The Story of Taran Trevarrick - Part 1

¹ the sea   ² daffodils    ³ I’m sorry    4 Okay

Onan

Our story begins on the Isles of Scilly, -- a place where cold winds stirred the seas and sheets of rain shook the proud trees until they kneeled. The gentleness of summer breathes a lifetime ago during the cruel month of January. As such is the cruelness, that white beaches which previously lay untouched by the weather were now covered in debris and flotsam and blanketed in mounds of brown seaweed that caused the air to taste sickly.  There is plenty of beauty to be found during all the year but beauty is in the eyes of the beholder, and to most people, the finest time is when the sun is warmest and the mor¹ is most temperate.

Taran thought winter was the best season of the year despite its bitterness. The ferocious tides proved bountiful for an opportunist such as himself. You see, his family planted and grew afodyls² and used seaweed to nurture them when the sun did not shine. He would go to the beach with a wheelbarrow and not return home until it was thrice filled. It was backbreaking work but rewarding when their afodyls bloomed bright and healthy. Trevarrick House always did produce the best flowers, and this was why.  

In true January fashion, the windows were beginning to darken after only a few short hours of daylight. Taran checked the clock on the wall and read the time to be nearing four o’clock. Not one to sit around, he decided to use the remaining moments of dusk to collect more seaweed. This was how most of his evenings were spent. It was a good deal more important than leisure.

His mind drifted to the beauty of the mor, as it always did when he was putting on his boots. To be standing on the shore, face numbed from the frosty air, feeling that you are together with the world for a short while -- there is nothing quite like it. Taran called up the stairs to his mother, a smile lifting his face.

“Mother, are you well? I’m off to Porthlow.”  

His mother, Meraud, responded that she was alright, and Taren left the cottage in good spirits. Their house was small and made of stone. Built by his grandfather in 1810, the roof leaked all year round and the heat always escaped through the windows. But Taran loved his home unconditionally. He passed through the doorway, forgetfully reaching for a warm jacket, and set off through the flower fields, the sing-song voice of a robin marking his lone departure. A sign of good luck, if you’re the superstitious type.

It was difficult to manoeuvre the wheelbarrow in the winter because the wheel kept sinking into the mud. Taran was obliged to dig it free using his hands and feet more than once. By the time he made it to Rocky Hill, his clothes were covered in dirt and wetness. It was also cold, painfully cold, which made him all the more uncomfortable. It was only the mellow climate of the island that prevented any snow from falling. It was like this every year, but still, Taran did not mind, and he continued on with joy in his heart. Better to appreciate the place where you live unless you are able to move on the morrow.

He smelt the seaweed before he saw it. It was pungent and sulphuric and wholly unpleasant, but Taran believed there was not a more welcome smell anywhere else in the world.

Taran knew this was where he was always meant to be.

Despite knowing this to be true, his heart did not quite agree. Why was that? What could possibly be missing? Dumbfounded, he disregarded the sensation entirely, telling himself that it was pure balderdash to feel incomplete when you have nothing fundamental to desire. He collected seaweed for another half hour, singing as he worked, and continued until it was completely dark.

The moonlit water was beautiful at night. The stormy waves had fallen still and took the appearance of glass, gently lapping at the shore, almost soundless. Taran looked on quietly. He stayed there looking at the horizon for a long time, forgetting everything but the reflection of the stars on the water. It was an infinite moment; he would never forget it.

Something about the beautiful night prompted him to talk aloud.

“Surely there is not a more perfect sight than tonight. I am as happy as I’ve ever been, but what is this feeling within me, that disagrees?” He said softly.

The wet head of a seal bobbed in the water not far off. Oddly enough, the seal replied.

“You are lonely, boy. We seals never feel lonely because we understand the importance of union and companionship. You, as a human, think you can do without this, but you are wrong.”

Taran went to pieces. “What in world! You’re a seal! Stop talking! You shouldn’t be talking!”

The seal was not impressed by his rude reaction and splashed angrily.

“Well, I never! I was only trying to give advice. It’s you who should not be talking if all you can say is undignified exclamations.”

Being called undignified encouraged Taran to collect himself somewhat, and he cleared his throat with a cough, looking at the seal apologetically.

“Drog yw genev³.” He muttered solemnly. “It just that I’ve never met a talking seal before, you know?”

“Congratulations then.” The seal said seriously. Taran would soon realise that though seals may appear to be funny creatures who loved to play, they were actually very thoughtful beings who were honest and steady in their existence.

When the seal didn’t say anything new, Taran waved to get its attention.

“I don’t sp’ose you know how I can be rid of this lonely feeling?” He asked. “You see, I don’t like it. I’ve never felt this way before.” He tried to sound as polite as one could be talking to an animal of unknown intelligence.

The seal ducked underwater for a moment, then resurfaced, shiny and wet.

“In the future, you will never feel the sorrow of loneliness.” It said vaguely.

“Da lowr4. Taran scratched his head, unsure how to reply. “Seal, I don’t feel alone. I have my mother and my sister to accompany me.”

If it were possible, the seal seemed to take a deep sigh. It didn’t help matters that Taran was naturally a very stubborn boy and also extremely practical. If he weren’t to ask the next question and instead go home to bed, it is quite possible Taran would wake the next day believing this all to be a dream.

“That’s because you know nothing else.”

Now Taran was even more confused. “Then why should I care?”

The seal did not hesitate with its reply. “Because you could know more.”

More. . . What is more?