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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

Like all the fishwives, she respected the ocean’s raw power; that it gave as much as what it took away. And here it was, on display, just for her. Uncaring of the dousing she was getting, Sorcha stopped a few feet from the end of the pier and raised her arms, bracing herself against the howling wind and churning water, the creaking and swaying, the shifting timbers beneath her, and laughed with the glorious fury before her.

The sea serenaded her, a combination of deep notes and whistles, throaty grumbles and whispers. And so, she returned the favour — she began to sing to it. It was a song her mor had taught her, a traditional Norwegian song called ‘Eg rodde meg ut’. Rising from the depths of her soul, it poured out of her in her mother’s tongue.

I rowed out to my fishing place.

It was early in the morning.

Then came Olav from Karelunnen

And placed his boat beside me.

So I hit him with my fishing rod

So that he fell unconscious in the bottom of his boat.

I was so happy that I started singing.

I had the place all for myself

Sudell-dudeli-dudeli-dei-ho

Sud—

The blow fell hard. Sorcha staggered and would have toppled into the water, only she grabbed hold of an old, coiled anchor chain. Another blow struck her shoulder, narrowly missing her head. She fell across the rusty chains, slicing open her hands, the hot gush of blood a shock across her freezing palm. Before she could turn to see who was attacking her or raise her arms to save herself, another blow struck.

There was a bright flash of light before darkness descended and Sorcha knew no more.

Sixty

SIXTY

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I never said eechy or ochy.

(I refuse to take sides.)

There was a hoarse roaring in Sorcha’s ears, as relentless as it was loud. Silently, she pleaded for it to cease so she might return to her slumber. Only, her bed seemed to be most uncomfortable and there were no blankets. She couldn’t move her hands. Worse, she was saturated.

She tried to open her eyes and was met with stinging resistance. A combination of ocean spray and driving sleet slapped her cheeks and eyelids. She tried to twist away from it, but couldn’t.

‘It’s no use struggling,’ shouted a familiar voice. ‘You’ll not escape justice this time, no matter what you do.’

Wide awake now, she stared in astonishment. At her feet knelt Reverend Cowper. He must have come upon her on the pier and felled her. Why?

There he was, tying her ankles together. Beside him lay a length of rope. He was drookit. His robes were plastered to his body as he fiddled with knots. He wore no gloves and his red fingers weren’t cooperating. Seawater swirled about his knees, making him slide sideways before he propped his boots against a folded sail.