​KIRSTEN MCDONALD

​

 

Let water flow ‘round you

and pillow your head.

Let waves rock you gently

And tides be your bed.

 

Let shells sing of sunshine

and reeds sing of rain.

Let winds join in softly

and sing the refrain.

 

- from an old Benvarry lullaby

 

Dark Sea Rising: Chapter One

​

As Jacop studied the dark sea surrounding the boat, a sudden blast of icy wind reminded him that November and all of its dangers lurked just a few weeks away. Jacob tried to think of the iron charms and red ribbons that protected their fishing net pulling through the dark sea. And, he tried to think of kelp and crabs and herring.
 

But it was no good.  
 

The cold wind cut through his jacket, and the sea kept whispering his name.  Jacop’s head echoed with thoughts of the water creatures he had been taught to fear – the Benvarry women who lured sailors to watery graves with their twin-tailed promises, the Benvarry men who sang wordless songs and made mothers forget they were people of the land and not of the sea, and the Glashtyn stallions and mares who crushed the skulls of sheep and men with their dead coral teeth.  
 

Jacop glanced at Tomas, his father, who gripped the tiller so tightly that hand and wood seemed permanently joined.
 

“What?” his father asked when their eyes met.
 

“Nothing, sir,” Jacop mumbled as he pulled down his cap to muffle the sound of the sea and his father.  He balled his hands into fists and shoved them back into his pockets and the meager magic of the rowan berries hidden there. 
 

His father peered out at the autumn dark water and demanded in a voice laced with anticipation, “Did you see something?  Tell me!  Did you see something?  Anything?”
 

Jacop was silent as he considered what lay behind his father’s question — the fear they both shared or the mysterious hope that only his father understood.  Unsure of the right answer, Jacop turned his attention back to the sea. The cold wind pulled tufts of sea foam from the water and tossed them onto their small boat’s deck.  It slapped icy waves against their hull.  And, all around them the sea whispered and called as the late October sun shone weakly just below the horizon.
 

Tomas finally clarified, “November is almost here, and I have no plans of becoming a meal for one of those waterhorses.  You’re standing lookout, so I’ll ask you plainly, did you see something?”
 

Jacop squinted into the distance and raked his gaze across the dark water searching for the waterhorses that everyone feared. 

“No, sir,” he answered but then hesitantly added, “Not yet.”
 

The damp cold crept through the seams of Jacop’s jacket, and dread seeped into his thoughts as he searched the water for the swiftly snaking ripple of something large swimming close to the dark water’s surface.  He strained to see below the blue-black water — to see what was truly there rather than glimpsing what glided through nightmares and the tales he’d heard from Lena and Garret and Willem. 

 

Jacop squeezed a rowan berry enough to feel the stone-like seed hidden in the withered fruit.  He studied the peaks and troughs of the small waves sliced open by their boat’s hull while his mind raced with thoughts of the waterhorses that tumbled out of the waves and ventured onto the land looking for sheep and goats and men who forgot the dangers of late autumn. 

​

Suddenly, Jacop heard a deep, low groan, and an icy chill raced down his spine.  He told himself that it was the groan of the hull contracting or the sheets straining against the sails but, below this voice of reason, his heart screamed insistently, “Glashtyn!  Glashtyn!  Glashtyn!” as he imagined a Glashtyn stallion moaning with anticipation as he closed in on his prey.

​

A tidal wave of terror coursed through his body.  

​

Jacop crammed the dread deep down and lunged towards the prow and the groan.  He whipped his head from side to side — frantically searching the waters for salt tangled manes or twin-tailed fins, but all he could see were waves flecked with sea foam. 

​

Then something clunked against their iron rimmed hull  like a heavy fist demanding entry at a locked and bolted door.  

Jacop dashed across the rolling deck.  He gripped the starboard railing with hands trembling from cold and fear, and he twisted from side to side like a sapling caught in a gale as he strained to hear or see the dangers hidden darting alongside the hull.   

​

The sound of a crashing wave spun him around.  He stared out into the cold October morning, and for just a fraction of a second, he glimpsed what might have been a serpentine furrow dissolving back into salt water.

​

The last of his control dissolved, and Jacop shouted as he pointed out beyond the railing, “Look!  A stone’s throw off the port-side beam!”

 

Instantly, Tomas locked the tiller.  He lifted his chin as though the angle might sharpen his sight, and he studied the sea.  Finally, he demanded in a voice laced with fear, “What did you see?”

​

Instead of answering, Jacop fingered the dried rowan berries.  He squinted into the early morning light, and although the snaking ripple was gone, the ghost of it lingered in his mind.  He sped to the starboard rail where his eyes probed the waters rippling along the hull.

​

For a second, Jacop thought he saw a white mane flash on the water’s surface like a horse’s mane getting tossed in the wind, but then the clumps of long white hair twisted and tumbled in the waves and were nothing more than strands of salty bubbles.  

​

Jacop searched the water beyond the boat.  In the cold half light, every wave was laced with foam — foam that might have been no more than air caught in the salty water but could just have easily been tangled white manes or tails as long as a man.  

​

Jacop stood frozen with uncertainty.

​

Suddenly, twin tails knocked against the hull just below where he stood.  He was certain of it.  He clapped his hands firmly against his ears hoping that skin and bone would make him deaf to coy Benvarry promises and the call of wordless songs.  

​

Jacop leaned over the starboard railing and searched for a flash of gem-like scales and the glint of razor sharp teeth, but all he found was a stray mooring line knotted with strands of kelp.  He lowered his hands to the rail and watched the loose line bump and clunk against the boat’s hull before glancing back at his father.

​

“Well?” Tomas asked. 

 

Jacop could feel something near.  He was certain of it.  But without proof, he dared not raise the alarm or fuel his father’s cryptic hope.  Instantly, the boat felt both claustrophobic and cavernous, and Jacop pulled his red cap down so that it covered his blushing ears.  He wished that he could keep pulling it — over his loose black curls, his slim shoulders and narrow hips, and all the way to his feet, which his friend Lena always laughed at and said looked like something from the sea.  

​

Jacop swallowed back his fear.  He took in a deep breath of salty air before answering with as much confidence as he could muster, “No, sir.  Just a stray mooring line.”  He pulled the loose rope out of the sea and coiled it on the deck.  With his father’s eyes boring into his back, he concentrated on keeping the net lines straight and balanced while he studied the water for any snaking ripples.

​

Eventually, he dared another glance at Tomas.  

​

With one hand, his father gripped the tiller, and with the other, he massaged his tense jaw.  Tomas stared beyond the point where ocean became sky, his face filled with emotion.  

​

It was a look filled with unnamed hopes and doubts and fears.

​

And, it was a look that Jacop knew well.