by Emma Hamm
They had to go back through the storm, she realized. This wasn’t about the initial danger but that they had to turn around and do it again. Maybe it would be easier returning to the human world, but she doubted it.
He would lose more men. More merrows would die. And she was pestering him with ferrying her over to the island which had caused all this trouble in the first place.
Sorcha released her anger with a soft sigh. “I understand, Manus. I do. But I need to bring my things with me, and they cannot get wet.”
“I never said I’d ensure the safety of personal items.”
“They’re my mother’s books,” she called out as he turned away from her again. “They’re the only thing I have left of her and I will not let them go.”
He hesitated. She watched his shoulders lift in anger and then curl forward in defeat. “You’re set on going, then?”
“I have no other choice, you know that as well as I. The faerie punishment for backing out of a deal is worse than a swift death at sea.”
“I have a charm which will help your pack stay dry. It was a gift from a selkie, and I expect to have it back someday.”
Sorcha twisted her fingers together. “I will do my best to return it once this is all over.”
“I won’t hold my breath.”
Manus motioned for one of his sailors, the most mobile of the bunch strewn across the deck like autumn leaves. The raven burst out of the captain’s quarters, its cry echoing as it launched into the air. She watched him stretch his wings and fly towards the isle.
Apparently, the raven was traveling to the same place as Sorcha. She turned her gaze to the land mass and suppressed a shiver. There was something about that place which felt wrong.
The air was too still. The ocean didn’t crash against the rocks, but sluggishly avoided touching the land. Even the elements had forsaken Hy-brasil. There was more to the phantom isle than the legends sang, and Sorcha was afraid to find out what.
She braced her feet as the guardian gently set them down. The ship remained steady, bobbing as if there had never been a storm. Sorcha wished she could forget as easily as the Saorsa had.
Footsteps marked the return of the sailor who held her pack at arm’s length. He held it far out in front of him, the pack dangling from his fingers as if he didn’t want to touch her.
Sorcha recognized that expression. It was the same look her mother had been given for months before they burned her. They blamed her for every bit of bad luck. A neighbor’s cow died, a child caught a cold, the well ran dry, all were the markings of a witch who had cursed the town. Sorcha’s mother had been the one they chose to burn.
She snatched her pack out of the man’s hands with a muttered curse. “I didn’t call the storm, you moron. Give me that.”
The sailor flinched away from her.
Good riddance. He could be frightened of her if that helped him make sense of the storm, but she wasn’t about to let him treat her like a witch. Sorcha was a good person. She would have healed them all if the merrows weren't here.
She swung the pack over her shoulder and held her hand towards Manus. “The charm?”
He pulled a small bag from his pocket. The burlap was completely dry. Not even a single drop of water clung to its checkered pattern.
“This will do. Stick it in your bag and swim as fast as you can.”
“Will the charm wear off?” She stuffed the small bag in her pack between her most precious books.
“It’s unlikely to wear off. And freckles? A word of warning: where there are merrows, there are merrow-men. They’d like a pretty thing like you to stay with them, and most of their wives are here with us. No one will stop them if they get ahold of you.”
“Thank you,” she gritted through clenched teeth.
He didn’t stay to watch. Manus left to tend to his men, and she stood on the precipice of another decision. The water was another dangerous part of her journey. The ocean had yet to be kind, and its inhabitants were likely even worse.
Her eyes strayed to the haunted isle that had spawned straight from her nightmares. Hy-brasil, the phantom isle spoken of in legends and myths for centuries. Many believed it was a utopia, a place where men of highest intelligence and scholars of world renown were sent.
It looked like a ruin.
She carefully hoisted herself up on the railing and balanced with a sail rope in her hand. This was it. There was no going back once she jumped off this ship and landed in the waters below.
Papa’s eyes swam in front of hers. His painfully thin body, the grating cough that kept the others up at night, the dangers of what might happen should she fail and he die. The beetles would infect her sisters next; they were the nearest food source. The families nearby might also fall. And she wasn’t there to help prolong their lives.
Sorcha lifted her foot to hang in the salty air for a moment before she took a deep breath and leapt off the edge.
She hit the water with a stinging slap. Her skirts billowed up into her face and tangled with the long strands of her hair. The pack weighed her down, pulling her towards the bottom of the ocean with surprising ease.
Bubbles erupted from her mouth as she pumped her arms. Fabric tangled around her feet and trapped them. She couldn’t kick. She couldn’t breathe.
Frowning in concentration, she almost didn’t notice the movement in the depths. Calm yourself, she thought. Calm was the only way to deal with the Fae and it would assist her now. Panic would only lead to poor decisions.
She let her body relax although her lungs burned. Salt water stung her eyes when she opened them. Sorcha glanced down and held in a gasp when she saw red eyes staring back at her.
Deep at the bottom of the ocean, the merrow-men waited. They lacked the necessary tails to keep up with their brides. Instead, they had legs like a human man. Green scales covered their bodies which were hard with muscles. Gills and fins popped up with little rhyme or reason giving them a grotesque appearance. But it was their faces that disturbed her the most.
Large fish-like mouths gaped open as they inhaled her scent in the water. Jagged teeth lined their gums. Their eyes bulged when they realized it was a human woman in their realm. Frilled fins fanned out around their faces and evil grins spread wide.
One curled his fist around a trident and pushed off the ocean floor. He was swimming towards her, she realized. His webbed feet made him a much more effective swimmer, and her own pack was steadily dragging her to the bottom.
Sorcha wouldn’t let that happen. Determined, she reached down and ripped the bottom of her skirt. Two great, heaving pulls split the fabric down each side. It wasn’t much, but it was enough.
Her legs now freed she swam with all her might. Muscles burned, lungs screamed, eyes watered, but she eventually broke through into the sweet air.
She gasped in breaths that shocked her lungs. There wasn’t enough air in the world to satisfy her cravings, and every inhalation tasted metallic. She rolled onto her back, still sucking in air, and kicked towards the isle.
The merrow-man was still coming, she reminded herself. She couldn’t rest just because she could breathe. It was time to swim. Once she made it to the island, she could rest.
Only then.
When she finally caught her breath, she rolled onto her stomach and lifted her arms above her head. One arm at a time, one kick at a time, counting under her breath each stroke that drew her closer to Hy-brasil.
She couldn’t stop for even a moment, or the pack would drag her under the water. Her stomach churned from too many dips beneath the waves. A belly full of salt made her more nauseous, but there wasn’t even bile left to vomit.
She’d seen no sharks, but the stories said she wouldn’t until it was too late.
Above her head, the raven circled. Its caw snapped her eyes open as she paused for a moment to breathe.
“Bran?” she whispered.
Again, the corvid’s cry jolted through her body.
“Right. I have to s
wim.”
The isle grew closer and closer, even as the sun began to set and the ocean turned red. She could make it if only she swam a little…bit…more.
Her feet touched land.
A sob lurched her body forward. She slipped underneath a wave, but it didn’t matter that she couldn’t see. All she could taste was salt but there were rocks beneath her feet. She didn’t have to swim anymore, and she didn’t have to lose her mother’s journals.
“Thank you,” she whispered as she pulled herself onto the jagged shore. “Thank you so much.”
She curled her fingers in the sand and mud. The grit digging into her nailbeds made even more tears stream down her cheeks. She had done it. She had made it to the phantom isle through storms, giant whale creatures, and merrow-men.
Sorcha had really done it.
She laughed through the tears and rolled onto her back. The stars twinkled in the night sky. They were so beautiful. The land was so beautiful.
It no longer mattered that there was a mysterious castle looming overhead. It didn’t matter that ghosts likely traversed with silent feet all around her. She wasn’t swimming anymore, and the ground didn’t move here.
Letting out a ragged breath, her eyes drifted shut. Just for a moment, she told herself. She could rest for a moment before she had to get back up and find the Fae the MacNara twins wanted.
Stars danced beneath her eyelids as she settled into the sand.
Chapter Five
THE BEAST
Cold air brushed her skin. Sorcha rolled to her side, murmuring in her sleep. Gritty sand touched her face and sucked into her lungs as she snored.
She bolted upwards, scratching her nose with frantic hands. She coughed out sand and brushed dried salt off her cheeks. Her skin burned, raw and dry. Her lips cracked as she inhaled, blood leaking into her mouth and stinging her swollen tongue with the taste of iron.
Where was she? Her gaze danced over worn stones and bits of driftwood.
“Right,” she whispered. “The boat, the storm, the swim.”
Sorcha tucked her knees to her chest and hugged them close. There would be no more tears. She couldn’t afford to lose her sanity; there was too much left to do.
Her mind settled, and she glanced around. What had awoken her?
Something snorted to her left. The muscles of her back seized, and she slowly turned her head.
A smooth, whiskered face blew air at her again. The seal’s eyes were large and dark, surprisingly friendly. The warm air smelled of fish and rotten seaweed mixed with the musky scent of her newfound friend.
At her movement, the seal slapped a flipper against its belly and chortled.
“Oh,” she said in surprise. “Hello.”
It leaned in close and snorted at her again. When she flinched back, it let out another coughing laugh and rolled onto its back. Each smack against its side caused blubber to wiggle.
“Aren’t you a funny little thing?” Sorcha wasn’t certain it was so “little.” The seal was already larger than her, and she was certain it wasn't full grown. Its long whiskers tilted up at her words.
It snorted at her one more time then turned to leave. Its body vibrated as it lurched across the land, slipping into the water with more grace than it exhibited on land.
A thought sparked. “Are you a selkie?”
The only response was a quiet chuckle as the seal sank beneath the water.
Her muscles screamed in protest as she rose to her feet. The long muscles of her thighs seized and her toes pointed as the arch of her foot clenched.
Sorcha whimpered. The pain was excruciating, but she couldn’t stay on the sand. Stinging sunburns already covered her cheeks and arms. If she stayed out any longer, she would blister.
Water. She needed water. Her lips cracked as she opened them and wheezed out a breath.
She continued making soft sounds of discomfort as she pushed herself upright. She waved her arms for balance and settled. Coughing, Sorcha nodded her head.
“Step one, standing. Accomplished.”
Her feet seemed so far away. She furrowed her brows and looked at her toes. When had she lost her left shoe?
Right about the moment a merrow-man had pointed his trident at her with a dangerous gleam in his eyes. She groaned and held a hand to her head. The headache pounding behind her eyes nearly sent her to her knees.
“Who is that?” a feminine voice asked.
“I don’t know. She must have washed up from a shipwreck.”
“That never happens.”
“How am I supposed to know then? Banishment is the only way to get here, but faeries can't banish humans!”
The second voice was far more masculine. Nasal and harsh, it made the pain behind her eyes spike higher.
“Please,” Sorcha whispered. “Do you have any water?”
“Can she hear us, Cian?”
“Humans can’t hear us when we’re glamoured. She’s hallucinating.”
Sorcha stepped forward towards the sound, searching for the owners of the voices. “I can hear you. I came to Hy-brasil to speak with a faerie who lives here.”
A scoff echoed across the stones. “There’s plenty of faeries around here, human child. But there aren’t many who will talk to you.”
“Excuse me?” She blinked. “I need to talk to a Tuatha dé Danann who resides here. The MacNara twins sent me.”
“Well that changes things,” the feminine voice said. “We might help you with that.”
“We absolutely will not!” The other voice, Cian, was the male. “The master will have our heads, and I’ve gone toe to toe with him too many times. I will not be part of this.”
“Please,” Sorcha stepped forward and stumbled on a stone. She landed hard on her knees, crying out when the jagged rocks tore through her tender flesh.
“Look at her, Cian! We can’t just leave her here.”
“Don’t be saying my name! Leaving her here is exactly what we’ll do. We’re not helping a human. Don't touch it! Woman, you'll be the death of me. She might be ill!”
“But—”
“No buts! Stop helping people so much and think of your own hide! Humans don’t belong here. Let it slip back into the water and forget about it.”
Sorcha touched the gaping wound on her knee. Blood dripped from the torn flesh, already scabbing over, and encrusted with salt and sand. “Her,” she whispered. “I am female, not an it.”
“Could’ve fooled me,” Cian grunted. “You look like something I’d scrape out of the ocean and toss to the side. Good luck making it to the castle.”
Footsteps pattered across the granite stones. They were leaving. She gasped and stumbled to her feet, bracing her legs wide for balance. They couldn’t leave, not yet.
“Wait!” she called out. “Please, wait!”
A blast of air heralded the approach of a Fae. Warm lips pressed against her ear and the feminine voice whispered, “I’ll take care of you if you can make it home. One foot in front of the other, dearie.”
Sorcha lifted one leg and placed it before the other. She was unsteady, weak, and drained, but determined. Each movement splintered through her body in needles of icy pain.
“My body will not stop me,” she whispered.
The longer she moved, the more her muscles loosened. Pain turned to ache, ache turned to exhaustion. She relaxed, and the fog cleared from her mind.
The haunting isle revealed tiny details of beauty she had not seen from the ship. The rocky shore was hazardous, true, but there were also small sparkling barnacles stuck to the stones. A pathway hewn into the side of the cliffs led up to emerald fields similar to her home.
And why wouldn’t it be similar? This was still Ui Neill, she reminded herself. A mirrored reflection, but still the same structure of land and earth. The Otherworld was not so different from her own.
She hefted herself up on the first rock and caught her breath. Tiny purple flowers poked out between her fingers. The sun reached its peak,
the heat causing mist to rise from the surrounding fields. It wasn’t natural to see clouds this time of day, but there they were.
Sorcha pulled herself up on jutting stones and the marked pathway until she stood at the top of the hill.
Green filled her vision near to bursting. It was overwhelming to see such beautiful landscape. Her heart clenched and her fingers curled. Rolling hills covered in the most vibrant grass she had ever seen stretched as far as the eye could see. White dots of sheep lifted their heads every so often, smaller lumps of wool leaping through swirls of white fog.
Above it all, the castle loomed. The high peaks of towers looked like swords striking the gods.
Ravens flocked overhead. Their screams reminded her why she was here and how far she had come. She paused, hands on her hips, and lungs heaving.
“Not much farther now, Sorcha,” she said to herself. “Then the real job begins.”
Gravel crunched beneath her feet and she marched towards the castle. Her skin itched as if there were hundreds of eyes watching her journey. She supposed there could be. Fae were invisible to humans, and there were many on this isle.
She couldn’t envision this as a prison. It was far too beautiful, too plentiful, too…human.
Skittering sounds of running feet rushed past her. Sorcha rocked forward with the force, her skirts staying stiff with sand and salt. Her tangled hair stuck to her face as she whipped around.
No one. Not a single person stood around her, but she could feel the crowd. Hands tugged her clothing and grazed across her arms and pack.
She swallowed. “Thank you for your hospitality. I need to make it to the castle. Could you help me?”
It was a shot in the dark. The Fae standing around her might not want her to go there. They might want to toss her over the edge of the cliffs and wipe away all traces of humanity. Sorcha wouldn't blame them. Humans were rarely kind to the Fae.
Instead, gentle hands cupped her elbows and encouraged her to lean against them. The sores on her feet were so painful, she didn’t hesitate to accept the invisible support. Tears pricked her eyes at their kindness.
