To the Sea Read online

  They had eleven days. Ornice had so much to tell him. He would listen for hours when she talked of Fingal. She could see the pain in his eyes that he was not there to share it. He knew of Lorcan’s death. He knew of her successful fishing and her life in the cove. They talked of everything. This time Ornice would not let any sadness creep into their time together. She would devour every hour and cram as many memories as she could into her heart to sustain her until the next time she could be with him.

  When she returned to her home, no one asked her any questions.

  It did not take long for Ornice to realise she was again with child. Her happiness was only tempered by the same nagging fear that the child would be a girl.

  She was only weeks away from delivering her baby when Connery called her. This time she heard him as soon as he called. Despite Ailish’s fears, Etain dragged Ornice’s small currach into the water and she left. She was to have twenty days with Connery on the island. He was enchanted with her body and his unborn child moving inside her. One day, lying in the warm sun on the grass after their slow love-making, Ornice felt her waters break. The baby was coming. She was afraid to be on the island alone with Connery but there would be no time to return to the cove.

  She walked around and stretched her back and tried to remember all the things that had happened at Fingal’s birthing. She sat, and squatted, and paced and prayed through every explosive spasm. Connery was alert to her every need and he was ready to deliver the child. He had not done such a thing before but he reassured her and she believed all would be well.

  The labour was swift and, on the warm grass under the blue sky of that summer’s day, their second son was born. Ornice was weak with joy and relief that this baby too was a boy. He had Connery’s eyes and he was a big baby, like Fingal, but this little one had the white skin and black curls of his mother. As Ornice held him to her breast, with Connery beside her, she felt her life to be blessed.

  For his jet-black curls, they named him Bran.

  Connery held her longer and closer as they sailed into the cove after dark on the twentieth night. He could not tear his eyes away from Bran. The little black-haired baby had hardly left his father’s arms since his sudden birth. Connery had walked the floor at night with little Bran, soothing him with songs and stories in the language of the north. Ornice could not understand the words but Bran cooed and settled. He was happiest in his father’s arms.

  Connery had been more attentive to her and Bran’s every need than any midwife or doting grandmother. Ornice had not asked Connery why she and the children could not stay with him forever, go with him wherever it was he went when he was not on the island. She would have given everything for that life with him. But he did not offer it and now that she saw his devotion to her and their newborn child, she knew that it was not his to offer. This fractured life was all there could be.

  On that final night, Connery brought the currach right into the shore and dragged it up onto the beach of the cove. It was strange to see him there. He could be on the beach. With her. Ornice had not known that. He lingered with them, a little family washed up on the shore, but too soon he stood and faced the sea. He kissed them both, said some words in his own language and disappeared into the water.

  Ornice had returned from the sea with her baby. The stories grew and spread. Ornice had been at the bottom of the sea mating with a seal. There was a magical cave where she danced and performed carnal acts with a handsome merman. She disappeared into a sunken castle where she lived with the enchanted creatures who were the souls of drowned fishermen. She was a selchie queen sent to live amongst them and learn their human ways.

  Now it seemed no one in the cove could remember Ornice’s birth. Surely her mother had never been pregnant with this one. Yes, it was agreed by many, Ornice was a dark one herself and had found her skin after two years of marriage to Lorcan. He was a seal killer. It made sense that he would trap a selchie and keep her for himself. Sure and it was Ornice’s selchie husband who had killed Lorcan. But she loved her womanly life on the land too much to abandon it completely. They moulded the tales around everything she did. Just by living, she made them real.

  And now, most magical of all, she had given birth to a dark one under the sea. And this child had the black curls of the dark ones. Like his mother. Any who had doubted before now knew the truth of Ornice and her children of the sea.

  Ornice let the stories grow wilder in the telling and said nothing.

  It was to be two lonely years before she would hear Connery again. Fingal was growing into a fine boy, getting more like his father every day. He was boisterous and strong and into all sorts of mischief. He had Connery’s joyous laugh. Ornice could not keep him out of the water, even in winter. Connery had told her Fingal was safe in the sea and she tried to believe it and give him some freedom.

  Bran was going to be every bit as big and strong as his brother but he was a quieter, more thoughtful boy. Life was not the same game to him that it was for Fingal. He stayed close to Ornice and he tempered some of Fingal’s recklessness. His gentle ways were a hint of the man he would become. Ornice loved her sons and gave thanks every day for them. People in the cove treated the boys with more respect than was usual for little bairns. They too were part of the legend and were even more mysterious than Ornice. She sometimes saw the old women cross themselves when one of her boys ran past them.

  She had almost forgotten the sound of Connery’s call until she heard it. It was the sound of her own heartbeat. Leaving the boys safe with Ailish’s family, she went. This time they had thirty days and she found it harder than ever before to leave him. They settled into their lives together immediately. She had missed this happiness. Her body had missed him. It came alive at his touch. She adored her boys and they filled a gap in her life but Connery was the one she craved. This was her real life. Racing through the water, cooking their evening meal together, telling tales into the night, talking of the children, sharing their thoughts and their bodies.

  Connery moved with ease and grace on the land, running smoothly and swiftly or lounging as effortlessly as a cat on a stone wall when he was relaxed. He was strong and tireless in their bed where Ornice could feel every taut sinew and muscle beneath his smooth skin. But his body became something else in the water and the further they went from the land, the greater the transformation. They went out to sea every day. Even on the coldest of winter days and in big stormy swells, Connery would lead her down to the rocks below the cabin. They went naked, having left their clothes in the cabin. It was as much a part of their day as waking and sleeping. At the far end of the rocks, Connery would dive into the water below and then, despite her fear, which never completely left her, Ornice would dive in after him.

  As soon as she was in the water, he was there, his arms encasing their folded bodies and holding her tight. The heat of his body thawed and warmed her. The icy water slipped across her skin, unable to take hold.

  On a calm blue day sparkling with silver sunshine, far out to sea, they floated with just their sleek heads and pale shoulders above the still surface. Connery kissed her deeply. She did not need breath or warmth at that moment. He needed her. She was wrapped tightly around him and, as they kissed, he entered her slowly. He spoke to her quietly in his own language as he slowly withdrew and entered her again to the rhythm of the swelling ocean.

  Locked together in that endless ocean, Ornice lay on the surface with only her legs wrapped around Connery. Her hair floated around her, long black swirls radiating from her white face. Her white breasts spread in front of her, her pink nipples on the surface of the water like pale fleshy sea creatures. She did not recognise them as part of her. She could feel nothing but Connery within and the ocean without.

  The echo of the ocean in her head became her own heartbeat. She closed her eyes, and gave herself over to the gentle rock of the ocean, the life beat of her own veins. Her skin had gone; her arms and legs had fallen away. There was just Connery, hot and solid, insid
e the watery pool of Ornice pouring into the boundless blue all around her. This was the state of bliss she had sought in prayer and penance but had not found. Through the muted light and wetness of her new being she came back to Connery’s persistent rhythm as he brought her body back to her. Back to him. She raised herself until her wet face was touching his.

  Are you a seal man? She heard no words come from her.

  Would you love me still?

  I would love you more.

  Love me more.

  In the terrifying moment of grief and joy which would come upon her nine months later, Ornice would remember this day.

  That night in front of the fire, as Connery lay with his head in her lap, Ornice told him the tale of the selchie’s baby, a tale she had always treasured for its sad beauty. When she had finished she asked him if he yet believed in selchies.

  I believe in everything, he replied.

  It came as no surprise to Ornice, or anyone else, that she was with child when she returned. It was all as before. She was excited and afraid in equal measure as her time drew near. Again the labour was fast and, after just four hours of hard work, Ailish happily told Ornice she had been blessed with a daughter. Ornice’s insides collapsed. She had known it would happen. The baby was a delicate version of Connery and Fingal. White-haired, slanted bice blue eyes and that wide mouth that would become so sensuous in adulthood. Ornice cried as she nuzzled her darling daughter. Ailish presumed her tears were those of happiness. Ornice felt her heart would break. Everything would change. She would have to choose between Connery and her daughter. She already knew who she would choose and she wept for her unbearable loss.

  She called her white-haired beauty Wynne.

  Ornice worried how she would respond when Connery next called her. Every possibility ran through her head and she would come down on the side of one response and then find herself completely rejecting that option and going for another. Would she simply not respond ever again? Her stomach hollowed and her heart raced ahead of itself at the thought of never seeing him again. It was unthinkable. Would she go to him and lie?

  Everything about their love was clear and honest. It could not survive a lie. She was lost. Could she get him to change the arrangement? Could she persuade him? She had seven years before Wynne must go but Ornice knew her life with Connery was already over. She would not give Wynne up and she could not trick Connery into believing she would. She may as well try and trick herself.

  Wynne was eight months old when Ornice heard Connery. She tried to ignore him. It was harder than she had imagined. She couldn’t sleep. Her mind became agitated and she would forget from one minute to the next what she was doing and where she was. She was constantly drawn down to the water’s edge. More worrying was that she was certain the children could hear their father. The boys were restless in their sleep and Wynne could not sleep at all. She cried and could not be consoled by Ornice. It was so unlike her. She was ordinarily such a contented baby.

  The little cabin was in turmoil. Within days Ornice’s body was racked with pain and sickness. She struggled to keep any food down and she was exhausted from lack of sleep. The boys were well enough during the days but at night they were disturbed by nightmares and they would both come to Ornice’s bed seeking comfort she could not provide.

  Ornice was worried for Wynne. She wouldn’t suckle. She was fidgety and cried inconsolably. After several days, she grew lethargic and Ornice was afraid. Ailish and the other women tried to help but Wynne would not eat any of the milky porridge or junkets offered her. Ailish tried to suckle her in case Ornice’s milk was curdled by her sickness but Wynne would not take milk from Ailish’s full breasts.

  Wynne began to wither. Her plump little cheeks became drawn and dark rings bloomed beneath her dull eyes. By the seventh day, Wynne was listless and pale. Her arms hung at her sides, wrinkled and flaccid. She was fading away and Ornice was frantic. She could not leave Wynne and the boys now. Not when they were so unwell and so dependent on her. But she could not help them. Only Connery could do that. Despite her mother’s and Ailish’s protests, Ornice went.

  Connery did not take her straight to the island. He stopped the currach outside the mouth of the cove and they sat together in the dark. He held her and kissed her. Her kiss and her love were her final betrayal. Her worlds had finally collided and Ornice did not know how to realign them. She could not ignore him. She could as easily ignore the sky.

  The little currach rocked slowly in the gentle swell. They said nothing for a long time. Just rocked in each other’s embrace. She was saddened to see his beautiful face. He had been worried. She had not come. He had feared the worst. She was ill. She was dead. The children. Ornice was distraught that she had done this to him. She had left him alone to worry and to sicken himself. He asked after the baby. He knew that much. What else did he know? Without thinking, Ornice grabbed at a pathetic lie. She said the baby was a boy. Connery saw the lie and his face stiffened as if she had struck him. The tie between them was unravelling. He asked for his daughter’s name. Ornice said he was mistaken, it was another son, not a daughter. She threw a boy’s name into the mess of her story. He silenced her with a terrible voice. A voice she did not know. But his words were clear. He would not listen to lies from her. He held her, but too tightly. He was hard and angry. She did not know this Connery. He would not be trifled with.

  He said she must return to the baby. He would not keep her from a suckling bairn. She did not have to come to him. Just tell him she was finished with him and he would not call her again. He wanted her, more than he wanted anything in all the worlds, but he could not keep her against her will.

  Ornice had no reply but he demanded one. Was she his or was she not? He would know it now. He would continue to protect her and the children. The fish would continue to come to the fishermen’s nets. She need not come to him for any reason other than her love of him. If she did not come, he would be silent until his daughter was seven and then he would come for her. Ornice need never hear him again if that was what she chose. As ever, all choices were hers. Her life in the cove with her sons would continue as now. Or they could go on forever as they were, and their daughter would come to Connery on her seventh birthday and the other children would be forever with Ornice.

  Did she want a life with him forever? Ornice’s silence was her answer. He turned his face from her and said nothing further. She reached for him. She begged him to understand that she could not give up her daughter. He asked too much of her. He did not answer her desperate pleas. He slipped from her hand and disappeared into the water.

  When the currach was almost back to the safety of the beach in the cove, she realised that she was no longer moving and that Connery was gone.

  Ornice did not know how to live the next six years. Connery’s silence was a cruel punishment. The fish continued to come and she and the fishermen in the cove grew richer. Her children thrived and as she watched little Wynne playing with her brothers, following them everywhere, she knew she had made the only decision she could. But Ornice missed Connery. She would never have a love like his again. She did not want one.

  When Wynne was five years old, Ornice tried to call Connery. She sat on the rocks of the peninsula and remembered his beautiful face, his wide mouth moving slowly in the firelight as he told his tales of the north, his quick smile, swimming together and the tenderness he showered on her in their lovemaking. She poured her heart out into the water and to him. She silently begged him to come to her and she let her body call in its own way, different from her mind and her heart.

  She strained her eyes and her very being trying to see him or feel him. Every flash of silver sunlight on the water was him. She started and stared and called out to him. She never saw him but she felt he was always there. Had always been there but he had turned his back on her. She despaired that he had found another. Ornice wept with the pain of her thoughts.

  She sang the love charm taught to her by her mother and the old wome
n. If a man heard it unawares, he would fall in love forever with the singer and could not stay away.

  ‘You for me, and I for thee and for none else; your face to mine, and your head turned away from all others.’

  But Connery was not a man to be tricked by old women’s charms. Her words fell into the sea and were lost. She feared he was lonely without her or still angry or worse, in love with another. She would give everything, but one, for him to come to her. The sea was silent and he did not come.

  As Wynne’s seventh birthday drew closer Ornice was uneasy. Her decision to keep Wynne troubled her more acutely with every passing month. Ornice loved her daughter and the three children were close. She knew she could not part with any of them, but she wondered now if her refusal to give up Wynne was more about her own needs than Wynne’s. She knew Connery would be a loving father. She did not know his world but she knew that he would not take Wynne anywhere where she would not be cherished and protected. He could offer her much. More than Ornice could. Wynne could have known both the worlds.

  And Wynne was her father’s daughter. Ornice was left speechless the first time she saw Wynne dive off the rocks in the cove and dart through the waves, like a flash of white light streaking beneath the surface. Ornice had seen Connery dive like that many times. Wynne, too, was a creature of the water. She came alive in its big swells and bottomless depths. She lived on the shore with Ornice and the boys but Ornice knew that her daughter belonged in the sea with Connery.

  If Wynne went with her father at seven, she would be old enough to remember her life here in the cove. Ornice could explain what was happening and Wynne would come to understand. She would never forget her mother and brothers. As she grew older, she would respect her parents and the decision they had made for her. Ornice would hear of her through Connery. Wynne would not be lost to her. Ornice knew all this but still could not bear the separation. It was she who could not suffer the loss of her daughter the way that Connery did for his sons. He had given them up for Ornice. For his love of her.