Fear the Drowning Deep

by Sarah Glenn Marsh

  “Yes. No. And yes.” Mally smiled over her shoulder at Grayse. “But he’s wearing a pair of Da’s trousers now.”

  “We’ve tended his fever and treated the infection,” she continued. “Now he needs to rest and let his body heal. If anyone can convince him of that.” She glanced sideways at me, her lips pursed. “I gave him something to help him sleep. He kept trying to pick off his bandages.”

  “Did he say what attacked him? Those gashes looked quite nasty.” A gust of warm wind buffeted my face, bringing with it a smell worse than the decaying rubbish in Morag’s cottage. The wind was suddenly too salty, too sharp, like a freshly gutted fish. I opened my mouth to ask if anyone else had noticed the change, but the odor vanished with my next breath.

  “No. He didn’t say much. He seemed grateful for what you did. You were brave today, Bry.” Mally drew me against her side, our hips bumping together with every step. “You deserve a medal.”

  I only had to wait a few hours before everyone else turned in for the night. The day’s excitement had made us all drowsy, but as soon as Mam’s steps traveled down the hall to her bedroom, I slid out from beneath the covers and crept to the main room.

  Fynn was asleep on the sofa, his head buried in the cushion as though he couldn’t stand his surroundings. Whatever concoction Mally had given him must have been powerful. Da’s trousers looked baggy belted around the lad’s waist, while my cloak covered his chest and most of his bandaged stomach.

  I perched on a bit of cushion near his head, fighting the impulse to wake him. He hadn’t seemed too friendly on the walk home, but, then, he’d been hurting. I’d broken my arm rolling down a hill when I was Grayse’s age, and I’d howled and raged for hours afterward. Gashes like Fynn’s were bound to hurt even more.

  I studied his dark curls and the tips of his ears, which were slender and sharper-looking than any I’d seen before. Gently pointed, like the leaves of an ash tree. Part of me wanted him to stay asleep so I could look at him for hours in the quiet, but another part wanted to wake him. To hear his voice again. To feel the unsettling swooping sensation that overtook me every time his eyes met mine.

  Finally, here was someone new. Someone who was more than just a tourist, eager for a quick look around the island before taking the next boat to the mainland. Even if he was a tourist before, he was bound to stay a while now.

  I wanted to keep vigil at his side, but my eyelids grew heavier by the minute. I didn’t bother covering my mouth to hide a huge yawn.

  I had only taken a few steps back toward my bed when a rustling made me pause. Fynn was tossing and turning, kicking at the edge of the sofa. I thought a story might soothe his slumber. That always helped when I didn’t feel well.

  I grabbed the paraffin lamp Mam kept near the door and lifted the glass chimney to light the wick. While I waited for the lamp to warm to full brightness, I carried it to the shelf that held Da’s mess of maps.

  Beneath crumpled papers documenting his best fishing grounds, a treasure waited: Non-native Birds of the British Isles. A tourist had left it on the dock one day, and Lugh had claimed it, wrapping it in white paper and giving it to me on my fourteenth birthday. He thought the gift was clever because of my nickname, Bridey-bird.

  I considered it special because it was the only book I owned. The scent of its yellowing pages and the crinkle they made when turned were a constant reminder of why I needed to leave the island.

  The lamp flared like a small sun, revealing the corner of Non-native Birds. I picked it up and reclaimed my spot on the sofa, setting the lamp at my feet. If I angled the book toward the light, the words were fuzzy but readable.

  I flipped to a random page and began in a low voice, “The Barnacle Goose was first introduced to Great Britain in …” I yawned, but Fynn had stopped shifting, so I continued on. “It is dis … dis-tin-guished by its white face and black plumage….”

  The black-and-white sketch of the goose blurred as my eyes drifted shut. I curled up, clutching the book to my chest, Fynn’s hair tickling my feet. Somewhere in the distance—or perhaps on the fringes of the dream world—someone played a tune as soft as a lullaby. A small voice in the back of my mind wondered who would be fiddling at this hour, and urged me toward the nearest window, but sleep claimed me before I could turn thought into action.

  CHAPTER SIX

  “Bridey Reynylt Corkill!” Mam’s sharp voice shattered my dreamless sleep.

  Panic coursed through me as I opened my eyes. Had someone else been attacked? Or disappeared?

  “What is it?” I sat upright, displacing Fynn’s head from my lap in the process.

  He continued to snore softly, content as a babe. How had he gotten so close without waking me?

  Mam loomed over the sofa, an ominous crease between her brows. The paraffin lamp dangled from her hand, its wick charred. One of her feet tapped my book on the floor. “What on earth are you doing? Liss said you never came to bed last night!”

  “I was reading to Fynn like you do when I’m sick, and fell asleep.” I risked a glance at Fynn, whose eyes were still closed. It was a wonder he could sleep through all this commotion.

  Mam’s expression softened. “Oh. Of course you were reading, bird.”

  Her words had an odd lilt to them. Did I seem so innocent it was impossible to imagine me doing anything more with a lad in the wee hours than reading? Finding Fynn yesterday had certainly given me new ideas to contemplate, but I’d considered lads as something to be desired before now. There was Lugh, for one. The lad I hadn’t thought of since Fynn’s rescue.

  Mam interrupted my thoughts. “You should change your dress and be off to Morag’s.”

  Guilt twisted my insides in agreement. Though I wasn’t supposed to work today, I ought to go see Morag and explain why I’d never finished my errand. Hopefully, she’d agree that saving a life was a reasonable excuse for not bringing her any snigs.

  “And you best—”

  “Ask if I can work extra to make up the time.” I sighed heavily as Mam turned away.

  My gaze traveled to Fynn, who shifted restlessly again. Maybe he’d had a nightmare about his attack. I wanted to reach out to him, to rest my fingers on his arm, perhaps, or to find a cool cloth to place on his forehead. One glance at Mam, though, told me I’d better leave the matter of Fynn’s health to her.

  Still, I refused to leave without answers. “What’ll happen to him?”

  Mam frowned. “He’s not on death’s door, if that’s what you’re thinking. They’re nasty scratches, to be sure, but Mally’s salve should keep the infection out.”

  “No, I mean, where will he stay? What if his wounds heal but he still can’t remember who he is?” I didn’t like the thought of returning from Morag’s to find the sofa bare, and Fynn thrust onto a neighbor with a spare bed and no curious daughters.

  Mam smiled and waved a hand dismissively. “He’ll stay with us until he’s sound in body, mind, and spirit. The Corkills don’t turn their backs on anyone in need. And never mind the inconven—”

  The front door swung open with a low groan, and Da stumbled inside, his lunch pail and fishing poles in hand.

  “Peddyr, you’re home early!” A crease formed between Mam’s brows as she swept over to kiss his cheek. Da had been away at sea as usual, and we hadn’t expected him back until suppertime.

  “Something wrong with the boat?” I asked through a yawn.

  “It’s not that.” Da didn’t meet my eyes as he answered. “I saw some commotion on the beach, and the fellas and I decided to head in early in case there was trouble. It’s not like we were catching much anyway. Danell Gill met us at the harbor.”

  “And …?” Mam demanded.

  Da brushed a hand over his beard. “Eveleen Kinry disappeared last night. Danell said her parents found her bedroom window open. They followed her footsteps to the cliffs, but if she jumped, there’s no sign of a body.”

  Cold prickled along my arms as I thought of Grandad’s cliff dive, of
Nessa Daley, then of Eveleen. I’d barely known Nessa, but Eveleen had only been a year ahead of me in school—the few years of it I’d attended, anyway, before Mam got pregnant with Grayse and needed me home to help with the housework. Eveleen had skinned her knee outside my house once, and cried all afternoon while my mam held her. And we shared a birthday at the end of summer. She’d been so close to seventeen. Just like me.

  “Suppose Eveleen went to join Nessa in Peel?” Mam sank into a chair, her face pale. “Girls get all sorts of wild ideas in their head at Eveleen’s and Bridey’s age.”

  “You don’t think this has to do with what happened to the girl who drowned?” I glanced between my parents, unable to read their faces through a haze of tears. “You don’t think she and Nessa and Eveleen were murdered by a madman or—or something?”

  “Heavens, bird! What a thing to say.” Mam’s hand fluttered to her chest.

  “And what about him?” I pointed at the sleeping Fynn. “Being attacked by a creature that tried to shred him to pieces!”

  Mam didn’t have an answer for me. Nor did Da, who looked bone-weary as he set down his gear and struck through another area on one of his maps. Another area where he couldn’t find fish.

  From somewhere overhead, a seabird gave a low, mournful call.

  It began to drizzle as I reached the edge of the forested hill. Droplets pelted my face and hair, cold enough to freeze my blood, but not enough to numb the ache that had settled in my chest since learning of Eveleen’s disappearance. Whatever had befallen her could very well be the same fate shared by Nessa and the waterlogged stranger.

  Still, who would believe me if I suggested there was something dreadful in the water? Certainly no one in Port Coire, not the same people who’d refused to believe that something had called Grandad to the sea all those years before. Until I could identify the culprit and gather some sort of proof, I’d have to keep my mouth shut, or risk being called daft and laughed out of town. Or worse, coddled like an invalid by my own family.

  Slicking back my hair, I tried to think of anything but the sea. Mam would be tending the fire now, unconcerned that her daughter was outside shivering. After all, she’d still sent me off to Morag’s after the shock of the news about Eveleen had begun to fade. I envied my sisters, who could talk to Fynn when he woke. The only conversations I’d have all day would, no doubt, concern tea and witchcraft.

  Several long strides later, I approached Morag’s door. As I lifted a hand to knock, I tensed, anticipating the now-familiar odor that would hit me like a blow to the stomach. The drizzle became a downpour, and I flung open the door.

  “It’s Bridey!” The warm, sugary scent of baking mingled with the aroma of wood smoke, making my stomach rumble despite my mood.

  Morag stood in her kitchen, a small alcove that lacked a door to separate it from the rest of the one-room dwelling. She gave no indication that she’d heard me, occupied with watching her stove.

  “Would you like me to clean your kitchen?” Still, there was no reply. “I know you weren’t expecting me today, but I wanted to repay you for the time I missed.”

  When she still didn’t answer, I began my work. Cobwebs were never in short supply at the witch’s cottage, it seemed, as if the spiders knew they were more welcome here than in town. I swept her hearth and scrubbed the floor, aired out her linens, and beat dust from her ratty curtains until there was more dirt clinging to me than there was to the cottage.

  At last, as I picked up the sodden cloak I’d laid out to dry by the low-burning fire and fastened it around my shoulders, thinking of home, Morag limped toward me. Her expression was as vague as ever in the low light.

  “Well?” she rasped.

  I blinked. How was I meant to respond?

  The silence between us grew. I removed my cloak again, not sure how long the witch planned to keep me standing there, when she said, “The snigs. You obviously didn’t find any. So where’s my bucket?”

  I dropped my gaze to the floor. “I’m sorry. If you’d like, I can buy some snigs. And I’ll pay with my earnings. Things took such a strange turn yesterday that I forgot about the time. It won’t happen again.”

  After a moment’s pause, I added, “Ma’am.” I didn’t want to offer her my excuse until I’d had more time to gauge her mood.

  Morag narrowed her eyes, but then her face relaxed. “Never mind the snigs. They weren’t important.” She turned to the stove. “Fetch the kettle. It’s nearly time to eat.”

  Relieved, I grabbed the kettle and poured steaming water into two mugs. “Were the snigs for one of your spells?”

  Morag shuffled over, carrying a pan of what looked like cake. “Oh, no.” She smiled, displaying all her gray teeth. “I meant to bake a pie. Since you didn’t return with my snigs, I made blackberry instead.” She offered me the hilt of a large knife. “Seeing as you’ve made this place spotless, you can take the first slice.”

  Pie. She had sent me to the beach—aware of my fear—so she could bake a pie? I clenched my teeth while trying to maintain a pleasant expression on my face.

  “Go on.” Morag waved a hand at my plate. “Try a bite.”

  My skin prickled with annoyance, though, just now, her expectant air as she held out the pie reminded me a bit of my gran. Grandad’s death had undone her, and a fever claimed her just a year after his passing.

  I forced a smile and cut a small slice. The witch hadn’t attempted to poison me in the past week, so I slipped a forkful of berries past my lips. They burst open, oozing sweetness on my tongue.

  “How is it?”

  “Quite good.” I took another bite. “It’d go well with milk. Or with an explanation of why you sent me to the beach for pie fixings when I’m afraid of the water.” Startled by my own daring, I dropped my fork. It hit the table with a clatter.

  “You were safe,” Morag huffed, reaching for her tea. She glanced at the charm resting against my breastbone. “You still are, long as you keep that on.”

  “Oh. Right.” I’d forgotten the hideous Bollan Cross, the fishbone around my neck. “You’re certain you don’t want it? Surely, you could put it on, and go to the beach yourself.”

  Morag pushed my mug across the table until it bumped my elbow. “It’s yours. I insist. I’d like my bucket back, though.”

  I lifted the mug and took a sip of flowery tea. “I know. And I’ll replace it, as I’ve said. I would’ve done so already, but I was busy saving a boy’s life yesterday.”

  “You saved someone? Pray tell, from what?” Morag glowered at me, but beneath her sharp expression lurked … a glimmer of interest. “Tell me the story then, lass. For all I know, you’re just making up excuses for not hunting snigs.”

  “The story?” I frowned into my tea. Perhaps living alone for so long accounted for the witch’s abruptness, but she still made me as uncomfortable as wet clothes.

  “Tell me how you saved the boy.”

  “I found him in the shallows while I was looking for snigs. At first, I thought he was dead. Something tore up his middle—a beast with giant claws, perhaps.”

  Morag’s foot smacked against a table leg, making me jump.

  “Are you all right?” I started to rise from my seat.

  “Yes, yes. It’s this old foot.” She thumped a hand against her left shin. “Has a mind of its own some days.”

  Her skirt’s hemline revealed a few inches of bare ankle and calf, the skin there scarred, white, and puckered where a wound hadn’t healed properly. The deep indents around her ankle reminded me of the tooth-marks left on my forearm when Grayse had bitten me as a toddler, but Morag’s looked more severe, as though they’d been made by a knife’s tip.

  “Have you seen a doctor?”

  Morag shifted, pulling her foot from view. “Doubtless your mam’s told you: staring’s not polite.”

  I tore my gaze away and straightened in my chair. “I’m sorry. But I could fetch a doctor, if you like. Mally knows one in Peel who’s quite gifted. I can’t be
gin to imagine how much that hurts.”

  “It’s not so bad. I make a balm to dull the aches on the worst days.” Morag looked down, brushing crumbs off the table. “Now, would you like to head out in this storm to buy me a new bucket, or would you rather finish your tale?”

  My face flushed, and I stumbled through an explanation of finding Fynn on the beach.

  “And is he a local boy?” Morag’s tone suggested she already knew the answer.

  I shook my head and speared more berries on my fork, though I wasn’t sure I could keep them down. Now that the pie had cooled, the room’s foul odor was returning, despite my best efforts at cleaning. Or perhaps the stench was coming from me now.

  “It’s good of your mam to keep him while he mends.” Morag’s foot bumped the table again. “He ought to be grateful he’s in such fine company. And you ought to be grateful the strangest thing the sea spat out yesterday was a boy in need of a bit of kindness.”

  “Beg your pardon?” I sat up straighter. Perhaps Morag knew something about the missing girls.

  “You heard me. There are more frightening things in the sea than a boy with no memories. When you didn’t return yesterday, I thought perhaps you’d encountered a sea ape. Or a ceasg. Or a lusca.”

  I blinked, wondering whether Morag was having a laugh at my expense. Her eyes gave away nothing, as usual. “What are those?”

  Morag seemed to be attempting a smile, but it looked closer to a grimace. “They’re living things, like you or me. A lusca is the biggest octopus in the world.”

  “I thought the biggest octopus was the kraken,” I said quietly.

  Da had told me the legend of the kraken once, a giant beast that dragged ships into the deep. When I had nightmares about it, he assured me it was pure nonsense, a tale made up by sailors to amuse children, though the ocean seemed vast enough to be hiding such a creature. I hoped whatever was lingering in the waters around Port Coire was something a fisherman could capture or kill.