The Selkie (13 page)

She understood immediately why the swallows had abandoned their building site. No creature of air and light could stand this place, which reeked of death. It looked like a cottage, but it was a grave.

A sudden cold wind invaded the room. Hexy swung about and grabbed at the cottage door, which was swinging shut behind her in stealthy silence. The wood beneath her fingers was warped and split and covered in some sticky brine. Reluctant to touch anything, she nevertheless dragged one of the chairs over to the door and propped it open so it would not shut upon her.

Feeling dizzy and knowing that it was because she had exhausted the oxygen from the breath she held in her lungs, Hexy stepped back outside and allowed herself a few moments to calm her nerves, her heart and her breathing.

The net hadn’t moved.

While she waited, she scolded herself for being too imaginative. She reminded herself that it was her job to find Jillian’s coat. She also reminded herself of the risk Ruairidh would have to take if they could not find out what had happened to mad John and his son.

The last argument was the most persuasive, for she would do anything to keep Ruairidh
away from the evil creature she had seen in her dreams.

The wind had been picking up while she dallied. It played slyly with her skirts, trying to wrap them about her legs so she would be hobbled, and it vexed her hair with its cold fingers. It would rain soon. She could smell the storm coming.

And something worse than rain might come back for that shroud
.

She needed to hurry.

Taking a last deep breath, Hexy reentered the cottage and picked her way with nervous precision through the room’s furnishings. It was irrational, but she would not breathe for fear of encountering some contagion. Nor would she touch anything, for the entire room felt like a trap waiting to be sprung, an alarm that would summon the hunters to see what they had netted.

She walked steadily toward the door at the back of the gloomy space. That would be the place where John had done his work, where he kept his furs. She folded her lips firmly against the increasingly thick atmosphere. She did not need her nose to know that she was nearing an abattoir. It was as though she was in a maw and walking down the throat toward the beast’s belly and all that rotted there.

Death!
Death was everywhere. It pressed in on
her, stinging her eyes. She was overwhelmed by all the lives that had been ended so cruelly in this place, the poor trapped animals that had had their skins ripped from them before their souls had escaped their tiny bodies.

Two steps from the back door, the air congealed around her. It was like pushing her way through tar to reach out and touch the door latch.

The metallic snap of the bolt was loud, a report that could be heard even above the ringing in her ears. Straining her muscles, she pulled the door open.

She had a brief glimpse of empty cages. She supposed that the prisoners they had once held were either dead or had fled.

Hexy took one more step and then it burst over her, a wave of fright and repulsion so strong that she began to gag. Turning about immediately, she ran for the propped-open door and the clean air, stumbling against furniture and overturning it, but no longer caring about whether she sprang a trap around her and alerted
it
to her presence. Escape from the site of slaughter was now her only thought.

Outside, the cloud bowl inverted itself in a dizzying swoop and poured icy water down upon her bent head and shaking shoulders. Hexy didn’t feel it. She knelt on the cracked stone that covered the dying earth and retched
up the poison and despair she had swallowed during her crazed flight.

The spasms were violent but finally passed. Gulping down clean air between slowing belly heaves, she laid a protective hand over her abdomen and tried to make sense of what had just happened.

Had she truly just encountered a jumble of terrified animal souls? Or was it her imagination, being fed by all the new and confusing senses that had awakened in her and her terror of those double damned dreams?

She shuddered. The only way to know for certain was to go back into the cottage, which was something she would not do.

If Jillian’s coat was in there, then it would remain in the furrier’s abandoned hovel until the building tumbled to the earth, or until someone else brought it to the castle. Hexy doubted that she could bear to handle the thing now anyway. She had touched Ruairidh’s skin and knew the difference between a fur that was living and one that was dead. Dead fur would never have contact with her body again.

Hexy struggled to her feet, looking back at the open door. The gaping darkness made her shudder.

Only one thing would have forced her back into that place of death, and that was if Ruairidh
was there. For him, she would brave the cottage.

Fortunately, she had had no sense of him in that ghastly place and had seen no place where he might be imprisoned. The relief of this knowledge nearly made her weep with the black, leaking sky.

Starting out slowly on legs that trembled, Hexy began her journey back to Fintry by taking the longer sea route, which ran through the village. She was very careful as she picked her way through the loose stones on the path, for the rain had made them slippery and treacherous, and she did not want to be injured and immobile anywhere in the vicinity of the furrier’s home in case the net’s evil owner returned for it.

Her intuition—her
sight
—had been wrong this time. There was nothing useful for her to learn about mad John or the monstrous Sevin at the cottage. Perhaps the finmen had been there and left that net, but she would never know, for the aura of animal death was so strong that it blotted out everything else. She had failed in this task. She would have to seek knowledge somewhere else.

But where? And how, if she couldn’t trust her intuition? Would she even recognize a clue if she saw it? And what if the place of enlightenment
was somewhere at sea? She would be of no help at all then.

Feeling suddenly adrift and useless, Hexy realized that she would need a new rudder to pilot herself by. Everything about her world had changed, been reshaped—every rule, every law, every sense—and would likely never be the same again.

The thought was terrifying. She prayed that Ruairidh was right in his guess that he would be back before nightfall. She wanted desperately to talk to him, to touch him, to reassure herself that he was well and that all would be well between them. In that instant, she felt that she hadn’t a friend in the world and did not know how she would protect herself and the baby she was carrying from the horrible evil if he were lost to her.

Ruairidh and Cathair brushed noses and then stepped back the length of an arm to look at each other in the soft blue light that ruled in Avocamor. Both had shed their skins and were in human form. Ruairidh had requested this and some privacy because he felt that their conversation was to be most unselkie-like, and it seemed difficult to attempt it while in their sea form, or with any witnesses.

They sat down on the flat stones at the side of the tarn where the luminescent blue water danced. They took a moment to dispose of their unaccustomed clothing, tucking their robes up out of the water.

The son looked at his father and said in a neutral voice that belied his growing embarrassment, “Da, I think ye best tell me a wee bit about my mother.”

Cathair started, clearly shocked at the request, but Ruairidh went on anyway:

“The others ne’er questioned ye about yer lover—nor have I, for I ken well that ye may still miss her. But Irial wasnae just some village lass in Cornwall, was she?” Ruairidh paused. “And that, as much as tradition, is why ye never spoke of her tae us.”

Cathair continued to stare at his son for a long moment and then sighed in resignation. “Nay, she wasnae some simple village girl,” he confessed. He drew a slow, deep breath and then added, “Irial was
sidhe,
one of the Twlwyth Teg of Pendeen.”

“I thought she must hae been,” Ruairidh answered lightly.

Cathair looked at his son. “You guessed? It is true, then. Keir thought that ye’d found a mate while ashore.”

“Aye, and
she
isnae a village lass either.” Ruairidh smiled slightly at his father’s further shock.

“She is
sidhe?”

“After a fashion. I am certain that she is MacFie and MacNicol.”

Cathair whistled through his nose. “Then she
may well be
NicnanRon
. If this is true, then ye must have a care at the first mating and limit the salt that passes between yerselves.
Sidhe
can easily become poisoned, and strange things happen—” he began excitedly, rising to his feet.

“So I already discovered,” Ruairidh interrupted. His expression was slightly rueful as he said reproachfully, “Da, I know it is embarrassing to hae been with a
sidhe,
but ye should hae warned me. Hexy and I well nigh poisoned ourselves at the first joining. And she is definitely wi’ child, which I didnae intend to happen sae soon.”

Cathair laughed softly and sat down again on the glassy stone of pristine black that edged the tarn. “I am sorry, Ruairidh. I shouldnae laugh when ye are sae distressed, but this is delightful news—the best we’ve had in four hundred seasons. And I didnae look for any glad tidings until the Beltane eve. I shall go at once and see about procuring a skin for her and arranging a celebration. Samhain surrendered his when he had his memories bound and he went to live with his mortal, so we’ve one tae spare.”

“Thanks, Da, but there is nae need for haste. Hexy has not yet accepted who and what she is. Her family told her nothing of their ties tae the People. I believe that the grandsire and brother knew, but they didnae explain anything to
Hexy.” He added sadly, “She cannae even say the word
selkie
without stumbling over it.”

Cathair shook his head, baffled. “Not know that she is MacFie and MacNicol! But if ye have mated, then she maun ken now that ye are of the People. And if she is
NicnanRon,
then she maun be feeling the call of the sea. She could nae live on the coast and not feel it. And if she kens there is a babe…”

“Aye, she does feel the sea. And she knows that she is wi’ child because I told her.” Ruairidh sighed. “She was also bloody angry wi’ me and does not speak of the babe at all.”

“It shall pass. Yer mother—” Cathair cleared his throat. “She was much the same in the beginning when she found that the pregnancy would be sae long. But eventually the babe will start sharing the salt wi’ her, just as ye and yer brother did wi’ your mother, and she will mellow then. Especially if the babe is male. Females, when we were blessed wi’ them, were always trickier.”

“Aye?”

“Aye! Females! Well do I ken the feeling of being in disgrace.” Cathair smiled slightly and began an unheard of reminiscence. “It was a tearful summoning that had me leaving Avocamor and swimming down the coast. Yer Hexy summoned ye this way, did she not?”

“Aye, but not with intention. Her tears came
frae the yews. They vex her terribly.
Allergies,
she calls it.”

“Ah. Well, yer mother did not weep by mischance. In fact, tae this day, I dinnae ken whether she weeps at all. I think perhaps she stole her sister’s tears. The feys who milk the roses maun be able tae cry, ye ken. But many others dinnae have the gift.”

“My mother cannae weep?” For some reason, this news disturbed Ruairidh.

Cathair shook his head briskly. “I think not. There is a price for using magic, and I think her tears were taken at an early age. In any event, what is important tae know is that it wasnae a usual summoning that brought me south.”

“I ken. Gae on.”

“No, it wasnae a normal summoning. This I kenned from the first. The compulsion was tae strong.” Cathair’s voice slowed, grew softer. “Tears wept frae so far away should not have had this power. And there was a maddening song in the air every day and every night that I traveled that I couldnae quite catch, no matter how hard I listened. And there was a beauty tae the shoreline—a kind of color—that I had never seen.”

“Had ye been elf struck?”

Cathair’s hands clenched in his white robe and he stopped smiling. “Aye, I was, though I
didnae ken this at the time. Naebody warned me that we were vulnerable to the
sidhe.”
Cathair’s voice was almost inaudible, the pitch momentarily low and angry. “On the third night I came tae the place of summons and climbed out of the water—still having enough sense left tae hide my skin well. I walked inland farther than I ever had, until I came tae the Field of the Hollow beside the Pool of Stars. It was there I saw her. She was sae different from any woman I had ever seen, a child of two fey clans, one of Wales and one of Cornwall, and she glowed like the moon. Though it was night, I swear a rainbow held out a shining hand and pointed to her, saying ‘This is for ye and ye alone.’ ”

Ruairidh smiled at this rare poetic flight. He understood completely, though, for he felt much the same way about Hexy even without
sidhe
magic.

“She was bonny, then?”

“Aye, that she was. There is none like her.” Cathair did another fast shake of his head. “She was also a perverse wench. She waited until I was close and then skipped away. I called tae her, but she ran. The harder I chased, the more hedges she set between us—and all the while that maddening
sidhe
song was filling the air.” Cathair cleared his throat, as though again embarrassed. “She finally halted beneath a blossoming
hawthorn where they were many Druid wrens. Ye ken what a portent this was? What it betokened?”

Ruairidh grunted.

“It was a Dyad tree?”

“Aye, but the dyad had fled, leaving it tae whomever wished tae use it. I think the wench thought to entrap me in it. She might hae succeeded if I hadnae hidden my skin.” His nose wrinkled, showing his lingering irritation. “Whatever her intent, the magic turned on her then, and she was soon as bespelled as I. We lay down in the velvet moss.”

Cathair stared into the distance, recalling a moment that was clearly filled with many powerful emotions. Finally he went on.

“Those
sidhe
birds were beautiful, their feathers glistening under the moon. I ken that ye’ve seen them, for they followed ye and Keir both when ye were pups, a gift frae yer mother. Any road, ’twas they who sang sae sweetly of desire that I saw the stars themselves lean down out of the sky tae listen, and then drown themselves in that pool when they couldnae have her.”

Cathair again stopped speaking.

“What happened?” Ruairidh asked quietly, as his father’s silence lengthened. He was having trouble imagining this woman as his mother.

Cathair shook himself.

“What could happen but disaster? She was a
novice filled wi’ strong magic she couldnae control. Until then, she had known nae enemy save the inclement weather of the inundation—and I nae enemy save a rough sea. We were nae prepared for what happened. The power overran her will and swallowed us both up. Had she nae been
sidhe
she would hae died. I—I went mad for a bittock. I didnae know where I was or what was happening.”

Ruairidh grunted again. He was sympathetic. His union with Hexy had taken him the same way.

“I didnae return tae my senses until a bird of the rainbow appeared and dropped a sprig of fiery yew upon us. Of course, by then the deed was done and she was wi’ child. Two of ye, in fact. Ye and yer brother Keir.”

Cathair stopped, His jaw was clenched tight, apparently unable or unwilling to go on with the story.

“And sae she came here for the birth?” Ruairidh prompted.

“Nay.” The word was harsh.

“Nay? But I dinnae understand. If she was
sidhe,
why could she nae come? The People wouldnae hae been pleased, but they would hae given her shelter until the birth—” Ruairidh stopped at his father’s sorrowful expression. “She didnae
love
ye? Even after the mating?”

“Nay. She wasnae like a human, son. Some
fey cannae love. And the King of Wonders wouldnae force her tae come tae me here in the north until the time was upon her. This was at the time of the bad winters, when we built the great cofferdam to save Avocamor from the changed tide. Every able-bodied selkie was needed here. I couldna stray frae my home until the season of the golden moons when ye were born, sae we separated.” He looked closely at his son and then went on. “I knew when it was time fer yer birth and returned then. After ye and yer brother had fed once frae her breast—a mistake that was, for the milk made ye both ill—I took ye both away with me. She sent ye both north with her blessing, saying she didnae want to see us ever again, as she couldnae bear to look upon us and recall her arrogance and shame. And frae that day onward, we were tae be as the dead tae her and her kin. I thought that she didnae mean this, that she said this because she was young. But she hasnae relented.”

“I wish…” Ruairidh looked down for a moment, uncertain if he was glad or sorry to have heard this tale. For the first time in his life, he had an urge to see and know his mother. It had been easier not to think of her when he had imagined her long dead and beyond his reach.

“Yer Hexy shall mellow wi’ time, though,” Cathair consoled him. “She isnae pure
sidhe
. The
babe shall see tae her surrender. It is always that way with the MacNicol.”

“Aye? Even if she should have a girl babe?”

“Assuredly, my son. It will just take a bittock longer. In any case, ye’ll need tae take some fruit back wi’ ye. If she is MacFie and MacNicol, the craving for it will be strong. Ye’ll need tae bring it tae her until she is ready tae come here herself. And ye’ll have tae persuade her by the season of inundation. Once the storms begin, the tide will be tae strong for one in a delicate condition.”

Cathair rose. Ruairidh could see him setting sentimental memories aside.

“But that is for later. We’ve more immediate troubles. Come along, now. Ye need tae talk tae the others. And we need tae talk wi’ ye as well. There has been another attack on the pups.”

Ruairidh nodded soberly. “Aye. And I’ve news about that as well. It is as ye feared, Da. The finmen are behind those who hae gone missing. And it was they what gave the ancestor’s body tae the circus. I fear that Sevin is attempting some new and evil necromancy. There is a new pall over Wrathdrum. And we ken from the past that once a finman begins a conquest, he’ll nae be content until he has dominion over all the sea. I am also worried, fer Hexy dreams of him.”

Cathair looked grim at this news. “Has she the sight?”

“She doesnae ken. Mayhap it is only bad dreams.”

“And mayhap not. I’ll send swimmers for the council. The People must be warned.”

“Why are they nae here?” Ruairidh asked with surprise. “Surely they kenned why I went ashore.”

“My son, ’tis nearly Beltane. They are abroad, as they maun be. Since this last war of men consumed the land, it has made males scarce. There has been a greater welcome for the People frae the lasses in the villages.” He said practically, “They and we must repopulate. Let us hope that some of them are fertile unions.”

“That is fair news, of course,” Ruairidh answered after a moment. “But I cannae stay fer long. Ye’ll have tae explain it tae the council wi’out me. I dare nae leave Hexy tae long on her own. She likely tae gae wandering.”

“I trust that we shallnae be long in gathering. This news is eagerly awaited. But the council must hear yer words firsthand. We’ve had twelve hundred seasons of peace with the finfolk. There are many who will be reluctant to act against the finmen unless they are convinced beyond all doubt that they are responsible for recent events.”

Ruairidh sighed and gave a reluctant nod.
“There is one other thing, Da, which I want tae know before we leave the subject of my mother.”

“Aye?” Cathair looked wary.

“What happened tae Irial? Where is she? I know that she said tae never come near her again, but ye must have looked in upon her a time or twa. We always dae look over the women even if we never touch them again.”

Cathair rubbed his nose. “I saw her once, perhaps twice. Be assured that nothing bad happened tae her. You are thinking of the women who have hard labors and then hae children nae more? That didnae happen in this case. All went well at the birthing. She gave ye and yer brother up tae me, not because she was ill but because ye needed the sea. And the Pendeen feys wouldnae accept ye—though I believe the Twlwyth Teg would hae welcomed ye both had ye not needed the sea tae live. Their numbers hae dwindled tae.” Cathair spread his arms wide, then slapped his hands together. He added briskly, “After yer birth she went back tae practicing her magic, only this time she set about vexing the mortals of Pendeen.”