Brave Soft Hearts
by Riel Rosehill
(excerpt)
We had once shared a dream. A dream of returning home after the war had passed, a dream of a simple life, away from the city. The kind where we’d grow vegetables and farm sheep among rolling green hills, bathed in birdsong and sun. We’d make our home there in a small cottage, warm with the scent of freshly baked bread and love.
Where we wouldn’t have to meet in the dark to kiss.
Both Aland and I had been discharged from service before we’d lost the war over fertile lands, further nourished with blood. Leaving old and new parts of ourselves in the bloodied mud of the camp among fallen soldiers —my mind, his arm, our future— we’d gone separate ways. And whatever force had held my heart in one piece had been left behind too.
My knees buckled as the memory washed over me, hitting me with a tidal wave of nausea as the deck moved beneath my feet. Grabbing onto a sun-warm mast, I steadied myself. Over the railings, the tranquil ocean stretched sparkling aquamarine under the azure sky, bobbing the boat in the summer breeze. It was hard not to lose the ground, riding the sloping waves and the storm inside my head.
I’d been struggling to pay attention lately. To my —or others’— actions since my last days in camp. This wasn’t the first time I found myself somewhere, unable to recall how I’d gotten there and what reason for. Only this time, I found myself on a carrack, with no idea when I’d boarded it—nor where it headed.
Around me, jars, barrels and crates lay scattered on the ground, filled with light and gold and antiques and something resembling fairy dust labelled hope. A busy crew worked moving them below deck, whilst a short, round-faced woman with a headband checked the labels and made note of each item in the thick leather-bound book she carried.
Before I could gather the strength to let go of my support, she stepped in front of me.
‘Mind your step.’ She put her hand on my arm and pushed me away from the mast half a step. Broken glass crunched underneath my boots. A coltish teenage boy jumped next to us and swept around my feet. The woman pulled a piece of cloth from her satchel and patted my temple with it before putting it in my hand, blood-stained. ‘Name?’ she asked as she reached out towards me, lifting a small, shiny locket on a golden chain I wasn’t aware of wearing around my neck. It wasn’t mine—I’d never seen it before.
‘Cillian Hale,’ I gave my puzzled reply and wiped the blood trickling down my fingertips from another cut. The woman checked the inside of the locket and made a note in her book.
‘Aye, Cil-li-an.’ She scribbled my name on the page before meeting my eyes. ‘Sorry about the cuts. Welcome aboard The Golden Gull!’
She flashed me a confident grin and held out her hand, squeezing mine without mercy when I accepted it. ‘Jamie Black, quartermaster.’
I pressed the cloth over the newfound cut on the back of my left hand. ‘How did I get these?’
‘The jar for you was too small,’ she said, as if that was supposed to explain it.
Still disorientated, I reached for the curious locket resting on my chest and clicked it open, hoping what was inside would clear my confusion.
I didn’t expect its hidden words to tear right into my soul.
Happy ever after?
‘What’s this?’ My words bled, voice cut on the shards of my shattered dreams.
‘Just a way of keeping things organised.’ The quartermaster shrugged. ‘Make sure to keep it on as long as you sail with us.’
I shifted my weight from one leg to another.
‘About that,’ I said, turning the words with reluctance and hoping a memory would pop back into my mind to save me the embarrassment. But I had to admit, ‘I don’t know where I’m going.’
‘That’s to be expected,’ Jamie said, matter of fact. ‘You’re part of the cargo.’
Read the full story in The Golden Gull anthology!
