The Rise of the Sea Ghosts (from The Gelid Times Trilogy)

Chapter 2

THE RIVER TEME; To the West

This was no place for Forest to be so early on a bitter Lanuarii morning.

Mist rose from the white froth of the River Teme as it rushed under the footbridge. To the right of the bridge was the weir – large iron gates shoulder to shoulder as the river poured over. To the left of the footbridge, black angry whirlpools were whisked downstream by the current. The spray from the water crashed into the weir and landed on the wooden footbridge. It formed frozen droplets as soon as it kissed the wood creating an icy sheath along the handrails and planks.

The footbridge was long. One of the longest in the kingdom. Crossing the river, even over the footbridge at this time of year was perilous. One slip, one rotten piece of wood and between the freezing river and the current, it would take a miracle to survive.

Forest tied the black woollen scarf more tightly around her neck and cursed herself for rushing and leaving her hat and gloves behind when she grabbed the oversized duffle coat. Numbness crept around Forest's ears and she began to regret her half-hearted attempt at deception wishing she had not cropped her hair into such a short bob before setting out, but everyone knew around knew her long, curly black hair. It was wild and even under a hat the curls would force their way loose. She would be seen. But what's done is done and the curls lay tied in an amputated ponytail under the floorboard in my bedroom. Forest needed to cross the bridge before the sun rose. She rubbed my bare hands together and prepared to traverse the icy planks to the field on the other side of the river where he would be waiting.

'You have nine lives,' Forest said out loud. 'Remember Forest, you have nine lives.'

And as if walking a tightrope, Forest lifted her arms out from her sides and placed one foot on the first board, and the next and the next. Between the gaps in the planks, the river rushed dizzyingly underneath. The footbridge swayed with the white water to the right, the whirlpools to the left and the driving current below. She had lost her balance and wasn't even halfway across. The icy air constricted her lungs arresting her breathing and clouded her vision.

Forest reached out to use the handrail as a guide but flinched as the icy surface burned her palm; she retracted her hand and pushed it into the warmth of her pockets where she felt the leather pouch of money. It weighed heavily in her coat and Forest remembered her purpose on this early morning. Clutching the purse, she opened her eyes and stared into the distance, along the footbridge to the other side. Ignoring the weir, the whirlpools and the dizzying current beneath the footbridge, she stepped solidly from one frozen board to the next and as she did so, felt a small part of her soul slip away. Death so near. One life lost. There was no time to mourn, Forest pressed on and breathed in through her nose and out through my mouth. Slowly. Deliberately. Evenly.

When Forest was born, the midwife said that the whole of the kingdom could be seen could be seen in her eyes. But what she did not know was that as Forest grew, she could not only see the whole of the kingdom, all its corners, all its peoples, but all that was hiding below and above. Some secrets had to be kept.

Forest reached the bend in the footbridge and refocused her eyes towards the end – the lock. Hennery, the lock keeper, would not be up yet. He walked the streets of the town in the dead of night, ghostlike. Some say he was simply so old that he no longer slept. Others say he was cursed with an earthly purgatory of sleeplessness. Forest knew he that he seeks what he had lost and could only hope to find under the cover of darkness.

As Forest neared the lock, she dared to look to her right. She had passed the weir and the rapid white water had calmed becoming just a strong black current; she was now able to keep her balance while glancing to either side of the footbridge. It was still early enough that not a soul stirred, not even a mallard. Forest continued to tread lightly, her shoes barely touching the icy footbridge. The last section she ran across on tiptoes until she reached the frozen earth of the bank. As expected, Hennery was nowhere to be seen.

Forest blew into her hands and rubbed them together as she peered both ways along the footpath. The sun was high enough to form long golden beams through the mist as it rose from the river and the mist rolled over the bank and settled in frozen fractal patterns on the saltmarsh-grasses, reeds and bulrushes. Before long, people would be out for early morning chores and Hennery would be summoned by boats needing passage through the lock. Working the lock was not always easy; the river was on different levels and the boats needed to be lowered or raised depending on where you were on the river. Hennery took his job seriously and insisted that he lower the boats himself. However, in the winter he wasn't very busy; there were only a few trade boats that needed passage each week. Forest had time.

Moving off of the footpath into the cover of the horse-chestnut trees of the bankside, Forest removed the purse and weighed it in her right hand. She scanned the bank, the river and the footbridge behind. The scene was as empty as the soulless eyes of a dead man. The kingdom still slept. Forest laid the purse between two tree roots and stepped towards the footpath.

"How long to wait? How long to wait?" She whispered tapping her foot.

Shifting the weight from one foot to the other, the damp cold seeped through the weave of Forest's coat. Behind, the grasses rustled, and a frozen branch cracked. He was here. Aiding and abetting a known fugitive - that is the crime she could be convicted of – penalty of death. Her breathing became uneven again, the river scene swirled.

Forest dared to look over her shoulder. The pouch was gone, and a tall figure fled into the trees, his long dark hair loose and wild as he vanished through the wood. She had aided and abetted her father, a fugitive, for the last time. Forest remembered that when he laughed, everyone laughed, when he sang, everyone sang – he was a leader, a fighter but now, a fugitive. She wanted to talk to him. To run after him. To leave with him and not set out on this journey alone. But the less Forest knew the better; silence was safer. Or so he said.

Forest forced herself to run back across the footbridge. She ignored the ice, the weir and whirlpools. She ran along the empty Riverside Street. She ran up the hill dreading that she had to pass her house in order to leave on the only road out of the village. The temptation to slip into her bed as if nothing had happened was overwhelming. Forest stopped short of the path that led to the front door. The light was on in Mother's room. The house was waking up. She fought the urge to open the gate; it was time to leave. She untied the scarf and pulled it over her head, retied it under her chin then flicked her coat collar up to cover her neck.

Forest had lost one of her nine lives on the footbridge. She felt it drown in the river. But she would always land on her feet, Father had said, so she had to keep going. Forest turned away from the only home she had known and headed on the road out of town.