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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

The reverend jumped and spun around. When he saw her, he gasped, then his eyes narrowed. ‘I was right. You’re a black-souled witch, Sorcha McIntyre.’ He tried to run at her, his clawed hands ready to latch onto her neck. ‘The devil’s handmaiden sent to torment us. Well, not while I still have breath in my body and the Lord to give me strength.’

Sorcha swung the bar to protect herself. It missed his head and struck his arm, causing him to sway and trip, one foot landing neatly in the curl of rope on the deck, part of which was still looped around his waist. Refusing to be cowed, Sorcha lunged at him, determined this time to hit her mark. He backed away, hands raised. ‘You can’t hurt me, I am a man of God.’

‘You are a wicked man who uses God as a weapon,’ said Sorcha. ‘Now, feel mine.’ She brought the bar down.

The reverend twisted hard to one side, the bar narrowly missing him, but as he did, he overbalanced and fell back against the railing. There was a great crack. Wood splintered and broke, tumbling into the sea below. The reverend wheeled his arms in a desperate bid to regain his balance. For a second, he was splayed like a crucifixion against the space. Behind him was the town, below him the dark sea, above the weeping sky.

Then, with a great blood-curdling cry, he fell.

The rope slithered after him, a serpent trying to escape. If Sorcha hadn’t leapt out of its way, it would have wrapped its sinewy coils around her and taken her over the side too.

Bounding to the rail still in place, Sorcha looked down. There was the reverend, struggling and splashing in the heaving water.

‘Help!’ he cried. His head went under and bobbed back up again. He swallowed water, coughing, choking. ‘Help me, I can’t swim.’

For a fraction of a second Sorcha was tempted to turn away and never look back. Only, she could not. Had not her da taught her to help those in need? Especially when it came to the sea. Even a misguided reverend deserved a fishwife’s help. A fishwife’s, not a witch’s.

‘Use your arms,’ shouted Sorcha, demonstrating quickly what he should do, before searching for something to throw him. The man was beginning to panic. His arms were flailing, the waves were going over the top of his head. He was swallowing more seawater. ‘Head for the boat,’ she cried between cupped hands, pointing at the same boat she’d managed to climb onto. The reverend ignored her and went under again.