This is a rewrite of my first ever Ingo fic, The Songs of Moryow. After having a mass Ingo rereading spree, I thought that I'd really like to continue it…but then realised that really I'd prefer to write it as a oneshot. So here it is. If you've read the fic, you may recognise bits ;). I hope you guys enjoy it; the fic is officially discontinued now, but each of these paragraphs would have been a chapter if I'd I had decided top finish it instead of rewriting it. I would have had to flesh it out a bit though, and the chapters would still have been really short :/. Some of it's a bit abstract…ah well. It's a little more rushed near the end, but that's a) because the books cover some of that time and b) it was about half eleven at night when I was writing XD Plus I really want to focus on finishing High Tides XD. And once that's done, I can focus on wrapping up some other fics before starting on the sequel, which I still need a name for XD

Anyway, I hope you enjoy, and thank you SO much to everyone who reviewed the original fic! You are appreciated so much! 3.


The Call of Moryow

I can swim before I can walk.

Aged two, I am splashing around in the sea, laughing, feeling at home in the waves. They are my friends. They whisper to me, stroking my skin, tickling me and making me giggle. The looming form with the smiling face I recognise as my mother is laughing as well. She lifts me in her arms and I protest noisily, waving my chubby arms towards the expanse of glistening water. She smiles and gently set me back in the water, laughing as I dive in and out of the waves, crowing with happiness.

Three years on, half running, half tumbling down the sand towards the shimmering depths, letting the white horses of the waves crash against me, trying to jump over the crests and getting soaked in the process. Mother still doesn't mind; she proudly tells the neighbours what a water baby I am, how I love the sea more than I love the land. She teases me, swinging me round by my hands, telling me I'll turn into a fish one day if I'm not careful.

Aged seven and walking down to the rock pools with the rest of my glass to examine the sea life. Mrs Andean nearly has a heart attack when she sees me out on the line of rocks stretching out into the deep water whilst the rest of the class are docilely searching for spider craps and seaweed. She screams at me hysterically to come back until her face is as red as a tomato, but I don't even hear them until the lifeguard carries me kicking and screaming back to the beach.

Nine now. The night is dark and full of silver splashes of light. I walk along the beach, shoes in hand, gazing up at the night sky, feeling the sand between my toes and hearing the hiss of the sea. I dump my shoes on the floor and I step forwards, so that the cool water froths around my ankles. For one moment I forgot everything; the trouble I'll will be in if I'm caught, my dreams and my fears…all seem irrelevant compared to the calming song of the sea. I take another step forwards, water lapping at my ankles, felling an urgent pull towards the dark expanse of water which I now knew I need to reach-
The spell is roughly broken by my sister's voice, calling my name. She takes my arm, pulling me away from the sea, asking what on earth I'm doing. I wade out of the water, my nightdress sopping wet around the hem, and I begin to walk up the beach with her, snatching up my shoes as I go. Just before I leave the soft grittiness of the sand and step onto the concrete of the pavement, I think I hear someone call my name.

Aged eleven, diving into white, rough water. Voices sing around me, so sweet, so pure they can't possibly be human. There is a pain in my chest like red fire; my lungs are being crushed by an invisible hand. I breathe in and water rushes into my chest; it hurts, oh God it hurts; black spots dance before my eyes; I struggle, helpless, but now the pain is receding, the water welcoming me like a lost daughter…Strong arms pull me to the surface. The coarse, rough air makes me shriek as it scrapes down my throat; I struggle and scratch at the hands that hold me tight, screaming to be released. Endless days of tears follow; I am kept in the house, staring out the windows towards the restless blue, my vision blurred by tears, my throat sore with sobbing. "It wants me! The water wants me!"
My father shakes me roughly, his face fierce, but his eyes fearful. "Wants you? Wants to drown you more like!" he yells, and I shrink back, weeping, fear beginning to spread through me like a dark poison.

Fourteen, but I won't go into the water. I sit, huddled in a ball on the jetty, a jumper wrapped around me whilst they all laugh and splash and play. My sister is searching for crabs with a net; my father balancing in his boat, coiling up rope; my mother has her skirt tied up, wading through the water looking for pretty shells to sell to the tourists, but I stay on the jetty, pulling the red woollen sweater over my ears in a vain attempt to block out the even hiss of the waves and the faint voices I can hear on the wind.

Seventeen and feeling the freedom of ended school days, not yet caring about lacklustre exam results, arm in arm with my friend Bertha, giggling frivolously whilst walking through the tents and booths of the travelling fair that has come to Penzance. "Come on Jen; let's get our futures told for us!" Bertha insists, dragging me inside the purple tent whilst I laugh, rolling my eyes at her. The woman inside is middle aged, with dark hair spilling out of her headscarf. She looks just like your stereotypical fortune teller. I giggle whilst Bertha has her palm read, and she is promise a tall, dark handsome stranger will sweep her off her feet, an incredibly rich tall dark handsome stranger. Then the woman turns to me, holding her hand out. I shake my head. "No thank you."
I get up to leave, but Bertha grabs my sleeve. "Oh come on Jen…it's just a laugh!"
I shake my head insistently and head out of the tent, Bertha following. But the woman calls me back.
I turn and pause for a moment by the entrance. Bertha is already moving on, looking around for new sources of entertainment. "Yes?" I say hesitantly, moving into the entrance. There is a strange silver sheen in the woman's eyes I didn't notice before, along with a strange blue tint to her skin. "Yes?" I say again, slightly louder, digging my nails into my hand.
"The man that you love will lose you by water. Beware of the sea. The sea is your gravest danger."
The poison begins the flow through me again, that all-encompassing fear which leaves a bitter taste in my mouth and a white hot burning feeling in my throat. I take a step back staggering slightly, before spinning on my heel and running, running running running until-
"Oops! You should watch where you're going, Miss."
I look up into a pair of dark, smiling eyes surrounded by tanned skin.

He takes me out to the cinema on the first date, to see some new release that everyone's raving about. In the darkness of the cinema, he takes my hand. Second date is a restaurant, and at the end of the night he kisses my cheek. On the third date, all we do is talk. He likes folk music and fantasy novels; I like pop and romance. We tease each other all the way back home and that time he kisses properly for the first time. Weeks become months, and before we know it, three years have flown by. It's midsummer and the heat is almost unbearable. We dance around the bonfire together, laughing and when it's cooled into embers, he leads me away from everyone else and take my hand, before holding out a gold ring set with a small diamond. It's not high quality, or very expensive, as my friends will complain at a later date, but that doesn't stop me from throwing my arms around him and laughing with joy.

Black, dark clothes; black shiny vehicle. Dim church, light streaming from the window. Dark brown coffin, flowers on top. The cemetery smells of earth and warmth and summer. Dull thud, coffin hit's ground. Earth thrown on top. Droning words, heartrending pain, tears burning eyes. I never even said goodbye.
Earth again, but warm earth. Bee's buzzing. Trowel in hand, digging when I hear her. "Jennie…" I close my eyes, feel the warmth of her hand on my face and then gone. But the pain is more bearable now. "Don't worry about me, Jennie, I'm fine."

White silk and gold bands, organ music and confetti, and we're walking out of Zennor Church, hand in hand, posing for photographs. Everyone is talking to us at once; laughter and congratulations fills the air, but I hardly hear any of it, because every so often, my eyes will meet his and a rush of butterflies will flit through my entire body.

Holding Conor's hands, teaching him to walk, laughing as he falls down on his padded behind, and Conor laughing with me. Soon I can barely crouch down for the smooth curve stretching in front of me, and then again, the pain and the relief and the small bundle in my arms. She only has eyes for him though. He chooses her name, like I chose Conor's.

Them down on the sand, Matthew dangling Sapphy in the sea whilst I watch from the cliff, the ever present phantom. She loves it, shrieking with glee every time one of the waves washes around her, and my heart clenches in my chest. Cold fear; everyday she's down there, every day I can smell the salt on her hair, every day I can see the look in her eyes that I used to see when I looked in a mirror.

Arguments. Smashing plates, the smell of burnt food. Every day his hair is damp, every night when I lie next to him I can smell the briny scent on his skin. I hear that song more and often, sometime I think I hear him sing more than I hear him speak. To me, at least. The nights he's gone, the ache growing and growing, feeling like he's in another world even when he's standing in the same room as me.
"Why don't you come with me?"
Beware of the sea…Wants to drown you more like…The sea is your gravest danger…
I refuse, tell him I can't leave Sapphire, make any excuse, the fear welling in my stomach like hot lead.
"Don't bother to wait up for me, Jennie."
The door slams.

The next day. I can hear him singing outside, in the open air. I lie down to rest, exhausted from worry, and my treacherous eyelids betray me. When I wake, the singing has stopped. The house is empty. I call out for him, search the cottage. No note. He always leaves a note, even when he's angry. I run down the track, squinting against the sun, calling and calling, but there is no reply. The fear is building. I pick my way over rocks, to the mooring, my pulse thudding in my ears, feeling so afraid I'm scared my heart will stop then and there. I slip, cut my hand, but I barely register the pain. His boat is gone. "Matthew! MATTHEW!"
I stare across the waters as if he will magically emerge and hold me. He's close. Somehow I can feel he's close… "MATTHEW!" I scream, the treacherous waters lapping against the rocks, mocking me with their soft catcalls. I call until the sun is just kissing the horizon before turning and heading back up the cliff, my throat hoarse. I wait at the top of the stile, my heart straining, waiting for him to come…he has to come…

The children find me and take me in. A whirl of sirens, uniforms, gentle voices questions, cups of tea, sympathy. Days pass. Nothing. He's gone…he's gone…There is a regular pain in my chest; it burns fiercely, constricting my breath, making my lungs ache, like the sea did when I was younger. One night, when the house is finally empty except for the children's soft breathing, I slip down the stairs, along the path, back to the stile, my hair blowing around my shoulders in the light breeze. I don't call out this time, don't scream and shout, don't beg. I don't even cry. I just stare out over the moonlit sea, my thoughts buzzing around my head like angry red hot bees. The man that you love…the man that you love…it wants me! The water wants me… Beware of the sea… Wants to drown you more likewill lose you…the man that you love will…The sea is your gravest danger…will lose you by water…
I stand there for what seems like forever. Ages could have passed me by and I wouldn't know; seasons could have changed, mountains fallen, seas run dry and I wouldn't have realised. The pain is not bearable now.
As the moon's setting I finally move, my hand numb from the chilly wind. I slowly begin to walk back to the house, opening the gate, ready to slip back into reality when I hear the voice call my name again, like it did before when I was nine. That soft hissing voice…I turn back, to see who it is…what it is…

There is nothing there, except for the open expanse of water, and the faint whisper of a song on the breeze.

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