Hella's tragedy seemed almost complete, but there was one last trial to endure before
the end.
As she sat in her tower room, already darkening as the sun set, the full horror of the
week's events still refused conscious acceptance. She sat brushing her hair, as she had
since her lady's-maid had removed the untouched tray of food shortly after midday. Still
she could not find it in herself to cry. Whom should she cry for? For her husband,
strangled and drowned a week ago in the nets of his own fishing fleet? For her people,
whose bodies now lay on the beach beneath the tower window, the stink almost overpowering
if she had been aware of it. Or should she cry for herself, only months ago a new bride, a
bridge between her people and his, now a condemned traitor waiting to know how she would
die.
However, before death would come humiliation if she measured the situation aright. Randall
would come to her soon, jealous younger brother of her dead sweetheart. He was ready to
take her against her will, she knew. And so she prepared herself, not in despair as one
might suppose, but ready for escape when the chance came. She would remain strong for as
long as she must.
The repetitive action of brushing her long thick locks aided her in creating the deep
trance state she would need to achieve in order to survive the next twenty-four hours. It
also made her captors believe her to be in a shocked state, insensible, malleable. She
continued to brush. Her breathing became slower and shallower as the sun lowered towards
the sea. By the time Randall appeared there was just enough of her left behind to make him
believe in the struggle her body would put up against him.
The key turned in the lock and she stopped, her hand poised, her back towards the one who
entered.
~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~
Randall stopped in the doorway for a moment taking in the sight of the beautiful, graceful
woman seated there. The curve of her neck, the dainty shell-like ear with her thick auburn
hair hooked behind it, the statuesque stillness of her, all conspired to arouse and
infuriate. He ground his teeth and ran his hand through his hair as he stepped into the
room, closed the door and locked it. His hands shook so that he had to steady himself
before the key would slide into place. Randall cursed under his breath and turned back to
Hella to find her unmoved.
He went closer, his long strides taking him to her side in moments. He was confused by her
lack of response, but determined to continue. Standing behind her Randall took the brush
from Hella's hand and laid it on the dresser. Then he took her hand in one of his, while
his other hand went first to her head to stroke her new-brushed hair, then to her neck,
her shoulder. He felt he was the captive here, enchanted, out of his mind. All for love of
this Maid of the Sea or Morveren, as they had named her in the local tongue, since she was
unable to name herself. Such was the price of the limbs she needed to go to the prince of
her heart.
"Morveren," he whispered the name as he toyed with her hair. "I promise,
all will be forgiven. Even now I can stop this. Just - come to me now."
All forgiven? Horrified disbelief began to pull her out of the deepening trance and she
had to make a great effort to steady her breathing again. Her feelings must have shown in
her expression because when he spoke again his voice was laden with wonder. He believed
utterly in the role of innocent victim he had taken on.
"You've conspired to murder my brother, your people make war on us. They bewitch our
sailors, sink our ships. You bewitched my brother into marrying you and, even now, you
bewitch me."
She didn't hear anymore, anger clouded vision and hearing. For a moment, the trance was
far from her mind as she turned sharply on Randall. She felt his hand tighten on her wrist
and struggled.
She howled her incoherent denial, her face so close to his that he flinched. As he met her
rage-filled eyes he was, for once, relieved at her muteness - she could never put into
words the contempt burning in her soul. He lashed out, and as her body hit the wall and
her head cracked against stone, her spirit jarred free. She saw him drag her to the bed,
tear her clothing from her, hold her by the wrists with one hand, loosen his clothing with
the other.
And then she was on the window ledge, in the air.
~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~
Her spirit took the form of an albatross, the great sea bird which lives its whole life in
the air, even sleeping with the wind as its pillow. This powerful form would take her to
safety even as, with part of her mind, she could feel Randall's weight on her, his mouth,
tongue, teeth, hands, his penetration and desecration of her physical body. She closed her
mind to that room, and concentrated on the feel of the evening breeze coming off the sea.
It surrounded and lifted her body, ruffling feathers, caressing the skin beneath.
She soared upward, dived down at the ocean, brushed the surface of the water, enjoyed the
new sensations this body gave her. But she knew she was not safe so close to her own
physical body, so close to the other bodies, those on the beach. So she headed out to sea.
And so she set her great wings to glide the updrafts and thermals, letting them carry her
further and further away. She saw the fishing boats heading back to shore with their loads
- of fish? Or more corpses? She was too high up now to tell and was glad of it.
Hella soared effortlessly, further and further from the scene of her humiliation. As the
night wore on she left the familiar coast far behind her. The brittle light of the rising
moons danced on the tips of waves, showing two silver pathways on the endless expanse of
the ocean, mirroring the sparkling sky above. It is the brightness of that light bringing
tears to my eyes, she thought. But as her heart opened to the beauty laid out before her,
it opened also to the grief she had thus far blocked out. And her curse-muted throat
opened to voice an ancient mourning song, beautiful but uncanny as it carried on the lunar
winds.
She allowed herself these moments of grief knowing there would be no other opportunity for
some time to come. And with that thought the moment was snatched away. Suddenly and
painfully her spirit was confined once more by it's bruised flesh.
She groaned as bruised limbs and aching muscles protested against movement, and she rose
only partially and reluctantly from her trance-state. She stopped the rise to
consciousness when she had enough awareness to feel the extent of her injuries and to
realise, with no little relief, that she would recover. Hella struggled for the composure
she needed for her plan to succeed. She sank lower into trance, deep enough now to give
the appearance of death.
~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~
Maeve, her lady's-maid, found her in the morning. Her scream and the crash of the falling
tray convinced the guards well enough. Randall ordered her body dragged out on the beach
with the others. Let her rot and stink in the sun with the rest, why not? And there she
lay from sun up to sun down, no obviously fatal wounds and yet, to all appearances,
certainly dead.
When the last light left the sky, Maeve led her brother to the lady's body and together
they carried her to the small coracle beached nearby. The body was pushed and pulled
unceremoniously, until it was finally curled awkwardly into the small vessel. Then Bryn
pushed the coracle out until he was waist deep in the water, guiding the vessel towards
currents that would take it round the horn of cliff and further down the coast at least,
they hoped, if not out into the ocean itself. He knew not if she lived or died, but hoped
at least to honour her body by sending it back to its place of origin. The gods only knew
what would become of her then, but he had done his duty by her. And so he waded back to
the beach where he stood with his sister watching anxiously until the bobbing coracle
disappeared around the headland, then quickly took his sister home by hidden ways in case
they'd been seen.
~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~
Manannen looked kindly on his prodigal daughter, and the familiar rolling motion of the
ocean swells rocked Hella into the deepest natural sleep she had known for some time. At
dawn she was woken by dolphins frolicking merrily around the coracle. According with their
cheerful nature the creatures sought to dispel the sickness of mind which could otherwise
engulf a woman after such brutal treatment. They also guided the vessel, by pushing it out
into the deep seas, nearer to her peoples' abode.
Hella accepted both their guidance and their healing, lying in that small vessel on the
wide ocean, and was soon ready to face the final stage of her journey.
She shed the costume of land-bound society, the torn gown which confined her and stood
with the confidence born of a life at sea. Breathing deeply of the sharp salt air Hella
filled her lungs until her blood sang.
Suddenly, she dived.
As the water closed over and around her, her airways closed, her eye-lenses contorted so
that she saw clearly through the water. She kicked, going deeper. The dolphins followed,
overtook, and led her on.