The Coming of the Whirlpool Read Free Page B

the green swells crashed across the deck.
    For an hour and more he watched, unmoving, as the sun rose and the ships fought their way out to sea, their sails turning brilliant white when the daylight caught them. Where were they going, these two vessels? Who were the men who sailed them? What waited beyond the misty horizon apart from ice and darkness and danger, and why would they venture there?
    Dow didn’t know. But he watched, the yearning acute in his chest, until the ships were no more than pale smudges. Finally, stiff and cold, he stretched and turned away – and was shocked to find his father standing there.
    â€˜Dad . . .’
    â€˜I thought we agreed that this was no place for you.’
    An apology trembled on Dow’s lips, but suddenly he knew that he could not apologise. This was not something he needed to apologise for. This was something in him too great and wonderful for shame.
    He summoned his will and stared his father direct in the eye. ‘That’s what I want to do,’ he said, pointing at the distant ships.
    â€˜The forest is your place. Not the sea.’
    â€˜I hate the forest.’
    â€˜It’s impossible. More than you know.’
    â€˜I don’t care. I’ll go anyway.’
    Their gazes remained locked for a long moment. Then, to Dow’s lasting astonishment, his father sighed and shook his head.
    â€˜Ah well,’ said Howard Amber, looking northward to the white blurs of the ships. ‘If that’s the way of it.’ He glanced ruefully at his son. ‘You know, your mother tried to warn me this might happen.’

T he snow fell hard and early that year, driving the timbermen out of the forest and off the plateau weeks sooner than usual. Dow was grateful for the reprieve, even if it meant that times would be lean in Yellow Bank come the summer. But he was doubtful too, and also a little afraid, for he had no idea what would happen next. He had declared his deepest desire and his father had accepted it, but how that desire might come to be achieved – well, the more he thought about it during the climb down into the valley, the more absurd it all sounded.
    Their homecoming was as warm as ever, with hot baths and clean clothes and a family feast in the evening, their little cottage brightly lit and filled with the excited chatter of Dow’s younger siblings. But afterwards, when the children had been sent to bed and it was just Dow and his parents by the fire, it was time to tell the news to his mother. Dow sat by with head hung low as his father recounted all that had transpired on the headland. He waited for his mother’s outburst of protest and dismay. It would be justified. To have an eldest son refuse his father’s trade – it was the gravest disgrace a family could suffer.
    And yet when his father was done the only sound in the room was the crackling of the embers. Dow looked up. His mother sat unmoving, staring at his father, an emotion welling in her eyes; not anger, but something worse – a sharp sorrow, already resigned to defeat. His father was merely nodding in return.
    Dow could not understand it. What did it mean, this forbearance that both his parents displayed, when they should have been openly furious?
    â€˜Perhaps,’ said Dow’s father at last, ‘we should tell him . . .’
    â€˜No,’ breathed his mother. ‘Not yet. I can’t bear it.’
    Dow’s father let his shoulders slump. ‘There’s nothing to be done until the Winter Council anyway. Maybe they’ll be merciful.’ He glanced at Dow. ‘But even at best, son, you mustn’t expect too much.’
    â€˜If they let me go to sea, it’ll be all I could ask.’
    His mother wiped away a single terrible tear, then grew stern. ‘I’m afraid you’ll learn that isn’t quite true. But promise me you’ll say no more about it until the council, not to anyone. It will