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 use
d 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.
Chapter Sixteen
She sewed for an eternity, pausing in her minute stitches only to pluck another hair from her head when the previous one ran out. Her eyes teared, protesting the strain of work that she did by the shimmering light of a clear glass jar of the phosphorescent water. But she did not stop working. Her heart ached with Ruairidh’s, perhaps because of the air they had shared while he carried her through the sea, perhaps because of the salt exchanged, perhaps because of their sidhe blood. She knew not why, but she felt his pain as if it were her own.
Periodically, Cathair or Keir would bring her something to eat or drink, and she would pause to gulp it down, but always she returned to her work on Ruairidh’s skin. Every stitch was set with a prayer of hope or an utterance of love; an overhand seam chained one hair to another, prayed over like a rosary, until, when she was finally finished, it almost felt as though part of her soul had been stitched up in the skin with him.
When the final stitch was set and the hair tied off in a minuscule knot, Cathair and Keir returned to the room to help ease Ruairidh’s fur back over his body. No outward sign of mending was visible as the fur was smoothed over his heart, but he began an immediate transformation.
Hexy had feared that perhaps watching Ruairidh change would seem an unnatural or repellant thing. Yet watching him shift to fill the skin, seeing the way the fur rejoined his body until it was not on him, but of him, she was not moved by disgust or fright, but rather a sense of awe. And she knew that she had done her job well when the pain in her heart finally eased and no blood seeped from his wound.
“Well done, daughter,” Cathair said. “Now you must rest.”
Hexy didn’t answer. Her eyes remained fixed on Ruairidh’s face, hoping that he would waken and speak to her. But other than an easing of posture, he gave no sign that he was aware of the change she had wrought.
She succumbed to exhaustion, but lying down she slept only lightly. She curled up beside Ruairidh, a hand resting over his heart where she could feel its beat and listen to his breathing. Life pulsed there, weak at first but growing stronger with every hour. Whatever spell the finman had used on Ruairidh, she had undone it. He would live. Her relief was overwhelming and mitigated some of her feelings of guilt.
For a while, she lay in a semi-trance listening to the distant waves that made the cave whisper. The sea had no concept of time, and at the moment, neither did she. Along the shore, it knew the moon and tides because of the intrusion of the land, but it did not divide itself into hours, only into light and dark. It was timeless. It made Avocamor, and those in it, also seem disconnected from the passage of time.
Oddly, when she finally slipped into her deepest rest, it was not Ruairidh she dreamed of, but her brother, Rory Patrick. They were trying to find each other as they wandered through a dense fog where ominous shapes loomed. She knew that he was trying to warn her about something, but the wind and mist always caught his words and hurled them away before she could actually hear them. With every passing moment, she grew more upset, her mind so agitated that it made her body twitch.
This wasn’t right. She should not be dreaming of Rory Patrick anymore.
“Hexy, lass.” A quiet voice interrupted her nightmare, and something stroked along her neck. “Ye dream, lass. Awaken. We have a present for ye.”
Hexy opened her eyes at once and found herself back in Avocamor, curled on a bed of sea grass and snuggled up with a half-furred Ruairidh. Standing on the other side of the low bed were Keir and Cathair. They were completely furless and dressed in kilts, and Hexy realized that this was probably in deference to her and her inability to speak with them when they were in selkie form.
She sat up quickly, shoving her hair back from her face, where it had dried in a dreadful tangle. “Is something wrong?” she asked, though she was certain nothing was amiss, because all three men smiled—though Keir’s expression was somewhat forced.
“Nay, lass,” Ruairidh answered, his voice normal and sweet though still rather faint. “We hae brought ye a gift—a skin of yer very own. Because ye truly are of the NicnanRon, ye may wear this skin now and swim with the People.”
“It belonged tae Samhain, who chose tae leave the People and live out his life on the land with his human lover,” Keir told her. His tone suggested that this was a terrible fate, and she supposed that he blamed the woman for it. “But it is yours now, brother’s mate. Use it wisely.”
“You mean that I can put this on and become a selkie?” she asked, awed. She turned to look at Ruairidh with wonder in her eyes.
“Nay,” Keir denied. “A seal is what ye shall be.”
“ ’Tis true that ye shall never be a selkie,” Ruairidh answered gently. Seeing her disappointment, he added, “But ye may be wi’ us in the sea and borrow some of our strength and skills for a time. It is a gift none other of yer kind can have. Take it, lass. ’Tis an honor and a blessing.”
“You are certain? I’ll be able to swim like a seal and everything?” she asked, reaching out nervously for the pelt Cathair held out, somewhat fearful that it would not react the way Ruairidh’s fur did when she touched it.
“Ye carry twa babes. Only a NicnanRon can dae that. The skin shall work for ye,” he assured her.
“Oh, it likes me.” She sighed when she touched the skin and felt it shiver beneath her hands. Cathair carefully laid it in her arms, transferring it as he might a baby. Hexy gathered it close, rubbing her cheek against it and then offering it to Ruairidh, so that he could feel it, too.
“Guard it well, daughte
r,” Cathair’s voice was warm. “Ye may not be magiced by a fur thief as one of the People would, but if ye lose it, ye shall feel its loss forever more. And ye are vulnerable tae other things that ye maun learn about before ye gae out into the sea. And always remember that ye may be hunted by yer own kind.”
“Da, ye’ll frighten her,” Ruairidh protested, leaving off touching the skin to stroke Hexy’s tangled hair. “There is time enough for all that later.”
“Can we try it now?” Hexy asked, not allowing Cathair’s concern or Keir’s aloofness to dampen her spirits.
“Ruairidh shall teach ye the ways of the sea when he is well,” Keir said. As always, his voice was a little sharp and disapproving. “Ye maun wait until then. And practice some patience this time.”
Hexy barely resisted the urge to stick out her tongue at Keir. Instead, she turned back to Ruairidh. He was still smiling happily, his eyes shining brightly in his too pale face.
“And, speaking of patience, come, Keir.” Cathair’s voice was still calm, but Hexy guessed he was annoyed with his son.
“Soon, lass,” Ruairidh promised as Cathair and Keir quietly left the room.
“Your brother doesn’t like me,” she told him. “He thinks it is my fault that you were hurt.”
“My brother is jealous and doesnae understand why I am now bonded tae ye as much as tae the People. He’ll realize why in time, if he finds his own aroon. And it was the beast, Sevin, that wounded me. I place nae blame on ye.”
“Thank you.”
“Though I am a wee bit disappointed in ye myself, lass,” Ruairidh said. Was his soft voice teasing?
“By what?” she asked, staring into his dark eyes.
The Selkie Page 19
