The
night air near the coast smells of steel and
sweat, and as I approach the seashore salt
and rotting kelp add their own inelegant
contribution. I am heading for the Pigeon
Cave. On a low tide like tonight it leads
down to a small, shingled beach and a narrow
ledge gives access to a further beach
invisible from above where a small rowboat is
wedged. Out in the sheltered cove there is a
black painted buoy tethered to a sea anchor.
And attached to that I expect to find a net
full of a few good casks of French brandy,
delivered earlier in the night.
A stone
clinks higher up on the track. I put a hand
to my old cutlass and glance behind. I am
committed now and go on, but I fear the
excise man is onto me. Damn Jeremy Mire, for
all his looks; he has been loitering in these
parts for weeks. Like any toff he has a hard
time pinning us smugglers down, but he is
smart and stays like a terrier. I have just
one last trick for him.
The
boat, you see, is but a ruse. I jog through
the cave, my feet landing by long practise on
the larger stones. I feel the curve of them
through the thin leather soles of my boots. I
stop and swing the pack from my back. Inside
an oilskin is wrapped loosely around a supple
hide.
There
is a shout, and the sound of many feet. A
musket fires, probably in error when a
militia-man stumbles in the dark. I rip open
the neck of my shirt as I wade into the
water. If they find me and the casks both,
that will be enough to see me hung or
deported - and exile from these coasts would
be much worse than death.
I press
the hide to my chest and it ripples over my
body. In a sinuous wave my proper form
emerges from this awkward human flesh. A
small black seal slides from the wallowing
embrace of cloth, a sword sinks to the
stones. I suck in a good gasp of air and swim
deep out to the buoy. I do not mean to be
robbed of my livelihood, even in extremis.
The tether rope proves an obstacle, but I
worry at it gently until the knots give way.
I must
swim deep and hard to keep the buoyant casks
just below the surface as I tow them out to
sea.
#
My old
cottage sits high on a wind-scoured cliff. I
return with the first flush of dawn having
secreted my new stock on the blind cave that
opens only to the sea.
I am
carrying nothing but my true hide rolled
under my arm as I scamper up the steep and
overgrown path. I am cold and it is raining
in a quietly persistent way. I pray that the
banked fire has kept on in my absence.
I
wrench open the old leather-hinged door and
find a room warmer than it should be. The
fire is burning openly with new wood upon it.
"Mr.
Mire," I say by way of greeting to the
man sitting on my one chair, with his booted
feet propped up upon the hearth.
"Sam,"
he replies. "You're a strange one."
Now
that's not something I can deny, and so I
don't. I wrench up the woollen blanket from
my bed and throw it about my shoulders,
dropping the sealskin on the pallet at the
same time. I notice a pile of sodden clothes
upon the hearth, but not the sword.
"Found
my clothes, did you? I lost 'em overboard
when I checked the lobster traps
before."
Jeremy
leans forward and beckons. "You're
shaking man, are you cold? Come nearer the
fire." He makes no comment on my naked
state, although his eyes linger where perhaps
they shouldn't as I clasp the inadequate
blanket about me.
The
cold is in me indeed, but not so much as the
fear that he is here to take me in. I edge in
and sit down upon the big old hearth slab. I
hug the rough blanket to me.
"What
brings you out this way?" I ask.
Jeremy
sighs and leans back. The firelight gilds his
face, with its broad jaw, strong nose and
hard, dark brows. His eyes stray around the
shabby room before returning to me.
"I'm
not looking forward to hanging you,
Sam," he says. "So why don't you
try staying in at night?"
He
leans forward again, suddenly, and catches my
chin with his right hand. He looks at me
searchingly, but can't see much, surely? Just
a slight man with the old blood in him, brown
eyes with a strange sparkle I can never hide
and hair that always sticks up at old angles.
Just a man who turns his hand to whatever
will earn a crust, confirmed as the solitary
sort as much as his limited years allow.
It
might have be his touch, or his gaze but I
feel a surge within me like only the sea
gives me, and only when I dive real deep. It
gives me pause, and I am frozen as Jeremy
leans in to me. I can smell wood-smoke on his
jacket and see the faint bristles on his
cheek. His face is scant inches from mine and
his lips parted slightly.
My
heart is pounding and my ears roaring like
with waves. Jeremy's chest rises and falls
emphatically and there is a predatory look in
his eyes.
"You
take care, lad," he says, quietly.
With
visible effort he wrenches himself to his
feet and strides to my door. With a swirl of
bitter wind and a resounding slam he is gone
out into the night.
#
Sometime
in the night the sealskin starts singing.
This is an old sign and one that every silkie
along the coast will be able to hear on the
wind. Sam the Smuggler has met his true love.
My gut twists as I pace the floor. There are
few silkie left in this world and we are set
in our ways. A bachelor is seen with
disfavour but this will be worse.
There
will be no evading them, and so I merely
await my fate. My brother Seth arrives first.
A broad grin is plastered over his freckled
face as he swings open the door. It falls
immediately as he sees my expression.
"Tell
me it's a girl...."
I've
broached my fears with him a number of times
but he has brushed them aside. 'The right
girl will come along,' he has assured me with
the smug mien of a happily married man. He
has never taken my 'fancies' seriously.
I do
not meet his eyes.
"Are
you sure, some girl you've seen recently
surely?"
"I've
not been down in the village. I've not seen
anyone but one... man."
The
others trickle in across the morning. We are
just seven now, all them but I are men with
wives and a few youngsters left at home. The
biggest of them is Bran the cobbler. By force
of will and weight of form he tends to come
to the fore when we gather.
"We'll
not have it," Bran says. "There's
too few of us already and you must to
wife."
"But
Bran, the hide."
"The
hide will choose another."
The
others nod and mutter, even Seth is uncertain
as his eyes flicker between me and Bran.
"You'd
be happiest with a girl, with bairns..."
he says to me.
"Once
the hide has chosen it'll not have another
while they live," I say.
Bran
crosses his arms. "The hide'll choose
another," says he.
I leap
to my feet. "You stay clear of
him." I feel a sudden deep alarm,
perhaps the first moment when I believe this
may be real - I may actually care for the
damned excise man.
Bran
turns to old Bevan. "Get the boy's
hide."
My eyes
widen. There is nothing more sacred to a
silkie than his hide. I leap forward but it
is my own brother that stops me. I try to
tear free but he throws me to the ground and
the others hold me.
Bevan
brings back the hide, easy to find while it
sings.
"We'll
do what we must," Bran says. "And
mind, you'll not stop us."
He
holds up my hide, defiled by his bare hands.
The hide becomes muted, and then silent at a
foreign touch.
"Cover
it over," Seth snaps.
Bran
takes my hide, stuffed in a rough satchel and
the others trail off behind him. I struggle
with all my might but Seth holds me. I almost
escape him until he cuffs me hard across the
face. After that I lie quiet as the minutes
tick by. It is close on mid-morning when he
lets me up. He looks down at me with an
expression mixing concern and contempt.
"It's
for the best," he said, before he turns
and walks away.
My mind
has been chewing over Bran's plans. He can
destroy the hide, kill me... or kill Jeremy.
#
Jeremy
Mire is not to be found at his lodgings, the
court or the barracks. He has been in the
pub, the barmaid leans her ample hips against
the bar as she slowly explains...
"He
was here looking for contraband. Then that
Bevan Fisk came in," she drawls.
"Seemed to have some urgent matter but
you know him all whistle and bustle about
every little matter."
"Where
did they go?"
She
shrugs. "Don't see you down here
much?"
I think
she finds my bloodied face and harried
expression amusing, and she wants to know
what I am about. I can think of no plausible
lie to tell her so I head out to look for
myself. I go the straightest way to the
coast, for if ever there is a silkie way of
killing a man, it's drowning. I've run miles
down the valley and my breath tears at my
throat as I reach the cliff edge.
Part of
me wonders that this is all about some man as
like to hang me as kiss me, but my actions
speak the real truth. I think the hide is
right, this is the one. Who is to say it must
be a girl? They say there were silkie women
once, there may have been many things before
the great forgetting when everyone was
scattered and in hiding. The hide says he is
the one, and my heart (to the extent this is
a different thing) concurs.
I crane
my neck. They will not do it with their own
hands, the silkie way is that it is the sea's
honour to take the life. The tide is rising
and I hear a faint cry. I throw myself down
the narrowest path, down to the narrow strip
of sand at the cliff's base. Off to the side
I see him.
They
have tied him hand and foot and tethered him
to a mooring bolt in the rock. The tide is
rising swift and he wriggles up against the
cliff-face struggling to keep head above
water. I see Bevan and Bran standing by to
watch. The others have gone, they partake
more of the silkie's usual peaceful nature.
They have condoned this but do not watch it
done.
"Samuel,"
Bran warns.
I run
at him with desperate energy. I wrestle with
him, screaming my rage. He pummels me with
his broad fists. Bevan hovers just beyond the
fray. A pure, cold rage wells up within me,
and with it a desperate strength. I feel
Bran's nose shatter under my fist, his neck
cracks as his head whips around. Bevan grabs
me to pull me back and I spin to him.
The
very sight of my eyes makes him take a step
back. I walk past him to Jeremy. I wade into
the water, chest deep, and grab Jeremy's
shirt to wrench him up. His fingers are
streaming with blood where he has clutched at
the rock, his hands too tightly bound to
shift the knots. I have a gutting knife in my
jacket pocket and make short work of the
ropes. Jeremy is spitting up seawater, his
eyes and nose streaming.
"Do
it and you're one of us no more," Bran
spits out in a pained mumble.
"Where's
the hide?"
He
spreads his hands, it obviously is not on
him. He backs away, wading towards dry land.
"Very
soon it will be no more," he threatens.
Bevan
hesitates, and does not follow. His murderous
eyes are still on Jeremy. Jeremy gasps,
clutching at my clothes to stay upright. I
dare not leave him to Bevan's untender care.
I can hear the hide sing, somewhere up in the
cliffs. But here is the man whose name it
sings. I have a stark choice, the hide or
this man.
Jeremy
crawls onto the shore, all but drowned. I can
pull him up the treacherous path.
"Hurry
man!"
I just
want to get him to some-one -- the pub, the
barracks, any passerby will do -- so I can be
after Bran. Just as we crest the top I feel
it.
#
I come
awake slowly upon my own lumpy bed. I stare
blankly at the ceiling.
It is
gone.
Jeremy
leans over me. The room is warm and he has
shed us both of our wet clothes which I can
see draped on the hearth.
"I
don't suppose I shall be hanging you after
all," he says.
He sits
on the side of my meagre bed and I can see
his torso banded with thick muscles, tapering
to narrow waist.
'For
this,' I think. And so I should at least have
it.
I reach
up and grasp the side of his head. He
startles but then leans in at my urging. Our
lips meet awkwardly with a clash of teeth. He
leans down over me as I fall back onto the
mattress. His hands run over my body and
scoop up under my shoulders as he crawls up
onto the bed. I curl up my right leg to pull
him in between my knees. The hard barrel of
his body is clasped between my thighs.
I hear
him moan, a sound of pent up desire finding
release. I can feel his hard cock pressed
against my stomach as his firm lips fumble
down my cheek. He presses down on me, sliding
against my skin.
I seek
sensation, distraction. Arching my back I
press up against him, my fingers curled
around his sides. I urge him on, seeking
something to drive out the emptiness inside
me.
He
leans back looking down at me, perhaps
something shows in my eyes.
"Are
you sure?" he says.
"Shut
up, Jeremy," is my only reply.
Like
any man, he is hardly likely to turn back
now. I raise my thighs and feel his cock
against my groin. It slides in the channel
between balls and backside. Jeremy spits on
his hand, accepting my invitation. He covers
the head of his broad cock and holds it in
his hand. I see him hold his breath as he
positions himself against me. I don't know
fully what to expect. As he pushes forward I
feel my sinews part grudgingly to his
encroachment -- two distinct circles
unclenching slowly. He hesitates but I urge
him on welcoming even pain as a distraction.
He
enters into me, pressing his body tight
against mine. I fell his teeth grip lightly
on my shoulder. My hands rest lightly over
his back and I can feel his muscles quivering
under my fingertips. He is holding himself
back, but I do not want that. I press hard
against him, sliding my hands down over his
buttocks. He draws back, and pressing forward
again the pain comes again, but weaker. After
five long, smooth strokes the pain is passing
and he rises onto his hands letting the cool
air between our sweat-slicked bodies. His
probing cock hits a sweet hard spot deep
inside me and I hear myself cry out in
surprise and pleasure. At that he starts to
move more quickly, hitting and nudging a
place inside me that sends warm waves of
sensation out through my body. I cling to him
like a drowning man to any purchase.
My own
cock is so stiff and hard that it aches. Our
bodies rub damply together and as he leans in
to me again I feel his eyes upon mine in the
dim cottage. I let my eyelids fall closed. I
lie back upon the mattress letting my arms
fall lax. Jeremy puts one hand down onto my
cock. Just at his touch I feel my climax well
up inside me. I jerk hard, clutching at the
bedcover. He drives into me roughly one,
twice more and then collapses forward.
His
body is a heavy weight upon me as I feel his
cock wilt inside me, the wetness of cum
running down as warm as blood.
#
I awake
in the deep of the night. At first I think I
can hear the hide singing, but it is just the
crashing of the waves down on the cliffs.
They were being driven by a high strong wind
I can hear whistling against the wooden
shutters and rattling the door. A great void
opens up inside me and the man lying by my
side seems little consolation. I slip from
his side, feeling a more physical ache in me
as I move.
The sea
is calling for me, and though I am not fit
to, I yearn to answer. The sea is calling me;
my true form or my last rest. I go as far as
the door and turn, praying for Jeremy to wake
and call me back....
© 2006
Emily Veinglory
