The word hit him as suddenly as the guilt and revulsion of his intrusion. Sacred. That beautiful space where light danced like the sea beneath waves was their sacred place. It didn’t matter whose it was, it wasn’t his. Religion or faith had been replaced early in Immanuel’s life with mysticism and later by the heart-thrumming certainty that science would eventually yield any answer he sought. The pulse of the island pulled at him as if the walls deep of the cavern were closer to the island’s heart. Now that magic had entered his life, he found he scoffed less at faith. Wasn’t he merely closing his eyes and hoping something beyond his being would answer his call?
Backing out of the chapel with his head bowed, Immanuel returned to the fork in the maze and followed the other trail. It twisted past shell murals littered with spirals of lightning whelks and bright lion’s paw scallops that formed stars floating amongst a sea of faceless mollusk husks. As he moved through the galaxy of shells, Immanuel noted how, as he passed stylized versions of the constellations, that the roar of the ocean grew louder. His steps slowed as his eyes fell upon a shock of white bone sunk into the mortar. Fighting his locking legs, Immanuel drew closer, careful to keep his hands at his sides, away from the femurs that mimicked the twisted lattice of the stone carvings. He followed their braids all the way to the vaulted arches in the ceiling and back to the floor. Their length suggested they were human, but the moment he turned, his fears were confirmed by a dozen grinning skulls staring back at him. Their sockets had been plugged with sea urchin shells while tiny cockles encircled the skulls like a hunter’s trophy. The sound of the ocean dissolved beneath the tattoo of Immanuel’s heart in his ears. Every fiber of his being screamed for him to run, to fly back through the labyrinth, return to the surface, and take Adam home. But he couldn’t. There was no way he could find his way if he blindly ran, and he couldn’t bear the thought of being trapped with whomever framed the heads of their dead. Swallowing down his fear, Immanuel kept his eyes on the sandy floor until a familiar heat kissed his cheek.
Sun flooded the room, and with it, the thunder of rain against the roof of the cavern. Ignoring the burning behind his eyes, Immanuel lingered on the massive whale skull jutting from the sand ahead of him to form the back of what he could only call a throne. It towered over him and nearly scraped the roof of the cave while its low seat was comprised of bones from animals he couldn’t identify lashed together with taut strips of animal hide. At least he hoped they were from an animal.
The remainder of the throne room stood nearly empty. The walls were studded with murals of bones and shells to form what looked vaguely like a map. Immanuel drew closer, his blonde brows knitting in concentration as his eyes traced the shape of the islands and land masses. It was far too large to be just the islands surrounding Seohl-wiga, but if he let his eyes blur, he swore he could make out the Faroe Islands near the top and possibly the coasts of Scandinavia. He stepped back, turning his attention to the missing wall behind him. Where there should have been stone and more tilework, there remained only a rounded mouth, hollowed out by the same hands that had squared and smoothed the system of tunnels. With each rock of the tide, water sloshed over the lip. Watching the water recede, Immanuel wondered if the room would soon be flooded by high tide. Shivering as a spray of seawater seeped beneath his coat, Immanuel wandered to the whale bone throne. While there was a coating of sandy grit across the seat, there weren’t any cobwebs or layers of sediment to suggest the room hadn’t been in use. A bubble of curiosity forced a small smile to Immanuel’s lips. This place of skulls and shells gave him the same thrill he felt while playing with magic or uncovering the secrets of a new specimen. Someone had made this cave, and he would find out who.
He took in every feature of the throne room, hoping he could recall all he saw the next time he dined with Lord Dorset. He would appreciate the cave more than anyone. Perhaps he would even have some ideas as to who built it. Stepping around the throne, a niche appeared through the shadows, its opening blocked by the bulk of the whale’s skull. Six trunks sat in the darkened hole, neatly laid out in a row. Immanuel ran his hand over the iron work and wooden planks of the closest trunk before pulling open the yawning hinge. He had expected to find it empty or filled with more bones and shells or even gold, as the old stories would have him believe. Instead he found a pile of fabric. Cautiously pulling the first bundle free, it tumbled out to reveal a simple gown. The style was a few decades out of fashion, but it had yet to be attacked by moths or vermin. As he went to replace it, the glitter of glass caught his eye.
Reaching deeper into the trunk, Immanuel fished blindly through the pile of dresses and women’s undergarments until his hand brushed against something cold. In the dark, it was impossible to tell what it was, but it was solid and if Immanuel listened, he could hear the faint pulse of magic within it. He carefully closed the trunk and brought the treasure into the light of the throne room. It was a stone no bigger than his thumb hanging from a silver chain. Its surface sparkled and refracted light like broken glass, but within it, opalescent bits glittered beside flecks of orange and gold and the occasional speck of blue. Someone could have easily mistaken it for merely another pretty stone washed up from the sea floor, but as he closed his eyes and focused on its sleepy rhythm, Immanuel knew it was something more.
Running his mind over its smooth, glossy surface, the thin lines of power looped around it like gold thread. The clearer the lattice became, the quicker its pulse. Immanuel’s breath slowed even as his own pulse quickened to match it. He was close, so close. With a final flick of his mind, he caught the string and the stone released an ear shattering cry. Immanuel stumbled back, clasping his ears as the stone bounced across the cave floor and came to rest within lapping distance of the water. Blinking away the pain, Immanuel cautiously slid the chain away from the edge before the next wave could steal it. Watching it twist in the breeze, Immanuel debated whether he should take it with him when he returned to the surface, but as he raised his gaze to the sun, all thoughts of leaving seeped from his mind.
A head appeared out of the water, followed by a dozen more. They bobbed in and out of the waves, swimming toward him at an alarming speed. Immanuel turned toward the hall, poised to run blindly through the cavern, but as they drew closer, he realized their heads were grey and littered with spots. He released a relieved laugh. Seals. How could he have gotten so panicked over seals? Clara had mentioned they roosted off the island’s coast, and the cove easily could have been part of their mating or shedding grounds. Even with pups, if he gave them enough berth, they would leave him be.
For a moment, he merely watched from the throne room as they swam no more than thirty yards from where he stood. He marveled at how their bodies disappeared below the waves only to crest a few seconds later, glistening and sleek. After working in the museum, he had grown so accustomed to dealing with life secondhand through inky diagrams or alcohol-cured specimens that he had nearly forgotten that these creatures were real. That seals lived in the wild, existing without any need of him or his treatises on how they evolved. On land they seemed so clumsy, cute even, yet in the water, they were graceful predators. They had evolved perfectly for their surroundings. If only the rest of us could be so lucky, he thought taking a step back as the creatures approached the mouth of the cave.
Watching them warily, he had expected the seals to come to the mouth and swim away for the beaches or rocks further from the harbor, but when the first approached, he held his ground. Primal panic lanced through Immanuel’s chest as the first seal turned its gaze to him. Where there should have been glossy black eyes as round as billiard balls, he found their irises to be a cold blue. It laid its fins on the lip of the cave and hauled its body up. The sleek, tube of the seal’s form widened and elongated into a pair of grey and pink legs as its fins folded out into arms with pointed nails. By the time the creature rose, her canine face had been replaced with a woman’s features, as fierce as it was well formed. She glared at him, her glacial eye
s never wavering as she approached. Her sealskin had nearly disappeared, retreating to the outer edges of her being. Grey markings curved over her arms and legs, leaving a gap of all too human flesh straight down her middle.
Immanuel opened his mouth to speak but closed it several times until his back hit the wall of the cave. His heart thundered in his throat. He hadn’t even realized he was retreating until he found himself cornered as more woman rose from the sea. The woman nearest him reached into a niche in the throne and returned with a wicked blade. Swallowing hard, his attention flickered between the knife and her hardened gaze.
He was trapped.
Chapter Sixteen
The Den
Before he could speak, the last of the seals shed their animal forms. The frigid water slipped down their smooth, nearly naked flesh, but they didn’t seem to notice even as Immanuel fought the shivers he knew were from as much the cold as the raw fear calling every nerve to attention. The women stood watching him, surprise barely masked behind distrust, if not strength. Two of the women exchanged words he couldn’t understand. He thought he had caught a word or part of one in the guttural syllables that reminded him of his first attempts at English. They gestured toward the pendant in his hand before turning back to him. The necklace. Of course, its cry had called them to him.
“I wasn’t going to take it. I just wanted to look at it,” he explained, his voice high and strangled. “I swear, I’m not a thief. Please, take it back.”
The nearest woman ducked as he held out his hand, letting the silver chain dangle from his outstretched fingers. He kept his gaze leveled on their faces, desperately trying not to venture lower for fear of angering or repulsing them by staring at the curves of their mostly-human forms. An umber-haired woman with sharp green eyes snatched the necklace from his hand and disappeared behind the bone throne. A murmur passed through them but was silenced by the slap and slosh of fins on the cave’s floor. The women parted as a final selkie emerged from the sea. She effortlessly slipped from seal to full human with a swoop of her back as she stood. Silver hair tumbled down her back, covering a tattoo of swirls and lines just below her collar bone. Each of her movements denoted power in the grace of her limbs and the ripple of muscle hidden beneath padded curves. There was no mistaking that beneath a sculptural form, raw power lurked that would have swallowed any man who dared to trifle with her. Standing naked before him, he expected the women to seem vulnerable or ashamed as they would in London, but they stood firm and unapologetic. Somehow, he felt vulnerable and ashamed beneath his commonplace fear.
“How did you get in here?” she asked, her pale eyes boring into him, pinning him where he stood as Judith had done months ago. Her gaze locked onto his damaged eye and the scar running across it until a pressure began to build behind it as if she could somehow pry open the fissure. There would be no lying in her lair, not that he would dare to try.
“I stepped through the stone circle up on the island,” he replied, fighting to keep his voice from faltering at a spark of pain in his socket. “I didn’t intend to trespass. I had no idea it would lead here.”
“But how did you get past the stones?”
Immanuel looked between the women watching him as if he were the dangerous creature. At his side, the vivalabe ticked as if murmuring an answer. “I’m not certain. I stood in the center, and when I stepped down, I found the stairs.”
“We should offer him to the sea,” one suggested, running her eyes over the length of his form. “I doubt he would come back then.”
“Please don’t,” Immanuel peeped before he could stop himself. “I promise I will leave and never come back.”
“Men are rarely worth the trouble of release. They always come back.” Her lip curled in disgust. “He will come back for one of us.”
“No, that’s not why I’m—”
“He’s familiar to me,” a woman with a face awash in freckles said, stepping closer until her nose nearly brushed Immanuel’s shoulder as she sniffed the air.
“A lover, perhaps? A seaman?” their leader asked, taking the knife from the glacial-eyed selkie.
“I only just arrived Monday with my companion.” The small of Immanuel’s back tightened as the women drew closer, inspecting him from all angles. “I came here to find out more about the selkies.”
“Where did you hear that word?” the tattooed woman asked, the knife pressing against the soft flesh of his throat.
Immanuel resisted the urge to swallow at the feathery kiss of the knife. Tipping his head back, he pressed his skull into the salt-slicked mosaic. “I was sent from London to find you— to talk to you. I need to speak to you about a matter of great importance. The Interceptors— the Interceptors sent me.”
“The Interceptors, you say?” She narrowed her eyes, focusing on a spot behind his brow. Taking a step back, she let the knife fall away. “Toss him.”
The second he released a breath, relieved to have the knife far from his neck, the words hit him. His heart thundered in his chest as he turned to run, but before he could take more than a step, claws closed around him from all sides. He thrashed and tried to throw his weight, hoping his added height would somehow save him, but his boots slid across the sandy floor. Deceptively strong in a pack, the women dug their nails into him, holding him firm as they walked him to the edge of the cave.
“Please, please, don’t,” he cried, the toes of his shoes sliding across the slick stone. “I’m here to help you. I’m here to—”
Before Immanuel could finish, a hand shoved him in the back, sending him sailing through the air and crashing into the icy water below. He gasped, his mind reeling, but as he struggled to stay afloat, he realized he was hovering half in the water. Though his chest ached at the sudden cold and his legs grew numb, he hadn’t been swept out with the current. Relief washed over him as he looked up to find the belt of his satchel hooked around a rough outcropping on the stone’s face. Resting his head against the damp stone, Immanuel released something between a sob and a laugh. He wasn’t certain if he could die but finding out was not something he wanted to do. And Adam. Oh god, Adam didn’t even know where he was. If he had died… His morbid thoughts were interrupted by voices at the mouth of the cave. The selkies gathered at the lip. Murmurs passed through them, hushed tones of disbelief, anger, and a word he had heard not so long ago: wyrd. Fate.
“Cut him loose.”
“Please, I can explain. I’m here from the Interceptors. I—” Gripping the strap tighter, tears welled in Immanuel’s eyes as the silver-haired selkie reappeared with the obsidian knife. Meeting their leader’s eye, Immanuel pleaded, “Please, don’t. I have a life. I mean you no harm.”
“Wait, Tara! I know where I recognize him,” the freckled one called, pulling the dark-haired woman’s hand back as she reached for the leather strap. “He’s the one who dove in after Greta.” She dropped her voice, “The witega.”
“Is that true, intruder?”
“Yes. I don’t know what witega means, but I dove in after Miss Larkin when she fell overboard.” Icy water wicked up his wool trousers, turning his legs to jelly. Tremors rocked his jaw with each word as he added, “Please just let me explain myself. If you don’t like what I have to say, you can drown me.”
The freckled woman gave Tara a tight smile and a nod. With a huff, Tara grabbed him by the arm and hauled him onto the gritty floor. Shivers wracked his body as he struggled to stand on numb legs but fell back to his knees. His toes burned and refused to move in his wet shoes and socks, yet the women around him stood bare as if it were the heat of summer. He squeezed the water from the hem of his coat and wished he could do the same to his trousers. How were they able to stand it?
Magic? Evolution? Neither seemed too far apart.
“If you’re a witega, prove it,” their silver leader said, watching him from her rightful place on the whalebone throne.
“I— I don’t know what a witega is, ma’am.”
“You will address me as
Völva Hilde, witch. Now, show us your power.”
Immanuel nodded and staggered to his feet. He wondered how they knew about Greta Larkin or that he had any ties to magic, but with Völva Hilde’s gaze upon him, he didn’t dare ask. His eyes traveled over the room, searching for anything he could use. There was nothing to bring back to life, apart from the skeletons embedded in the wall, but he had no desire to be saddled with whatever beast they came from as a pet. If they were human, it couldn’t possibly be ethical. He could produce a breeze, but with the wind beating in through the cave’s mouth, would they even notice? Immanuel shifted uncomfortably against the fabric clinging to his leg. That was it.
Kicking off his boots, Immanuel drew in a slow breath. He closed his eyes and hoped that, despite his shivers, he could put the cold and fear aside long enough to tap into the energy around him. A faint lattice beyond his vision slowly began to glow, dim as a dying coal. Magic pulsed across the darkened landscape as he reached for it until, with a twang, he hooked it. He pictured water pulling together on the surface of his trousers and socks, pooling until they were nearly dry. Releasing his breath, water droplets flung from his wet clothes, spraying at the selkies who had come closer to get a better view. Before the water could settle, he shot his energy forward and yanked. The water swung back to him like a bandalore, condensing on his outstretched palm. Without looking to see their reaction, Immanuel tried something he had only attempted a few times on tea. He stared at the undulating mass of water in his hand. As he sucked in his breath, a film of ice spread over the surface of the water until all the remained was a hollow ball of ice. Letting the ball roll off his hand and shatter on the cave floor, a pang of pain burst from his temple. He had forgotten how much harder he had to focus when Adam wasn’t nearby.
Selkie Cove (The Ingenious Mechanical Devices Book 5) Page 18
