by Melissa Marr
“How long is Christmas?”
Leo misunderstands my fear for excitement. “Less than a month. I go back in a few days, but I’ll return for you soon after. I’ll take you to our new home, and we’ll be together every day then. You can learn new things then, other ways to be good to me, and soon we’ll have our first child.” He brushes my hair back, stroking my cheeks with his thumbs as he does so. “They say that marriages made so young don’t last, but ours will. You can’t leave me; you can’t disobey me . . . and I . . . won’t ever need to hurt you.”
I cannot speak around the pain inside me. Leo means to take me away from my sea in a few weeks. He means to make me with child. There are ways to prevent pregnancy. Robert and I have used them, but I cannot disobey Leo. I stare down at the ring weighing down my hand, and I feel warm tears on my face.
“I feel the same way, but”—Leo kisses my cheeks, swallowing my tears, before continuing— “but it’s only a few more weeks that we’ll be apart, and later if you want a big ceremony, we can renew our vows. It would be the third time really.”
I look at him.
“The night I chose you, we were bound more than any church can tie two people,” he clarifies. “The second time, we can go to a courthouse. The third, we can have a lavish ceremony . . . maybe on our third anniversary. The real one, the third anniversary of the night we met.”
Mutely, I let him lead me into the house and into his bedroom.
“I know I wanted to wait till we were married, but we’re engaged now,” he says.
I try to find comfort in his kisses, try not to wince when he holds my arms too tightly, try not to cry out in pain when he enters my body without tenderness. I almost succeed, but then he grips my throat. Each cry only makes him happier. All I can do is stay still as Leo ruts and roars on top of me. Afterwards, when he is quiet beside me, I realize that I have done exactly what he wants.
“You’re perfect, Eden,” he whispers in a tone of near reverence. “Soon, we can be together every day. I’ll teach you how to be a good wife.”
I close my eyes and say, “Yes, Leo.”
***
By the time Robert arrives to see Leo, I am dressed. I wear a cardigan sweater to cover the handprints that once more decorate my arms, and for the first time, I wear a high-necked shirt to hide the bruises low on my throat. When Robert comes into the room, led by one of the nameless members of the staff who do not speak to me even after all of these months, I look to Leo for instructions.
He takes my hand and tugs me to stand beside him. I barely hide my wince of pain as I stand, but Leo doesn’t notice. He releases my hand and hugs Robert.
“Eden is tired,” Leo says, “but I couldn’t wait a minute longer.” He lifts my hand to show Robert the ring. “I wasn’t sure . . . hopeful, but you know how women can be . . .” His words drift away, and I think of the other girl, the one he’s mentioned briefly. I wonder if she is the reason he chose not to take me to bed before we were engaged. It’s odd to think that, knowing as we both do that I had to say yes, but Leo is—as Robert once told me—a very broken man.
I hear him still talking and force myself to listen as he says, “. . . but she said yes. Eden is going to be my wife in a few short weeks.”
Leo smiles widely at me.
Robert looks at me, and I know that when Leo returns to university, Robert will not be waiting for me in the dark.
“I’ve met her,” Robert says. “While you were away, I met her. I didn’t know. You got to believe me. If I had . . . I wouldn’t have.” Robert looks as heartsick as I feel. “I swear I wouldn’t have fallen for her if I knew.”
“Eden?” Leo asks. There are so many questions in those few letters, and I don’t know which to answer.
“I didn’t cross the threshold,” I whisper. “Robert didn’t know I was . . . yours.”
The hand that was hanging at his side curls into a fist, and I brace myself. I think that it would be better if Robert left—almost as much I hope he will stay. I know this is my path to freedom, but I am afraid.
“We had sex the first night,” I say quietly. “I didn’t know he was your friend then.”
“And after?” Leo prompts. He’s staring only at me now. “Did you stop when you knew?”
I lift my head a fraction and say, “No.”
“I think you should leave,” Leo says, and I know that he isn’t talking to me even though I wish he were.
Robert steps forward and touches Leo’s arm. “Leo—”
“Now.” Leo is not looking at Robert. His gaze is only on me, and I see his father in him. There is fury here, more than I was expecting. I consider begging Robert to stay, but this is what must happen to set me free.
I start to walk away, as if I could go with Robert, and Leo grabs me. I yelp. He shakes me, and I wonder how many ways he can hurt me without striking me.
But I do not want to lose my nights of freedom. They were all I had left, and they are gone too. I have to do this. “I lay down with him every night,” I say quietly.
He lifts a hand.
“Leo!” Robert yells.
And Leo punches him instead.
“No!” I step between them, and the second blow hits me. I’ve never been hit before, and the force of it is unlike my imaginings. I lift my hand to my cheek. “He didn’t know. I seduced him, Leo. I crept out at night and seduced him. He is innocent.”
Leo raises his hand again, but Robert grabs him. “Stop it! What are you doing?”
Trapped as he is, Leo can’t swing at me, so he kicks me. That hurts even more than the punch. I fall to the floor and look up at him. I’m afraid, but I am more hopeful than afraid. Twice. He’s struck me twice. There are rules, and we both know them.
I open my mouth, but before I speak words to incite that third blow, Leo says, “No.” He shakes his head. The anger is not gone, but his control has returned. He meets my gaze, but does not offer to help me to me feet. He swears, “I won’t do it a third time, Eden. You can’t leave me.”
Robert looks between us like we are both strangers to him. He might not understand, but he knows that there is more going on here than what he can see. “Edy, why don’t you go outside while Leo calms down.”
“May I, Leo?”
Leo bows his head, either to hide anger or sorrow, and Robert releases his hold. Leo steps forward, but he doesn’t touch me. “I shouldn’t have done that,” he says. “You know I shouldn’t, but I won’t hit you a third time. I still love you.”
“If you really love me, tell me I can go home,” I half ask, half demand. I stand and take off the sweater. Both Robert and Leo look at the fresh bruises on my arms. “Tell me I don’t need to stay in a cage.”
“It’s not a cage,” Leo insists. “I’ll take care of you. We can be happy; I know it. It’s just that you were alone; I’ll never leave you alone again. You were weak, but I forgive you.” He stands and comes to me. He kisses me with the sort of tenderness he didn’t show me in his bed and then he tells me, “I know what will happen if I hit you again. That’s why I picked you, so I wouldn’t be like that. I can be better.”
“I want my freedom,” I tell him, being honest as I haven’t been before. It took this: his threat to take me further from the sea, his fist, his foot, for us both to show our desperation.
“No. I’ll be better.” Leo looks at me, and I think of the night he came to me with a bruised face. I think he remembers that same night because he touches my face. “You’re mine, Eden. I’m not going to let you go.”
“You hurt me,” I say.
“I love you,” he swears. “I won’t be like him. I swear it. We’ll leave here, and we’ll be together. Everything will be perfect.”
All the while Robert stands watching us. He looks between us, and my heart hurts for them both. It hurts more for the freedom that felt so close. I cannot lose the little of the sea that I still have. The thought of never touching it, of not hearing it, not seeing it, or smelling the brine—it
destroys me.
If we were staying here, I could try to wait, try to find ways to make Leo hit me again, but even as I think it, I know that I do not want to feel the other pains he delivers. I do not want to wear these bruises. I do not want to kneel at his feet. I do not want my voice to be silent.
I could kill Leo; he’s never ordered me not to hurt him. I’m not sure I can take a life, but I think of it now. If he were dead, I could take my other-skin from wherever it is hidden in the house. While he is alive, I cannot even search for it, but if he were to die, I could re-claim my soul.
I could let the sea take me. It is what my kind has often done. Without our souls, without the sea, many of us sink into a sorrow deep as the darkest caverns in the sea. This, I can do.
“May I go to the beach, Leo?” I ask quietly. “You tell me you are different. You say you are not like your father. You say this isn’t a cage.” I hold his gaze and challenge him. “Prove it.”
He agrees, and I walk out the door.
“To the beach, Eden,” Leo calls as I reach the deck. “I’m not setting you free.”
Distantly, I hear Robert say, “You keep her a prisoner? Seriously? What are you thinking?”
I don’t stop to hear the answer. I believe Leo when he says he won’t hit me again. He knew he had to strike me three times, and even in his anger, he knew when to stop. There are other pains though, and even without the pain, I live in a cage like a pet. I cannot consign a child to this fate. I cannot live like this.
I glance back as Robert and Leo come outside. They’re following me. I knew they would, but I have to believe they won’t reach me in time.
I don’t stop when I reach the edge of the water. I wade in.
The cold water rushes over my legs, and I look to the horizon. I don’t see others of my kind, and I know they can’t come to me when I am wearing only my human self.
“I have your skin; you can’t leave without your skin! ” Leo apparently realizes as he says it that there are other ways to leave, and he runs back toward the house.
At the same time, Robert runs toward me. “Edy!”
The water is wrapping around me as I start to swim, and when I glance behind me I see Robert wading in.
“I’m sorry, Edy! Wait!” Robert yells.
I don’t stop; I can’t. I go deeper, feeling the shock of the water starting to numb my body already. As I start to swim, I concentrate on going as far away from the shore as I can.
I tread water for a moment. The cold and my bruises are sapping my strength. I need to go further though. I need to be unable to hear the words if Leo orders me to shore.
The moon spills light on the water like a path I should follow, and I concentrate on following it. The water feels strange against my clothes, and I realized that I’ve never swum with clothes. I never needed them.
I feel the pull of my other-skin as I start to go further from it, further from the prison where it remains. It will be nothing more than a pelt once I am gone. Without it, without the rest of myself, I will drown before I reach deep water. It is not the choice I thought I would make, but like so many women before me, I cannot survive in a cage.
Splashing and voices behind me tell me that Leo is in the water too.
I start to swim as fast as I’m able. I do not conserve any of my strength; I only need to be deep enough, far enough, that the currents will pull me out further.
Leo’s voice calls, “Eden—”
So I dive under the water where the rest of his words won’t reach me. If he orders me back, I will have to obey, so I need not to hear them yet. I have to get further away, to swim until I am so tired, so numb from the cold, that I cannot obey if he demands that I return to the shore.
When I surface for air, I hear that Robert is yelling too.
I dive again. The water doesn’t feel as cold, and I think that shock shouldn’t set in so soon—but I’m grateful all the same. No woman should live in a cage. I won’t do so for another day longer.
This time, when I come up for air, I glance back at them, and I see that Robert hasn’t come any deeper into the water. For all of his protestations of love, he doesn’t not risk the sea for me—or maybe he loves me enough to let me have the choice.
It is Leo who swims toward me, propelling his body through the water with one arm. He’s forbidden me access to the water even as he swam in it every day, and aside from my few nights in it, I have not had a chance to keep myself strong enough. Leo has the strength I lack now, and he is catching up quickly.
I renew my efforts. If he reaches me, he can drag me back to shore.
“Come back with me. Please! This isn’t what was supposed to happen,” he says.
There are no words I know to make him understand. Selchies have been where I am now for centuries. We all know that to be captive is to die a little each day. There are good men, and there are broken men.
“Eden,” he calls my name and then he orders, “Eden, stop!”
I obey; I obey completely: I stop fleeing, stop swimming, stop keeping myself above water. The human body can’t stay under water as long as a seal can, and I count on that.
What I don’t count on is Leo’s determination. He dives under the waves and grabs me. I can’t fight him as he pulls me above the water.
I stay limp in his grasp. I will not help him return me to the land, and he doesn’t think to order me to do so.
“I don’t want you to die.” Leo kisses my head and murmurs, “I’m not like my father.”
Then I feel something brush against me and realize why he was swimming with only one arm. He has brought my skin into the sea. He pushes it toward me, returning it to me of his own will. It clings to me, wrapping around me, and I forget Leo. I forget everything except for this: I am whole and free.
I let out a bellow of joy, and I hear the answers of my selchie-sisters. They call to me, echoing my happiness, rejoicing that I am home. I am tired, but they will help me. I have only to swim toward them, and they will take me to safety.
I hear splashing behind me, and I turn. A human boy is saying something. He speaks my name, and I think that there is something more I should do here, but I am exhausted. I can’t recall if I am to help him or take him under the water where his land-dwelling lungs will fill with the sea until they burst. He is struggling in the water, but my selchie-sisters call out, letting me know that they are nearing.
This human is not my concern. I leave the splashing behind and enjoy the welcoming waves of my home. I am whole, and I am free. There is nothing else.
***
A Note on Awakened
Before I was a writer, I was a teacher. One of my favorite novels to teach—both in American literature courses and women’s literature courses—was Kate Chopin’sThe Awakening. The inevitable classroom discussion of women who walk into the sea or otherwise see death as superior to enslavement was met with the ever foolish idea that “that was then, and we no longer need feminism because we’re all equal.” I didn’t agree then, and I agree even less now as I watch state after state in my nation pass laws limiting women’s ownership of their bodies. I don’t think suicide is ever the answer, but I do think we live in a world where feminism is still essential.
Tangled in to this Chopin-influenced short is my love for selchies. I’ve been to Orkney three times in the past four years. I’ve walked among seals, and I’ve had them follow me in the water as I walked on the shore. It’s easy to see a human face in the mist. It’s easy to understand the origin of the mythology, and when I add that mythology to Chopin, I see a woman entrapped again, but this time with another option—one in which her need to enter the sea is more than seeking death. The sea still offers freedom.
***
Fantasy
Guns for the Dead
(a Graveminder story)
At the sound of boots on the plank walkway outside her shop, Alicia closed the cash box and lifted the sawed-off shotgun from a modified under-counter rack. She’d hoped that t
he boys would be back by now, but they weren’t daft enough to be walking in the front door of General Supplies without calling out.
She swung the shotgun up as the door opened.
The owner of the boots stopped just inside the shop. He was new enough that she didn’t recognize him. To his credit, though, he didn’t flinch at the sight of her particular brand of customer service. His gaze slipped briefly over the shop with curiosity. The interior of the frontier town General Goods store seemed a little out of time to new arrivals. Over there, more than a century had passed. She thought about updating the look, but the comforting familiarity of the dry goods shop outweighed her discomfort over revealing her age. Screw ‘em. With its tins and barrels, glass cases and the wood floorboards, it was home, but clearly not what his home looked like.
The newcomer put his arms out to the sides, demonstrating that he was either trustworthy or idiotic. “Ma’am.”
She took in his frayed jeans, faded black tee-shirt, combat boots, and a relatively new revolver in a belt holster. Most of those items were commonplace here now; she’d even acquired shirts and boots much like his in recent years. The holster he wore could be purchased in a dozen spots around the city, but post-1880 weapons came from one shop only—hers. She pursed her lips. Since she didn’t recognize him, he’d either taken it from a customer or bought it at significant upsale.
“Boyd sent me,” he said.
“And?” She didn’t lower her weapon. There was something decidedly awkward about aiming a shotgun one-armed for any time at all, but a businesswoman didn’t greet strangers unarmed. She stepped back and—using her free hand for leverage—hopped up on the counter.
The newcomer raised his brows, but his posture remained unchanged. “He said to tell you that ‘the old bastard started trouble’ and that ‘he’ll be out for a day.’”
“Huh.” Alicia lowered the shotgun so it was aimed at the floor in front of her. “And where is Boyd that you’re delivering this message?”
