened in the flickering light. She could not hear his breathing over the waves outside but she could see the white fur rug slowly rise and fall with his deep, steady breaths. He looked like no man she had ever seen. Perhaps he was a Norseman. She had heard about them in tales.
As she lay watching him, wondering who he was and where she had washed up, he opened his eyes. Nothing else about him moved. His eyes were a deep blue and sloped sharply upward like the leaves of the hazelmead tree. Ornice continued looking at him as they both lay motionless at either end of the cabin. She eventually turned her head away and looked into the fire. She felt warm and sleepy. Her eyes closed and she slept again.
It was another grey day outside when Ornice woke again. It was late and she could hear the scratching creak of rain on the thatching and, as the wind gusted, she could hear hard rain slam against the stone wall near her head. There were no drops of rain falling into the cabin and the inside of the roof was dry and solid.
Ornice turned her head slowly and looked about the cabin. The large bed at the far end was empty. The rugs were drawn up on it neatly. Ornice tried to lift herself up. She could not. The pain in her head had improved but her arms were still too weak to take her weight. She tried to roll over but she couldn’t. She lifted the fur rug and looked down at her body. A long narrow piece of soft fabric was wound around her body many times. She smiled at the strange sight of her body wrapped like a bairn swaddled tight in its cradle. The swaddling went from high on her chest down to her knees. She had nothing on beneath the swaddling cloth. She could not see her clothes anywhere. Had she been wrapped like this to stop her from running away?
She lay listening to the waves and the rain and the crying wind. There was a pot hanging above the fire and she could smell something cooking. She was not hungry but it was comforting. There must be a wife. Next to her pallet on a low stool were a wooden mug and a plate with some kind of oatcake on it. She appreciated the kind thought even though she could not raise herself to eat it. She could hear both the wind and rain that she had woken to most recently. There was still no sign of the man. She had not seen or heard any other people but she hoped there were others close by. She wanted the man to come back. The cabin felt empty without him in it. She tried to stay awake and wait for him but sleep overtook her.
It was night when she awoke again. She lay for a minute adjusting her eyes to the dim light and listening. It was still raining and there was a gale blowing. She turned her head. The man was seated on a rug on the floor not far from her. He was weaving something. It might have been a net. H
e looked over at her. Ornice tried to sit up. Again her arms collapsed beneath her and she lay back. The man stood and went to the cooking pot. He ladled some soup into the same shallow bowl as before and came and sat next to her. He lifted her gently, with his arm supporting her shoulders and head, and this time there was no pain. She sipped at the broth, which was thicker and heartier than before. She surprised herself by eating it all. When she had finished he helped her drink a large mug of water. He said a few words to her but Ornice did not understand them.
She could see no one else in the cabin and, in that moment, Ornice knew there was no wife. For where would his wife be late at night in a howling storm if not in her own cabin? He was a lone fisherman from somewhere up north along the black coast and he had saved her life.
She guessed he would not understand her but still she said her name and thanked him for rescuing her. She asked him if anyone had come looking for her and she told him of her husband and her family. She told them better than they were. He was listening intently and he had turned his head ever so slightly to one side as he focused on her words. He surprised her when he answered in her tongue. He had an unfamiliar accent but he spoke the Gaeilge.
No, he told her, no one had come for her and they would not. He would take care of her until she was strong enough to leave, probably no more than a week, and he would take her back to her home if that was where she wanted to go. She was on a small island far from the cove and her husband would not come to find her. She was safe from him here. Ornice thought that was a strange thing to say but she was pleased to hear it nonetheless.
She was tired and her eyelids were closing again. He said his name was Connery.
When Ornice woke the following morning she knew that the worst of her ordeal had passed. It was still early and she felt that she had woken with the day. After the days of storms, the air was clean and the soft breeze held the warmth of spring. She could hear gulls screeching outside and seals singing from somewhere close by. The cabin was empty but the door was open and sunlight poured in. She thought she could hear movement outside.
She knew she would have to get up and go outside. Her bladder was full. She pushed the fur rug aside and looked at the swaddling she was still wrapped in. She was trying to find the end of the cloth and unwind it when the man appeared. He strode over and quickly knelt beside her. He placed his huge hands on her thighs and Ornice screamed. She could hear herself screaming like a white banshee. She could not stop. She could not bear that. Not trapped on an island. She screamed to all the saints in heaven to save her. She tried to reach the knife hanging from his belt in a soft leather sheath. She would kill him. She screamed that she would kill him. He swiftly grabbed her hands and she knew she had no strength to fight him or to kill him. She was still wrapped up tight and could not kick or run. But she would scream until she had no voice left. She prayed to God that this man had not saved her just for this. Please God, her life could not go from Lorcan to this blond giant. Ornice felt his hand across her mouth. His hand covered almost her entire face. She prayed he would smother her quickly. He held her two hands in one of his. She could do nothing more.
He was talking to her. Was he going to tell her all the vile things she must do, just as Lorcan had? She would not listen to such talk anymore. She had been ready to die to escape Lorcan. She would gladly die to escape this stranger. The pressure of his hand across her mouth strengthened until she could make no sound at all and she felt her neck would surely snap. When she finally quietened he spoke softly as he looked into her eyes. He would not violate her. She had nothing to fear from him. He had come to unwrap her from her swaddling and assist her to stand. He had thought she would want to go outside into the sunshine. He had prepared buckets of fresh water and soap. The clothes she was wearing when he found her were outside and dry. She must be calm. He was the only one apart from herself on this island and he did not wish to hear her terrible screams anymore.
He carefully removed his hand from her face and released her arms. Ornice lay still. She made no sound. He gently lifted her up off the pallet with one arm as he unwrapped her with the other. Ornice covered her eyes with her hands but she looked through her fingers and saw that he did not look upon her more than was necessary to his task. When he had finished, he offered her a shawl from a stool near her bed. She wrapped it around herself. After a long minute, he faced her and held out his arms to help her stand. She was weak and wobbly on her legs but, with his help, she could walk.
Outside, her eyes took a moment to adjust to the bright light. The cabin sat atop a grassy rise up from a small pebbly beach at the bottom of a steep cliff. Ornice could see a small, odd-looking wooden boat dragged high above the beach. There was a long, rugged inlet running into the beach below the cabin. The blue sea surrounded them on three sides with the inlet being the only access point to the island visible to Ornice. The cabin faced east. The man was right. She could not see land anywhere.
He took her behind the cabin to a flat grassy area covered in flowering clover. Here was a three-legged stool and the buckets of water and soap he had promised. He sat her on the stool and walked away to the front of the cabin. Ornice looked around her. The island was small. She could see its edges from where she sat and she guessed that she could walk across it and from end to end in the time it took one prayer candle to burn down. It was a flat plateau of grass high above the deep sea below. She had no idea where it was or how far away from home she was.
She could not imagine how the man lived here. There were no farm animals, no trees and no gardens. And no fresh water that she could see. There was nothing on the island besides the cabin. She could make no sense of it and she was too tired to fathom it today. He had said he would take her home when she wanted to go and she decided to believe him. It was easier than the alternative. She walked a few steps away from the cabin and the bathing area and relieved her bladder. Then she sat on the stool in the warm spring sunshine and washed her tired body. When she had finished she stayed in the sun, drying herself. The sun was glorious on her skin and her damp hair, which was now hanging all the way down her back in long tight ringlets after being unbrushed for so many days. The man had not provided her with a brush or comb so it would have to wait for another day.
After a long time, Ornice dressed herself in her old clothes and called out to the man to come and assist her to walk. She called him by his name, Connery, and he came.
She sat in the sun in a small chair leaning against the front wall of the cabin for most of the morning. Connery had made her porridge. She was starving and she ate it all. She leaned back and watched him as he worked on a small net he said he used for fishing. Like everything about this man and this place, it was a strange-looking thing. She could not imagine how he could catch fish in it and it would hold so few fish as to be hardly worth the effort of making it or throwing it into the sea. She asked him questions as she leaned back against the stone wall soaking up the sun. She asked him where they were and how he lived here all alone and where was his family and wasn’t he lonely and how did he save her. What had he been doing at sea on the day of a Perigean tide? For all that she asked him, he told her little. He talked enough but his talk was mostly of other things, as if she had not spoken at all.
He agreed that he must be a Norseman because he was from the north. He laughed a lot. Ornice did not know many men who laughed and none as frequently and as heartily as this man. She sat listening to him and the high-pitched cries of terns and the waves breaking below her on the pebble beach. It was peaceful.
She awoke late in the afternoon. The sun had dropped behind the cabin and the shade was cool. The stones at her back were chilled. She was still sitting in the little chair but she now had the shawl from the morning draped around her shoulders. She was stiff but able to stand and walk around a little. She went into the cabin. A fire was set ready to light for the cold of evening which would soon arrive. Her pallet bed had been moved from in front of the fire to the side of the room a
gainst the chimney. To her surprise, Connery was not inside.
Back outside, Ornice looked out over the sea to the north and east. She walked up a small rise behind the cabin from where she could see the entire island. He was nowhere. She walked over to the grassy edge of the inlet which ran almost up to the front of the cabin. The wooden boat was still lying on the grass. A small group of female seals were lying on the grass next to it. One of them looked up at Ornice and sang out to her. The sight of them brought Lorcan to mind. Somewhere out there was Mayo. She did not know how far away it was and she knew she could not sail the strange-looking boat. She was in no rush to return to Lorcan but, standing there, she was afraid. She was alone on this small island.
The late afternoon wind was picking up and bringing with it the cold air of the north. Ornice wrapped the shawl tightly around her and wondered if it was to be her fate to die here alone. She walked back into the cabin and looked at everything in it more closely. There was food on the open shelves and yellow beeswax candles in a wooden box. Outside, against the back wall of the cabin, there was a good supply of dry turf for the fire and a large barrel filled with fresh water. She would be safe here for a while.
Connery entered the cabin just as darkness had settled into night. The fire was burning and Ornice was on her pallet waiting. Relief flooded through her when she saw him. He was naked and wet. His long white hair was stuck to his back and he was dripping water as he walked to the far end of the cabin to dry himself. He was carrying the small net he had been working on that morning and Ornice could see fish in it. He flashed his smile at her and she felt herself smile back. He had been out fishing was all he said. Ornice was again full of questions. How could he go fishing without a boat, why was he wet, why had he been gone so long? She felt the need to point out to him how dangerous it was to be out on the sea alone after dark. Especially with the wind picking up the way it was. He laughed his big laugh. He dressed in dry clothes with thoughtless immodesty and left to clean the fish.