Body of Water Read online

  Contents

  Copyright

  Acknowledgements

  Dedication

  CHAPTER ONE - Vore Tullye

  CHAPTER TWO - Beginnings

  CHAPTER THREE - Questions

  CHAPTER FOUR - Lessons

  CHAPTER FIVE - Protection

  CHAPTER SIX - Loss & Gain

  CHAPTER SEVEN - Endings

  CHAPTER EIGHT - Transition

  CHAPTER NINE - The Letter

  CHAPTER TEN - The Orcadian

  CHAPTER ELEVEN - Exploration

  CHAPTER TWELVE - Dismissal

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN - Healing

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN - Surprise

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN - The Impossible

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN - Confusion

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN - Cruelty

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN - Fragments

  CHAPTER NINETEEN - Tall Story

  CHAPTER TWENTY - Hideout

  CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE - Father & Son

  CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO - Evolution

  CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE - The Auld Hoose

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR - Release

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE - The Lighthouse

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX - Family

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN - Teran

  CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT - Summer

  CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE - Sacrifice

  CHAPTER THIRTY - Burial at Sea

  CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE - The Gift

  Preview: Memory of Water

  About The Author

  The Orcadian Novels

  Book One

  Body of Water

  Stuart Wakefield

  Copyright (c) 2011 by Stuart Wakefield

  All rights reserved by the Author

  Image Copyright (c) 2011 by CURAphotography

  Used under license from Shutterstock.com

  Kindle Edition (2nd)

  British English (BrE)

  All characters and events in this novel are fictitious and resemblance to real persons, living or dead, are purely coincidental. No part of this novel may be reproduced, stored or transmitted without the prior permission in writing from the author.

  stuartwakefield.com

  An ocean of thanks to:

  My wonderful family and friends, for all their love and support.

  Kate Tenbeth, Jane Lomas and Brigid Makau, my fellow bulbs who shone brighter when my own light flickered.

  My long-distance pal, Laura Lee Price, for spotting the typos I missed.

  Mara Ismine, for reading it of her own accord and giving me some great advice.

  My peers: the gang at Writebulb, Penelope Fletcher, Zahra Owens, Josephine Myles, Charlie Cochrane, Clare London, Kay Berrisford, Alex Beecroft, Erastes, Chris Smith, Sam Leonhard, and everyone in the Goodreads M/M Romance group.

  This book is dedicated to Terry,

  who knows why.

  CHAPTER ONE

  Vore Tullye

  She sat on the empty beach, burrowed her feet into the warm sand, and looked out across the sea. The setting sun seemed to bubble in the water, sending out ripples towards the shore.

  From the moment she had discovered her pregnancy, her attraction to the ocean had been so powerful that it overwhelmed her. A water birth was all she could think about apart from getting away from her husband, Mackay, the knight in shining armour who had proved to be a metal-plated misogynist.

  Mackay was aggressive and controlling, but she had been determined, as was the custom in Orkney, to conceal her birth from the evil spirits.

  If only she had succeeded; Mackay wasn’t the father.

  Reaching up to her chest, she held the star sapphire pendant in one hand. In the twilight, the way the stone reflected sunlight wasn’t visible but she didn’t care; holding the stone made her feel closer to the only person she had ever trusted in her mortal years, and she drew strength from it in her darkest days.

  She wondered what its original owner would have made of the leather thong threaded through the pendant instead of the beautiful metal chain it had once hung from. Shuddering, she recalled the moment when the chain broke. Mackay had discovered the pregnancy and, knowing he could never have been the father, grabbed her by the throat and punched her until she fell unconscious. The chain broke when she sank to the ground.

  Today had been unusually warm and her dress felt as heavy as her mood. Cool evening breeze dried the sweat on her brow but she still felt uncomfortable.

  Deciding that the beach would remain empty for the time being, she wriggled out of the garment. Free from its weight, she felt as light as the gentle wind that now lifted and curled her blonde hair around her neck and shoulders.

  Her tummy rumbled. She had forgotten to eat again. This had become a common occurrence in the past few days while she plotted her escape. A new life with her baby, far away from the island, seemed possible. The only thing that kept her here, pinned her down to this place, was the ocean’s pull. Its pull was strong.

  Very strong.

  That rumble again, slightly painful his time. She drew her knees up to her bosom to ease the discomfort and felt a sudden wetness between her thighs.

  Her anxious heart pumped hard and her breathing quickened. She reached out for her dress but another cramp doubled her in two. Incredible pain blurred her mind. What should she do? Call out for help? She doubted anyone on the cliff-top would spot her down on the beach, let alone hear her cries.

  She had a ready-made birthing pool right here but she hadn’t planned on being alone. Would He come for her if she entered the water? She needed a midwife. She needed protection.

  The next cramp unleashed her voice but the only response was her own cry reflected from the cliff behind. She would have to take care of this herself.

  Raising herself up onto her elbows, she shuffled her swollen body, feet first, towards the water. The exertion made her sweat anew but she only had a few yards to go before her domed stomach was partially submerged.

  At once, the water relaxed her, allowing her to turn her focus inwards. She concentrated on pushing, remembering what she had learnt from the one local woman who knew of her condition.

  Sensing that something had changed she opened her eyes again. It was dark, but so soon?

  The water was completely still. The ocean, once bursting with movement and sound, now stretched out before her like ink on a mirror, reflecting the newborn stars above. Even as she laboured in the water, the ripples only spread a couple of inches before dying out.

  She had seen this once before.

  He was coming.

  Two lights winked into existence just beneath the water’s surface, the same colour as her star sapphire in daylight.

  He was here, watching her. Waiting.

  Feeling sudden warmth on her chest, she looked down to see her pendant shine, illuminated from within. Its rays emanated gently from the stone’s core.

  She had been right about its power; the effect soothed her. Smiling, she laid back and let the warmth envelop her body. She imagined the midwife with her now, holding her hand, giving her gentle encouragement and calm instruction.

  The water came alive around her and quietly carried her body further out. Just a few feet from the sand she felt it working around her, applying mild pressure to her abdomen. A few feet more and her uterus opened. She closed her eyes again, feeling the new efficiency in her body. The living water did not scare her; the ancient magic was at work.

  Time passed and her miracle was complete. It had taken longer than she realised; a thin slice of sun peeked over the horizon, the first thing to bear witness to the birth of her baby boy.

  She floated on the surface and the boy lay across her chest. Warm water caressed them both, cleansing their skin, soothing their cries and separating them. The warmth
felt like love itself and it teased out the human emotion she had fought so hard to cultivate. She cried for her pain at the hands of a man who never loved her, for the inexplicable guilt at wanting to leave this world, and for what she knew was about to happen.

  He broke the surface of the water a hundred yards from where she floated. In one movement, she turned to her side, her legs sinking beneath so she was upright, and her child was cradled against her breast.

  She knew what He wanted.

  The boy arched in her arms, eager to be free. She hesitated for a moment, fearing not only for his safety, but also for her loss.

  She thought about the life the child would have with Mackay as a father and released the boy. He darted through the water towards Him, making an unfamiliar sound with what seemed like greater and greater excitement.

  Finally, the boy reached Him. Seeming satisfied that the boy was in a healthy condition, He swam towards her.

  As soon as He had appeared, she’d recognised Him as the man she had found unconscious on the beach. His skin had been as deathly pale as the sands on which His body rested. Shocked to see a stranger washed up on the shore, she had immediately wrapped Him in her coat before trying to revive Him. His hair, black as jet, clung to His neck and, having tucked it behind one ear, she had been stunned to find three small slits in His neck.

  Propping Him up against her, she spoke urgent words of encouragement into His ear. She breathed in His scent, pure as the ocean she loved.

  He had regained consciousness after some time, distressed to find Himself on land. He breathed instinctively through the slits in His neck but this made Him dizzy. She persuaded Him to breathe through His mouth to keep from passing out again. In broken English, He explained to her that He had been caught stealing and cast out of His underwater community.

  She had promised to return each day until He was strong enough to go back to the ocean.

  The day He left, she had swum out into water with Him. They made love then; a love that she had borne inside her since.

  He was close now, treading water before her. His eyes blazed blue even in the daylight, His sneer communicating His disgust even before He spoke. “You have spent so long living as one of them that you have forgotten who you are.”

  “You are mistaken. My mind is like water and, although my memories are diluted, they are never truly dissolved. I remember myself now, as I remember you. I shall return in time but for now you may take this child and care for him.”

  He changed then, shifting from His human form back to the creature that she had fought through the ages. “I will wreak havoc in your absence!” He cradled the child in one arm and struck the water with His free hand. Immediately the ocean began to churn around them. Clouds rolled in to fill the sky and lightning struck the shore.

  The deafening roar of thunder did nothing to alarm her and, even as the water rose up around them, creating a huge circular wave, she did not flinch. With a sweep of her hand the water calmed. “You always did, my love, and you always will.”

  Too angry to speak, He took the boy and left.

  Alone again, she began her swim back to the shore.

  The discovery of her clothes on the beach was enough for the authorities to conclude a verdict of accidental death.

  But one woman knew better.

  CHAPTER TWO

  Beginnings

  Every night I have the same dream.

  I am five years old and full of fear and anger. The sun burns down on me as I stand on the crispy grass in front of the children’s home. The man who lives across the street is running towards me, shouting. Spittle foams at the corners of his mouth, like an animal. This fascinates me. My mouth is dry. My lips feel tight and sore. I wish my mouth was wet like his.

  No, he is not running towards me. He is running towards the dog lying at my feet. His big, scary dog that always barks at me. It is not barking now. It is still. I know I stopped the dog and I smile at my triumph.

  “He’s dead!” The man begins to cry and struggles to lift the dog into his arms. I want to touch his face. He looks at me and gasps. The man looks scared and I enjoy his fear.

  The dog’s head slips from the man’s arms and water pours out of its mouth onto the yellow lawn.

  I hear someone come out of the house and soon their hands are on my shoulders, guiding me back inside.

  My real mother is the person who takes me back inside the house at the end of my recurring dream.

  I am as sure of that now, just as I was as a child, even though the staff at the children’s home couldn’t answer my questions. All they would say was that she gave me up for adoption and promptly disappeared.

  Ruth, the woman I would later call Mum, came into my life years later when she volunteered to foster me.

  Ruth was always different from our very first meeting. When she smiled, she did so naturally, whereas so many women before her had looked uncomfortable. They’d been warned in advance. Michael, as I was known then, was difficult and, no doubt, different.

  “I’m Ruth.” She sat down, not opposite me, but to the side. Her unusual accent caught my attention at once. It was a bit like mine.

  “Where are you from?”

  “Orkney.”

  I shrugged. I’d never heard of it. I noticed the man with her then, tall and thin, bursting with nervous energy. “And I’m Alex.” He thrust his hand towards me. I ignored it. He was a Southerner.

  “Do you already have children?” I said to her.

  “No.”

  “Are you sterile?”

  “No.” She looked so comfortable, so calm.

  “So it’s his equipment that’s on the blink?”

  Alex gagged.

  “I’m just too lazy to have a baby.” She widened her eyes in self-deprecation. “All that dreadful backache and eating coal.”

  “Have you fostered before?”

  “Yes, eleven times. Ten children and one dog.”

  “The dog doesn’t count.”

  “Well, another mother gave birth to her and then she was my baby.”

  “But you bought her.”

  “Actually, we rescued her.”

  “I don’t need rescuing.”

  She considered this for a long time and a silence fell upon the room. “Don’t you?”

  Oh, she was good. I’d have to find something else to put her off. “I’m not nice.”

  “Who wants nice? Nice is boring.”

  “And you can’t treat me like a fucking dog.” That had to do the trick. Who wanted a nine year old who swore like a sailor? Ruth appeared anything but flustered.

  Alex leaned over and whispered to me conspiratorially. “You might change your mind after you hear how she treated the fucking dog. Trust me; you’ll get more attention than I do.”

  I liked them. Her more than him but he was funny. I could see why they were together. They cracked jokes and didn’t take themselves too seriously. With her accent I would fit in if people didn’t know us. They still needed testing.

  Three months into my placement with them and they still hadn’t cracked. I knew I should ease up but my compulsion to misbehave, to find out how much they were prepared to live with, was too strong.

  I spat in my dinner if I didn’t like it, then I spat in theirs. I lashed out at them when they reprimanded me. Most nights I sneaked out of my room to hang with the rough kids on Primrose Hill.

  But Ruth seemed impervious to my wrongdoing. She regularly picked me up from the local police station, oozing charm and issuing apologies to all concerned. A quiet word with the sergeant and everyone would be smiling. We were usually on our way within a few minutes.

  “What do you say to them?” I said the last time, my feet up on the dashboard of the car.

  “I tell them what you’re really doing.”

  “What’s that?”

  “You know what; now put your feet down.”

  How could she know me so well? We drove in silence then but she caught me looking at he
r a few times. She smiled at me and patted me on the leg. We didn’t need to speak.

  When we arrived home, we were greeted by an agitated Alex. Ruth kissed him and told him everything was fine, that I was exhausted and I was going to bed straight away.

  Any potential unpleasantness between Alex and me waited until the morning but in the meantime Ruth smoothed things over.

  Finally convinced of their love for me, I settled. I became popular enough at school with both sexes and that granted me a relatively easy time there. I worked hard to make up for a disjointed education and Alex employed a personal tutor to help bridge the gap.

  The more praise Ruth gave me the harder I tried. Alex, although present and equally encouraging, seemed on the periphery of everything, spending much of his time at work.

  Ruth seemed happy enough with the situation but I could see that she was happiest when we were all together. She called us ‘my boys’ and I, by the time I started secondary school, became Leven, a nickname representing the eleventh child they’d fostered.

  Alex was hardly an absent father but he wasn’t as close to me as Ruth. During his rare days off we would do all the things he thought a father and son should do. He taught me some basic woodwork, how to hang wallpaper, and he talked about sport.

  Try as he might, by my late mid teens I still wasn’t into sport but I became mesmerised should I flick through the television channels and see the men’s diving. My heroes teetered on the edge of the board, their muscles flexed, launching into beautiful, impossible shapes before plunging into the water.

  At first I felt nothing but admiration for them but, the older I became, the more I felt something else too. My face would flush when certain divers took to the board and I’d feel the heat creep down my body.