This is something new that I wanted to start doing. I thought it might be fun to occasionally share with you some moments from my novel that for one reason or another I have decided not to include in my current draft. Fair warning that they may be a little rough. I hope you enjoy these sneak peaks into my novel!
“Do you suppose he’s dead?”
“I don’t see what else he could be, lying there stiff as a board when the sun is out. But you have been wrong before.”
“So I have, so I have. I reckon we ought to check just to be sure. It wouldn’t do to be sending him off to God if’n he was only taking a nap.”
“No, that it wouldn’t. Though what kind of nap you’d be taking drenched as though you’d swam the entire ocean, I wouldn’t want to know.
“Nor me. But all the same, let’s be sure of it.”
Ian heard the voices as though they were coming from a long way off. Muted and at times unintelligible. It took a while for him to realize the voices were getting nearer and perhaps were talking about him. He tried to move, but only succeeding in causing his head to swim. Memories of what had brought him to this condition eluded him. His whole body ebbed and flowed with the tide leaving him uncertain if he was actually back on solid ground.
“Hello there.” One of the voices addressed him.
Ian groaned.
The other voice drew in a breath. “Wouldn’t you know he’s alive. You’re wrong again, Cian. I should’ve known it.”
“Oh, because you were so certain he was alive were you Fergus?” Cian said.
“As a matter of fact, I was.” Fergus replied.
“Sure, you were. If that’s true, then I’m a liar. Are you calling me a liar Fergus?” Cian’s voice rose, gathering for a storm.
“Never that, Cian. I know you too well to be calling you a liar. But you did think he was dead, and I never said it.”
“No, you never did.” Cian’s voice deflated.
Ian tried to follow the conversation, but quickly became lost in the back and forth between the two men. Instead, he focused on recovering himself. His whole body felt battered and beaten like he’d been tossed about as a child’s plaything. His stomach still swam the currents, heaving about as though he’d swallowed the entire ocean. The events of the night before felt like an impossible dream. Had it been only one night since his meeting with the strange woman? He really had no way of knowing. Everything that had transpired after he entered his uncle’s attic felt more like a hallucination than reality. How had he travelled to that miraculous plain with its otherworldly music and larger-than-life tree? Who had that incredible and fierce woman been? Was she even real, had it even happened? Ian groaned again and rolled onto his side. Coughing and heaving as the seven seas rolled from his mouth. Yup, it had definitely happened. After his abrupt dismissal, he’d spent most of the night struggling against the ocean. Pulled and pushed a multitude of directions by the waves. Every time he started to gain his bearings a wave would rise up and send him plummeting below the surface. Disoriented and running out of oxygen he’d struggle to the surface only having time to quickly gasp a in another breath before being thrust below again. The pattern repeated until finally he’d given up the fight, surrendering to the ocean and letting it take him wherever it would while he blissfully sank into oblivion. How long after that he’d remained in the ocean he didn’t know; he hadn’t expected to regain consciousness again. Apparently, someone had other plans for him and had brought him…wherever he was now.
Ian continued to cough up water until his lungs could finally taste air. Once he felt he could breathe normally he tried to sit up only to fall back once more. His head still swam, and his body was exhausted, lacking the strength required to do more than lay there.
“Easy does it lad.” The man called Cian said. Kneeling beside Ian and helping him to sit up again. “It’s not as bad as it looks. Mind you it’s no pleasure to look at, but you’ll be on your feet again soon and forgetting all about it.”
Cian was short and wore a faded brown jacket over a green sweater. His voice, when not riled, was soft and reassuring. He had rounded cheeks stained a mirthful cherry red though his mouth seemed rooted in grave disapproval. Fergus on the other hand was tall and willowy, wearing only a pale cream-colored sweater, and well-worn pants that strained to reach his ankles. He was quick to smile, but gentle mockery danced between his eyes and slid along his tongue.
“Ah, don’t be listening to Cian there lad. You look well enough as it is, just slightly drowned is all and a little bruised. Besides he’s not one to judge. Face like a sack of potatoes that one and always has been.” Fergus smiled and reached down to grab Ian’s other side.
Ian tried not to laugh knowing it would only worsen his aching head. But a few chuckles slipped through, and a smile cracked his lips.
“Look at that, he smiled.” Fergus said.
“So he did.” Cian replied ignoring the other man’s taunt. Then he grimaced. “Maybe don’t do that right now lad. Only it makes you look worse, I’m afraid.”
“So it does.” Fergus agreed. “What’s your name lad?”
Cian and Fergus gently pulled Ian to his feet.
“Ian.” Ian replied doing his best not to vomit as the sudden change in altitude sent his head spinning once again. Losing out in the end, he heaved over, only kept standing by the men at his side.
The two men graciously ignored his retching until he was done.
“Well, Ian, let’s get you into town where you can rest up and recover. Such things always go better with company and comfort rather than alone and laying on the ground.” Cian said.
“And he would know it too.” Fergus added sagely. Ignoring the dark glares coming from his friend.
Ian nodded. Then asked. “Where am I”
Fergus made as if to reply then stopped. He stood for a moment in silence until a slow smile spread across his lips at the dawning of a memory. “Ballyrón,” he whispered, then continued more assuredly. “You’re in Ballyrón, lad. Or thereabouts it anyway.”
Until next time,
Slan!
“I’m pretty sure Fergus is based on my uncle Galvin. I’d recognize his voice anywhere.”