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Back The Darkest Shore Save as PDF
Chapters (76)
  1. Cover
  2. About the Author
  3. Also by Karen Brooks
  4. Title Page
  5. Dedication
  6. EXPLANATORY NOTE
  7. PART ONE
  8. One
  9. Two
  10. Three
  11. Four
  12. Five
  13. Six
  14. Seven
  15. Eight
  16. Nine
  17. Ten
  18. Eleven
  19. Twelve
  20. Thirteen
  21. Fourteen
  22. Fifteen
  23. Sixteen
  24. Seventeen
  25. Eighteen
  26. Nineteen
  27. Twenty
  28. Twenty-One
  29. Twenty-Two
  30. Twenty-Three
  31. Twenty-Four
  32. Twenty-Five
  33. Twenty-Six
  34. Twenty-Seven
  35. Twenty-Eight
  36. PART TWO
  37. Twenty-Nine
  38. Thirty
  39. Thirty-One
  40. Thirty-Two
  41. Thirty-Three
  42. Thirty-Four
  43. Thirty-Five
  44. PART THREE
  45. Thirty-Six
  46. Thirty-Seven
  47. Thirty-Eight
  48. Thirty-Nine
  49. Forty
  50. Forty-One
  51. Forty-Two
  52. Forty-Three
  53. Forty-Four
  54. Forty-Five
  55. Forty-Six
  56. Forty-Seven
  57. Forty-Eight
  58. Forty-Nine
  59. Fifty
  60. Fifty-One
  61. Fifty-Two
  62. PART FOUR
  63. Fifty-Three
  64. Fifty-Four
  65. Fifty-Five
  66. Fifty-Six
  67. Fifty-Seven
  68. Fifty-Eight
  69. Fifty-Nine
  70. Sixty
  71. Sixty-One
  72. Epilogue: Autumn 1706
  73. AUTHOR’S NOTE
  74. GLOSSARY
  75. LIST OF CHARACTERS
  76. ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS

As she’d suspected, Nettie had jumped at the offer. But how would she feel now Sorcha was back and months earlier than she’d intended? Sorcha couldn’t very well ask her to remain, could she? God, but she could do with a friendly face to wake up to.

She paused outside her house and stood at the foot of the stairs that led to the loft where nets, creels and her da’s fishing equipment was kept, and stared at the harled walls and pitted front door. Apart from a stack of books in the window, nothing seemed to have changed. She shouldn’t be surprised after only six months, but she was. Especially when she felt so transformed.

As she hesitated, she allowed recollections to fill her head. She could hear the roar of the ocean, a chorus accompanying her memories. Or was it a dirge? When she was a child seated at her father’s feet in the loft, her brothers and sister arrayed around him while he carved a piece of wood or mended lines, her mother downstairs alone with her knitting, she’d thought the ocean sounded like the world breathing.

Her father would cup his hand around his ear to alert his listeners to the constant rumble, then launch into one of his stories about the sea and the seamen who rode its waves. They were as endless as the ocean. Holding a piece of rope, he’d demonstrate how certain knots could call or calm the wind, or a special whistle tame it; how words such as ‘rabbit’, ‘pig’ and even ‘salt’ were forbidden on a boat and that if they were uttered, cold iron must be touched immediately to counter the damage. If one saw a man of the cloth on the way to the harbour, he must not sail, and so on. The rites and superstitions of the fisherfolk were woven into many of his stories.

Sorcha wasn’t very old before she understood her father’s purpose with these tales filled equally with warnings and promise. He was preparing his children for a fisher’s life, one dependent on unpredictable weather, the mercurial ocean, fish, wood, iron, sails, nets, oars, lines, creels and each other. ‘Us fisherfolk stick together,’ was a phrase he’d repeat over and over until, like the prayers said in kirk, it stuck like pitch to the mind.