Silence Deep as the Snow » Sihtric || The Last Kingdom

Shipwreck

My mother always told me that she was born with a thorn in her heart. Her skin was pale as a blanket of first snow, even at the height of summer. Contrasting against her jet black hair, she was ghostly even when she lived. Giving birth to me nearly killed her, though it was an easy birth compared to others according to Glynnis. Her second labor, my little brother who died after three days on this earth, finally killed her.

I took after my father. My skin was more ruddy and I could run for miles if I was allowed. My mother always praised my strong heart. We were nothing alike, but she was thankful for our differences.

The morning after my escape into the night, I was thankful for my strong heart. I woke to it pounding, still gripped with horror after our sea voyage. Peeling myself off the cold sand as the tide drifted around my skirts, I blinked to clear my vision.

It was a grey dawn. Any remnants of the storm had vanished, except for the sheer layer of silver cloud overhead. The sky to the east, the forested horizon, was blood red. 

We wrecked against the rocks as we came around the gulf. I knew little of maps outside of Cymru, but the expression of the lone sailor in my boat never changed. Even as we were tossed like a toy among the waves, lightening tearing across the blackened heavens, his grim demeanor remained like stone. He gave me a single command at the end. 

"Jump."

Rocks took out the bottom of the boat and we leaped into the surf. I had already come so far. I was not about to let the sea take me. I beat against the waves, kicking off my boots, and swimming for what looked to be land. I clung with aching fingers to a rock face that was sheltered from the worst of the waves and then remembered no more.

My eyes cleared from the burn of the saltwater. Pieces of our broken boat were scattered around me. I wobbled onto my stocking feet. Instinctively, my hands went to the seam in my underskirt. The jewels and royal seal were still sewn into my garments. My cloak was gone. And my shoes. 

Shivering, I spied a pile of rubble floating in the surf. My breath caught in my throat when I realized it was a person. My sailor. Glynnis' kin who had risked his life to see me out of Cymru.

I flew to his side and turned him over. The man's eyes bulged from his head and his face was bloated, the skin tinged purple in death. I sat back hard in the sand and threw up the sea water in my belly.

So this was the cost of my freedom. An innocent man's life. 

Voices, male, drew me out of my terror and confusion. With a gasp, I reached for the man's cloak on impulse. I had no shoes, I couldn't go in only my skirts. As I clasped it around my neck, my eyes were drawn to the little pouch of gold that I had given him the night earlier. It was still hitched to his waist.

Scavengers would take it if I didn't. But it turned my stomach to think of stealing money from a dead man, even if it had only been in his possession for a few hours. The raucous shouts were getting closer, coming through the trees at the end of the short beach.

I snatched the gold and raced to the other end of the shore where the mammoth rocks along the stilted cliff-side would give me shelter. I told myself that I would make it up to the dead man's family when I returned to Cymru. If I ever returned to Cymru.

I made it to safety just as a company of burly men on horseback rumbled into view.