How (Not) to Soothe a Siren (Cindy Eller Book 9) (6 page)

“W
ell,” I muttered, as we rode away from Huntsman, still standing sentry at the broken-down lighthouse. “At least they’re not armed—I’m pretty sure we would have noticed if they were toting weapons.”

Timothy snorted back a laugh.

“Do you know what they are?” I asked my mother, our expert on all things—Magical and otherwise.

She raised both eyebrows in a rather insulting show of surprise. “You don’t?”

“Obviously not,” I said, reminding myself silently that I was no longer a teenager. My mother no longer had the power to reduce me to a puddle of eye rolls and frustration.

“They’re selkies,” my mother said, as if it were the most obvious thing ever.

Which, actually, it happened to be. I should have known that they were selkies. I must have been distracted by the whole nudity issue and lost more than a few brain cells on the way.

“Watch out,” Timothy murmured, his tone teasing. “Selkies can be… distracting.”

I made a face at him. At least that explained my overblown reaction. Selkies had sex appeal in spades. They were known for it—and their tendency to intermarry with land-bound humans to keep the ability to live on land or at sea. Selkies were, Magically, a cross between elementals and humans.

If my mother was right, Asher was a similar mix, but with fire as the elemental factor, instead of water.

The horses picked their way carefully down the steep trail that the Huntsman had directed us to take. I was more grateful than ever for the athleticism of Faerie horses—I wouldn’t have wanted to walk the path on my own feet, as steep as it was. With Gealbhan picking the best way down, I knew that we would make it to the village in one piece. An undamaged piece, at that.

Tracing our way down that steep path, I felt a familiar wave of wonder that this was my life. I had been the most ordinary of girls—barely Magical at all—and yet, now I lived in Faerie, not just as a visitor, but as the Seraphim. The gulf between those worlds felt insurmountable at times, but it was the truth. Me, Cindy Eller. The baker. The Seraphim.

The feeling passed as swiftly as it had come upon me. The salty sea wind turned to spray, as the path we followed dipped down across an expanse of beach, first rocky and covered with storm detritus, then turning to a beach of soft, shimmering, black sand.

My mother, the Earth witch, drew in a sudden, shocked, breath.

“A beach of black diamond,” she murmured in wonder. “Only in Faerie.” The corners of her mouth turned up in a smile full of childish glee.

How could such a thing come to be? I wondered. I did not question my mother’s discovery. She was far too in tune with Earth Magic to make a mistake like that.

Asher gurgled as the horses stretched their legs and broke into a trot. I stood tall in my stirrups, anchoring myself with Gealbhan’s mane, to protect Asher from the jarring gait.

I shouldn’t have worried. Young as he was, Asher burst into deep belly-laughs of glee, urging the horses into a ground-eating canter. Gealbhan’s ears flicked back at the sound. He tossed his head, ever so slightly, like a colt in play.

The town came too soon.

The horses slowed, some kicking and dancing, cavorting in play. Gealbhan, ever aware of the baby on his back, limited himself to bobbing his head and scraping one foot against the sand.

“You would think they had been cooped up for weeks,” Timothy laughed, as Whisper bounced sideways. “Instead of being on the road all day.”

“It’s this place,” I realized aloud. “Where the sea touches the land. Can’t you feel it?”

The horses weren’t the only ones who felt the long day’s travel slide away, replaced with a zing of energy and power. I didn’t have to close my eyes, to know that this town say upon one of those Magical places—a ley line, overflowing with both Earth and Water Magic.

The cottages here felt like afterthoughts. They were small, stone structures, only far enough from the water to preserve them come bad weather. They stood in a ragged line, each front door facing the water, across the expanse of glittering black sand, the surface of which was only marred by seven sets of water-filled footprints, appearing straight out of the tide.

A man stood, leaning against the wall of the closest structure. He had dark hair and heavy brows, over the tightly chiseled features of his face. His arms crossed casually before him, with one leg out-stretched while the other bent at the knee, the foot resting on the wall behind him. He wore a loose linen shirt and gray pants of some kind of homespun material rolled up to his knees. His feet were bare. Where the one foot met the ground, the sand had formed a small pool of salt water.

He looked as if he were dosing in the winter sunshine, but I didn’t mistake that glint in his dark eyes for anything but rapt attention.

His casual appearance offered us the opportunity to dismount and get out land legs back. I pulled Asher out of his sling, grateful to be rid of the extra weight of the cumbersome fabric.

Madi, the horsemaster, went from horse to horse, stripping off their saddles and bridles, allowing them their freedom. One by one, they spun away, their heads and tails held high. Their hooves made muffled thunder against the packed sand, before hushed entirely by the softer sand further up the beach.

I would have loved to throw off my own burdens so easily. I watched their flying figures, as they cavorted and danced through the gentle waves that kissed the edge of the beach. Had I ever been so free? Could anyone, half mortal as I was, ever let go to that extent?

“So, it is the Seraphim herself, then, and her consort,” the man near the first building said. His voice rolled like the sea beyond us, laced with good humor. “To what do we owe such pleasure?”

Despite his voice and his relaxed posture, I could feel an underlying tension in him. The snap of those sharp, black eyes agreed with my assessment.

“I think you know why we’re here,” I said.

“Fi-shie,” Asher announced, leaning towards the selkie man.

The pretense at relaxation melted as the selkie broke into genuine, rollicking laugher. “Not quite, little one,” he said, a surprising dimple appearing at the corner of his mouth. “We’re fisherfolk, not fishfolk.” He tilted his head back and let out a piercing whistle.

This, apparently, was a signal to the rest of his people, for out of several doorways came the companions we had seen with him in the ocean. Like the man who had greeted us, they were all, thankfully, clothed now, in an array of homespun clothes, all in muted colors. There was no mistaking the wariness in each expression as they gathered before us.

“We do not trust as we once did,” he said, by way of explanation. “I am called Midir. These are my clansfolk…. Or what are left of us.” His voice grew deeper, and bitter. “Have you come to bring our lost ones home? I fear it is beyond even your abilities, Seraphim.” Now his tone grew mocking, even challenging.

Timothy let out a low growl. I touched his arm. I had the feeling that Midir was spoiling for a fight—any fight. I wasn’t going to fall into his trap. Lilting speech or not, I was not going to make the mistake of underestimating the man.

“Why don’t you tell us your story, and then we will decide whether we can be of help or not,” I said, purposely keeping my voice light and inoffensive. “We were called here by Faerie, and guided by the Huntsman himself. I don’t think they would stir themselves for nothing.”

Midir narrowed his eyes, but nodded sharply. “Very well. You may find us lacking as hosts, but you shall know all shortly. Then you can gauge whether we are… unjust in our dismissal.”

From the corner of my eye, I could see Timothy’s hands clench into fists. He had his temper under wraps, for now, but I wasn’t sure how long he’d be able to keep himself under wraps, with the way Midir was speaking to me. Timothy and I had been through too much together for him to take slights against me lightly.

I reached out and took his hand, even as I wondered why Midir’s attitude wasn’t bothering me. Once, it would have shaken mw to the core. Perhaps I was centered enough these days not to let a little storm set me adrift.

We followed Midir’s lead into the largest of the cottages. The inside was an interesting blend of modern and ancient. The stone walls were hung with tapestries, all depicting oceanic scenes, from herds of capricorn—the dolphin-tailed sea goats-- cavorting through the waves, to giant sea monsters with dozens of tentacles.

A giant pot bubbled away in the massive fireplace. I lifted my nose and sniffed appreciatively at the rich scent of what I guessed had to be a fish stew. Beside the fireplace, a great bread oven was recessed into the stone walls. It, too, emitted a welcoming heat into the rest of the room.

The furnishings were simple and comfortable, mostly comprised of low-to-the-ground seats and cushions. The stone floor was covered with a luxurious array of handwoven rugs.

The effect was welcoming and inviting, in all the ways our host had not been.

I
’d fed Asher on the road, so now I passed him off to Timothy and made a beeline to the kitchen area, where two of the selkie folk were gathering the rest of our meal.

“Can I help?” I asked.

The older woman raised an eyebrow as she looked me over. The young man who was helping her appeared to be her son, if the shape of their eyes and noses were any indication. Unlike the rest of the selkie folk, she had deep blue eyes. Her frosted dark hair was pulled back in a thick plait, but had done nothing to tame the frame of wild curls that circled her face.

“Before I was Seraphim, I was a baker,” I said, smiling as I realized that those credentials, and not the ones that usually granted me status, were the ones that mattered here.

The older woman nodded sharply. “Cian, show her what she needs.”

The young man inclined his head and gestured for me to follow him into the small adjoining room that served as a sort of pantry. Food-stuffs lined the walls—great wheels of cheese, with bins and sacks of roots vegetables and finely-milled flour.

“We trade for what we need,” Cian said proudly. “There are no fishermen of the like of we selkie.”

Looking at his face, I had to reassess my first impression of his age. By the size of his hands, this half-grown pup was going to be a veritable giant when he was full grown. As it was, he dwarfed my five feet and two inches. He left me to explore on my own, and rejoined his mother in the main room of the cottage.

It took me only a few moments to find what I needed. They had a stone jar of started dough, full of wild yeast and ready for whatever breads I sought to create.

I didn’t need much for what I was planning to make—flour, salt, butter, a few eggs, treacle, and the starter. I wasn’t going to try my hand at anything fancy. Just simple loaves of bread to go with the stew.

Sometimes the beauty was in the simplicity.

The tension in the room was lost to me as I mixed and kneaded. Working with dough was familiar and welcoming to me, even in a strange place. It had been too long since I had had the opportunity to create. I’d missed the feeling of flour on my hands, and the warm yeasty scent that rose into the air and surrounded me as I worked.

As I had suspected, the flour wasn’t ground from modern wheat, but from a mixture of Fae grains. The dough needed a little more work, to activate the gluten and grow stretchy and soft. My shoulders grew tight and sore, but it was a good feeling. Once I was happy with it, I covered the dough with a damp cloth and washed my hands off at the sink, with its built-in pump, Faerie’s take on modern plumbing.

My dough needed a little time to rise, before I could shape it, let it rise a second time, and bake it.

The selkie woman apprised my situation with another rising wing of brow, and set me to scrubbing root vegetables at the sink.

I smiled to myself as I worked. There was something charming at the way the selkie folk dismissed my status as something of no importance. They weren’t intimidated in the least. Midir had treated my title with more irritation than respect.

It was refreshing.

The truth was, the Cindy Eller part of me was more comfortable baking bread and scrubbing turnips than living in a huge castle and taking charge of Faerie.

I turned my head to see how my companions were doing, in this interlude while our dinner cooked. The younger selkie woman was bouncing Asher on her knee, while the others stood and sat in a semi-circle around my mother.

I grinned to myself. Trust my mother to have them charmed in such a short period of time. I could hear the cadence of her voice from across the room, though I couldn’t make out the words.

Merlin prowled across the room, his skinny arms tucked behind his back and that awful beard of his sticking out in all directions as he peered at each tapestry in turn. He jiggled one leg impatiently. As if he missed having a tail to twitch.

Timothy and Midir sat a little apart from the others. Both of them wore serious expressions. From time to time Timothy looked my way, his frown puckering the scar that sliced across his face.

I finished scrubbing the root vegetables and set to chopping them, under the watchful eye of the still-suspicious selkie woman. I didn’t mind.

“Are you roasting these or boiling them?” I asked, as I finished the task.

She looked over my shoulder at my work and nodded once. “Roasting for those,” she pointed at the turnip-like roots. “And those go into the stew.” She pointed at the roots that were the Fae take on potatoes. “I’ll take them now.”

I nodded and checked on my dough. It was rising beautifully. My Magic had speeded up the rising process, so it was ready to be punched down and shaped.

With the heel of my hand, I rolled out a dozen large balls of dough. The scent of the yeast, touched with the treacle I had used to sweeten the loaves, tickled my nose. It smelled delicious. I smiled to myself as I covered the shaped dough with the damp cloth again.

Asher whimpered from across the room, a sound that triggered a rather painful response from my breasts. I settled down to nurse him where I could keep an eye on my dough, and the other preparations that were being put together in the kitchen.

I had never ventured into this part of Faerie. Some of the fruits and vegetables being prepared were completely new to me.

“What’s that expression on your face?” Timothy asked, coming up behind me.

“I was thinking that we need to get out more,” I said, watching the competent hands of the selkie woman as she peeled an unfamiliar fruit. “There are still so many things about Faerie that we don’t know. Sitting up at the castle can’t be what Faerie needs. How can I provide for the needs of my people—all the people of Faerie—if I don’t know them or their lives?”

“Oh, so there is some sense in the High Fae,” Midir interjected, his voice touched with humor.

“Perhaps not,” I responded with a smile. “I’m half human, you know. That’s my mother over there, flirting outrageously with your clansmen.”

He chuckled. “She could charm the wings off of a butterfly, that one. Maybe she has selkie blood in her.”

Looking at my mother’s fair complexion with her dark hair and dark eyes, I had to admit that was possible. “Would that make us kin?” I teased.

Midir studied me seriously. “Perhaps.”

Asher fell into a milk-drunk stupor. I handed him back to Timothy. My bread was just ready for baking. I watched as Cian used a large, wooden paddle to slide each round loaf into the bread oven. I had used similar ovens at the castle. The bread always came out crunchy on the outside, with the center soft and light.

My Magic would make sure they cooked evenly and wouldn’t burn. In that, I had an advantage over most bakers.

The older woman nodded with something akin to approval in her eyes. “You did not jest,” she said. She gave me another appraising look. “I am Cliodhna.” Her expression left no doubts that she was offering a great boon in telling me her name.

“I’m Cindy,” I said.

The bread cooked quickly in the hot stone oven. As soon as they were out, the rest of the selkie folk gathered to eat.

“The water is calm,” Cliodhna said, her voice indicating that this was some kind of benediction. “The tides are even. We have enough to eat. Bring those lost home.”

The rest of the selkies nodded and murmured. Then, it was time to eat. We sat and ate bread and the stew, with the roasted turnips scattered on the surface like brown and golden treasure. One of the selkie women had made a nest for Asher, so I had both hands free to enjoy our repast. The fish stew was perfect—a combination of all the best flavors of the ocean.

I dunked a piece of my bread in the stew and ate it slowly, enjoying the combination of flavors.

“Now that is bread that is bread,” Midir said with approval. He had smeared his bread with butter that Cliodhna had said was from the capricorn herd. It was a rich-tasting butter, slightly salty, but also sweet. He took a large bite and smiled as he chewed. “Ah, I miss bread when we are at sea.”

As if his words were a cue, the other selkie folk fell silent, their faces turning serious.

“Whatever happened,” I said, softly, “I am sure it is why Faerie called us here. I don’t think that would have happened if there was nothing we could do.”

“I hope you are right,” Midir said. “But, I fear that nothing can help us.”

Behind him, the youngest of the women burst into tears.

I waited, knowing that they would tell me, when they were ready.

“Many years back,” Midir said. “When the mortal land and this one were reunited, we had a season of troubles. We could not catch enough fish to feed the mouths of our growing numbers. The Magic we rely on was disrupted. A lady came…”

“Sea hag, more like,” one of the others muttered.

“She offered us a bargain. Ah, what were we to do? We had no choice, but to starve. And the task she said she wanted in return did not seem to be much of a hardship.” Midir shook his head. “How were we to know that it would come to this?” He looked into my eyes. “The time came and we couldn’t give her what we vowed to give. Until we do, not one of us is safe. She has taken away our children, our wives, and our husbands. She has taken most of our clan, and we cannot find them. And we cannot fight her, for she is in the right—we made a vow that we could not keep.”

Goosebumps rose on my arms at the familiar ring to this story. The ice giantesses had also been given an impossible task.

“Were you to capture moonlight?” I asked.

Midir gave me an odd look. “No. She wanted us to carry a rainbow. We tried everything. There was nothing we could do.” He rubbed his hands over his face. “So, can you help us?”

“I don’t know,” I said, honestly. “But, I will tell you this—you are not the first clan we have met who has a similar story.” I told him briefly about the giantesses and their tale.