Nellie met me at the bluff. This time I watched our path carefully so I’d be able to find my own way home. At sea, finding a route was easy, with currents and wave patterns to guide me. Here I had to memorize markers: a tree with two trunks, a boulder shaped like a whale. And I was on the alert for people. It was bad enough that Nellie’s grandfather had seen me. He was absolutely the last human who could know I was here.
We reached the house and Nellie led me inside. The walrus stood staring out the window. He turned and limped over to a chair. No wonder he was so fierce; he had to be, to survive predators with a leg like that.
He picked up the cold tusk from the table and cradled it in his palm. “I need blue,” he barked.
I glanced at Nellie to see if she understood. But she looked confused, so I asked, “What kind?”
“Every kind. Robin’s-egg blue. Evening blue. Sun-on-the-water blue.” He leaned back in his chair and gestured toward the window and the sea beyond. “How can I paint if I can’t get close to that? My blasted knee is so bad, I can barely walk. I need to rest it for a few days and hope it stops screaming at me with every step. In the meantime, I need to keep working. So bring me blue.”
I followed Nellie outside. I was glad it was misty here. Humans went outside less when it was wet, probably because their clothes got clammy.
“Hold on a second,” said Nellie, spinning around. “I’ll get my backpack.”
Blue. How hard could that be? This shouldn’t take long. We’d find our blue, and then somehow I’d sneak up to the aerie and figure out how to listen to the books. The trick would be doing it without letting the walrus know. And I couldn’t let Nellie know my plans, either. She and her grandfather were close. No, I had to find my way up the stairs when no one was watching—
Nellie touched my elbow and I jumped. Then she was racing ahead. I ran after her, winding downhill around fir trees and leafy trees, bushes and brush. We leaped off rocks and crunched down on a pebbled shore. It was a beautiful little cove, peaceful and sheltered.
“I’ll look here,” said Nellie, bending to the base of the cliff behind us. “You check the beach.”
I picked up handfuls of stones but tossed most of them away again. When we met to share what we’d found, only two were good enough to keep: a shiny, black pebble flecked with blue and a blue-gray shard.
We shook our heads. It wasn’t enough.
A boat puttered into view. I dashed back up the trail, crouching under the leafy trees at the top. Something rustled in the branches high above me. I glanced up in time to catch a flash of pure, bright blue.
Nellie came running up and I pointed. For a moment, nothing. And then, from behind the leaves, another flicker of blue and a burst of song.
“A bluebird,” she said.
She jumped up and grabbed the lowest branch, pulling herself up easily. Then she disappeared into the thick, swaying green. A moment later, the bluebird burst from the leaves and flew to a fir, scolding crossly. I waited for Nellie to come down. Instead, the leaves rustled higher up the tree.
She peeked out near the top, small and far away, and called, “Come see!”
On the rocks where I was raised, trees were bent and stunted by the wind. This one was taller than I’d ever climbed before. I grabbed the branch and pulled myself up, the bark rough under my hands, and then I was climbing high into a dark, cool, whispering world. The leaves brushed gently against my skin. The thinner the branches got, the more they swayed, until it was like riding waves. I almost forgot why I was climbing until I reached Nellie.
She pointed to a hole in the trunk. Inside was a snug nest made of grass, fir needles—and feathers, like slivers of summer sky.
We chose two and left the rest for the bird. Nellie scampered down like a squirrel. I followed, branches bouncing under my weight, and landed in a crackle of brush.
Nearby, we found a cluster of dark blue berries and a sprig of flowers, a soft purple-blue. We spread out our whole collection. The mist had deepened to rain. Nellie’s dark hair dripped around her face.
She sighed. “It’s not enough.”
I scuffed at the ground. She was right. This wasn’t enough to make the walrus welcome me back. I could see it now: a dismissive wave of his hand, a gruff snort, and there went my chances of sneaking up to the books. Colors on land were so feeble compared to those under the sea.
I started walking.
“Where are you going?” Nellie fell in behind me.
“Back to the cove.”
“But we already looked there.”
“We only looked on shore,” I said. “No wonder we didn’t find anything good.”
I jumped down to the pebbles, waded in thigh-deep, and dove.
A silver-blue fish swished past. I let it go. A fish would be hard to carry back alive, and the dead ones lose their shimmer. I swam deeper.
At the bottom, next to a sun-red sea star, lay fragments of mussel shells. I gathered a handful, kicked up, and lobbed them ashore. I dove again. It didn’t take long to find a colony of live mussels nearby. I twisted off a few, hoping their insides would be brighter than the fragments. Besides, I was hungry, and mussels sounded good. As I swam off, I saw some oysters, so I grabbed one of those, too.
I splashed back up on shore. Nellie was looking through the shell fragments.
“These three are best,” she said, holding them out.
They were good, but not great. I cracked open a mussel and offered the meat to Nellie. When she shook her head, I slurped it down. Then I held out the glistening inner shell so Nellie could see. It swirled with layers of blue, from bold and dark to pale and mysterious. The center glowed like a pool of silver-blue moonlight.
We grinned at each other.
“That’s it!” said Nellie, bending to put the treasures in her pack. She headed up the trail.
I was still hungry, and I wasn’t going to let the oyster go to waste. I grabbed a sharp rock and pried it open—
There, atop the meat, nestled a pearl, as round and shining as the Moon. It almost looked like it belonged in the night-blue sky of the mussel shell. I slipped it into my pocket. Then I swallowed the oyster and ran after Nellie. Toward the walrus, and the house made of windows, and the aerie full of secrets.
Chapter Thirty-Six
The Story Fire
As we neared the house, Nellie grabbed my arm.
“Look! Smoke! He’s made a fire!”
I didn’t understand her excitement, but it didn’t matter. I was going back inside.
The walrus sat before an open hearth. The embers flickered in a constantly shifting pattern, like light dancing through water.
“Let’s see what you’ve got,” he said.
Nellie pulled our findings from her pack and spread them out on the low table.
He picked up the pebble with blue flecks and held it to the light. He was staring at the stone, and Nellie was staring at him. . . . I slipped the whole mussel shell out of the pack and into my pocket.
He examined the blue-gray shard, the pale flowers, and the feathers. His brows lowered. “Is that all?”
Nellie pulled out the broken mussel shells and set them down so they caught the light from the fire.
The walrus leaned closer. He picked them up one by one, turning them this way and that.
“Is it enough, Grandpa?” asked Nellie.
The set of his mouth said it wasn’t.
“There was one more,” she said, turning to the pack.
“Here it is.” I placed the whole mussel shell on the table. Closed, so the walrus could open it himself.
He set it on his palm. Firelight flickered across the dark surface. Then he lifted the top.
His eyebrows shot up. Nellie gasped.
There, on the pool of silver-blue nacre, sat the perfect round moon of the pearl.
The walrus stared, trying to figure it out.
“They really grow in oysters,” I explained. “Not mussels. But the colors of the shell . . .”
“It’s like they’re trading light,” whispered Nellie.
The walrus was looking at me thoughtfully, his head tilted to one side.
“Now is it enough?” said Nellie.
A smile played at the corner of his mouth. “It will do.”
I glanced toward the staircase with a sigh. With Nellie and her grandfather right here, I couldn’t sneak up to the aerie.
“I guess I should go,” I said, taking a step toward the door.
Nellie’s head flew up. “But Aran, there’s a fire! It mean’s Grandpa’s in a storytelling mood. You have to stay!”
I eyed the walrus warily, but the more he accepted me, the closer I’d get to his books. So I sat at the edge of the rug, far from the fire and close to the door. Just in case.
The walrus took his tusk from a pocket and cradled it, unlit, in his palm. “Now,” he said, “what do you want to hear a story about?”
“Selkies,” I said before I could stop myself. Then I bit my lip. I couldn’t believe I’d said the word out loud.
But he didn’t seem suspicious, or even surprised. “Ah! A tale from my homeland. Let’s see, there’s ‘Westwood Pier,’ about the man who followed the selkie. But no, that wouldn’t do for children.” He stared into the fire. “I know, we’ll start with the classic tale of the selkie wife. Go get the cookies, Nellie.”
She ran into the kitchen and came back a moment later carrying a plate piled with flat, brown circles. She offered me one, but I shook my head. She and the walrus each took two.
Nellie sat on the rug halfway between the walrus and me. She glanced at him, and I could tell she usually sat right beside him for stories, like I did with Grandmam. I took it as a sign of friendship, so I wouldn’t be too far outside the story’s circle.
She didn’t have to worry. The moment the story started, the walrus’s gravelly voice drew me in, deeper and deeper, until I was under the story’s spell.
“Once upon a time,” said the walrus, “when the world was newer than it is now and the magic fresher, there was a man named Sean O’Casey. One night he stumbled back to his boat, a bit the worse for drink. ‘I’ll sit for a moment and catch my breath,’ said he, leaning back against the rocks above the beach. Soon he was sound asleep.
“The moon rose as round and bright as a silver platter. Sean woke to the sounds of lively music and laughter rising from below. Now, who could be having a party this time of night? He peered over the rocks. The shore was full of dancers, their steps graceful, their skin pale, their hair as dark as night. To his great surprise, not one of them wore a thread of clothing.
“That’s when Sean noticed the sealskins piled on the rocks. Black, silver, speckled; each one sleeker than the last. Ah, so the dancers were selkies! In the water, selkies look like seals. But when they come ashore, they slip off their sealskins and step out in the same form as you and me, to dance by the light of the moon.
“Now Sean O’Casey was a lonely man in want of a wife, and these black-haired beauties made his heart beat faster. He waited until a spirited reel carried the crowd away. Then he crept down and searched through the furs until he found the prettiest one of all. A soft, speckled brown it was, and as sleek as can be. He tucked it inside his satchel and crept back to his hiding place.
“The music stopped and the dancers ran laughing back to the rocks. Each one found a fur, slipped it on, and swam away, until only one selkie remained on shore. ‘Where can it be?’ she cried in anguish, searching around the rocks. ‘Oh, where can it be?’
“‘You won’t find your sealskin there,’ said Sean, stepping out from his hiding place. ‘It’s gone. You’re coming home with me.’
“How she wept, then, and pleaded with him to let her return to the sea. But he only draped his coat over her shoulders and rowed her back to his cottage. A big silver seal followed the boat, staring at them as if his heart were breaking.
“The selkie became Sean’s wife, and a good wife she was, bearing him four fine children, keeping his house, and cooking his meals. Things might have stayed that way forever. But one day her young son ran up, calling, ‘Mother, look what I found in the loft!’ In his hands he held a sealskin, a soft, speckled brown, and as sleek as can be.
“Now, they say when a selkie has her sealskin, she can’t resist the ocean’s call. Without a word she thrust her babe into the oldest child’s arms, slipped on the sealskin, and swam away.
“Sean O’Casey came home that night to find his children standing at the shoreline. He followed their gaze. A speckled brown seal stared back at him from the waves. A big silver seal swam by her side.
“‘Come back!’ Sean cried. ‘Come back to your children and your home! After all these years, don’t you love me?’
“Without a word, she dove and disappeared into the great, gray sea.”
The room grew silent, except for the gentle crackle and spark of the fire.
“And the children?” I asked, still deep in the story.
The walrus leaned forward. “What do you mean?”
“What happened when they got their pelts? Now that their mam is back in the sea, and the Moon . . .”
“Well, now,” said the walrus. “The story doesn’t say.”
He set his pipe down with a loud thunk. All at once I was aware of his eyes on me.
It took all my willpower to stand up slowly. “What do you need us to find tomorrow?” I said, trying to keep my voice steady.
The walrus had picked up the pearl and was rolling it around in his palm. “I’ll tell you in the morning.” His voice came from far away.
Nellie jumped up and started walking with me to the door, but I needed to be alone.
“I’ll find my own way back,” I said. Before she could protest, I was gone.
I was walking through the forest, but all I saw was that selkie’s face when she couldn’t find her pelt on the beach. That man said he loved her, but he kept her trapped in his house.
Like my father trapped Mam.
I felt dizzy. It was Mam’s story, but twisted and told from the other side. Everything was reversed, like looking in Maggie’s mirror and seeing myself the wrong way around.
How strange to see a selkie through human eyes! And those children, staring after their mam as she swam away . . .
Like my mam swam away.
A shiver ran down my spine. I stopped and took a deep breath, pushing the feeling away. There wasn’t any need for me to be uneasy! My mam had borne me at sea. She raised me with salt and moonlight on my skin, taught me the songs for the rites. And I didn’t get cold, did I? Or need fresh water?
I pulled the stone selkie from my pocket and walked on with her clasped in my hand.
No, I wasn’t worried. I was interested. Stories were places where the two worlds met, swirling around each other like ribbons of foam. The more I heard, the more I wanted to know. Now I was even more determined to get into the aerie. Before Mam came back for me, I’d find out as much from human tales as I could. Then I’d share my discoveries with the clan.
I got back to find Maggie sunken in the big chair, gray and exhausted. She hadn’t even taken off her coat.
“Where have you been, Ocean Boy?” That was all it took to start her coughing.
“Exploring. I’ll make you some coffee.”
I went to the kitchen and turned on the heat under the kettle, trying to figure out what to say when she asked me more. But when I returned with the coffee, her eyes were closed. I set the steaming mug gently on the table at her side and started to tiptoe away.
“They want me to go in for tests,” she rasped.
I turned. “Go in?”
“To the hospital on the mainland. They want me to stay there awhile. I had to tell them I’d think about it before they’d let me out the door.” She reached for the mug. “Bring me the calendar.”
I brought it over and her finger traced the rows.
“Not long now until your mom’s back. I’ll wait until then to decide.”<
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Her sunken cheeks, her tired eyes . . .
“Are you . . . I mean . . .” I looked out the window at the trees in the distance. “Can they heal you there?”
She blew on the steam and took a slow sip. “I don’t know. And I don’t think they know, either, for all their talk. I don’t have much truck with hospitals, after Tommy.”
I almost asked what happened to him, but part of me didn’t want to know. “Maybe you should go,” I said. “I’ll be fine on my own.”
She shook her head with a half smile. “We made a deal, you and me. I keep my promises. We’ll stay here together until your mom comes back.”
Chapter Thirty-Seven
The Tree Cave
The next day I found my own way to Nellie’s house. I knocked and she let me in.
“Come look,” she said, leading me to the big table by the window.
Our blue feathers and shells lay scattered across the wood. Next to them was a half-filled sheet of thick paper. It wasn’t a picture of a thing, just colors and shapes. A sphere swirled with silver-blue light. Beside it, three stripes—just lines, but somehow they carried both the stillness of the shell and the swiftness of the stroke. The space between the pearl and the stripes felt alive. Like whispers were passing back and forth. I drew in my breath.
“Don’t stand there gawking,” barked the walrus.
Nellie and I jumped and turned around.
“I need rough,” he said. “Rough you can see and rough you can only feel. As many kinds as you can bring me. Well, what are you waiting for? Go!”
This time Nellie led me inland, in a direction we hadn’t gone before. We ran through a thick fir forest and across a meadow. We skirted a house with peeling red paint; it looked deserted, but Nellie kept us out of sight anyway. She didn’t even need me to remind her.
The ground began to climb. Now we were hiking up a steep hill, with rocks and scraggly grass underfoot. We crested the top.
“There!” said Nellie, proudly.
Spindle Island lay spread out below us. There was the harbor, with miniature boats bobbing at the pier. The buildings looked like tiny boxes. The bigger one must be Jane’s store. I was surprised how few other houses there were. From the dock, in the dark, the town had seemed much bigger. A single black road wound inland like a snake with a yellow stripe down its back. Here and there, ribbons of dirt road branched off toward solitary houses.
The Turning Page 13
