The Coming of the Whirlpool by Andrew McGahan

Dow. ‘Until, that is, we heard tell of you .’
    All the men were watching Dow. He looked about, puzzled by their faces. These were folk hardened from long life, each of them by far his elder, and yet there was a peculiar deference now in their expressions.
    Boiler nodded towards the door. ‘One day, messengers came to us here in this very bar, elders from the highlands who were going from fishing village to fishing village with a strange request. There was a lad, they said, and a family was wanted to take him as kin and raise him in the ways of the sea. And then the messengers grew hushed, revealing to us a great secret – this same lad was a direct descendant of no less than Admiral Honous Tombs.’
    In her corner the old woman – Mother Gale – lifted her head at last to stare at Dow with her blind eyes.
    â€˜Honous Tombs,’ repeated Boiler, his chin rising. ‘Now that’s a name to rouse the blood. The captain of the Grey Sail has not been forgotten among the folk of the Claw. Nevertheless, no village would take the boy for fear of the Ship Kings’ displeasure should they ever learn of the secret. Stromner was the very last place to which the messengers came, and little did they expect from us, noting our poverty and our empty houses.
    â€˜But we men here descried a special sign in their request. A sign and a hope. For it seemed to us that if Nathaniel could be made whole again and cured of his madness, then perhaps we all might be cured. But the only thing that might so heal Nathaniel was a family to replace – at least in part – the one he lost. A son to call his own again. And why, here was a lad needing a father.
    â€˜But not just any lad. This boy was the heir of Honous Tombs himself – not only the greatest sea captain New Island has ever known, but also a native inhabitant of these very headlands. To be sure, Honous was not born or raised in Stromner, but rather in Stone Port close across the channel, nevertheless he surely must have tread the streets of this village during his lifetime. And it is beyond question that when the Great War came many men from Stromner embarked to sail and fight with him. Nathaniel’s own father not least among them!
    â€˜Aye, the name of Tombs was a weighty token to us. Dimly though we might grasp the pattern of it, surely fate was weaving a web of purpose here. And so we told the messengers, send the lad if you will.
    â€˜And so you came . . .’
    But at that Boiler trailed off, as if no longer certain of his tale, and a silence settled, the wind and rain outside in momentary lull.
    Mother Gale rapped her stick. ‘Aye, and so he came, ten years to the day, and what has it led to but the near death of them both?’
    Boiler heaved a great sigh and shook his head. ‘Aye, ten years to the day. It wasn’t by chance, we can be sure of that. Fate is casting its net still, my friends, and we’re all of us entangled.’ His glance went to the man sitting closest to the door. ‘Ethan – now is the time.’
    The man nodded, stood, and went out into the night. As he departed, the storm rose again and wind whistled tunelessly at the doors.
    Dow shivered: despite the warmth of the fire he felt a cold bewilderment. It had seeped into him as he’d listened to the story of Nathaniel and the maelstrom. He’d had no conception that such grim events were responsible for his coming to Stromner, or that such a weight of expectation had been laid on his shoulders. It didn’t seem fair. He had wanted to go to sea, that was all. The death of Nathaniel’s kin, and the ill fortune of the fishing village ever since – none of it was any of his doing. So how could it be up to him to now set things right?
    Boiler was studying him. ‘It’s a lot to take in lad, I know. We should have told you all this earlier. But we weren’t to know you would come on the day that you did,