by Lari Don
Rona laughed as the two girls dismounted. “Of course it’s safe. It’s run by my aunt. It’s been safe all week. You take security too seriously.”
“It’s because my people take security seriously, seal girl, that no one tells stories about Scotland’s herds of centaurs, but every folklore collection has a dozen selkie stories. We stay hidden because we’re careful.”
Helen and Rona giggled as they walked round the hill towards the campsite, with Yann a careful ten paces behind them.
At home in the Borders, Helen could only meet her friends at night, when they were hidden from human eyes. But the northwest corner of Scotland is the least populated part of Europe, and with a bit of care round the narrow roads and scattered villages, the fabled beasts felt safe there. So she’d really been enjoying this holiday with her friends, roaming the coast of Sutherland in the daytime and actually getting some sleep at night.
Helen’s mum wouldn’t have let her come north for a long weekend to help Rona prepare for the singing competition if she had known who her daughter’s friends really were. Traditional selkies don’t have email or phones, but luckily Rona had an aunt who ran a campsite between Bettyhill and Durness. A quick phone conversation with Sheila Mackay to arrange a pickup at Thurso train station had been enough to reassure Helen’s mum that this was just a normal long weekend with a normal family.
Just before the girls reached the dip between two of the hills behind the campsite, an airborne blur of orange and purple swerved round the slope.
Rona squealed and ducked. Helen stood still, waiting for the blur to slow down into a peach-coloured bird, and a tiny fairy in a purple dress.
Helen shook her head, still momentarily shocked to see Catesby, this wise sarcastic phoenix, trapped in fluffy fledgling feathers.
Yann trotted up behind them, and said, “Hello, fluffster,” then batted away an annoyed attack by his feathered best friend. Meanwhile, Lavender was hovering at Rona’s nose. “So did you …? Were those clouds …? Have you …?”
Catesby squeaked at her in his baby bird voice, and the blonde fairy quietened down long enough for Yann and Helen to chorus, “She won!”
Everyone told their stories at once: the spy, the fight, the storm, the Sea Herald contest.
Then, as Helen was about to step round the hill, Catesby squawked and Lavender called out, “Stop! We came to warn you.”
“Warn us about what?” Yann demanded. “Not humans? At the campsite?”
Catesby nodded.
Rona said, “Auntie Sheila said we’d have the place to ourselves, because there were no bookings for the whole week!”
Catesby gestured with his left wing for Rona to take a look. Yann hung back, as Helen and Rona crept round the hill towards Taltomie Bay campsite.
They peered over the stone wall, past the two-man tent where Helen and Lavender were sleeping, and the family-sized tent, tall enough for Yann to stand up in and Catesby to fly round. They saw three minibuses with canoes on top and bikes on racks; ten tents of varying sizes and shapes; a whole field of teenagers, and a handful of adults, all in Explorer Scout uniform.
Rona sighed. “All that dry air has driven Auntie Sheila dotty. How can we share a campsite with so many humans?”
They ducked down below the wall, slid back round the hill, and stood up to face an angry Yann.
“Is it as bad as they say?”
“Yes,” said Helen. “There are dozens of them and they’ve got boats and bikes, so they’re planning to explore the coast. It might not be safe for you at the campsite, and it’s probably not safe for your contest either, Rona.”
“Nonsense,” said a warm voice behind her.
Helen turned to see a short round woman, with jeans, wellies and long grey hair, walking round the hill. “Nonsense, dear. It’ll be fine.”
“Why did you let them stay, Auntie Sheila?” asked Rona. “Couldn’t you say the campsite was full?”
“Hardly, dear, as there were only two tents pitched when they arrived, and with the contest coming up I knew some humans would be useful … oh …” she glanced at Helen, “… em … isn’t it lucky I suggested pitching your tents at the back corner of the field, with the doors facing inland to avoid the wind, because now you can get in and out over the wall without trotting through the camp. You’ll be quite safe.”
“But how can you say the contest is safe?” Helen persisted.
“Because this unit has stayed here before. They always visit the same islands and climb the same hills. They won’t go anywhere near the Sea Herald contest. Not until …”
Rona jabbed her elbow at her aunt, and Sheila stopped speaking, smiled at them all, then hurried back to the campsite.
“Is that it?” said Yann. “We just hope they don’t notice us in the corner? We just hope they don’t go anywhere near the contest? This is ridiculous. All you tinies and human-shaped beasts can stay here if you want, but I’m leaving. If Rona can’t be bothered trying to win the contest, there’s no point staying anyway.” He lifted a hoof and turned to gallop away.
Helen grabbed his wrist. “Don’t go off in a horse-sized huff. We can stay at the campsite, if we’re careful. And even if Rona doesn’t want your help to win, she might need your help to stay alive. Don’t go, Yann.”
He snatched his arm away. “I thought we could have a normal holiday here, but it’s not possible. Not for fabled beasts. There are too many humans, and no real wilderness left.” But he put his hoof down slowly.
Helen said calmly, “We need to get back to our tents to check we haven’t left anything mysterious or magical outside.”
Catesby flew upwards to look over the brow of the hill and flew back down, squawking. Yann nodded, as the phoenix flew up again to keep watch.
“They’re getting back in the minibuses already, probably going off on a trip,” Yann explained. “Once they’re away, you lot, at least, can go back to the tents. But first, Rona, if we’re going to get you safely through this contest, you have to tell us more about it.”
Rona sighed. “The Sea Herald contest is the oldest contest in the world. Older than the Olympic Games or the giants’ annual boulder bowling. It’s much older than the Storm Singer competition or the other sea tribes’ competitions, which were introduced to limit the numbers competing to be Sea Herald.”
“Are you competing to be a real herald? To deliver or announce something?” Yann asked.
“Yes, to take a message from one deep sea power to the other, to start a battle.”
“A battle!” Yann’s voice rose in excitement. “Fantastic!”
“No, it’s not fantastic! If the herald doesn’t get off the battleground fast enough, the herald gets caught up in the fighting between Merras and Thalas, and can get killed.”
“Who are Merras and Thalas?” asked Helen.
“The two great ones whose weights balance the sea. For as long as the sea has been here, the deep sea powers have fought for control of its water, weather and temperature. For many years, they battled every autumn and Thalas prevailed, and for six months it was cold and stormy. Then in the spring, Merras attacked and because she was rested and his strength had waned, she won, so there were six months of warm and calm. And in the autumn Thalas attacked and won, then in spring Merras regained control …
“So it went on, the rested one winning and the tired one losing every six months, driving the seasons round. But at last, the powers noticed a pattern. No matter how hard they fought, Merras always won at the spring equinox and Thalas always won at the autumn equinox. They were both wounded twice a year, in order for the same thing to happen each time. Eventually, they realised if the winner was inevitable, there was no need to fight. So the equinox battles became rituals, tournaments not wars, where Thalas and Merras flexed their muscles and flourished their weapons, but didn’t risk injury or death.
“And tournaments need heralds. If the two sea powers tried to arrange a ritual fight themselves, they would end up fighting about it. So e
very six months, the Sea Herald takes a formal challenge from the rested power to the ruling power. This week, at the autumn equinox, Thalas will send a message to Merras.”
“You have to do it every six months?” Helen asked.
Rona nodded.
“So they pick a new Sea Herald twice a year?”
“No. Once you have the job, you have it until you’re too slow or too dead to do it any more. The elders pick a herald young, and hope the herald will do it twice a year for many years. Every single time the herald risks being crushed or drowned as the tournament begins, not because the deep sea powers wish to hurt the herald, but because they wouldn’t notice if they did. Even ritual battles between powers larger than islands can destroy smaller creatures.
“The last Sea Herald was a blue man. He retired last spring after sixty years because his ankles were too stiff to sprint any more. Before that my great-grandmother did it for forty-nine years, until she was eaten by a killer whale. But the one before my great-granny was a Cornish mermaid, who never returned from her first Sea Herald trip. So most Sea Heralds last about fifty years, or no time at all.”
“What would happen if the herald didn’t turn up, or if the message was wrongly delivered?” asked Yann.
“Without the herald to remind them of their agreement to hand over control peacefully after a show of strength, the deep sea powers might fight for real. Then the seas would rise in storms fiercer than any storm since the powers have been at peace, and waves would batter the coast so hard it would change the map forever.”
Helen said, “So whoever wins this year’s contest takes a message from one huge being to another, to start a ritual battle which could crush the messenger, and if the herald doesn’t deliver the message properly, a real battle could destroy the coast?”
“Em … yes.”
“I see why you don’t want to win. Why do the sea tribes get involved in this dangerous ritual at all?”
“Because the real battles submerged islands, flooded caves, flattened the seabed, and killed many seafolk and humans. The Sea Herald endangers him or herself, to keep those who live under and by the sea safe. It’s a vital job and a great honour. I suppose it’s my duty to try to win it.”
Rona looked so miserable that Helen gave her a hug. “I’m sure the other competitors are desperate for the honour and would do the job brilliantly. It’s not up to you.”
Rona took a deep breath. “So, because the herald has to get away from the battleground fast, the first task is a speed trial.”
“A race!” said Yann. “Didn’t I say I thought there’d be a race, Helen?”
“Actually, you said you knew there was a race!”
He grinned. “There’s always a race. You’ll win a race, won’t you?” he said cheerfully to Rona. “Seals are hunters in the water, so you’re pretty fast.”
Rona shrugged. “Mermaids and blue men hunt underwater too. But yes, a fast seal has a good chance of winning the race.”
“Are you a fast seal?” Helen had never seen her friend underwater.
“I’m not sure I’d beat Roxburgh or the other boys who train all the time, but I think I could beat a mermaid and a blue man if I really tried.”
“You don’t want to win,” Lavender objected, “so you won’t really try.”
Rona sighed again. “If it looks like I’m trying not to win, selkies might be disqualified from future contests. And I don’t want to embarrass my family by doing really badly. It might be safe to do well in the race, because there’s no danger I’ll win the other tasks.” “Why not? What are the other tasks?” asked Helen.
“The third task is a quest to find the herald’s holder, the container for the message.”
“Excellent!” Yann thumped his fists together. “A quest! We’re great at quests. We can definitely help with that. You could win that too!”
“I don’t want to win it, Yann! I certainly don’t want to win two tasks because then I’d actually be Sea Herald!”
“What’s the second task?” asked Helen.
“It’s … em … just a challenge to show our control over … em … our surroundings …”
“What do you have to do?”
“Just some singing. A bit like today, sort of … Oh! That’s Catesby’s signal; it’s safe to go to the tents. Come on.” And Rona strode off, at a speed which would win races on land as well as at sea.
Chapter 7
Lavender was lifting tiny dresses off a drying line strung between the two tents, and placing them in a large rucksack on the ground, while Helen and Rona brushed hoofprints off the earth between the wall and the tents.
Catesby was fluttering about, pointing to marks they’d missed. Rona muttered, “Why can’t Yann clear up his own hoofprints?”
Helen laughed. “Because he’d leave new prints to clear. We need a plan to keep the Scouts away from this corner permanently, so Yann doesn’t have to stay on the other side of the hill, and so we don’t have to keep clearing up.”
Catesby squawked, and Rona dropped her broom. “They’re coming back. They must have forgotten something!”
Helen ordered, “Catesby, Lavender, go behind the hill and stay with Yann. Rona, hide the brushes.”
“We haven’t got rid of all the hoofprints yet!”
“I’ll sort the prints.” Helen ran to the concrete toilet block, grabbed a hose, turned on the tap and dashed back to the tents.
She soaked the ground, turning centaur hoofprints, bare selkie footprints and phoenix clawmarks into mud.
Helen heard the bus engine growl. “They’re nearly here!” She ran back with the squirting hose, wrestling it under her arm as she turned the tap off, then dashed back to the tent. Four Scouts leapt out of a minibus and walked towards them.
“Hi!” said the driver, who was in his twenties, so he was probably a Scout leader. He looked at the muddy ground and Helen’s soggy jeans. “Have you had a flood?”
Helen shrugged. “There was a burst drain under our tent, so we’re cleaning up.” She wafted her hand in front of her nose. “It was the drain from the toilets, so it’s quite smelly. You don’t want to come too near.”
The Scout leader backed away, saying to the three younger Scouts, “You can give them a hand. I’ll find those bicycle repair kits.”
“I’m Emily,” said one of the Scouts, “this is Ben,” she pointed to a ginger-haired boy, “that’s Liam,” she pointed to a boy standing further away, holding his nose.
“You’ve got two tents,” Emily said. “One of them is huge. How many of you are there?”
“Five,” said Rona.
“Two,” said Helen at the same time.
They frowned at each other.
“Two of us,” said Helen firmly. “But we’ve been here for five days. I’m Helen, this is Rona.” She held out her muddy hand. The Scouts all shook it, then wiped their hands on their trousers.
“So,” said Emily, “do you want help moving to a drier bit of the site?” Helen and Rona shook their heads, and she laughed. “You want to be as far from us as possible? Fair enough!”
Ben said, “I’ll put that rucksack back in the tent, before it gets any muddier.”
“No! I’ll do it!” Helen tried to grab the rucksack before he picked it up. As they politely fought over it, the top layer of packing flew out.
Little dresses, tiny shoes and a spare magic wand.
One pink lacy dress landed on Emily’s trainer. She stared at it. “Do you still play with dolls?”
“Yes!” said Rona.
“No!” said Helen.
Helen sighed. How embarrassing was this? “My little sister was coming with us, but she caught a cold and stayed at home, and I forgot to unpack her toys.”
Emily shook her head, and the three Scouts walked back to the minibus, discussing whether little kids should be allowed out on their own.
Helen muttered, “I’m not a little kid! I’m nearly twelve.” Then she turned to Rona, and raised her eyebrows. “F
ive of us! Were you going to introduce them to the centaur, the fairy and the phoenix as well?”
“Sorry! I’m not used to talking to real humans.”
Helen laughed. “Don’t worry, I wasn’t any better.
Anyway, if they think we’re strange and camped over a burst sewage pipe, they’ll stay away.” She shook her head as they watched the minibus drive off again. “Your Aunt Sheila is a bit naïve if she thinks fabled beasts can live this close to humans.”
“Auntie Sheila knows what she’s doing. She’s run this campsite for thirty years, and no human has guessed what she is. She’s the only selkie we know who stayed on land after her husband gave her back her skin, even after he died and her children left home. She’s pretty good at making your world her own, even though she’s a selkie elder.”
Helen looked at her watch. “You’d better get ready for your victory feast. We’ll join you once it’s dark enough to row over without being seen.”
Once Rona slipped down to the shore and swam off to join her family on Eilan nan MacCodrum, the island in Taltomie Bay, Helen unpacked Lavender’s washing. As she laid the tiny dresses on the groundsheet to dry, she noticed the faint lines on the back of her hand. Helen ran her fingers over the marks. They were tender and itchy.
In the chaos of the Scouts’ arrival, she’d forgotten the fight on the clifftop. Now she wondered why the sea-through had attacked the Storm Singer competition, and why it had waited until Roxburgh was singing.
As she considered these puzzles, Helen got her fiddle out. There wasn’t room to swing a bow arm in her own tent, so she moved to Yann’s taller tent, to play the most intriguing tunes the selkies had sung that afternoon.
When the light outside faded, and she’d played the new melodies into her memory, she returned to her own tent to tidy up Lavender’s wardrobe. As she was matching pairs of shoes, she heard a scratching noise outside. She unzipped the door, and Catesby divebombed in, then told Helen something vitally important.
Which she didn’t understand.
Helen never understood anything important Catesby said.
