Spirit of the Sea

Chapter 8: Cold Emerald

   Phil Grennur had died that morning.
   I had gone to take my drunken mother home from the bar, and the word was being tossed around like a rowboat in the stormy sea. They said he had gone early, right when the sun rose, and what a shame it would be that he wouldn't be able to compete in the Murchadh Races this coming summer. And even through all of my guilt, a new feeling of hope rose inside me.
The Murchadh Races.
What a wonderful idea.
So I race down to the beach to tell Farr'ka- don't tell me I'm crazy, I already know- and she's gone. Trails in the sand suggest she's gone with the ocean. I sprint down to the sea foam just in time to see the mare's mane flung back as her head submerges with a scream of pain. As I dive into the waves towards her, bitter confusion spreads through me. Why does this horse keep returning to the sea? The riptide carries me out, strong and ominous as I draw closer to Farr'ka.
The waves push against my back as I latch onto her neck, guiding her head above the water. She's barely conscious, her stunning amber eyes rolled back in her head. But she's awake enough to know that I can't carry a horse to shore and place me gently on her back. My added weight slows her down, and she unsteadily makes her way around the riptide. Sweat is streaming from her mane, showing her effort as I lean down to whisper to her. "I don't know what connection you share, but I know you have one. Please, will the sea to carry us to the shore. End this pain of yours."
   Her hooves scrape against sand.
    I leap off of her immediately and press against her swaying, quivering side. Unhealthy blood oozes from her wound, tainted with saltwater. I lead her carefully to the cliff face, terror jerking me forward as she collapses in the sand. I kneel down beside her, drawing the medical supplies closer as I untie my father's woolen jacket. The wound is deep and ugly, ripping across her smooth coat and almost revealing her beating heart. It pulses with infection, the saltwater becoming one with her blood. I treat it quickly, binding it tightly with cotton and medical tape. I can't tell if she's awake or not, but her horrible groans of agony make me work even faster to end her pain. "Stay alive... you can't go yet," I'm whispering to her before I know it. And this time, I'm not telling her what she needs to hear; I'm saying what I need her to know. "You're my only way out."
    I stay with her while she rests, listening anxiously for each shaky breath. They come in waves- a strong storm surge that gives me hope, then the silence of a dead ocean that draws me in the listen closer for what I fear I won't hear. But her heart carries on, dragging her breath along with it.
    The beach has become familiar now; my mother is asleep, and I have no reason to be home. So I stay by the mare, her head eventually moving to my lap and my hand finding its way to rest on her neck. Each warm gust of breath gets stronger against my pant leg, and soon it's even. I'm in awe at her recovery rate; only a moment ago she was at the brink of death, and now I can see her swimming to the surface of her painful dream. Her heartbeat starts to quicken as her senses move out to gather her surroundings and deliver it them back to her. Her ears rotate, her nose quivers, and she stiffens under my hand as she notices my touch on her neck. I blink and suddenly her eyes are open, red like the sea at dawn and dusk. A small eternity passes before Farr'ka lifts her head and climbs to her hooves.
    I stand and follow her to the edge of the water, watching the bubbling foam rush around her blood-stained legs. Her tail flicked, spraying me with salt. I come to her side, not showing my hesitance to place my hand on her flank. "You're strong," I tell her, keeping my gaze on the salt-misted horizon. She moves her head towards me a little, inviting me to speak further.
"You would win. The Murchadh Races, I mean."
  Farr'ka inclines her head to look at me, her chin down and emphasizing the unique amber glow of her eyes. The mare probes my expression, and I think maybe even my thoughts. Her gaze asks me one single question; "Are you sure you want this?"
   "I do."
   I think.
    Later, when the sun slid to the center of the sky at noon, I left Farr'ka at the beach and headed back up the hill to the small farmhouse. My mother will be awake, but I need to refuel; food, shower, change of clothes, etc. So I pull open the front door, carelessly letting it shut loudly behind me.
My mother raises her head to look at me.
    She's at the small kitchen table, and must've been staring at the endless pit of her now empty shot cup. Despite having two kids and wasting her appetite on alcohol, her figure is relatively well, as good as I can say it is for my mother. Her makeup is on thick, coal and blood against snow. Her green gaze is blank as she stares at me, as if she forgot she had a son. Perhaps she had. A chill passes through me, but I hold her gaze.
Cold against Cold.
Emerald against Emerald.
My mother breaks the eye contact first, placing her cup next to the sink and brushing past me to the door in a dress that doesn't look right to me on her. Considering she is, or was at least a mother. I stare straight ahead at nothing as I listen to her voice and another's greet each other and fade away. I wait three, maybe five seconds before heading back towards the grimy shower. This is routine; I walk her drunken and sobbing home from the bar, then she sleeps until noon, and she's back out again. I never allow myself to think of who she's with while she's out; whether it's one of her friends or another man other than my late father.
I take a quick shower, rinsing the salt from my skin and the sand from my hair, and return to my small and cluttered bedroom. I dress quickly, not bothering to grab a jacket, and hurry back out to the kitchen. I open the fridge, and a simple, flickering amber light stares back at me. I could almost imagine a few moths fluttering out of the empty icebox. The lack of food only makes my stomach rumble
more, and shut the door.
I grab the bloody woolen jacket, (the one my mother failed to notice was covered in blood) threw it on, and left the house once again.