An Irish Wind

Chapter Fifteen - Sudden Pleasantries

I was the woman on the rock. There was no other way to explain how I felt. I must be her. How could I be anything else when I was alone on the lonely rock with her feelings and emotions. She was no longer with me physically, and yet she was still a part of me. My thoughts were my own and hers. I could taste the salt more keenly this time even in the air, feel the water lapping against my ankles as my feet struggled to find a grip. If I slipped I'd be suspended in mid air, for my hands were bound above my head. Somehow that gave me the determination to anchor my feet against the cold stone.

The waters were angry it seemed. The waves crashed against the rock so violently that I could see very little beyond them. I did not care to though. There was anger in me also. I was sad, because I'd been placed on my lonely rock by those who professed to love me, and I was angry because it had been entirely their doing. If they had not been so boastful, throwing me under the nose of every man I met; then I would not have been doomed to such a fate. It was the price they had to pay for their own indulgences. They had been forced to sacrifice me to the sea. It was the sea that was to keep me safe now if it so wished.

I had the oddest belief that it would ensure my safety. Even as I considered how lonely I was and would continue to be, I was not as fearful as the situation warranted. No, I was more angry than anything else. The ire of the ocean raged on, with the waves dancing higher as the spray dashed my skin. It was cold and harsh but strangely invigorating. I knew instantly that the woman that was now me had wished so many times to break her bonds and float off into the sea, to end the torture of waiting for nothing and no one. Her life was over, for who would come to rescue her now? Her parents were shamed for their behaviour, and to redeem themselves they had no choice but to give up their most precious asset.

The sea was welcoming, but as I gazed out intently the colours before me began to change. The startling deep blue showed a mass just beneath the surface, rising as it approached. A grey mass crested the waves and I gasped involuntarily, overwhelmed by the sheer size of the creature. It was greater than any ship I'd ever seen and I knew what it was, even though I'd never seen the like of it before. The great sea monster Cetus had come for the woman as her mother and father had been told. The monster hastened it's approach as my breath grew ragged, the sea not so friendly in my eyes any more. The fins of it's back were sharp and pointed and covered in scales that were grey one moment, then green or purple the next as the light caught them.

As it reached the rock and began to slither towards me, it began to open it's mouth to show the tips of what I knew to be great sharp teeth. I watched in horror as the teeth grew in size as the opening widened until they resembled tusks. I knew in an instant that mouth could swallow a whole fleet of ships whole. Then the yellow eyes met mine. I'd like to say that my heart stopped beating for that's what it felt like, even if it's not really possible. Those eyes were devouring me in a way that meant I'd soon be pulled limb from limb. Oh how I wished in those moments as I was unable to look away from it's glowing eyes that the sea had taken me. I'd have been spared the torment and the pain of a terrible death. Perhaps the sea was not keeping me safe after all, but luring me into a false sense of security.

The rock made a noise. It was so distinctive that I was finally able to tear my gaze from the creature. Metal against rock; how was it possible? The chains above my head scraped and jingled against the rock behind me, but the new sound was a definitive clang. The clang of a sword. Then from nowhere a man was stood before me, facing the sea monster with a determination that rivalled the sea. The yell that tore from his lips left me in no doubt that he was strong, but the one thing I wanted was to see his face and I could not. He had his back to me, and his brown hair was flattened against his head by a crown of laurel. The clothes he wore were not clothes, but a pale piece of expensive cloth draped over one shoulder and pinned with a broach here and there and a belt about his hips. A burgundy cloak draped over one shoulder and sheltered him from the worst of the sea spray. His feet did not slip on the rock as mine did, and encased in leather sandals they stood strong and firm.  In both hands he clutched a golden sword, his knees bent and poised for the fight. He briefly stepped backwards, and my senses were assaulted with the scent of horse and some form of warm spice. There was something else there too though, something I'm sure my own mind wanted me to smell. There was the smell of soap, and of that white paste that men used to shave. I could smell starch, the kind that was used in the stiffening of shirt collars. There was wool there too, the clean and fresh scent of a new dyed woollen coat.