Selkie's Song (Fado Trilogy)

by Clare Austin

  But it seemed so real.

  The luminosity of morning sun played beneath the cloud bank as it skimmed the water’s surface and gave a haunting green glow to the paddock grass.

  Ty left the road, crossed under a wire fence, and walked toward the cliff edge a few yards away.

  Only the call of seabirds, the pulse of waves striking the rocks and the ever-present wind struck his ears…no human voice, no singing.

  Swallowing back his trepidation, he looked down the sheer face of the headland onto the rocks below. The tide was out, leaving scraps of sea flora behind in its scheduled retreat. He thought he saw marks in the sand, but he was too far above to make any details.

  As he moved along the edge, he found a path…stairs cut into the rocky ledge. This was what Muireann had called the Manach Dréimire, the Monk’s Ladder. If he was careful, it looked safe enough to take him down to the strand. Ty’s stomach churned in rhythm with the receding tide, but curiosity was stronger than fear of falling.

  He had been right. Foot prints, freshly pressed in the wet sand, betrayed the phantom as nothing but a mere mortal. Not only a mortal, but one with a dog…a very big dog.

  Muireann and Cú. But where did they go? And how did she get past him down to this strand without his seeing her?

  Tynan followed the prints. They led him to the water’s edge and disappeared there. Had the pair gone for a swim? He’d wait. She would have to come out sometime. Where was Cú? As far as Tynan knew, the big hound didn’t like to get wet. Would he have followed Muireann into the water?

  A splash caught his attention and he stared at the undulating sea until his eyes grew accustomed to the shifting light.

  There, bobbing in the ripples and eddies, a dark form appeared. “Muireann,” he called. “Come on out of that freezing water, beautiful. I’ll warm you up.”

  No answer. The shadowy bather disappeared beneath the grey surface. When it appeared again, Ty knew he was wasting his words of concern. The swimmer was a common seal and not a woman after all.

  “Okay, fooled me, you did,” he said.

  “Who?”

  Ty spun around at the question. It was Muireann’s mother, Cú standing mutely at her side. “Mrs. O’Malley, what are you…?

  “I heard someone out here.” She laid a hand on his arm. The chill in it went right through his shirt and Tynan trembled. “Are you lost?”

  “No…Oh, you startled me. I’m just out for a ramble. I thought I heard something, someone, singing and climbed down here to see what I could find.”

  “Singing?” she queried. “You heard singing?”

  “It was just my imagination.” Tynan looked more closely at Muireann’s mother. Her long grey-streaked hair was loose now and fell in damp strands over her shoulders. She wore a simple white T-shirt and a green gauze skirt that danced around her ankles. Her feet were bare. Had she been swimming and dressed hastily when she saw him walking along the ridge?

  “What are you doing out here so early, Mrs. O’Malley?” he asked.

  Dervla laughed. “Consorting with the Good People. Or so my husband and daughter would like to think.” She started to stroll along the water’s edge where with each surge of the tide her footprints dissolved away. “I come out here to look for treasures the sea leaves with the tide…an unusually shaped stone, pink shell, or shard of sea glass to add to the collection in my garden.”

  He was tempted to ask how long she had been out here. The sun had just risen and the tide had begun to surge. Was it her habit to look for shells in the dark? This was just another oddity surrounding the woman.

  “I thought I saw a seal out there.” Ty pointed toward the deep.

  “Oh, and that would be Cara Dorcha,” she said.

  “Dark friend? Anyone we know?” Ty ventured in a tease.

  “You didn’t mistake her for a selkie, did you?” she added with a sly smile on her lips.

  “I make no assumptions after the stories Muireann told me about this headland.”

  Dervla walked around a large rock where the tide had flattened the sea grass into a mat about its base. “Join me?”

  Tynan needed to know this woman better. She intrigued him in many of the same ways Muireann had. He thought he might gain a deeper understanding of the daughter through her mam.

  The foamy white caps on the sea chilled the breeze. Tynan fought off a shiver. Though Dervla was lightly dressed, she seemed not to notice the cold.

  “Come. If we hurry, I can show you a very special place.” She led him over the sand and rocks. Her feet were bare and Tynan wondered how she could tolerate the sharp protrusions. “Do you know what a spring tide is, Tynan?”

  “I know it has nothing to do with the time of year.”

  “You’re right. It’s when the sun and moon have the strongest gravitational pull on the seas. It is only possible when the moon is new or full, as it is now.”

  “Is that what you wanted to show me?” he asked.

  Dervla stopped walking and turned to look at him. “You have been away from your land too long, Tynan. Be patient with the earth. It moves at its own pace.”

  He wondered at her cryptic comment, but remained silent.

  “Did you enjoy the solstice?”

  Enjoy didn’t quite cover the feelings he had about it. “Yes, the fires were beautiful.”

  “Were you aware you were being watched?”

  Ty felt a warm rush of blood travel up his neck. “Uh…I don’t think so.”

  “Ian Feeney is a hateful and jealous young man,” she said with a touch of sorrow in her voice. Then she laughed. “He thinks I’m a witch…that if he comes too close, I’ll make him impotent or the rest of his hair fall out.”

  “Do you think he means Muireann any harm?” he queried. The last he had seen of the banker had been when he drove away with Ms. Walshe. Had he taken her home and come back to the bonfire?

  Dervla left his question hanging in the brisk air as she moved around the headland and disappeared into a cave. Tynan decided to let her comments drop for now, but promised himself to be discreet and watchful.

  He followed her. The cave was dark as ink and he couldn’t see.

  “Listen,” she said in a whisper.

  He held his breath and strained to hear. A hum pulsed with the rhythm of the sea. The sound was reminiscent of someone plucking the bass strings on a harp.

  “This was Ronan’s favorite place of all,” Dervla said. “It is only possible to safely approach the cave entrance when the tide is out…very far out, as it is today. Stay too long, and you will be trapped. The sea is too rough for even the strongest swimmer to reach the shore. One would tempt death against the rocks. Local legend has it the cave is haunted, enchanted…no one else has come here in a very long time.”

  “Does Muireann come here?”

  “Ach, sure now. But, swimmer that she is, even Muireann would not test the tides when they are strong.”

  The floor of the cave had been dry only moments ago. Now water started to swirl around his feet, wetting his shoes. “We’d best go back,” he said and started to head out side.

  Dervla stopped him with a hand on his arm. “My son will meet me here. Ronan knows the tides.” With an unsettling sureness, Dervla spoke of him as though he still lived.

  She led Ty beyond the cave entrance. “Come, it’s time to leave.” Once on the windswept beach, she stopped, turned to him, and seemed to search his face for recognition.

  Ty was acutely uncomfortable with her scrutiny and spoke out of need to break the odd spell she seemed to cast on the day. “What was he like…your Ronan?”

  Even in the dim light Ty could see her ebullient smile.

  “Ronan? Gifted. A quiet soul and older than his years. Perhaps that’s why he left us so soon.” She shook her head as though scattering her sorrow to the four winds. Tendrils of her hair brushed her shoulders. “My son was one of the last true bards. He understood where music was born and how words and sounds should be shaped to
bring out the wonder of a story.”

  “I saw his harp in Muireann’s cottage. I’ve never seen one like it.”

  Dervla opened her hands and spread her arms wide. “This…all of this was his inspiration and Muireann was the model for the carved pillar.”

  “Yes, I was startled when I realized it was her.” Muireann, he recalled, just as he had seen her emerge from the water the day he arrived in Ballinacurragh.

  “Ronan loved his sister. They were close as siblings can be, but so different.” Her voice remained steady, but she dropped her eyes to the sand at her feet. “He was, some people said, the incarnation of Bardán.”

  “Bardán, the son of Padraig Ó Conghaile and the selkie woman?”

  She looked pleased. “You’ve heard the story then?”

  “Yes, Muireann told me the tale and Mary told me all about Mara, who was lost off these cliffs. Was it her I heard singing?” Ty ventured.

  Dervla laughed. “That is for you to decide.” But her smile faded as she continued. “We have little understanding of what we see, even less of what we hear. But be certain of this…the truth is there whether we believe it or not.” She stood and so did he. “You like my daughter, don’t you?”

  Tynan felt a rush of blood warm him. “Very much,” he admitted.

  “She can be a maddening puzzle. Do you think you have patience for the solving?”

  “I hope so.” Ty wasn’t sure where Dervla was going with this, but he thought he’d best listen to her wisdom.

  “The wind howled and thunder shook the earth the night my Muireann came into this world.” Dervla bent and picked a shell from the wet sand. She rubbed it between her fingers and then slipped it into the pocket of her skirt. “She was a restless infant, colicky, fought sleep, and would only be soothed by song and the music of the sea.

  “Every day and sometimes in the hours between the darkest night and dawn, I would carry my wee daughter to this headland and rock her to the rhythm of the tide until she calmed.” She turned and looked intently in his eyes. “I feel a quiet soul in you, Tynan.”

  He grinned at the way she had sorted him so easily. “Got me there,” he said.

  “The daughter of the Ó Conghaile will test you.” She turned and walked with purpose down the strand toward the place where the rocks met the sea and called over her shoulder. “Good day to you, young man. Slán abhaile…safe home now.”

  Tynan watched her go before he made his way to the Monk’s Ladder, climbed to the top and peered down from his high vantage point. He saw no sign of Dervla. Nor did he see any footprints, woman or hound, in the direction she had gone.

  It must have been due to the glint of sun on the sand.

  ****

  Muireann tossed her soiled potting tools in the washtub and ran warm water over them to soak. She’d felt inspired after her swim and had thrown a pot to see if her skill had diminished from lack of practice. It hadn’t and she was reminded how much she loved playing with mud.

  With her back to the door of the workshop, she felt more than saw a shadow blocking the slanting afternoon sun.

  “Thought I might find you here.”

  She recognized the greasy tones, turned, and stood, hands on her hips, chin jutted. “Feck off, Ian. We’ve nothing to discuss and you are not welcome in my home.”

  “You’re wrong about the first part.” He stepped inside. “I know what you want and if you are willing to work with me, you’ll have most of it. Work against me and you’ll have nothing.”

  Anger stabbed at her stomach and burned. “That sounds a bit like a threat, Ian. Are you sure you want to go that route with me?” Muireann pushed her hair away from her face with a wet, grimy hand.

  “You’re lovely even with that blue paint on your cheek,” Ian said with a leer.

  Laugh or gag, Muireann wasn’t sure which impulse was stronger. “Trying to get what you want with charm is not your strong suit. You’d best stick with financial brute force.”

  He coerced his face into a smile, while the twitch of his jaw said everything he tried in vain to hide.

  “Look, Ian, the O’Malley land is a sacred site. I’ve evidence of it. I’ll call the media and this will be tied up in a brouhaha ’til we’re both rotting in our graves.”

  Ian stepped toward her. She remembered the look on his face from other encounters. He was going to try to cajole and bargain with what he deemed to be charisma. In reality, he had all the sex appeal of a side of pork.

  “We have no reason to fight. I’m on your side, Muireann. I always have been.”

  “And just what do you mean by that?” This had been a theme with Ian and unless he’d had a personality transplant since last time, it wasn’t going to be to her advantage to be sucked in by him.

  He loosened his tie and gave a chuckle that made his jowls jiggle. “You know you can’t win your crusade here. We could be partners in this. We could even include your Tynan, if you wish.”

  She felt a rising of nausea and folded her arms across her chest in a posture of defense. “A threesome? How lovely.” She closed her eyes to try to obliterate the visual. “So am I to understand, you are only being a shitehawk because it’s in my best interest?”

  Stepping toward her, he reached a hand out, skimming it over her shoulder. “You know, I’ve always thought you were a lovely woman. Why can’t there be peace between us?”

  She shrugged his touch away and backed up. The cold of the porcelain sink permeated her thin T-shirt and the chill of Ian’s presence sent her mind into hypervigilance. He was one of the few people on earth she didn’t mind injuring. Breathe, she commanded herself. Breathe and let him get just close enough. Regretting the choice of a thin shirt, Muireann felt her nipples contract from cold and anxiety.

  His eyes grazed her, focusing on her breasts. “Hmm…a tad excited? Admit it, you wouldn’t mind getting a little of what I have to offer.”

  Her breath quickened and she tried to control the churning in her gut. How much of this could she tolerate? Glancing over his shoulder, she saw Cú peek around the door frame.

  “Ian,” she whispered, “a woman needs to see the goods.”

  His laugh echoed off the stones as he moved back a half step, unbuckled his belt, and pulled his shirt from his pants.

  Muireann swallowed. Her mouth was dry as aged peat; her stomach lurched at the proximity of this vile excuse for a human being. But she would wait until the right moment to make her point. She didn’t want to ever return to this place with Ian Feeney this side of hell.

  “There’s something I’ve gotta know, Ian.” She forced her voice to be as sweet as treacle.

  He leaned toward her and whispered. “What would that be?”

  Muireann made a slight movement with her right hand. A signal she knew Cú understood. She saw him lower his head as though taking aim.

  “Have ya been a good Catholic?”

  Ian snorted. “I didn’t think you cared for the faith yerself, Muireann. So why would the condition of my immortal soul interest you?”

  “Just making sure your heart belonged to the Holy Mother.” She pushed on his chest with both hands. “Because yer arse is about to belong to my hound.”

  Ian spun and tripped, falling on his backside. Cú, hackles raised, teeth bared, and a low rumbling growl coming from deep in his massive chest, took a step toward the man.

  “Call him off,” Ian cried in high-pitched terror. “I’ll have you arrested. I’ll see he’s destroyed as a dangerous animal.”

  Cú crept forward, menace in his eyes.

  “Everyone in the village loves this gentle beast. No one will harm him and you know it.” She raised her hand in a signal for Cú to sit. Ian scrambled to his feet; his trousers slipped, exposing his briefs before he could hike them up and buckle his belt. He backed toward the door.

  Muireann caught the burst of laughter from escaping her throat. “Ach, now, run away before I lose control of my dog. But I’ll tell you, if you ever come near me again, I w
on’t stop him from biting off your bollocks and having them for tea.”

  ****

  Tynan hiked back to Muireann’s cottage and found her standing at the big washbasin in her shed with ceramic clay up to her elbows and a smudge of blue on her cheek.

  “Hey, beautiful,” he called from the door.

  She didn’t look up from her work. Ty couldn’t imagine she hadn’t heard him. He stepped close and put his arms around her, pinning her to him.

  She stiffened.

  Ty let go and stepped back. “Sorry. I should know better than to interrupt an artist at her work.” But he felt more than a bit stung by her reaction.

  “I have to focus.”

  “Tool washing can be intense work,” he quipped.

  Muireann spun around and faced him, eyes red rimmed and a tightness to her jaw he hadn’t seen last night. “My work is important,” she said through clenched teeth.

  “I’m not questioning that.” Ty reached out to push a stray strand of hair out of her face. Muireann turned away. “Did something happen? Why are you so upset?”

  “I’m not.”

  “How about we go inside and get a cup of tea?” Then he felt a little like an Irish mother, suggesting tea would fix what was eating at her. “Coffee?”

  Muireann closed her eyes, took a deep breath, and sat on the old church pew she had scavenged at a parish rummage sale.

  Ty joined her. He was careful to allow her some space. Sometimes, even a man can intuit when his woman doesn’t feel like close contact. He waited for her to calm and hoped she would be able to confide in him. This was a side of Muireann he hadn’t confronted, and he knew he’d best be tactful.

  She took a breath and exhaled the words with more discouragement than annoyance. “Ian dropped by.”

  Fear mixed with anger ripped though Ty like a jolt of electricity. He cupped her chin and turned her face to his. “Did he hurt you? What did he do?” Ty wiped at the blue smudge to make sure it was not a bruise. The cerulean chalk came away on his hand and he calmed.

  “He didn’t dare touch me.” She shivered, though the room was warm. “Cú saw to that.”

  “What then?”