“Mornin’,” he said.
“Hello Jerry, my good man, you haven’t seen Flynn have you?” asked Mazu.
With bated breath, Cordelia waited for a response.
Jerry lowered his head, removed his cap and held it to his chest. “Ah, I’m sorry. I’ve been here since sunrise and there’s been no sign.”
Jerry had gotten to know Flynn well over the years through their business arrangement. Flynn would catch the fish and Jerry would sell it on the promenade. Expecting the worst and not knowing what else to say, Jerry was relieved when he was called away to help move some debris. Cordelia stood on the sand, her arms by her sides, her face filled with panic. Cordelia’s eyes burned as she tried to fight back the tears but it was no use, the tears flowed from her eyes like a waterfall and she fell to her knees. The pain in her chest was unbearable; like a giant hand was squeezing her so tightly she couldn’t breathe. As she gasped for air, Cordelia’s world felt empty. Mazu knelt on the sand and held Cordelia as she let out a single shriek. As her tears fell, they turned to aquamarine.
“What’s happening?” asked Cordelia.
“I’m not sure you’d believe me if I told you,” said Mazu, who had long thought about the moment when she would tell Cordelia what she was.
It was all too much for Cordelia to take in. She felt numb and before Mazu had a chance to explain, Cordelia passed out.
Six days passed and Cordelia had not spoken to anyone. There’d been no news about Flynn and she wondered how it was that people were carrying on with their lives when he was not there. Didn’t they know he was missing? Didn’t they know he was gone? Mazu left food and water by her door daily but Cordelia only managed the water. She couldn’t eat. She couldn’t carry on as normal. She felt guilty at the thought of living her life if Flynn was not living his. He was the only person she’d ever known. He was her world.
TWO
FLYNN
It was 1837, the year Queen Victoria began her reign over Great Britain and Ireland. During this time, Kilfearagh was home to a fisherman named Flynn. He was a solitary man whose heart was broken two years earlier when he lost his wife during childbirth. He sold their home and used the money to buy his own boat upon which he lived. Flynn was rugged and strong with brown, windswept hair and stubble upon his face. He wasn’t like the men in town; they grew hair all over their faces in one way or another; fancy side burns, beards and mustaches. It was said to be highly fashionable but Flynn wasn’t bothered by such trivialities. He loved the ocean and forever-changing seascape and above all, he enjoyed the peace and quiet, only mingling with the town folk when he delivered his latest catch to shore.
On a fine day in May, Flynn was fishing between two mysterious islands on the Loop Head Peninsula, known by locals as Bishop’s Island and Slate Island. Bishop’s Island rose majestically out of the ocean, its sheer sides frightfully steep. An ancient church sat silently on its flat, grassy top where ascetic monks once enjoyed the remoteness. This mighty sea stack was impossible for the town folk to reach since it had separated from the mainland a thousand years before; only sea birds could reach it safely now. Slate Island was similar but with a terrifyingly smooth slope to one side and nothing to grapple onto if you slipped. The islands were feared by many because of the vast numbers who had perished in the waters there. More than a year had passed since the Intrinsic, a ship from Liverpool bound for New Orleans was battered in a storm near Bishop’s Island and sank along with her crew, but still, the fishermen stayed away. The water had become too deep and dangerous for their little currachs. Some claimed they’d seen sea monsters there but Flynn refused to believe in such myths. He knew the sea could become treacherous around the islands without warning but being a skilled sailor, as his father before him and owning a sturdier boat, Flynn decided to take his chances for he knew this is where he’d find the best catch.
The water was reassuringly calm as Flynn cast his net into the sea. He lay on his back gazing at the cloudless sky, waiting for his net to fill. For a man who had once been so broken, it was now moments like this that he lived for; the warm sun upon his face, the gentle breeze in his hair and the peacefulness. He closed his eyes and reminisced of times gone by. As a boy he’d lived with his parents in one of the thatched cottages overlooking the bay. He used to swim in the ocean and play hide and seek in the sand dunes that separated the small, quiet town from the sea, but now things were different. The paddle steamer service was bringing much tourism from Limerick and the aristocrats fell in love with the place, which resulted in a building boom. This, partly, is what led Flynn to sell his home; a salt lodge by the sea
