Whalesong by Kate Gordon

Author:Kate Gordon
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: historical;timeslip;Australian history;Tasmania;whaling;environmentalism;climate change;conservation;feminism
Publisher: Riveted Press
Published: 2023-05-15T00:00:00+00:00

Chapter 13

The men did not have teeth like harpoons, but their breath was sharper than knives.

Their words even sharper, designed to break a spirit. To turn two courageous girls into nothing more than oil and mist.

And their arms were strong, from holding harpoons, from rowing, from sailing, from fighting.

From killing, was what Aberdeen did not wish to think.

But she knew that these men had killed Māoris, had killed other men who had angered Kelly.

She knew these men could kill her, if they wanted to.

And their arms were so tight, around her neck, and they tightened, and they tightened, until she could see spots, until she could see smoke, until she could see clouds, until she could see home.

And they called her things designed to break her.

And they dragged her, toes kicking at the dirt, to their boat, which stank of fish and urine and vomit and they pushed her so hard she felt as if they meant to shatter her.

The thin man hit her on the back of the head. Her scalp felt as if it were made of glass, as if it were being stung by hornets.

And she cried.

She cried for her mother, who was always so gentle.

She cried for her father, who would have fought these men to the death, to protect her.

She cried because the world was not meant to be like this.

So angry.

So broken.

She cried because, perhaps, they had broken her.

Perhaps she had already shattered.

But what happens when a vessel shatters and it is full of fire?

The fire escapes. And it is small at first, but it spreads.

She fought back—only spit and kicks and it was not enough but it was a small fire and it was enough for her to know…

Her fire would spread.

Still, she was scared.

Perhaps she would, soon, die.

And what happened, if you died in a time that wasn’t your own?

Would she become spots and smoke and clouds?

Would she never go home?

Would she never have existed at all?

Or perhaps her fire would grow big enough to prove that she existed.

Now.

Then.

Always.

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