Turn of the Tide | ONC 2023

[12] Towards the Light

    "Foul night to sleep out, little lass."

    Water poured past Sally's ears, spray lashing under her shirt collar to strike the back of her neck. Raindrops split into hundreds of smaller droplets to prick her face, and her hand donned a frozen shawl as it lay limp in a puddle by her side. Yet besides the voice, no other sound broke through the leaden haze that swirled around her. Sally was not even sure if she was awake or still lost in the boundless fields beyond consciousness.

    "Come now. Here's no place for this." Something loomed over Sally's body, but too much mist rolled around her vision for her to make out more than a shifting silhouette. "Land's no place to lay a Porthdruro soul to rest."

    "To rest?" Sally was not dying. Her limbs sank in the rivers around her like they had an endless series of weights strapped around them, and her thoughts had to fight through tangled aches just to be heard, but that only highlighted how far from dying she was. As if to prove it, Sally blinked as much as she could, the sounds of the storm swelling as she beat back the blur masking her eyes.

    The shadow over her face stirred. "That's it. Easy now."

    "Who..." Though she knew what words to say, the returning chorus of storm cries stole Sally's voice. Shoring up her resolve, she gritted her teeth and pulled herself through the rain to a sitting position, and she hung her head low to fight off the pangs brought by the exertion. When the pain ebbed away, she looked back at the shape that spoke to her. "Mr Norton?"

    "That I am, lass." Wrapped in a heavy body-length raincoat, thick gloves, and a large woollen hat, Old Norton propped Sally up by her shoulder to stop her falling backwards. His movements passed through the air with relaxed ease, even though Sally struggled to keep her eyes open for more than a few seconds at a time. He sucked his teeth and stroked at his long, rugged beard. "Nasty cut you've picked up there, though. What are you playing at, freezing stone-cold out here on your own?"

    Sally touched the side of her head and winced at the sting of the rain against her skin, then again at the red stains that painted her fingertips when she pulled back. "I...I had to ask Martin Rowe to get boats out to Dad and Ronan..." she said, too busy worrying if the taste of blood on her tongue was real to worry about whether he heard her.

    Furrowing his brow as he listened, Old Norton withdrew a ragged handkerchief from a hidden pocket on his coat. "And that he has, don't you be worrying about that. I was talking to the lifeboats just a few minutes ago, before I came out checking on folk in the village." He dabbed at the wound on her head, acknowledging her hisses of discomfort with gentle nods. "That's when I came up on you, lass. No need to be sprawled out in a storm to call for boats, I told myself, so I thought I'd best stop and see if you were still with us."

    "I reckon I am," Sally groaned, bracing herself for another round of wiping. "I didn't run out again to get help, though. I was going to...oh, Flick!"

    Old Norton frowned, releasing a few muttered words under his breath. "I know it hurts, lass, but that's no way to talk to an old man, now."

    It took a second for his meaning to sink into Sally's mind, and when it landed she clasped her hands together. "Sorry, I didn't mean that," she said, the heat of embarrassment dulling the throbbing in her head. "I was going after my friend Flick, she ran off. But I lost sight of her, and now I've no clue where she's got to."

    As he slipped the bloodied handkerchief back into his pocket, Old Norton tugged at his beard. "Maybe I'm just a mad old fool who's been slumming around ships for too long, but I'm seeing a clue here, there, and everywhere." He raised his eyebrows at Sally's confusion and, with a small laugh, waved his arms around him. "There's a storm on, lass."