The Scorpio Races

CHAPTER SIXTY-SIX

The November sea is a jewel in the evening, dark and glittering beyond the ruddy stones. Corr and I leave the white cliffs behind us as I lead him toward the water. As when I first pulled him from the sea, he wears just a rope halter. I have long since pulled the wrap from his hind leg; it won’t heal him. Holly tells me that they have ways in California of setting the bone, but that he’d still never race again. He tells me that there’s nothing more foolish than for me to buy Corr only to turn him back into the ocean.

But Corr could no sooner go to California than he could fly, and in any case, I’m uncertain what a life like that would hold for a capall uisce. He loves the sea and to run, and while I could give him one of those things, we were happy.

And so now I walk him slowly down to the surf. In the sea, his clumsiness will disappear, his weight cradled by the salt water, and he won’t notice so much that his hind leg is not what it was.

I don’t want to say good-bye.

Back by the cliffs, Puck Connolly and George Holly wait for me, both of them with their arms crossed over their chests, their postures identical. They give me this moment alone, and I’m grateful for it.

Despite his painful progress, Corr’s ears prick to the sea. This November ocean sings sweetly to him, luring him and caressing him, quickening his blood. Together we step into the frigid water. In this light, he’s red like the sun before night, a giant, a god. His ear flicks back as the ocean plays over his injured leg and then back out to the horizon. The sea out there is black and depthless, hiding more wonders, perhaps, than even the waters of Thisby.

It wasn’t that long ago that Corr and I splashed in this surf, here at the base of these cliffs. Now he couldn’t even take a step without thought.

I run my hands down his neck, over his withers, down his shoulder. It’s something I’d taken for granted, just the presence of him. I rest my cheek against his shoulder, my eyes closed for just a second, and then I whisper to him. Find happiness.

Then I can’t stand because my legs won’t hold me here a moment longer. I blink to clear my vision and reach up. I pull off his halter.

I back out of the surf, watching him. His ears are still pricked on the horizon, not toward me. The ocean is his love and now, finally, he’ll have it.

I flip up my collar and turn my back to him as I pick my way back up toward the cliff base. I don’t think I can watch him disappear into the water. It will break my heart.

Puck’s scrubbing her eyes busily as if she has something in them. George Holly bites his lip. The cliffs tower above me and I try to console myself, I will find another capall uisce, I will ride again, I will move to my father’s home and be free. But there’s no comfort in my thoughts.

Behind me, the ocean says shhhhhhhh, shhhhhhhhh.

There’s a thin, long wail. I keep walking, my bare feet slow on the uneven stones.

The wail comes again, low and keening. Puck and Holly are looking past me, so I turn around. Still at the shoreline, Corr has noticed my going, and he stands where I left him, looking back at me. He lifts his head again and keens to me.

The irresistible ocean sucks around his hooves. But still he looks over his withers at me and he wails, again and again. The hair on my arms stands with his call. I know he wants me to go to him, but I can’t go with him where he needs to go.

Corr falls silent when I do not come to him. He looks back out to the endless horizon. I see him lift a hoof and put it back down. He tests his weight again.

Then Corr turns, stepping out of the ocean. His head jerks up when his injured leg touches the ground, but he takes another labored step before keening to me again. Corr takes another step away from the November sea. And another.

He is slow, and the sea sings to us both, but he returns to me.