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Back The Darkest Shore
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

Dear God, but she was cold. Her face was a mask of ice. Her hands, even in their thick mittens, refused to co-operate, they were so stiff and wet. Yet she felt somehow lighter, freer than she had in eons. Stopping where the pier began, a ruinous path into the Forth, she squinted. There was no sign of anyone. As she suspected, it had been a figment of her imagination.

Opening her mouth, her breath was snatched away. Her lungs burned. The roar of the ocean was an untamed beast, shouting in her ears, deafening. Even so, there was something mesmerising, liberating, about the swirling snow, the blasts of rain and desolate wind, the tossing seas and the great thunderous chorus they formed that held her there. So often when a storm broke they were too busy working to secure the boats, the creels and other equipment to appreciate its beauty, its raw song.

The sky continued to brighten, the air to grow colder. Squalls of rain came and went. The rolling grey-green of the sea was like a living field. If it hadn’t been for the explosion of white each time the water struck the walls, it would be easy to believe you could step onto its surface, ride it to another destination. She began to think of the sirens who lured sailors to their deaths, their beauty and that of their natural element an irresistible lure for those who felt bonded to the ocean.

Stepping closer to the edge of the damaged pier, aware of fishermen’s houses behind her, the small boats cracking and moaning as they were pummelled at their moorings along the harbourfront, she inhaled the tangy scent, the purity of brine and the sharp, acerbic scent of snow. The canting wreck of the Sophia, the site of Janet’s trials, listed beneath the mighty swells, grousing and whining as the hull rocked back and forth, its rotting timbers forming a chorus to the ocean’s choir; a dirge for her friend.

Instead of being afraid, Sorcha felt surprisingly calm. Bitterly cold, but assured in a way she hadn’t been for such a long time. She was on her own. The sea, the town, were hers briefly. Stepping carefully onto the pier, minding her footing so she favoured the mended parts, she began to make her way along its treacherous length, towards the raging might of the Forth.