The Little Selkie (retail)

by K. M. Shea

  Now that she was closer, Dylan could see the sea witch’s hair was dark, and one side of her head was shaved. Snail shells and tiny fish skeletons woven into her hair clicked when she moved her head. Her skin was still pale white, but it was dappled—as though she were washed with sea salt after the ocean water had evaporated. Her hair and her clothes were damp, and wet tendrils of fish netting hung from her like fingers.

  Her companion was a short and stocky man with ash-brown hair and a ruddy complexion. He was young, perhaps in his mid- or late twenties. Dylan supposed some might think him good looking, if they could look past his weak chin and pinched eyes. But his scent was…odd. He smelled strongly of soot and smoke—unusual for a man so finely dressed.

  Dylan lay quiet as she listened to their conversation with boiling anger. How she longed to throttle the sea witch for her mindless slaughter!

  “And what do we do if this girl refuses to sing for you?”

  “You rip her pelt to shreds,” the sea witch said. “And we use her as bait.”

  “For what? Sharks?” the man snorted, amused by his own joke.

  “No. For her family.”

  It took every drop of Dylan’s feeble self-control to keep from leaping to her feet. Never! You will never touch my family as long as I have breath in my body, you festering, shark-mouthed, hag!

  “What good is one family of selkies?”

  “Imbecile. This girl is the youngest daughter of Murron, King of the Ringsted selkies,” the sea witch snapped.

  Dylan’s fury fell and her heart pounded in her chest. How did she know?

  The man asked, “How do you know? Don’t all them selkies look alike?”

  “Perhaps, but there is only one selkie in the seas surrounding Ringsted who has the body—the pelt—of a sea lion, and that is the youngest princess of the clan.”

  “I didn’t even know selkies could be sea lions. Shady business,” the man grunted.

  “It matters not. Her capture will provide an edge for us—it will either lead to the slaughter and sacrifice of sea creatures or to the capture of her family.”

  Dylan didn’t take the chance to think. Before she finished processing the sea witch’s bleak statement, she scrambled to her feet and threw herself at the sea witch, tackling her to the ground.

  Dylan got her dearest wish and managed to fit her hands around the sea witch’s neck, but before she could squeeze, the man grabbed the back of her shirt-dress and hauled her away.

  “Wildcat, isn’t she?” the man asked as Dylan lunged forward, almost escaping his grasp.

  The sea witch glared as she picked herself off the ground. “Sea serpent,” she hissed. She tried to backhand Dylan, but she ducked and kicked out at the witch.

  “From the way my men feared her, I thought she would be a hellion when she woke,” the man grunted. He cursed when Dylan kicked backwards, hitting his kneecap. “Someone hold her!”

  The sea witch grabbed her by her hair, so Dylan flung herself at the twisted woman and managed to clock her in the nose before two men—one huge and the other short—grabbed her and held her between the two of them with iron grips as she thrashed and twisted.

  “Something is odd,” the sea witch said, wiping sweat from her damp skin and blood from her nose. “She should have started singing by now.”

  “Yeah, I suppose.” The man turned to inspect her. “She is exotic. Do all selkies look like this?”

  The sea witch ignored his question and narrowed her eyes as she approached.

  Dylan tried to kick the witch and missed.

  “Speak, selkie,” the sea witch ordered.

  Dylan tried spitting at the sea witch and again, sadly, missed.

  “You think you can be silent? I will make you howl and beg.” The sea witch struck like an eel. She clamped a hand on Dylan’s left shoulder and thrust her talon-like nails into her skin.

  That pain alone wasn’t so bad, but after the woman emptied a vial of sea water over her hand, she used some kind of magic that ran through Dylan’s body like an ocean current and did nothing but cause waves of pain. She opened her mouth to scream soundlessly, her back arched with pain as tears leaked out of her eyes. Her legs gave out, and it felt like the pain was tearing her from limb to limb as the sea witch shoved her nails deeper.

  “Careful you don’t kill her,” the sea witch’s companion said. The camp was silent in the vacuum of Dylan’s inaudible screams.

  When the pain made Dylan’s vision grow hazy and she sagged in her captor’s grasp like a ragdoll, the sea witch let her go.

  “Black blood, she’s been sealed.” The sea witch spat, wiping her nails off on her dress.

  “She what?”

  “Someone with powerful magic has gotten to her already, and they sealed off her voice. An enchantress or a high-ranking fairy godmother—I would recognize the sickening smell of such well-wished magic anywhere,” the sea witch gurgled.

  “What now? Doesn’t that ruin all of your plans?” the man asked as his minions lowered Dylan—still dazed with pain—to the ground.

  “No, but it changes them. You will hold onto the girl. She’ll be nothing but a menace to me, and she’s useless without her voice, for that is how the seal people work their charms on the ocean.”

  “What am I supposed to do with her?”

  “Lock her up; throw her in a dungeon; I don’t care. Hold her captive for now. We’ll hold her until her people have given up all hope of recovering her and stop guarding the seas. Then we will bribe them with her life and catch them off guard. We must end it this summer,” the sea witch said. Although she didn’t move, her voice sounded farther and farther away to Dylan’s pained ears.

  “Agreed. Although it has been quite profitable, I’m anxious to finish all this as well,” the man said as Dylan closed her eyes. She rested her head on the ground, every muscle in her body aching and twitching.

  “Do not take any chances with her, Jarlath.”

  “I won’t, I won’t.”

  “I mean it,” the sea witch hissed, and Jarlath yelped.

  “I won’t! By the king’s beard, woman, watch those claws!” Jarlath said.

  The sea witch replied, but Dylan didn’t hear it as she eased off into the safety of sleep, away from her aching body.

  Dylan woke to the steady drip of water on stone. She opened her eyes and had to rub them twice before they grew used to the sputtering torches mounted on the walls.

  There were no windows in the damp, stone structure, and the air was cool—like a cellar dug beneath a selkie home.

  Metal rods that ran from the low ceiling to the floor divided Dylan from the rest of the room. The room stored gold and jewels and what looked like a few magical lamps. She’d seen those in her bookworm-second-oldest sister Mairead’s illustrated books. There were also sparkling crowns, a stack of swords that gleamed with magic, a few shields, and other assorted, magical junk.

  Dylan looked out at the items without much care until she noticed, on the opposite side of the room next to a skeleton of a man-eating unicorn, a water horse—a kelpie. A live one.

  Watchful, she pushed herself to the back of her portion of the stone room. She stared at the creature.

  A kelpie resembled a horse about as much as Lady Enchantress Angelique’s mount did. Equine in form with four legs, a mane, tail, and similar body structure, this beast was a horse the same way a hellhound was a dog. It was black—not the shiny black of a normal horse, but the dull, tattered black of cloth that has spent an eternity submerged underwater—with a few gray dapples on its hindquarters. Its mane and tail were long and scraggly—like it had just climbed out of a lake—and storm gray in color. Algae coated its flanks and chest, and hair covered its hooves, too. Its knees, barrel, and face were all sunken in, and its eyes were the glazed white of death—neither pure nor bright.

  It wheezed as it breathed, its sides heaving. It didn’t even turn to look at Dylan as she armed herself with an empty bucket and crouched behind her cot. />
  After watching it for several minutes, Dylan realized the animal was chained in a box, and wouldn’t be going anywhere. It didn’t even have a bucket of water—and as a creature of the ocean, the kelpie was in the lowest points of torture and misery without it.

  What sort of idiot keeps a kelpie? Dylan thought.

  Kelpies were the worst predators of the sea—worse than flesh-eating whales, worse than sharks.

  They lived alone and craved the flesh of all creatures—selkie and humans alike. They hunted on shores and in the dark parts of the oceans. They would drag unwitting humans into the water and drown them, and they would attack sea creatures and slay them. Kelpies used an oily kind of magic to kill, and several selkie had been slain by the creatures even though they were in their seal bodies and immune to water magic.

  On the whole, not much was known about kelpies. Mairead, the most widely read of Dylan’s sisters, and Muriel, who knew the most about magic, said they suspected water horses must have two strains of magic. First, water magic—because they could charge through water faster than seals, and their far-from streamlined bodies would normally have huge amounts of drag. Second, whatever magic they used to hunt.

  Dylan shook her head. The stupidity of landers knows no bounds. She poked around her jail, testing the metal bars and jostling the door, looking for a way out.

  She hadn’t been awake for an hour before a man brought in a bowl of cloudy soup, a chunk of hard bread, and a large bucket of coppery tasting well water for Dylan to drink.

  He didn’t open the door to her prison, but slid the food through the spokes.

  She snatched up her food and retreated to her fortification behind her bed to eat. Further searching and prodding of her cell yielded no results. She was locked in.

  Time passed, although Dylan couldn’t tell if it was night or day in the windowless room. The torches burned constantly, and when it appeared they might go out, replacements were brought in.

  Dylan wasn’t being fed enough; her stomach growled a consistent chorus whenever she was awake, but the kelpie was fed even less often than she.

  Once every six of Dylan’s meals, someone would throw a bucket of fish scales, guts, and carcasses at the kelpie. It was given water even less often—which explained why it looked especially hideous, even for a kelpie.

  The undisturbed time gave her time to think and recall the sea witch’s words.

  What did she mean by ‘End it this summer’? End what? She’s keeping the storms up and supplementing her power through sacrifices of sea life. But as long as one kept away from the storms, there would be no impact, unless…

  Dylan eyed the water horse as she adjusted herself into a more comfortable position. Unless there is a human aspect to this as well. Why else would she have non-magical allies? That Jarlath fellow—the sea witch’s chum. He’s the ringleader of something.

  She tapped her fingers on stone. Perhaps I was too hasty in having my voice sealed. But who knew what atrocities the sea witch would have tried to make me commit. Still, there is something to all of this…I just haven’t heard the whole story. Yet.

  The door opened, and Jarlath swaggered in, accompanied by a tall, twiggy man. Dylan raised her eyebrows at him as he walked through the stone room and stopped in front of the bars that corralled her.

  “By my best horse—you are deuced exotic,” Jarlath said, shaking his head. “Summon a seamstress,” Jarlath said, turning to his companion.

  “But my lord. The lady mage Ys—”

  “I know what she said, and I don’t give a cow’s rump. This selkie is in my charge, and if I say I want to take her to the Summer Palace, then I will take her to the Summer Palace.”

  “My lord, is that wise? She could escape!”

  “She won’t escape. I’ll have someone guard her. Besides, I have her pelt, don’t I? And it’s not like she can tell anyone what’s happening,” Jarlath said. He released great hee-haws of laughter.

  Dylan’s heart buoyed to see that she wasn’t the only stupid one on land. With great luck, Jarlath’s stupidity would lead him to make a mistake, and Dylan could snag her pelt.

  “Now sail off and go summon that seamstress. If we want to make the festival, the dress will need to be finished in two days,” Jarlath said.

  “Yes, my lord,” the twiggy man sighed before he left the room, closing the door behind him.

  “What do you think of my treasury, eh? I’m a collector of magical artifacts. You’re a perfect addition, but it’s a shame to keep you locked up here when I could show you off.” Jarlath grinned.

  Yes, he is an idiot, Dylan surmised. Even for a lander.

  “Phew—do you smell. Although living with this beastie probably hasn’t made you smell any sweeter.” Jarlath turned to admire his half-dead water horse. “Maimed three men when we caught him. Deadly creature. But look, the fight is all out of him, just like it’s out of you. That’s the best way to beat magic, you know. Deprive it. ’Course you already went and deprived yourself, but still,” Jarlath chattered.

  Dylan crossed her legs at the ankles and stared at her jailer. I wonder if I could bite him through the bars…

  “So, I’ve decided to take you out to a little human party—a gatherin’,” Jarlath said with a slick, oily smile. “The royalty have arrived. They’re opening the Summer Palace for the season, which means parties and celebrations every week for the next month. We’ll be attending their arrival festival. That’ll be something to tell all your selkie sisters, eh? If you see ’em again. ’Course you prolly won’t—unless they’re dead,” Jarlath said.

  In that moment, Dylan felt Jarlath was a little less hateful than the sea witch. He’s so thick-headed, he gives me hope. If he was to be her keeper, she would have an easier time snagging her pelt. Jarlath lacked the sea witch’s cunning, and he certainly had no magic to speak of, or he wouldn’t keep a kelpie in his home.

  “A seamstress’ll come down here and measure you for a few dresses so you’ll look presentable. The Summer Palace ain’t far from here—two or three hours by carriage. We’ll ride out for the festival, spend the night, and be back the following day. No one will be the wiser, and all of Ringsted will see you.” Jarlath’s face shone with self-satisfaction. “But there’s gonna be some ground rules.” He walked to the door and left the room for a moment. He reappeared bearing an armload.

  When Dylan saw what he had, she lunged at him through the bars, straining to reach him.

  “Ah-ah! Not so fast, little fish,” Jarlath laughed, staying just out of reach as he unrolled the fuzzy, leathery looking pelt.

  “This is yours, ain’t it?” He held Dylan’s pelt so it dangled. “My mage friend tells me that a hole or tear in this would mean you’d be human for the rest of your life.”

  The sea witch is no mage! She snarled internally as she watched Jarlath with hate and unease.

  “This is the deal. If you cause any trouble—try to tell someone what you are, say—I will rip this pelt from the nose to the flipper. You’ll be a land-bound selkie, dried up even worse than my beastie.” Jarlath gestured over his shoulder at the kelpie and rolled up her pelt. “And don’t think I won’t do it. ’Cuz I’m ruthless, little fish.” He slipped a hunting knife from his belt and scraped the fuzz on Dylan’s pelt.

  Every muscle in her body was taut. Her heart pounded so loudly she could barely hear Jarlath, but panic howled in her at the sight of the dagger brushing so close to her pelt.

  “To make sure you’re behaving, two of my men will be guarding you. Oisin, Morri! Get in here!”

  The door swung open, and two men trod into the treasury. The first, a short, stocky man with a square face and a flat, broken nose, had a flat-ish, bald head so shiny, she wondered if light could bounce off it. He was thick and muscled, scrappy. The second man, as tall as the first was short, was just as thick and swarthy. He had to walk with his chest thrust out so his arms—the size of Dylan’s thighs—could hang at his sides. His bushy black hair stuck out in ever
y direction so his head resembled a sea urchin. A similarly textured black beard hid most of his face and his short, thick neck.

  After staring at them long enough, Dylan realized they were the men that held her back after she launched herself at the sea witch.

  “Oisin and Morri will be your…guards, little fish.” To her relief, Jarlath put his dagger away. “They’ll stick to you like your seal skin. Make a single misstep, an’ they’ll tell me, ending your career as a seal shifter.”

  “Sea lion,” the bigger fellow grunted.

  “Whatever. Do we have an understanding?” Jarlath asked, folding his arms across his chest.

  Dylan kept her gaze locked on her pelt as she nodded.

  “Excellent. Get her out—the seamstress will show any minute. Keep an eye on her,” Jarlath said. He tossed her pelt over his shoulder and strode from the room.

  Dylan’s bigger guard fumbled with a key and then swung her door open. She pushed herself against the rock wall at the back of her cell as he and the shorter man took up posts by the treasury door. After a minute passed and they didn’t move, she crept from her jail like a cautious fish leaving a reef. If they’d let her explore, she’d make the most of it. She kept her eyes on her guards and slunk up and down the aisles formed between stacks of treasures.

  I need a weapon or a tool. Something I could use later. But how do I get it when they watch me like predators?

  When the guards moved again she froze. They opened the door to allow a thin, nervous-looking woman inside.

  The woman, at least a head shorter than Dylan, looked her over for a few minutes with wide eyes. She eventually started measuring her, wrapping a knotted rope around her waist, up and down her arms and legs, and around her chest.

  The seamstress came and went several times—returning with various fabrics—and took the big guard with her to carry things. The smaller guard remained behind. Whenever they were alone he tossed a dagger between his hands. His liquid, practiced gestures kept Dylan rooted to the ground where the seamstress had left her.