The Selkie (18 page)

Then she remembered the mermaid’s gift, still clutched in her left hand. Hexy pulled
open the vial with shaking hands and hurled the tiny contents at the monster.

The water hit him in the face and spattered over his shoulders. Sevin screeched, dislodging rotten seaweed and loose shale from the ledge and knocking Hexy to her knees with the noisy percussion. Thick smoke rose from his body where the water had seared him. So piercing was Sevin’s voice upon her brain that Hexy put her hands over her ears and screamed, calling for Ruairidh.

“I will feed your soul to the kraken,” Sevin screeched, catching hold of the ledge for a second time and heaving himself upward. His smoldering body oozed toward her.

For a second time, terror froze her mind and flesh. All she could do was wait, helpless as he came for her.

Then a second form burst from the water behind the beast, half-shedding fur even as it broke the air.

“Hexy, run!” Ruairidh’s voice filled the cavern.

“You! Come, selkie! I’ll take your soul, too.” Without any hesitation, the finman spun about and hurled himself down upon Ruairidh. The two bodies met in violence and fell to the floor, where they began tearing at one another with teeth and claws. Blood, both black and red, flowed.

“Ruairidh!” Hexy cried, trying to regain her feet.

Behind Hexy came the sound of stone grating on stone and then two phlegm-choked roars.

She remembered the other monsters in her dreams.

Reacting without conscious thought, her only impulse to keep any more horrors from touching her, she turned and hurled her lantern at the two finmen who pushed their boneless forms onto the ledge from the impossible tightness of a narrow crevice between the last two wall niches.

Flaming oil and shards of glass spattered over the two eely forms, making them writhe in agony. Trapped in their stony prison either by their size or by Sevin’s call, they were compelled to try to kill her even as they burned.

Hexy heard more creatures heaving themselves out of the pool and entering the fray, but she could not turn to see what was happening. One of the finmen—
Turpin
—had entoiled her.

Hexy. You’re eye bitten! Wake up!
Rory Patrick cried at her.

But she couldn’t. Though the creature was crisping, burning to nothing as she watched, he still held her in thrall, his power unbreakable. Almost he made her believe that the battle between her lover and the sorcerer was something
unimportant, a longueur through which to sleep. She should just lie down and have a rest until Ruairidh could come to her and take her worry away.

Against her will, Hexy began to slump.

Then Rory Patrick was in her eyes, abrading them and obscuring her sight for the one moment she needed to take back her own mind.

Iron, Hexy. We need iron. An ax, a knife, a needle—anything
.

Iron! That was what Ruairidh had said was in those burning red rocks. Turning, Hexy scrambled back down the ledge toward her bag of stones. She prayed that Ruairidh hadn’t been teasing her about the stones’ efficacy.

Her hands trembled as she unsealed the bag and reached in for a rock. Again it burned her hand as an ember would, and she had to hold back a scream of pain.

Behind her, she heard and smelled Turpin’s slow approach.

Praying for a true aim, she turned and fired a stone in his direction. Evil, get thee behind me! she thought, hurling her thoughts at him too.

Panic lent her strength and accuracy. The red rock flew from her hand and hit the creature between the eyes. As David’s slung missile had done for Goliath, the stone felled the finman where he stood.

Behind Turpin, the second finman, Brodir, tried to retreat into his niche, leaving behind strips of burnt flesh and a trail of black blood. His gaze was malevolent but unable to bespell her now that she had iron in her hand.

Hexy hesitated and then let him go. Instead of chasing him, she turned to look down at the confusion of bodies below her. There were a number of cast-off skins on the floor and a halfdozen pale, blood-smeared bodies grappling with Sevin. Ruairidh was there, too, still half cloaked in fur and more ichor-stained than the others. Long welts cut his skin, plain even in the green light, which made blood look more black than red.

The selkies had Sevin pinned on his back, but even with their vast strength and superior numbers, they seemed unable to deliver a killing blow to the amorphous blob.

The rocks. They are poison—put them in his mouth,
Rory Patrick instructed her.

Hexy stumbled down the ledge. Touching the creature with her bare flesh would be horrible beyond words, but she didn’t hesitate to push her way between startled selkies and throw herself on Sevin’s scaled chest.

“Hexy!” Ruairidh gasped. “What are ye doing?”

“Killing him!” she answered.

“Then hurry.”

The monster’s mouth and eyes were open, pulled wide by Ruairidh’s grip on his bony brow ridge, which forced his neck into an arch. Her lover’s long hands had pierced the scaly skin, swallowing Ruairidh’s finger past the first joint as he grabbed bone in a punishing grip.

Sevin’s flesh was cold and abrading between her legs, scraping skin as he thrashed, but with a strength she did not know she possessed, she was able to stay atop him, in spite of the pain and revulsion.

Having learned her lesson, she did not look into Sevin’s eyes. Hexy quickly opened the bag and emptied it into the monster’s gaping mouth, cramming the bladder in after it for good measure. Teeth cut her hands even through the thickness of the sack, but she trusted Ruairidh to keep him from snapping his jaws shut upon her arm as she rammed the stones home.

For a heartbeat, nothing happened. Then the finman gasped, and something pale and green boiled out of Sevin’s mouth. Right behind the bile came the Reverend Fraser, bursting out of the maw and racing for the top of the cave with an audible howl of one driven mad.

Hexy fell back, trying to escape the green ooze that she knew would burn worse than the iron had.

Spurred by rage and pain, the creature gave a titanic convulsion of his chest and limbs, throwing off Hexy and the selkies as he heaved himself toward the pool and freedom.

Ruairidh was the only one who did not let go when the burning acid hit him. He was pulled toward the water as well, riding the monster’s shoulders as it tried to flee into the deep.

Hexy saw that much before she landed against the wall of the cave, striking her head on the smooth rock. She didn’t lose consciousness from the blow, but the world dimmed and spun on it axis, and she found that she could do no more than lie on the floor until the dizziness stopped.

You did it, Hexy girl
, Rory Patrick said, his voice faraway and much weaker than it had been in the beginning.
You’ve set us all free, love. Hang on now. Your man will be with you soon.

“Is Ruairidh all right?”

Her brother hesitated a moment before answering.

He is alive. Don’t worry about that now.

“I’d have come sooner, Rory Patrick, but I didn’t know you were here,” Hexy murmured.

That’s all right. You came in the end
.

“I love you, Rory Patrick,” she whispered, her voice barely audible above the snarls and barks that filled the air. The selkies were chasing Sevin into the pool. This time, she was certain
that they would be able to kill the monster. The iron had weakened him into vulnerability.

And I love you, Hexy. Rest now, or you will harm the babes.

“I will.” Having no choice with exhaustion upon her, Hexy let her eyes close on the horror and pain of Wrathdrum.

Hexy was relieved to waken and find herself clothed in the sensible woolen dress she had abandoned on the fishermen’s isle. It made her return to reality in a foreign situation nearly bearable.

The world she woke to
was
foreign. It was a place she had never seen or imagined, except perhaps in long-forgotten dreams.

Her memories of how she came to this place were hazy. Two bloodied Ruairidhs had come to her after the battle in the finman’s cave. Kneeling down, one of them had taken her in his arms. The other had gathered up a cast-off skin, examining it with a worried frown.

At the edge of the frightening pool where the finman had gone, the nearer Ruairidh had leaned over and whispered, “I shall breathe for ye,
aroon,
until ye can manage on yer own. Hae no fear of the sea.”

Then he had fastened his mouth on hers and plunged them both into the blue water. After the first shock of the cold water, and seeing a phalanx of seals close in around them with elongated flippers extended, she recalled nothing.

There was a movement beside her and Hexy turned her head, expecting to see Ruairidh sitting beside the bed as he had been so many times when she awakened. But it was not her lover who sat beside her, keeping a vigil. It was an older man who had Ruairidh’s hair and eyes, and another who might have been Ruairidh’s twin.

Her brain was sufficiently awake now to understand that she probably hadn’t been seeing double back in the finman’s cave. Ruairidh actually did have a twin, or at least a brother.

The older man intoned formally, “I am Cathair—son of Ardagh and brother of Colm; first son of Lachlann; father of Keir and Ruairidh. This is Avocamor, home of the People. The ground whereon ye rest is sacred, consecrated by the passage of our ancestors and great progenitor whom are now but foam upon the ocean. Enter our home wi’ veneration, and welcome, daughter.”

The two men stood looking at her, waiting for some response.

Ardagh
. She knew that name.

“Um—thank you for the welcome.”

Dazed, and unable to think of a better reply, though she felt that there was something formal that she was supposed to say, Hexy sat up slowly and looked around at Ruairidh’s father, brother and home.

They were in a grand chamber that had a cathedrallike atmosphere, though it more closely resembled an exotic pleasure garden than any church. Bizarre treelike plants grew from the glassy ceiling downward, their succulent, strangely hued leaves hanging protectively around the reddish fruits that clustered there like grapes. The plants glittered where the pale light caught in their dewy leaves. Their roots ran along the walls in tangled bundles and trailed down into the numerous pools of blue, phosphorescent water, which sent up silver veiling into the air.

She stared at the water, momentarily transfixed. Whatever it was that lived in the water and made it sparkle must have gorged itself on moonlight, swallowing it until it overflowed with silvered illumination. It was liquid moonlight; there were no other words for it.

She turned slowly. There were any number of beautiful crystals growing in the walls’
niches, clusters of calcite that looked like sparkling spider mums from some faerie’s autumnal garden.

Her eyes traveled upward. Through the narrow chimney that opened to the sky, Hexy could see the horned moon, as white as hoarfrost on a wintry night. But something about the image was distorted, as if she were looking into a mirror, or perhaps through an imperfect lens.

Hexy struggled to her feet. Her head throbbed once, and she raised a hand to the back of her skull. She didn’t feel any knots, but the skin was tender, as though pain lurked just beneath the surface.

“What are those marks?” she asked, pointing at a violent zigzag that marred the chimney’s flue. “It looks like lightning.”

Ruairidh’s brother looked at her oddly, but Cathair answered easily.

“And sae it is. These caves are made of sandstone. When lightning hits the ground it melts the sand intae glass and is frozen forever, braided intae the earth. Yer people have a name for this. I am told it is called
fullgerite
. Such an ugly word for something sae miraculous and beautiful.” Cathair’s voice was slow and deep.

It was a strange thing for her to talk about with Ruairidh’s father, but so was everything in her life these days. Like Alice, she had wandered
into some land on the other side of the looking glass.

“Sandstone? But the entire cave seems to be made of glass.” She added politely, “It is very pretty.”

She didn’t add that it also looked a bit hard and cold, and seemed to reverberate with some odd harmonics that distorted both voice and sight. Too, the proportions were subtly wrong now that she was standing upright.

It was also plain that no women lived here.

“It is glass, after a fashion,” Cathair answered. “Back when men first came tae this part of the isle they showed the
sidhe
how to make glass from sand. As a tribute tae one of the great feys, a wall was built tae hold back the tide, and then a huge magical fire was kindled inside this cave. After it burned for nine days the wall was taken down and the tide allowed inside tae carry away the ash and tae cool the crystal.”

Cathair paused, giving her a chance to speak, but again Hexy was at a loss. There were important thing to ask and know, but her brain seemed unable to recall them. It was as though she had a sort of logic amnesia.

After a moment, Cathair nodded and continued the lecture. “Unfortunately, the sea disturbed the
sidhes’
power, which comes from the living land, and they could not abide here. It was given to us in exchange for the shells and
pearls they wanted tae decorate their inland castle. It wasnae long after that that the fruit began tae grow in here. It became our new home when the places south were overrun by men who hunted us for our furs—and simply because they love tae hunt.”

Unprepared to discuss either faeries or hunters, Hexy looked for some other topic.

Her eyes turned to a row of bladders similar to the one leant to her by the mermaid. She realized that the reason she was still feeling dazed was that she was likely under the influence of a familiar narcotic.

“Ruairidh drugged me, didn’t he, before he left?” she asked suddenly.

Cathair frowned. “Why dae ye say that?”

“Because I know this feeling, this disconnection of thought. Why did he do that?” she asked. “Did he think I would be afraid of you if he wasn’t here when I woke up?”

Cathair hesitated, then said, “The babe was disturbed when ye arrived. He thought it best that ye be calmed so the babe could rest.”

“Babes,” Hexy corrected. “There are two. And they aren’t disturbed. They are hungry. They’ve been hungry for days now, poor things. I haven’t known what to feed them.”

Cathair turned and looked at Keir. No words were exchanged, but Hexy sensed that they had
marked something significant in what she had said.

“What is in those bags?” she asked quickly, to distract them, recalling belatedly what Ruairidh had said about the difficulty of being part
sidhe,
and fearing that perhaps she had said too much. “The finwoman gave me one. I do hope that she is all right now.”

“Aye, ye put yer iron rocks in it. That was most clever of ye. But these arenae for stones. They are for making cheese.” Cathair smiled at her stunned look, as though knowing that she had not expected so prosaic an answer. The smile made him appear a great deal more welcoming. “But I must tell ye, daughter, it isnae the cheese frae sheep or cows that you are used tae eating.”

“Cheese,” she repeated. “For what? Do seals eat cheese?”

“Nay. It is for the People—the selkies. Though the seals help, of course. The bags of seal milk are mixed wi’ brine and fruit and then taken out at high tide and anchored in the kelp. The sea stirs them. After, the whey is taken out and fed to the young ones who are tae old tae nurse any longer.” He added, “We eat the curd ourselves sometimes when we tire of fruit and fish.”

Hexy tried to envision babies nursing from seal nannies, but a low humming filled the air
for the space of a long breath. The dark glass resonated around them, shivering like a tuning fork and making her mind go blank as the noise erased her thoughts.

“What is that noise?” she asked as the vibration passed and the ability to speak returned. “It sounds almost like a horn.”

“A rip current races through the underground passages. It would be dangerous to us, but we have a sea gate that holds back the worst of the tide and storms. At the turning of the riptide the cave sings tae us. If ye like, later I’ll take ye to the gate sae ye may hear the music clearly.”

“Thank you, I—” Hexy’s eyes began to blur. Fatigue was abruptly overwhelming, and some unpleasant message began tapping out a distress signal in the back of her brain. Her body also began to ache.

“I’m sorry, Cathair,” Hexy began, putting a hand to her heart, where it seemed her energy was draining from her. “But I am suddenly very tired. Can you fetch Ruairidh?”

Instantly a strong arm was about her waist, lending her support.

“Come,
NicnanRon
. You maun eat and then rest. Ye have a task ahead of ye yet and will need a steady hand.”

“A task?” A low pain began in her chest and spread outward as her brain and body began to truly awaken.

“Aye, now that we are certain ye are truly
NicnanRon.
But it can wait until ye are rested and have eaten,” he assured her.

Sudden alarm shafted through her, making her stiffen against Cathair’s grasp. “Where
is
Ruairidh? Why isn’t he here? He hasn’t gone to look for Sevin, has he? Not alone?”

“Nay. Ruairidh is resting, and the abomination is dead, sae ye have nothing tae fear now,” Cathair said soothingly.

But Hexy had been watching Keir and saw him cast a worried glance down a dark corridor. A hand pushed hard against her heart, as though holding blood back from a gaping hole where it wished to flood. Hexy said, “He isn’t
resting.
He’s hurt and I want to see him. Now.”

Cathair looked at her assessingly and then, perhaps seeing that she was going to hunt for Ruairidh no matter what he said or how much it hurt her, he nodded assent.

“Very well. Ye may see him. But ye maun eat before ye work. We cannae risk either yer health or the babes’. Ruairidh can wait a while yet.”

“Fine, I’ll eat. Just take me to Ruairidh.”

The corridor was darker than the grand chamber, but still not black, since small lighted rooms opened off it. It was in one of these that Ruairidh was found sleeping on a bed of long grass with his skin half peeled off.

Seeing her surprise at his semi-naked state,
Cathair explained, “We had tae dress Ruairidh in his skin as soon as we arrived or he would hae bled to death and the skin would hae died.”

“He used his last bit of strength to bring ye here where ye may be safe,” Ruairidh’s brother said, his voice sharp. “It nearly killed him.”

Hexy looked at her beloved’s pale chest, seeking signs of injury. There were none visible to the eye, yet she was sure that she had seen him cut and bleeding.

“Where is he wounded?” she asked, worried that they might have laid his wounds on the bed of sea grass.

“It was a blow tae the heart, as ye plainly feel now that yer awakening.”

“But I don’t see anything.”

“Ye wouldnae. The flesh heals quickly in the People. But the wound is there all the same. His fur is torn clean through and some terrible magic was used tae inflict it. Because he is part
sidhe,
it didnae kill him straightaway. But if he is tae be saved, ye must bind his wounds with yon needle of bone and a thread of yer hair.”

“But why me?” Hexy asked, sinking to her knees beside Ruairidh and touching his pale face with trembling fingers. His usually animated features were still and waxy, almost deathlike. “Why haven’t one of you stitched him up? He is suffering. I can feel it.”

“He doesnae suffer greatly,” Cathair assured
her. “The sleep protects him frae the worst of the pain.”

“But he maun be healed soon. And only the hand of his
aroon,
his true love, may seal the wounds of the sorcerer,” Keir answered, speaking for the second time. His face was nearly as pale as his brother’s. He held out a long needle to her.

Hexy wanted to protest against the task, because she knew his skin lived and would feel the piercings of the needle even if Ruairidh did not, but she did not speak aloud.

Nevertheless, Keir seemed to be able to read her mind. His tone was almost contemptuous as he added, “Had ye not been here, I would hae done it, since I am also part
sidhe.
But I doubt that it would save him, for a brother’s love isnae enough now that ye have bespelled him. Sew well,
NicnanRon.
Use yer
sidhe
magic to undo what ye wrought by going to that evil place. Yer sewing will determine the scars he bears for the rest of his life, or if he shall even have one.”

“Keir!” Cathair’s voice was sharp, but Keir did not retract his harsh words.

“I’ll bring ye some food,” Cathair said gently to Hexy. “Eat, and then if ye feel strong enough ye may start. Save my son,
NicnanRon,
if ye can. Save the father of yer children.”

Shaken by sudden guilt, Hexy accepted the needle and the responsibility of saving Ruairidh’s life.