Finley Moran - Maelstrom Born - Work in Progress shared exclusively with Steemit

Finley Moran - Maelstrom Born

Chapter 1

At three minutes to midnight on the stormiest night in living memory in England, under the eye of a maelstrom, Finley Moran entered this world.

The storm surprised and confounded weather experts. The television weather forecasters, the public faces of the science, stood before the cameras perplexed and unable to explain where the phenomena came from and what caused it.

The weather front began developing around mid-morning. Storm clouds gathered over the Midlands and roiled outwards. Up to the Northern borders, down to the South and across to both coasts until the whole of England was covered by a mass of thick, black thunderclouds. By the lunchtime news and weather, every channel featured the devastation. The storm gained coverage across the country. By the evening, almost every channel across the globe mentioned it at least once. Experts could make their theories but most admitted they had as much idea about the cause as the weather reporters at lunchtime.

From above the cloud cover, it looked fearsome and terrifying. Planes were diverted to Scotland and France amid fears for safety as they passed through the cloud. If a massive cauldron, the size of the British Isles could be brought to the boil, it surely would be just as daunting to have to fly into. The pilots that were diverted breathed a sigh of relief as they changed course.

Beneath the cloud, an oppressive, humid day continued. Light quality deteriorated as the clouds filtered the sunlight. Streetlights, house and car lights came on and tempers frayed.

Something was coming.

‘Halla and Duncan Moran made an odd and yet striking couple, she was tall and willowy, he stood taller by a hair’s breadth but heavy-set. At that moment they had other things on their minds than the adverse weather conditions.

“Are you ok? Can I get you anything?” he asked – for the twelfth time. Before she had chance to answer, he continued.
“A drink? A nice cup of tea?” The thought never crossed his mind but if his associates could see him, nervous, attentive, worried, they wouldn’t have recognised him.

“I don’t drink tea. Never have, you know that,” she said. A smile was cut short, wiped from her lips, replaced by a contorted grimace. She clutched herself low on her stomach, her very pregnant, distended stomach.

“Are you ok?” he repeated. “Shall I call the ambulance?” His voice was a little higher than usual; on the verge of panic, he was starting to become irritable.

She frowned, straightened up and pushed the pain from her mind for the moment. It took a massive effort but she couldn’t have him in a panicked state, it wouldn’t help either of them. With one hand on her lower back, the other stroking her belly, she concentrated on giving him a dazzling smile to wipe the worry from his face. “I’m ok,” she said.
“Why don’t you make yourself a cup of tea? Give you something to do. Take your mind off things.” Her voice calm and soothing, sentences short, clipped and to the point. It was not the time to pander to his needs, but a balance had to be made if she wanted to achieve her goal.

He nodded and went off to the kitchen in a daze.

At the first clap of thunder, she called out as a different pain ripped through her body.

He came running, dread carved on every frown line.

She looked at his face and again tried to smile for him. “I’m ok. This is how it works. I’m not the first to give birth. I won’t be the last.”

“Let me call the ambulance,” he said.

“No! No ambulance. The midwife is coming. We talked about this.”

“I didn’t think you were serious! You can’t have the baby at home!”

“Well I’m not having him in a hospital, that’s for certain,” she snapped.

A knock on the door cut the discussion off. Duncan looked from his wife to the door and back, then went to answer it.

He opened the door and saw a short, rounded woman standing on the doorstep. He walked away, expecting her to follow him.

“Where is she?” ‘Halla asked when he returned alone.

He looked around, wondering what had happened. “Oh! Come in!” He shouted loud enough to be heard at the front of the house.

The front door slammed and the woman bustled in. She was older than she had appeared when he opened the door. It must be a trick of the storm-light; it cast odd-coloured shadows. He thought it looked as though they were all caught in a sepia photograph. The storm-light leeched colours and clarity from everything; black became dark brown, while white turned to a curdled, singed-cotton shade.

“It’s nice to be asked in, you know,” the midwife said in a stern tone. She glared at him for a moment, studying him. She shrugged her shoulders, shook her head, huffed once and started to unpack her bag.

Duncan thought she wouldn’t have been out of place as a matron in a Victorian hospital.

“Sorry,” he muttered. “Tea?”

She glared at him but went back to unpacking her large black bag.

“Can I do anything to help?” he said.

The midwife looked at him, then at ‘Halla. ‘Halla looked at her and they laughed.

“No Dunc, there’s nothing to do for the time being but wait. Oh!” Another agonizing contraction wracked her body, coinciding with another clap of thunder.

“No lightning yet, I see,” the midwife muttered under her breath.

‘Halla heard but couldn’t speak. She shook her head and gritted her teeth as the pain coursed through her.

“Open the windows, would you?” The midwife said to Duncan. “It lets the lightning out. Cover the mirrors too.”

He went to the window but looked back at her to see if she was joking with him. When he realised she wasn’t joking, he nodded and opened the window.

“All of them; upstairs too,” she said not bothering to look up to see if he was following her instructions.

Duncan set off on his task, at the least he’d be occupied for the time being.

At the first bolt of lightning, another knock came at the door.

Duncan rushed off to answer it.

“Lucy, I’m having problems,” ‘Halla said.

The midwife stopped unpacking her equipment and took hold of ‘Halla’s hand. “You’ll be fine, dear. You are safe here. Your trusted advisors, comrades and companions are all coming. Nothing can harm you now the maelstrom is approaching.”

“It’s not that. I’m losing him,” she said and nodded toward the door her husband had gone through. “I can’t keep up my concentration and he’s becoming annoyed. His mind is making sense of it all, rejecting the glamour. I can see it in his eyes.” ‘Halla gritted her teeth and yelled as another contraction took over, accompanied by a peal of thunder. She gripped the midwife’s hand and grunted through the pain. “I need help with the glamour or we are doing this for nothing.” ‘Halla gripped Lucy’s hand harder and looked deep into the midwife’s eyes pleading for her to listen and take heed.

Duncan opened the front door and stood looking at a woman taller than he was even though she was a step down. She was thin as a rail with sharp, high cheekbones, dark, almond-shaped eyes and white-blonde hair whirling in the storm winds. She said nothing. He said nothing. He turned his head as he heard ‘Halla yell again. Another contraction took her in its grip and thunder pealed around the house, rattling the windows in their frames. The tall woman tapped her foot impatiently and crossed her arms.

“Duncan! Ask her in, she’s the doctor, for goodness sake!” ‘Halla called from the living room.

When he heard her shout, Duncan shook his head as though trying to clear it. “Oh sorry, please come in,” he said to the visitor and stepped back. He looked up at her as she passed him, ‘She must be almost seven foot tall,’ he thought.

“There will be more arriving shortly,” the doctor said.

“Oh? And who will they be?” Duncan said in a petulant voice, trying to reassert his authority on who may or may not enter his home.

The visitor stopped and turned back to look him up and down. “Back-up,” she said.

“Back-up?” he asked. He took an involuntary step away from her as she scowled at the question. “Oh, ok, back-up.”

The afternoon dragged on into evening; another tall woman arrived. As she knocked on the door, the power went out. Duncan asked her in and then went through the house in search of candles. More women arrived. He performed his duty without question and invited them all in. Each visitor was taller than he was and he felt short for the first time in his adult life.

The visitors crowded the living room and seemed to be doing nothing to help with the birth. Duncan, frantic with worry, found little tasks to keep himself busy and his mind occupied. A fleeting and peculiar notion crashed into his mind at one point, and he stood and looked at the crowd of women gathered in his living room. Apart from the midwife, every one of the women had what could be described as family resemblance. They were all tall and slender, all had waist-length hair or longer but that could have been coincidence and fashion, he supposed. He leaned against the wall, three candles in his hand, one arm across his chest, supporting the other arm, three fingers rubbing his chin while he thought. Their eyes; it was something about the slight slant of their eyes that gave him the feeling they could be related to ‘Halla.

“Are you more than just friends to ‘Halla?” he asked one of the women as she approached him. She didn’t answer the question. She took the candles from him with one hand and took hold of his elbow with the other to guide him into the kitchen.

She turned him to face her and gave him a dazzling smile and he forgot all about the question he’d asked. “Tea?” he said.

Duncan wandered through the house, at a loss because he wasn’t allowed to help ‘Halla. He realised all the doors had been unlocked and was about to lock them again when one of the visitors placed her hand on his and stopped him. “Don’t, it helps with the birth,” she said.

He looked at her and she smiled. Hers was not a beaming and dazzling smile; it was more a grin that told of darkness and danger and mayhem. If he stayed there long enough, Duncan knew he could well be willing to go anywhere with her. The smile did nothing to make Duncan feel better, but he forgot about locking the doors.

‘Halla had enough on her plate to worry about. The midwife and the doctor were with her constantly, whispering encouragements and assurances.

Duncan caught one snatch of their reassurance and it worried him more than anything else.

“It has to be today, it cannot go beyond midnight,” the doctor said.

Duncan looked at the clock on the mantle; five minutes to go. He usually ignored superstition, but his blood ran cold and he didn’t know why he was more worried by that statement than by his wife’s waning strength.

“Come on ‘Halla, you can do it,” he whispered.

She couldn’t possibly have heard him from where she was but she looked over at him and grinned. It was the grim and steely grin of someone going forward into the unknown, possibly to her death; knowing whatever it was she had to do was essential, vital and far more important even than her own life.

She nodded, gritted her teeth, clasped the hands of the midwife and the doctor and gave a massive effort into pushing her baby into the world.

The baby boy was born to the cacophony of the storm’s peak. Lightning struck a tree in the lane just outside the house and thunder followed immediately. The swirling wind took the lightning and kindled it into a flame, pulling fire up and around in a column reaching to the clouds. The storm broke as the smoke reached the whirling clouds and pandemonium ensued. The fire was short-lived and put out immediately as the heavens opened and torrential rain doused the flames. Lightning flashed across the sky and thunder rumbled, echoing around the house, shaking it to its foundations.

Duncan remembered being told that the sooner the thunder came after the lightning, the closer the storm was. By that rule, the storm loomed directly overhead.

If he had gone to look up at the sky outside, he would have seen the great whirling maelstrom above the house. Never before had such a storm been recorded in England. The damage and destruction reported the next day was cataclysmic. The losses ran into millions of pounds’ worth but there were no fatalities reported.

“What is this boy-child’s name?” the doctor asked. She spoke up in order to be heard above the thunderclaps.

“Finley,” Duncan said from the back of the room, behind everyone. “Finley Moran. My son.”

Every eye in the room turned to glare at him. He didn’t notice. He grinned like a love-struck fool.

“Oh Duncan, what have you done?” ‘Halla whispered.

‘Halla looked over to the doctor and she shook her head. Whispers too low for Duncan to hear were passed from one to another. “That’s torn it, the boy is earth-bound now,” and “Why can’t humans keep their mouths shut?” “He claimed the boy, he has to have chance to care for him,” ‘Halla heard them all and a tear of regret slipped down her cheek.

The doctor scowled at Duncan then checked the baby over. “I accept the name but he shall take the name in our language too. Vanafindon Moran, Maelstrom-born, you have a lot to live up to,” she said and handed him to the midwife.

The midwife swathed the boy in an old shirt.

“What’s that? You can’t put my son in that tatty old thing,” he said.

She said nothing and continued in her task, muttering something he couldn’t hear as she wrapped him tightly in the shirt.

“Duncan, stop, please,” ‘Halla said. “This is my choice. I wanted a traditional home birth and there are certain superstitions surrounding the birth. I want them carried out. They must be carried out.”

“Traditional? I’ve never heard of these traditions,” he said, gesturing toward the baby as he was passed from visitor to visitor.

The baby looked up into the face of each woman as she took him. Duncan imagined the boy knew what was expected of him, but that couldn’t be, he was barely minutes old. The women smiled and nodded at the babe. After a few whispered words, she would wait for a reaction from the boy and once satisfied, passed him to the next.

Two of the visitors brought in food and drink and they raised a toast to the baby. Duncan accepted a drink and a piece of cake and took a reluctant mouthful of each, but he scrutinised the women with a deep suspicion.

Duncan’s spine stiffened as he recalled a fragmented memory of a fairy story his granny used to tell him. He loved story time with granny. She always read to him except when she told the story of Sleeping Beauty. That tale she recited as though she knew it by heart. There were no pictures because there was no book and he had to rely on his imagination to conjure images to go with the story.

The way the visitors held his son reminded him of his images of the guests from Sleeping Beauty. Six out of seven invited fairies bestowed their gifts upon the princess but an eighth guest, a fairy who believed she had been purposely overlooked and was therefore insulted, placed a curse on the new-born princess. The seventh invited fairy hid until after the curse was placed and though she couldn’t remove the curse, she could dilute it, transferring it from death to endless slumber.

The seven women passing his son to each other were beautiful and graceful and once he had the image of his barely-remembered childhood in his head, he experienced a mixture of emotions. Duncan didn’t want to believe the women he had invited into his home were magical beings yet he couldn’t help it. He swallowed hard as bile hit the back of his throat and he tried desperately to keep his calm.

He looked from the ‘doctor’ to his wife and though he saw them both watching the events with peaceful and happy expressions, he was as close to panic as he had been since ‘Halla had announced they were expecting a baby.

Duncan didn’t notice Lucy the midwife close in on him until she stood at his elbow. She touched his arm and he looked down into her face.

She smiled up at him and nodded as though confirming his unasked question.

“Yes, you’re quite right, Duncan Moran, your baby is being blessed and gifted by magical creatures,” she said. “Warrior Elves to be precise.”

Duncan looked to his son, then down at her as though her words had registered somewhere in his mind but his brain was taking its time catching up with their meaning.

She nodded again. “Your son is special, Duncan Moran. You cannot imagine how very special he is to Elven kind and perhaps you’ll never realise. This is an historical and momentous night for Elven kind but unfortunately, even though you are deeply honoured to be able to witness it first-hand, you cannot be permitted to remember it.” Lucy smiled as she spoke and Duncan felt increasingly at ease. She beckoned to him to bend down close to her and she grabbed the back of his head in a grip that shocked him at how strong it was and she kissed him on the mouth.

He forgot everything from the night’s events.

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