Until The Sea Subsides (standard:fantasy, 2510 words)
Author: Brian Cross	Added: Feb 06 2009	Views/Reads: 3486/2307	Story vote: 0.00 (0 votes)
An author takes a break on the Suffolk coast with the intention of completing a novel, only to discover a past he never knew he had.

Click here to read the first 75 lines of the story

might deem refreshing but not me – not in my living room. I checked the 
window, the catch was fully secured, the rain still hammering 
relentlessly on the pane. So where had it derived? It could only come 
from the sea of course, the smell probably driven by the wind I 
reluctantly concluded, returning to my book. Except that the smell was 
stronger as I picked it up. I put my nose to the page I was reading, 
seaweed definitely, but that was impossible, surely, unless of course a 
previous reader had infected it with the stuff. So then, that had to be 
the reason, though what strange habits some people had. 

I continued with the story, Sam Tye was a young six footer himself and
in no mood to be lectured to by a woman, particularly an upper crust 
one, and woman needed to be taught lessons when they acted like that – 
put in their place, that was the way of things. 

Lashing out he'd used his tackle as a weapon, but she'd caught on to it,
snapped it in half and threw it back at him. He'd lunged at her but 
she'd forced his arms down to his sides and then watched as he became 
redder and redder – then she'd laughed and let go. 

You'll have to grow up young man if you want to fight me, build yourself
some muscles, you look a little fragile.' 

‘He'd frowned, furious and disbelieving, but she'd smiled in the face of
his anger. ‘Oh come on now, don't take it so badly, I was simply 
teaching you a lesson – you know you were so funny, I thought you were 
going to boil.' 

The rod had been Sam's stoutest, he picked it up and examined it, then
looked into her dark eyes. ‘God, you must be strong,' he grudgingly 
mumbled. 

She'd returned his gaze, still with a smile. He was young and handsome
with his unruly dark hair and broody eyes; he had a certain appeal. 
‘Quite strong, yes. Tell me, are there any more lessons I can teach 
you?' 

Sam nodded vigorously, ‘Aye,' he said, forcing his eyes off of her, you
can teach me to ride your horse – fast, like you do.' He'd never met 
anyone like her and in a short time he'd told her so. 

Antonia stayed longer than she'd intended, three years longer during
which time she'd taught Sam to ride, learned how to fish; she could 
still fight him to a standstill though he was learning to combat her 
power. And she'd grown to love him and he loved her. 

But then came the storm and I sensed what was going to happen – well,
the cover told its own story. 

Antonia had been riding when she heard the news – two miles from where
the sea had broken through the village's meagre defences. Many had been 
washed away, and Sam was missing. Antonia had ridden with fury, had 
dived into the waters herself and saved three drowning men, and was 
searching for her Sam... 

I'd been turning the pages so avidly I hadn't realised I was running out
of them. I hadn't noticed how damp my hands had become – not until I 
flipped the final leaf in the book and realised there was no ending 
that pages were missing. I felt cheated of an ending, had this 
beautiful strong woman saved him or not? and why were my hands damp. In 
fact the whole book was wet, but how had it happened? 

Puzzled, I put it down. Okay so I was a writer, my imagination had
spiralled out of control. I needed a walk to clear my head. 

It was still raining as I walked Cragg Path before joining Crabbe
Street. I bent into the wind, gazed over at an old pub I sometimes 
used. I decided to call in, needing a pint after what I'd just 
experienced, There was a brewery dray outside and I was surprised to 
find a woman unloading it. 

She probably hadn't seen me as I'd come from behind the truck, because
as she drew a barrel down she turned and collided with me. She was tall 
and well built, and the barrel she was holding caught me in the 
stomach, making me stumble. 

‘Oh I am sorry, how clumsy of me – new at this I'm afraid.' She raised
the barrel up so she could carry it over me. I was quite impressed by 
her strength but even so...' 

‘Oh, no problem – listen, can I help with that?' 

She smiled, ‘It's okay, she said, ‘I'm pretty strong.' 

‘Yes,' I said tongue in cheek, as she started down the steps, ‘I can see
that.' 

She turned, transferring the barrel to her shoulder, ‘Then why did you
ask?' 

‘Politeness,' I said, embarrassed. 

‘That's nice.' She must have seen my colour, ‘Look, come in won't you
and have a drink.' 

She came up from the cellar and served me herself, very tall like I say;
I'm a little over six foot and she could look me straight in the eye. 
She looked me up and down while she was pulling the pint, a little too 
closely I thought. ‘I'll be finished in a mo, I'll come over and join 
you if I may...' the pub was full of niches and she pointed into one. 
‘We can have a quiet chat there.' 

I felt like saying, What kind of chat, I don't even know you, but she
had a full, attractive face and long dark hair, and beneath the tight 
yellow tee shirt and blue jeans what had to be the figure of the 
century. I wasn't going to say no. Oddly I thought I'd seen that face 
somewhere before. 

‘Right you are...' 

‘It's okay, this one's on me.' She turned away and cashed some change. I
noticed how straight and broad her back was. I'd rarely seen such an 
example of how to be muscular yet retain a cracking figure. 

I took the table she'd indicated and it wasn't long before she came
across with a business-like swing of her arms. ‘Whew, glad the day's 
over with,' she said rifling her long hair. ‘I'm whacked.' 

I smiled, possibly to off-lay the fact that I found her hugely
impressive, and she didn't look a bit “whacked.” 

‘Must be lifting those barrels,' I said. 

There was a flash of white teeth as she laughed. ‘That was nothing, you
should see me when I really get going.' Then suddenly her dark eyes 
became intense, bore into me, ‘So – what are you doing here?' 

I couldn't believe how forward this woman was, she seemed to have no
inhibitions at all. I was reticent at first, novelists tend not to be 
the most eager of speakers but she seemed so interested I found myself 
confiding in her. ‘Problem is,' I said once I'd admitted my profession, 
‘the outline of the novel seemed so clear at first, there shouldn't 
have been a problem, but my mind's been unusually lively and I haven't 
been able to determine a central theme.' 

‘Oh dear,' she said, her gaze still intense, ‘what you needed was a
distraction.' 

‘Funny you should say that; how did you guess?' 

‘It wasn't a guess.' 

There was something in the way she'd said that which sent my nerve ends
twitching. I didn't know this woman and yet...' 

‘Yes, well I went to the bookshop and found this curious book. You might
think I'm nuts but the pages seemed alive – when I got it from the shop 
it was just a musty faded old book – and when I got home and started 
turning the pages they smelled of seaweed, and then they became wet of 
their own accord. And the worst thing of all was that the end pages 
were missing, I could have sworn the book was intact.' I raised my 
hands in the air, exasperated, but if she thought I was bonkers she 
didn't show it. 

‘Oh my  - what an experience – what was the book called? 

I shook my head, wishing I'd never said anything though I was surprised
how easily it had slipped out. ‘It doesn't matter; I'm not normally 
like this.' 

‘It does matter,' she said, her voice solemn now and laced with deep
authority. 

I sighed, ‘Until the sea subsides.' 

‘Oh yes,' she nodded. I got the impression it had been the answer she
had expected. 

‘I know that book so well.' 

I was amazed. ‘You do?' 

‘I wrote it.' 

I was gob –smacked, this was absurd. ‘You can't have. You seem in your
twenties, it must have been written before you were born.' 

‘In a manner of speaking.' She leaned forward, took my hands between
hers and pressed. I watched as the muscles in her arms stood out, she 
saw me look and smiled, ‘All those barrels, eh? Sometimes, Sam, things 
happen that are beyond our ability to comprehend...' 

I shook my head disbelieving this, and for an instant my mind had
flashed back to the woman on the cliff, the powerful aura about her I'd 
felt then, I was feeling again now. ‘Look I'm sorry, I don't know your 
name and I'm not Sam – 

She squeezed my hand, ‘Francesca Read might be the name on the book but
my real name is Antonia – Antonia Read and oh yes, you're Sam alright.' 
She looked wistfully through the window for a second where the rain 
seemed finally to have stopped. I should have been alarmed by what was 
happening but I felt strangely warm and excited. 

When she returned her gaze her eyes were moist. ‘Let's take a walk Sam,
let me help you remember. I know you call yourselg Guy, but why do you 
think you really came here? Why do you think your mind is too lively to 
finish your novel? It's because you've another ending to help me finish 
– and why do you think your books feature powerful women, take a look 
at me, Sam – what do you see?' 

The woman on the cliff, I thought. But no way, I must be losing my mind.


‘I'm sorry.' I sighed, but my heart was banging the big bass drum, ‘I
don't believe any of this.' 

‘Oh you will, Sam. You will.' 

Sometimes the strangest things happen. I took that walk along the shore
south of Aldeburgh, towards the point where the village of Slaughden 
not so long ago lay, but the coastline had changed. Unfamiliar and yet 
hauntingly familiar. A tall woman riding hard, almost into my path as I 
emerged from the rushes. I am angry, she dismounts, we fight, it is 
brief. She is strong, so strong, but she is beautiful. 

I look at her now, she is smiling as she smiled then; her hand is locked
in mine. I am aware of her height, her grace and power. Even if I could 
do so I have no desire to remove my hand from hers. Through some 
strange hole in the wall of time she has come back for me, found me – 
and I her. 

I look into her dark eyes, eyes that can smile as warmly as her mouth,
and that warmth floods through me – we've one more page to write.... 


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