FICTION
MARCO ETHERIDGE
FENELLA AND THE SEA
The waning moon gleams on a black sea. Water mirrors the night sky. A woman crouches above the wash, Fenella, arms around her knees. Beneath the silver moonlight, she watches the sea.
Beyond the gentle surf, a silvered wake cuts across the moon’s reflection, arrowing to the beach and Fenella. The wake disappears beneath the waves, then the figure of a woman rises from the spume.
For a heartbeat, the woman stands as a statue. Waves wash her ankles. A fur pelt hangs from her shoulders, concealing her nakedness. She appears older than Fenella, her dark braid shot with grey. Then, the stillness passes. The woman walks up the beach. Fenella rises to meet her.
“Hello, Mother.”
“Hello, Daughter.”
“You come to pass sentence.”
“No, Daughter, to bring you home. Your time here is done.”
“Midsummer Night is still a day hence.”
“Very well. One day, but no more. You must return before midnight on the morrow.”
Moon-silver tears trace Fenella’s cheeks, yet she meets her mother’s eye.
“I wish to remain here, with my husband and child. I am not like the others. No one captured me. I gave myself freely. You know this.”
“You were given a doom of seven years. Those years have passed. The law bends, but it cannot be broken.”
“But you head the clan. You can change the law.”
“No. As matriarch, the law holds double for me, and for my daughter.”
The elder woman raises her hand.
“We will speak no more. One last day. If you fail, a curse will find your humans as surely as waves find the shore. Farewell.”
Fenella remains silent.
Her mother strides down the shingle. At water’s edge, she leaps. The fur pelt envelopes her body in mid-air. She disappears beneath the surface leaving barely a ripple.
Left alone, Fenella climbs a narrow path that leads to a stone cottage. She slips inside the cottage, goes to her son’s bed.
In sleep, Bryce has the face of a six-year-old angel. Fenella smooths the boy’s hair and tucks his blanket close. Then, she walks to her marriage bed and leans over her husband. She blows a soft breath over Callam’s head, removing the spell of sleep cast before she left the cottage. Her husband stirs. Fenella drops her clothes to the stone floor, slides beneath the quilt, and wraps Callam in a tight embrace.
* * *
Dawn brings another day. Cottage and croft, there are chores to be done. Fenella rises, pulls the quilt over Callam’s shoulder. She walks to the kitchen, swears a silent oath. This day will see none of her tears. Every moment is precious.
Fenella stokes the stove and fills the kettle, committing each sensation to memory. The smell of ash on embers, the weight of water, dry oats rustling over copper. The bubble of porridge thickening. Callam and Bryce, awake and thumping about. Yawns and chairs scraping against stone. Tea-scented steam, and through the window the salt tang of the sea.
Remember this. All of this.
Bryce and Callam bent over their breakfast, two perfect humans. Joy and sorrow bound and braided tight. Fenella’s heart lurches.
No. Do not miss a single moment. To forget is to never return.
Fenella smiles and joins them at the table.
Beyond the edge of the croft, the sun rises out of the sea. In the barn, Callam forks hay while Fenella and Bryce milk the cows. Then Callam is gone to tend the sheep. Bryce beside her, rushing the milking, wanting to join his father. Fenella holds him close. She buries her nose in his hair, but he wiggles away. She nods him free and Bryce races out of the barn.
Alone in the cottage, Fenella bends over the table, pen in hand. The nib scratches parchment and scores her heart.
Love you always—Wait for me—I will find a way…
The day passes as all days do. Fenella tucks Bryce into bed, spins a story until the boy’s eyes close. Then she takes Callam by the hand, leads him to their marriage bed.
Do not waste a single heartbeat.
Callam’s voice, deep and sad.
“This is our last night, then?”
“You knew?”
“Yes, Fenella, I did.”
“I’ll find a way back, Callam, I swear.”
“I love you more than the sea.”
“Show me.”
* * *
Awake in the night, Fenella feels the pull of the sea, the gravity of the land, and herself in the middle. She rolls onto her elbow and blows a soft breath over Callam’s brow. He must not wake until morning.
Silent as a cat, Fenella rises. She does not bother to cover herself. A wooden chest stands at the foot of the bed. She kneels before it, raises the lid. Inside is her trousseau, a bride’s finery wrapped in tissue and love.
Beneath the linens and silks, she uncovers her bridal dress. Under the wedding gown lies one last bundle bound in rough cloth. Setting this aside, she repacks the chest and rises to her feet.
Fenella pauses over Callam’s sleeping form. She pulls the note from beneath her pillow. Dawn will break the spell. Her words must be the first thing he sees.
Take care of our boy—Do not forget me—I will fight them if I must…
Naked to the wind and night, Fenella descends the narrow path. She holds the rough bundle to her breast. Her bare feet find the rocky shingle. Waves crash onto the beach. Beyond the break, a Harp seal raises its head above the water. It barks over the crash of waves and wind.
Fenella rips the bundle open. The wind snatches the binding cloth. It soars away like a shroud. Head high, tears streaking her cheeks, Fenella lifts her fur pelt and fits it to her shoulders.
Screaming in pain and defiance, Fenella lunges down the strand and flings herself above the surf. In mid-air, her body transforms from human to seal. With a splash, she disappears beneath the black sea.
Marco Etheridge is a writer of prose, an occasional playwright, and a part-time poet. He lives and writes in Vienna, Austria. His work has been featured in over one hundred reviews and journals across Canada, Australia, the UK, and the USA. His story “Power Tools” has been nominated for Best of the Web for 2023. “Power Tools” is Marco’s latest collection of short fiction. When he isn’t crafting stories, Marco is a contributing editor for a new ‘Zine called Hotch Potch. In his other life, Marco travels the world with his lovely wife, Sabine.
Website: https://www.marcoetheridgefiction.com/
Website: https://www.marcoetheridgefiction.com/
