by Tara Brown
She climbed downward, cutting her hands and knees as she fell and slipped and pushed herself to the brink of exhaustion but didn’t give in.
As the air cleared and the noise of the waves below became audible, she found a last bit of effort and pushed on more, digging deeper into herself for the strength to move faster.
She reached the edge of the hillside, the top of the lower part of the cliffs. Had she turned to the right, she might have seen the ancient statues in amongst the rocks. The old horse lords who once ruled the land had built them to watch over their people. The statues were the guardians who protected all they could see. Facing the ocean and the land, they stood back to back, donning robes and slippers of the time, well over a thousand years before Lenny’s family moved to Blockley. Now their clothes were decorated with vines and cracks and parts of them had been destroyed, crumbling in storms and rain and wind.
But she didn’t look in that direction. Her eyes steeled as she scanned the coastline left and right, the hot summer breeze billowing against her. Scar leaned on her as Ollie sniffed.
“Do you see him?” she asked, knowing their eyes were much better than hers. “Do you see Wilf?”
But there was nothing.
A calm sea, a blue sky, and an abundance of driftwood cracked along the rocky shores below.
Her racing heart and dry mouth began to catch up with her. She coughed and realized she was bleeding from her hands and knees where she’d been cut on the rocks. She heaved for air and breath and coughed some more, collapsing on the rocky hillside. She sat and stared at the sea, certain of what she would’ve found there. The dogs sat with her, both curling into her.
She contemplated closing her eyes again but feared the vision. She couldn’t bear to see that again.
Once she was calm and recovered, as much as she could be, she stood on shaky legs and took one last look.
Scar whined, her face pointing to the sea.
That was when she saw it.
She blinked, pressing her eyes shut, holding them there in hopes they might see something else. But when she opened them, it was there.
A sail on the rocks below. It was dragged with a wave and as it came in, it delivered the sail.
She collapsed to her knees again, forcing herself to see it, to process it. Surely, she was wrong.
Scar barked at it.
Ollie whined and jumped like he might take off after it.
She blinked and realized she was crying.
She couldn’t help but stare.
It was his.
It belonged to the Vagabond.
Her fingers shook as she dug them into the ground and squeezed, even with the burnt part. She clung to the earth, wanting to scream. But she couldn’t. She couldn’t make a sound, terrified that if she did—if she broke the spell of this moment—it would be real.
And he would be gone.
Her throat ached with the need to wail, but she sobbed in silence, parting her lips as though letting out a great scream.
But she did not.
She refused to draw his spirit to this place.
She would not call him here to haunt the cliffs so far from home.
Forcing herself up, she hurried back, slipping and tumbling until she reached the horse, slapping him on the backside and sending him home. She and the hounds took the path to the right, to the bottom of the cliffs.
She fell a dozen times, if not more, but felt nothing.
When she was at the shores, she wiped her tears and blood, desperate not to let them fall into the water to mix with the sea and beckon him there. She splashed in the tidal pools of the low tide, scaring the trapped fish and creatures but paying them no heed.
The massive sail drifted in and out, coming further and further in as the waves moved, bringing the sea back to the cliffs. In half an hour the ocean would be crashing on these rocks again.
A small sound slipped from her lips, but she pressed them shut to silence it as she made it to the sail. She wound the heavy cloth, dragging it in. It overwhelmed her but fortunately, it was not the whole thing. She pulled it into the smallest bundle it would go and dragged it, using the waves and water to help her. She just needed to clear the cliffs and reach the sandy shores leading into Blockley and she would be safe.
The sail was like a siren, trying to pull her back out with it as it caught waves and dragged her, but she fought. Her fingers gripped so tightly they went numb.
As she climbed off the last rocky part of the shore, she sighed, relieved but aware she had a long ways to go. She dragged the sail as hard as she could to the waves and walked knee-deep in the water, letting the bright-red sail float behind her like a blood trail.
The dogs happily ran on the beach, unaware of the loss they’d suffered.
She was silent and numb and terrified as she made her way past the path to her farm, Uncle Cyril’s, and finally the smithy.
She pulled it up the shore, past new driftwood and debris from the storm, collapsing with it in front of Quays.
It was there she shed her first tear, allowing it to fall onto the sand and be washed to sea with the waves. She would bring him home this way. A wail slipped from her lips, becoming a howl of a cry as she faced the sky, gripping the red sail.
Wilfred would feel the pull as all who drowned did and find his way here, haunting the shoreline of the town. He would find his way home. He wouldn’t be lost at sea. She would call him with her bleeding heart. And he would haunt her. She knew it.
She wrapped herself in the sail, smelling the sea and salt on it as it mixed with her devastation.
“I don’t love you!” she shouted to the ocean, taunting him though there was no smile this time. She heaved her words, bleeding and crying, “I won’t miss you!” She gave him back the words he had last said to her, though they traded them often. “I will never think of you—!”
“Lenny?” Uncle Alek called to her from the boardwalk where the door to the shop was. “Lenny!” His scream became urgent as he hobbled so fast it might as well have been a run. “Edwin!” he shrieked. His crunching feet on the sand matched her heartbeat. “No!” he screamed and grabbed the sail from her, spreading it so he might see it more clearly. “No!” Alek too dropped to his knees, tears falling from his cheeks.
“Lenny?” Her father’s voice was next. “What is it?” He hurried over, stopping partway. “No.” His words were soft, they hurt more than Alek’s. They were shock and agony and fear—soft and scared. “Not my boy.” He cracked, his voice, his heart, his spirit. He didn’t touch the sail or Lenny or his brother. He couldn’t bring himself to come any closer.
But the red sail with the giant white V was unique. Amaya had made it. Though now the V was cut off and only an I remained.
The sea had claimed him, the other half of the V, and his crew.
Gran’s words whispered in Lenny’s mind, There is a price to such a fine life; the water god needs to be satisfied every now and then. A soul has to be claimed.
Lenny wished with all her heart it had been her soul.
She might have done anything in that moment to see Wilfred one more time. To feel him nudge her or hear him mock her.
Anything.
Chapter 15
“The dead remember, Babbysha. Long after the living forget. They carry us with them, remembering forever the love and affection we once had.” Gran’s words floated over Lenny’s head, creating a constant low hum as she watched the waves, certain her eyes deceived her. But she had been seeing Wilfred on the shores all morning. He stared at her as though daring her to come and speak to him. “And we living must forget so we survive this terrible tragedy. You must forget your heartache and remember only your joy.”
“Yes, Gran,” Lenny said but it was only to placate her grandmother with what amounted to an answer, one she had relied on too heavily for five days since the storm.
“Don’t you, ‘yes, Gran’ me. Get your eyes off the water, Ilenia, before the merfolk come and drag you to the b
ottom too,” she scolded her youngest granddaughter.
“There was a ripple.” Lenny pointed. “A disturbance in the waves. Maybe other boats are coming back. Maybe they found the wreckage and Wilfred is on board.” She knew it was a lie; the face of her ghostly brother sitting across from her on the dock told her it was.
“It’s been five days since the storm, Babbysha. No boats have come back. No one has found survivors nor wreckage.” She slid an arm over Lenny’s shoulders in a fluid motion, almost slithering her into an embrace. “I think—no, fear—I fear we must face this painful truth.” Her voice cracked as if she refused to acknowledge what she was suggesting.
When Lenny had told her grandmother of Wilfred’s death, she witnessed something truly horrible. The old woman had collapsed onto the floor and wailed until she could make no sounds at all. She cursed the sea. She begged it to take her instead and to return him. Lenny had sobbed silently, allowing her grandmother to take all the space to suffer her grief.
“Anything?” Uncle Alek asked.
“No,” Gran answered. “And there won’t be. Those boys are gone. She has claimed her price.”
“The waves seem larger, like they’ve touched something and they’re coming back to tell us about it.” Lenny nodded at the sea. “Maybe there are ships about to come around the point.”
“If anyone can make it back, it’s your brother.” Alek’s words drew Lenny’s gaze, causing a tightness in her stomach when she saw the haunted stare in his eyes. They matched her father’s. “Anyway, we have barges in need of a patch.” Alek put a large callused hand on Lenny’s shoulder, eating it up. “Will you be all right to work tomorrow?”
“Of course,” she agreed, not taking her eyes off the sea, or Wilf. It was calm with a soft breeze lightly feathering the tops of the small waves. It was always like that after a storm.
The wind was cooler as well, fresher and sweeter than it had been before the storm. There’d been a heaviness to the air, too close to escape or breathe, that built up before the storm. It was gone now.
“Have you sent word to your mother?” Uncle Alek asked.
“I have not. Father didn’t want me to. He said it would ruin Hilde’s engagement and it would change nothing now.” Lenny hated the words he had spoken and repeating them didn’t make them better.
“He is a broken man. A daughter lost to marriage in the city and a son lost to the sea,” Gran offered quietly. “We must all give him space. There is no loss like losing a child. We are all born with the knowledge our parents and grandparents will die before us. It is the way. But the loss of a child is an unnatural order and there is no way to cope with unnatural pain. Our hearts are not made to suffer that loss.” She spoke as if that pain was an old companion of hers.
Lenny’s eyes watered again as they had for five days. She glanced at the dock where Wilf sat, staring at her. The wind even ruffled his hair a little. He lifted his hand and waved, making her recoil in horror.
Either she was losing her mind or he was genuinely haunting her since it had been her tears and blood that fell into the ocean, calling him back.
“How is Bethel?”
“Still with her parents. Refusing to eat or sleep or see anyone. I fear she will not recover, Gran,” Lenny’s voice cracked.
“But she will. She carries a piece of him inside her, and the moment that piece is out in the world, we will all have that to cherish. We are lucky she is with child. Not all families are this lucky.”
Rage flashed in Lenny as the words settled in her mind. Lucky? She wanted to scream at her gran but couldn’t. She was an old woman and she meant no harm. The damage was within Lenny, not the words or their intentions.
“Come, Babbysha,” Gran said softly, slipping an arm into her granddaughter’s. She had called Lenny Babbysha since the moment she was born. It meant “youngest” in the language her mother had spoken. “Let me fix you some tea.” She led Lenny away from the docks, forcing Scar and Ollie up from where they were resting in the sun.
“I’ll have Mildred bring dinner around again,” Uncle Alek called and waved, walking back into his shop.
Lenny glanced back at the docks, scowling at her brother as he stood and followed.
She wondered if he would haunt her the rest of her life, or if this was a Blockley haunting.
It was a short walk from the docks to Gran’s and when they reached the small house just across the road from Uncle Alek’s house, Lenny sat down at the table, trying not to stare when Wilfred sat down too. He was pale, almost see-through, and his movements were jerky.
She had gone from heartbroken, completely devastated, to horrified and was now sitting somewhere around concerned. And not because her brother was haunting her, but there was a chance he might not be haunting her at all. Which meant she was having a crisis she didn't know how to navigate.
“When I was a girl, I had a brother. His name was Marcus.”
“I didn't know that,” Lenny said softly, her eyes stuck on the glowing light coming from Wilfred’s.
“That’s because no one spoke of him, ever. It was so strange for me to have a brother one minute and then not have one. My father and mother wanted to forget. They wanted to bury their pain. So we burned him at sea on a calm day, and we never looked back.”
Gran stared at Lenny from the kitchen. “At least they never looked back. I, on the other hand, spent my whole life looking back at him.” Her tone changed, becoming softer. “The face you are making, I make that face too. Tells me you can see Wilfred as clear as day.”
Lenny gulped.
“It runs in the family, coming from my mother’s side. As you know, she was from Crail, up in the mountains. Her people could see the ghosts of loved ones. I never told anyone about Marcus, I didn't know how. And by the horrified look on your face, I’m going to assume you also don't know how to tell anyone or if he’s real or not.”
Lenny nodded, her gaze stuck on Wilfred again. “Is he real?” she asked. “Or have I gone mad with grief?”
“Both, darling.” Gran walked to her and placed a steaming cup of tea on the table in front of her. She sat, forcing Lenny’s stare to drift her way again. “You have to be mad with grief in order for this to occur. It’s how it works. The bond between you and your brother has always been strong.”
Her words brought new tears to Lenny’s eyes.
“There must be an incredible bond in order for this to happen.” She reached for Lenny’s fingers and covered them with her own wrinkled hand, squeezing tightly with a slight shake to her strength. “But you must promise me something.”
“Okay.” Lenny sniffled.
“You mustn’t tell anyone, not even your sisters. The people in Crail are accustomed to the sight, but the fishermen along the South Shore have been known to burn witches, seers.”
Lenny furrowed her brow. “But I’ve done nothing wrong.”
“No. You haven’t. But you can’t forget that different can be bad for no reason other than being unusual. Especially, to those who don’t understand that a gift like this is a blessing. It’s foreign and therefore it must be bad.” She squeezed harder on Lenny’s hand. “Promise me you will tell no one.”
“I promise,” she swore, but she wasn’t sure she would be able to keep it from her sisters. In fact, she was certain they’d be comforted to know she could see him, and she hated that she might rob them of that peace.
Though Lenny, herself, still struggled with being able to see Wilfred.
She wondered when it would be a comfort to her.
Chapter 16
On the tenth day, the people of Blockley and the surrounding farms gathered at the clock tower, as was customary. Two ships from Blockley hadn’t made it home and no word had come on the whereabouts of the crews. It was assumed all were lost, particularly Wilfred’s boat, the Vagabond, since the sail was found.
Lenny stood with her family. Though surrounded by loved ones, she had never felt so alone. Her father was hollow and silent, a m
an not coping with his grief. He had hardly eaten and wasn’t sleeping. He paced or worked, even in the dark, mumbling to himself angrily. Lenny was growing increasingly concerned, but she didn't know what to do.
She also worried about Bethel who stood across from her. Her eyes were sunken in with dark circles all the way around them. The ghost of Wilfred stood next to her, staring at her with a forlorn ghostly face. Lenny wasn't certain what broke her heart more, her brother being so close to his wife and her not knowing, or that he stood right across from their father who couldn't sense him either.
“We have gathered here today to honor our lost townsfolk.” Magistrate Tuille spoke in a manner that wasn’t offensive or snide at all. He sounded compassionate and kind, which Lenny assumed was an act.
He rattled off the list of names, sixteen men from Blockley, eight per ship.
When he said Wilfred’s name, Bethel, Lenny, and Edwin flinched almost exactly the same.
Gran slipped a weathered old hand into Edwin’s, but he didn’t move his fingers to grip hers back. He just stared, blank and hollow.
Lenny’s worry grew.
It joined the uneasiness taking hold inside her, making it nearly impossible for her to concentrate on the magistrate’s words.
Instead, she focused on the two things troubling her.
Firstly, her uncle Cyril had come to the funeral. He stood next to Uncle Alek in the great circle, but his gaze flickered frequently to Lenny. She hadn’t seen him in a month at least, avoiding any place he might be. He made her skin crawl on a good day, and this was not a good day. She would have to greet him and was already dreading that.
And secondly, she had retrieved the stone from the water pail and had it in her pocket. She believed it was cursed in some way. Her hand had burned for days after the incident, and she planned on throwing it back into the sea where it belonged. It was a reminder of her vision, something she wanted to forget, though she worried she might not.
