Beware When She Dreams of The Sea
written by: Elaine Dodge
The rigging sang as the north wind plucked it with laughing fingers. It was a song she’d once known well. But she’d stayed away from the sea for far too long. She’d forgotten the words. That was until the dreams started.
She would wake in the middle of the night to the smell of the salt. Wet footprints on the floor, drying as soon as she saw them. Despite the cold, she left the windows open and in the dark the curtains billowed, thumping like heavy sails against the mast.
As he slept, her husband’s breathing was the shushing the sea made as it parted before the bow, slipping in worship along the wooden sides of the ship.
One morning at her mirror, she saw the reflected image of her husband watching her as she brushed her hair, red as the seaweed swaying in the bay.
“What is it?” she asked, for on his face lay a strange look.
“You were humming.” He tossed back the bed clothes and came towards her. Taking her face in his hands, he looked into her eyes, searching for something. “Your eyes have gone green again, like the ocean.”
She laughed. “Again? My eyes are grey.”
“I know. But they’re green now. They were green once before, a long time ago, when you used to sing that song.” He kissed her deep, and slow, as if imprinting the feel of her lips on his soul. Then, pulling on his clothes, brushing and plaiting his ice-white hair, he strode from the room.
He was away from the village until dark. By the time he returned the wolves were singing.
His hands were nearly raw, and he stank of sweat and pines. Dark rings under his eyes spoke of exhaustion. She filled the large wooden tub, undressed him and helped him into the steaming water. Slipping off her robe she climbed in with him. Taking the soap, she bathed him as he leant his head back against the edge of the tub.
The next morning, he said, “Come with me.” Together they walked down through the village to the long, thatched sheds lining the bay. Sitting outside one were the men of the tribe. Every man had their own special skill; some were hunters, others were tanners, some made shields, swords, and knives, but every man helped build the boats. As she and her husband approached, they rose to their feet and nodded at them.
“The weather is growing colder,” said one of them.
“It is.”
The rituals men had! Women would get to the point directly, but men had to talk around it for hours. She didn’t have hours to listen to this. Why did he want her here?
The sea in the bay was calm today. The rocks, damp from the mist, gleamed. She could see a clear green just beyond where the water fell like thin clouds on the sand. Over their heads came a harsh cry. The men ignored the gull, but she watched as the bird bowed on the air current and hovered, its face turned towards her.
It hung there, staring down at her. Waiting for her. She walked towards it until her feet were in the cold water-clouds, the hem of her skirt wet and heavy. The gull wheeled and flew straight out to the horizon. Was it calling her to follow? Maybe. Maybe it was just a gull on a thermal over the far north sea. But she watched until she couldn’t see it anymore.
Her husband’s heavy hand fell on her shoulder. “Do whatever she asks,” he said.
She turned to him, eyes wide in surprise. But he’d been talking about her, not the gull. She gazed deeper into his face and saw that he was wearing the same look he had worn the day before. At the slight twitch of a smile at the edge of his lips, and the warmth in his eyes now tinged with a knowing sadness, a surge of love and pride rose within her. No other woman in the village had a husband like hers. Then she knew – he had been talking to both her and the men.
The men picked up their axes and disappeared into the forest. Whatever tasks they’d planned where put aside. He was their Chief, and anyone who disobeyed him found their short lives becoming, without warning, much shorter.
The boat had taken time to construct. From dragging the huge trees her husband had cut, turning them into the specially shaped planks, the carving of the dragon’s head for the front, to making new ropes and sails, and preparing the food supplies for the journey, it was a few months before the boat was ready to be launched. During that time, the dreams had been vivid, clear. In all of them the crying gull had flown in front of her.
Finally, the boat was ready.
“Why do you let her go?” asked one of the tribal elders that night. “It sets a bad example.”
Her husband’s lips twitched. “To whom? She has had dreams. The sea is calling—”
One of the villagers burst into the hall, squinting in the smoke from the fire in the middle of the room. “There is a boat in the bay. There’s a woman inside.” He turned to the Chief. “She wants your wife.”
Inside the boat that smelled of water-logged, rotten wood, was an old woman, pale and cold. Her huge eyes staring intently at each face. When she didn’t see the one she wanted, they closed in despair.
The Chief’s wife took the old woman’s face in her hands, “Sister Martha?”
The pale lavender eyelids lifted slowly. “Is it you? You must come. They are killing—” Coughs racked the old woman’s frail body.
“Bring blankets! We must get her warm. Hurry!”
Her husband gave orders for the boat to be dragged further up the beach. Wrapping the old woman gently in the thick woollen blankets, he picked her up and carried her inside his longhouse.
A few hours later, warm, bathed, fed on as much nourishing soup as she could take, the old woman lay on heavy sheepskins before the fire. Between drifting off with exhaustion, she spoke of violent men who had taken power in the village from which she had come. “The women are now breeding slaves. Female children are sold to other tribes. The old and the barren are being killed. You are The Woman, Keeper Of That Which Men Fear Most. You must come. The women need you now.”
As soon as her crew were ready and supplies were stowed away, the new longboat was pushed into the waves and the warrior women bent to the oars.
“You asked why I let her go,” said the Chief to the elder as they watched it disappear into the dark. “Do you think I could stop her? She is one of the gods. I feel very sorry for those men in that village,” he said with a rueful laugh a moment later. “They have no idea what’s coming.”
And he was right, for Hysteria now rode the waves, and she brought the storm in her wake.
- Beware When She Dreams of The Sea - February 7, 2025
