by K. M. Shea
The selkies chose to sacrifice the use of their own water magic to capture the witch in their seal form because of its one great advantage: they were immune to all kinds of water magic.
The witch swam for the ocean surface—moving as if riding a rolling wave—and turned her body towards land.
Dylan swam after her, and her sisters hurried to keep up.
The line of selkies waiting near the shore advanced, cutting off her escape route. Snarling, the sea witch dove back under water and slid the metal bar off her shoulder; she shook it, and Dylan could see the edge gleam. It was an edged weapon of some sort—some kind of hiltless sword.
No! Dylan barked, bursting forward.
Powerless under the threat of a steel blade, the selkies dodged the weapon, leaving a gaping hole through which the sea witch could escape.
The witch dove through it and swam for shore, the selkies on her heels.
Dylan burst forward with the speed of the sea lion, passing the pursuing selkies. The witch still beat her and clambered onto dry land, swiping her sword behind her to dissuade any followers.
You want to play rough? Fine! Dylan thought, as magic fizzed and flowed in her veins.
Dylan! One of her sisters clicked.
Dylan burst from her sea lion body and expertly wrapped her pelt around her. She took in a great gasp of air before singing—her voice heavy with rage.
Dylan’s two water serpents surged from the ocean, screaming with rage as the water of their bodies cast dazzling patterns on the sand. They glided towards the sea witch, who was clawing her way up past the sandy dunes and toward the forest.
Dylan and her serpents chased after her, ignoring the distressed calls from her kinsmen as she slipped into the trees. She sang occasional notes to keep her water creations moving but spent most of her air running, closing in on the pale sea witch.
The sea witch shouted and cursed when one of Dylan’s serpents almost caught her, teasing a dark grin from Dylan.
“I’ve got you,” Dylan said. She jumped a fallen log and slithered into a meadow, inhaling to start a new song as the witch turned to face her.
The sea witch’s face tightened with terror.
Dylan extended a finger at the witch, her voice piercing the sky as she sang. Her water serpents rose higher and higher until they towered above the trees and stared down at the sea witch, mouths open and posed to strike.
“Don’t just stand there—knock her out! She’ll kill us all, you idiots!” the sea witch shouted.
Dylan noticed something out of the corner of her eye and turned to look. Something hit the back of her head, and she fell face first to the forest floor.
“No,” Dylan groaned. Darkness rushed her vision and stole her consciousness, cradling her in blackness.
When Dylan woke up, the first thing she realized was that she was missing her pelt. The fabric wrapped around her was not her soft, salt-crusted pelt. Instead, she wore a long, knee-length cotton shirt tucked into a belt. Dylan rocketed upright, her head screaming in pain. Her breath came in panicked gasps, and her heart pounded. She didn’t see her pelt anywhere.
There were human men aplenty. They were gathered around a campfire and walking in and out of tents. They were a greasy bunch, armed to the teeth and smelling of sweat and blood.
But Dylan didn’t care who the men were; she needed her pelt. She threw herself to her feet and was almost yanked back to the ground by a rope attached to one of her wrists.
“Oi, she’s ’wake,” one of the greasy men shouted. He spat and folded his arms across his bare, tanned chest. “Aren’t you a strange thing,” he said, approaching Dylan with glittering eyes as some of his companions joined him.
“Where is my pelt?” Dylan demanded, her heart squeezing in her chest.
“Pretty, if you go for them kind of looks. Whaddya say, want to play?” the man asked, offering Dylan a smile peppered with missing teeth.
“Where is my pelt?” Dylan said, her voice growing tighter.
“Jus’ take it easy. We ain’t gonna hurt you none,” another man said, reaching for her.
“Where’s my pelt!” Dylan screamed. Instead of cutting the note off she carried it—like a shrieking sea hawk. The noise sent some men to their knees, but it also brought every bit of water in the camp ricocheting into the air.
Water exploded out of canteens, and a pot set to boil over a fire shot vapor into the air as its water fled to hang over the camp. Water for horses, any filled buckets, and every drop of water swirled at the sound of Dylan’s voice.
“Where is it,” she demanded as men cowered.
No one responded. They were all stunned, staring at the water hanging above their heads.
Her breath came faster. Even though air was entering her lungs, she felt like she couldn’t breathe. Her head rang and her world spun. Worry and fear nauseated her.
“Where!” Dylan shouted. She sang a disconcerting note that made the water form into a sphere and hit the ground so hard it sent dirt spraying everywhere.
“We don’t know!” one man shouted, diving behind a tent.
“Yes, you do!” Dylan directed her ball of water to blast the tent, destroying it like a tidal wave.
“The lord has it!” another man shouted. “ ’e took it with ’im when he went off with the mage!”
The blood in Dylan’s body turned into ice, and her heart faltered. “W-what?”
“She said ’e needed to keep it close and destroy it if you acted out.”
Dylan yanked on the rope—which had been attached to the demolished tent—and pulled herself free. She dropped her hold on the water, making it collapse in the middle of the camp, and ran into the forest.
Tree branches grabbed at her. Thorny bushes snagged the tender skin of her legs and cut her. Twice, she fell, terror making her clumsy.
A human had her pelt. A human had her pelt! What should she do? What could she do? She had chased after the sea witch and gotten herself caught! Worse, if the man who had her pelt wasn’t twenty different kinds of idiotic, he would know that without her pelt, she couldn’t change back into a sea lion. If he poked even the smallest hole in it, she wouldn’t be able to reclaim her secondary form every again. She would be at his mercy. She! Her clan’s best singer! All because she was too brash and—
“They said he was with the mage—the sea witch,” Dylan said aloud, the men’s terrified shouts coming back to her. The sea witch knew. She knew all about them—she knew about their magic! Shock and horror froze her in place, like a glacier. “And I am my clan’s best singer,” Dylan whispered, her eyes tearing up.
The sea witch and her human henchman would force Dylan to use her powers for them. She would be their tool.
“What do I do?” Dylan whispered, her lips numb. They had all the power, and she had none. I am like a sea lion caught by a shark. If I fight back or run, they’ll ruin my pelt, and I will never be a sea lion again. If I do what they order, I will aid the sea witch’s pursuit of death and destruction!
Dylan fell to her knees, hope and despair hitting her body like a typhoon. “I am ruined,” she whispered.
A strange light passed in front of her face, and a musical voice said, “Strange, I didn’t think I would find someone who looks even worse for the wear than I do. What is wrong, selkie lass? Why are you out of the sea and away from your colony?”
The feminine voice sounded like hope and magic, so Dylan rallied the strength to lift her gaze. In front of her was a large…animal. She supposed it resembled something equine, but its mane and tail were made of black and blue flames, and its body was black like night and spotted with starlight. Perched on its back was a woman she thought beautiful and exquisite. She looked just a few years older than Dylan’s almost eighteen years, but every inch of her was gorgeous enough to banish the darkness laying claim to Dylan’s soul.
The beautiful woman wore a dress, ocean blue and glittering in the dim light of the forest. As Dylan watched, it changed into a blue-gree
n color.
“You’re a magic user,” Dylan whispered. Relief crashed over her like a tidal wave. Good magic users—from mages-in-training to fairy godmothers—could be trusted, and consulted for advice. Even Dylan, a selkie, knew this.
The woman smiled as she dismounted. “I am an enchantress-in-training. My name is Angelique. Can I help you?”
Tears welled up in Dylan’s eyes, and she told her story and explained her identity. She told the Lady Enchantress about the sea witch, how she had long evaded the selkies’ traps through sheer conniving or dumb luck as humans had ruined their ranks and traps on several different occasions. And she told her about nearly catching her…and being caught in return.
“I am ruined, Lady Enchantress,” Dylan said, squatting in front of a tree, wishing it were a rock that overlooked the ocean.
“Couldn’t you return to your people and tell them what happened? Surely they would storm the camp,” Angelique said.
“Yes, and my pelt would be destroyed in retribution. Although perhaps I have earned it for my careless actions,” Dylan said, her voice dry and scratchy. “It seems it is the only course available to me, for I cannot remain near my pelt. They’ll use my voice. Unless…” Dylan said, leaning forward, her eyes regaining some of their brightness.
“Yes?” Angelique prodded, patting the neck of her impatient steed before sitting on a log across from Dylan.
“Could you…take my voice?”
Angelique blinked. “I beg your pardon?”
“Could you separate my voice from my body and take it?”
“No, definitely not. It doesn’t work like that.”
“Oh,” Dylan dropped.
“But…” Angelique sighed, “…I could seal your voice.”
“Seal it?”
“Lock it up, essentially. Make it so you are unable to utter a noise.”
“Yes! Oh, please,” Dylan said, sliding forward on her knees. “I’ll pay any price, just please, silence me!”
“Are you sure it is the wisest course of action?” Angelique said. “Shouldn’t you tell your kinsmen first?”
“This is my mistake and I know I can make it right—as long as I am swift. If my voice is gone, I will be as useful as a rock to the sea witch and can wait for her and her minions to lower their guard. When they do, I will take back what is mine,” Dylan promised. “And then I will tell my clan. And tell them that the sea witch has human allies,” she frowned.
Angelique pressed her perfect lips together. “I don’t think it is wise to do this alone.”
“I don’t need help. Besides you locking up my voice, I mean.”
“Sealing it.”
“Yes, that.”
“Are you certain? Making a decision that will have an immense consequence on all of your kinsmen without their knowledge seems unfair,” Angelique said.
For a moment uncertainty clawed at Dylan. She’s right. Selkies will be put in danger if I fail, but this is my mistake! But perhaps…no. I can’t afford the time.
“This is the only way,” Dylan said with a false bravado.
Angelique sighed. “As you wish—although I will not pretend to agree with your methods. I would like to help you more, but I am needed in Sole. I can seal your voice, but I haven’t much time to do anything beyond that. I’m sorry.”
Dylan shook her head. “If you seal my voice, you will have done more than I could ever repay you for, Lady Enchantress. I am strong. I can handle this alone.”
Angelique gave Dylan a look she didn’t understand. “It has been my experience that when we believe we are capable of handling it ourselves, it becomes a situation that is so very much bigger than we are. I will seal your voice, though I hope you won’t regret it.”
“I would much rather be able to swim as a sea lion in the ocean than sing,” Dylan assured her.
“Oh, I won’t seal your voice forever.”
“What?”
“I can work a counter spell into it, so your voice will return to you when you fulfill the requirements,” Angelique said.
“Oh. What will the requirements be?” Dylan asked.
“True love’s first kiss.”
Dylan blinked. “What?”
Angelique smiled at Dylan, although it seemed a little brittle. “I apologize, but it is the most powerful counter spell I know. In something as powerful as this, love is the only key I can use.”
Dylan shrugged. “As you say.”
“You agree so swiftly?”
“It is my mess. Getting my voice back is more than I deserve,” Dylan shrugged. “Someday I’ll find someone to break the curse. The bigger threat is that sea witch.”
Angelique stared at Dylan for a moment. “You are…unusual.”
“My father says that all the time. I think it is merely that most folk don’t know how to take responsibility for themselves,” Dylan scoffed.
Angelique smiled weakly. “There’s a difference between being responsible and being brash.”
“So I have heard. Is there anything I must do for you to seal my voice? Do you need ingredients?” Dylan asked.
“No,” Angelique said. “It’s an easy enough spell. It is the results that are potent and dangerous. Are you certain you do not wish to tell your family?”
“Yes. Please, seal my voice, Lady Enchantress.”
The Lady Enchantress stood and cleared her throat. When she looked at Dylan, Dylan was pushed back on her heels by the heavy magic in the enchantress’s gaze.
“Dylan, daughter of King Murron and Queen Gwenllian, guardians of the seas, I bind your voice and seal it from now until the day that a kiss of true love touches your lips. You shall not speak; you shall not sing. You will be silent.” As Angelique spoke, light laced with ribbons of pale blue and green streaked around Dylan like falling stars. The light closed in on her neck, encircling it like a necklace. There was no pain, but Dylan felt pressure in her throat. The magic warmed her neck as it soaked into her skin, making her glow for a few moments. There was the sound of a great door closing, and the magic was gone.
“I will carry your message of the sea witch to other mages and magic users,” Angelique said, gathering up her mount’s reins, as if she hadn’t just done something extraordinary.
Was that all it took? My voice can’t be gone with that little magic, Dylan thought.
“And if I hear no news from Ringsted by next spring, I will return and see if I cannot help you. Don’t worry; if you reclaim your pelt but not your voice, I have associates who can break off my magic,” Angelique said, giving Dylan a reassuring smile. It dimmed as she seemed to think of something else, but the beautiful enchantress brushed it off and remounted her steed. “You are certain you will be alright?” she asked.
Dylan opened her mouth to speak, but no sound came out. She brightened, offering the Lady Enchantress a big smile. Then she remembered Muriel’s lessons in manners and bent over in a deep bow.
“Take care, Dylan of the selkies,” Angelique said, turning her horse and kneeing it forward. The enchantress and her mount were off—riding through the forest faster than should be possible. Light trailed after them like the tail of a comet.
Dylan watched until the light faded before she turned around and headed in the direction of the camp of men. In the end, she had to follow her nose back, using the scent of the campfire.
She approached the camp, moving around the edges. Men sifted through the wreckage caused by Dylan’s panic. They had already repaired one of the tents and refilled their buckets and containers of water.
She started to step into the camp but a man caught sight of her. “ ’ere she is! Get ’er!”
The camp exploded into chaos. Some slammed boards over water barrels and sat on them, hoping to keep the water trapped if she sang again. Some men fled rather than face her, and others grabbed weapons.
Two men lunged for her. Dylan crouched, hoping to dodge, but something hit her from behind and sent her pitching face forward into the ground.
> I need to remember to look behind me, she thought with great irritation as darkness welled up around her, reclaiming her for the second time that day.
Chapter 3
Voiceless
Dylan tried to groan when she started to regain consciousness, but no noise could be uttered. As pain throbbed in her skull, she remembered the day’s events and unsuccessfully tried to groan again.
“You swear the threat of the pelt will hold her in line?” a male voice asked.
Did they hit me with a walrus tusk? Crusty barnacles, ow. She scrunched her eyes shut even tighter in an expression of pain.
When she heard a watery voice speak, her heart stopped.
“The selkies treasure their seal forms as they treasure their own lives. The girl will mind you—her return promises as much,” the female voice said. It was a voice that sounded like water—but not like the roaring ocean bass of Dylan’s father or the soothing brook soprano that belonged to her mother. This woman’s voice sounded flat and stale, like marsh water that hadn’t drained in a century.
“You’ll use her?”
“Of course. She’ll never turn against her people, but there are other possibilities,” the watery voice said. “The humans, of course. And she will make it easier to capture sea life for my sacrifices.”
“How?”
“Marine creatures will flock to her. The shed blood will bring immense power,” the woman said, the marsh quality of her voice suffocating Dylan as if she had fallen in a bog.
Dylan opened her eyes and was pleased to learn the woman—the sea witch—was within eyesight.
Dylan was splayed out on the ground, a pile of rope mounded next to her. They probably meant to tie her up before she awoke and miscalculated her return to consciousness. Dylan wanted to smile, but instead she forced herself to remain still and watched.
“You ought to be more careful about where you butcher things,” the sea witch’s companion said. “Someone found the last killer whale you drained and reported it to the king and queen.”
“I do not fear your royalty,” the sea witch said, her voice scornful as she walked across the camp.
“Maybe you don’t, but they can make my life deuced difficult,” the man said.
