“Which is good,” Briah said one summer morning as she watched her son play with the seals. “We’re not going anywhere, so I hope you never grow weary of this place. Your friends are seals, your toys are shells, and the only human you know is your mother.”
For all that their life was unusual, Briah could see no sign that her son was being harmed. Far from it.
She, on the other hand, was sometimes surprised at how restless she now felt.
Nothing was wrong. They ate well, if predictably. They were warm on even the coldest nights. After that one terrifying bought of fever and hunger, the minor illnesses and injuries they suffered were always short lasting, and easily treatable by Briah’s small store of medicines.
But it seemed that Briah made no new discoveries; invented no new kinds of tools or cloth as she had in the first year. She could find shellfish without looking, catch fish every time she cast her net. Her aim with a rock was so accurate, she rarely missed, no matter how far the target.
But she lacked the time for anything more. It seemed that as Briah’s skill grew enough to save time, Kamin’s growing needs soaked it all up. And there was one other thing that took up time; perhaps even more than Kamin.
Briah spent a part of each day on a dune near the water, just watching the waves.
It seemed strange, yet the time she spent each day in silent communion with the sea answered a need as great as any for food or water. When she had nightmares about Lir or Agor, Briah needed more time than usual at meditation. As Kamin grew, he sensed his mother’s needs, and whenever possible, left her alone.
The sea that had provided for Briah’s physical needs, and even healed her spirit was still there for her. It was to the sea that she took her fears, her dreams and her endless questions. Sometimes, she could almost hear the waves speak. The only thing missing, she decided was her faerie lover and his wonderful song. Perhaps, when Samhain came again, so would he.
And then that time was at hand, and now it was two years since Briah had arrived, broken and afraid, upon this shore. She knew when it was Samhain, for once again, the seals disappeared, and the air crackled with strange power. But instead of sweet music and magical visitations, there was only an awful tension all around her, and Briah found herself watching Kamin every moment, though she couldn’t say just why.
All that day the tension built. Briah felt in her bones that a storm was coming and knew that when it did, it would be huge. She worked at bringing in all the supplies she could, and when the rain finally began to fall at sunset, she felt a strange relief.
Briah’s prediction was confirmed. The storm built for two days, then raged with a fury she had never before seen.
At first she kept the fire going, and by its sputtering light was able to get a little sewing and weaving done. Before long, however, it became pointless to fight against the deluge. Once the fire was out, the cave became cold and far too dark to get any work done. The storm seemed to take on a more sinister appearance as well. Briah held Kamin close and huddled in the back of the cave, willing it to be over.
After what seemed like days, Briah awoke to what she knew should have been daylight, but everything was black as pitch. The intensity of the storm hadn’t changed, so she knew it wasn’t that which made her cry out loud. She searched the darkness in near panic, knowing only that something was wrong.
“Kamin?” she asked the empty cave. Briah leapt to her feet, striking her head on the rocky ledge. “Ow! Kamin!” She rushed from the shelter, only to be shoved back inside by a blast of icy rain. Gritting her teeth, Briah tried again, this time catching hold of a rocky outcrop. Again, the storm tried to push her back, but Briah held fast.
“Kamin!” she called again, searching for him in the wet gloom. All creation was in chaos. She couldn’t tell waves from rain, as both forces pounded the sand and rocks and cliff. Then a jagged bolt of light gave her an instant of clear sight.
Kamin stood on a rock just above the cave. He seemed oblivious to everything but the magnificent fury that raged around him. “Kamin!” screamed Briah, trying to reach him. “Kamin, come down now!” He wasn’t far; she could get to him if the wind would stop pushing her back. Briah called his name again as she fought, and this time, Kamin turned to see his mother.
He seemed confused rather than frightened, as if now unsure why he was here, where a moment ago he knew. He looked again out to sea.
In that moment, a huge wave leapt at the boulder and snatched up the boy who clung to it, while his mother looked on in horror. When the wave receded, Kamin was gone.
CHAPTER 14
Afterwards, Briah never knew if the storm began to lessen the moment it took Kamin, or if she simply stopped caring. Either way, nothing prevented her from leaving the cave and reaching the edge of the sea. She stared out at the churning breakers, to where the wave had dragged her son.
The wind still howled. The rain still fell. The sea still roiled. It didn’t matter. Briah shouted Kamin’s name one last time, then stopped. It was folly to call a two year old back from the ocean depths. He had no say in his fate now. It was between Briah and the force that took him. And that was where she directed her voice.
“Give him back!” she yelled to the sea. “I know you took him; I know he still lives! Give him back to me.”
In truth, Briah knew with all her heart that Kamin did still live, although she didn’t know how. She also knew that the sea had taken her son for a reason, but she pushed that thought aside. If she thought about it too much, the reason might become clear, and then she might falter in her resolve. Briefly, Briah was tempted to plead; to offer some kind of trade or sacrifice in exchange for Kamin’s return. But that was what weak, desperate women did, back in her village when a child lay sick, or in the slave quarters, when the hands of the master wrenched a child away. This was different. And Briah knew that pleading or trading with the power that had taken her son would be as useless as threatening it.
So she did the only thing she could think of. She stood motionless before the endless sea and stared into its depths. “Give me back my son,” she said in a voice that was not a scream, yet carried above the roar of the fading storm. “He is all I have and all I want, and I will not leave this place until you give him back.”
After that she was silent. But Briah stayed where she was, staring into the waves, searching for a small, dark shape, as if the same wave that took Kamin would, at any moment, spit him back.
The storm blew itself out and Briah did not move.
The clouds parted and a late morning sun spilled pale light on the wrecked beach. Briah noticed only that the waves grew calm and the sea turned green.
All day and all night, Briah stood vigil. She neither ate nor drank, nor slept. The rhythmic waves which had so mesmerized her when she first arrived, were just as hypnotic now. So, trance-like, Briah stared and waited.
And when at last the sun rose on the morning after the storms end, Briah, swaying with exhaustion as she blinked in the painful sunlight, saw a small, dark shape drifting ashore, just paces from where she stood.
“Kamin?” she tried to whisper, but her cracked lips uttered no sound. Briah leapt into what she thought would be a run, but found her legs, stiff from not moving , would not carry her. Staggering, she reached the figure—and found a half drowned seal pup.
The last of Briah’s strength left her then. She collapsed on the shore, not carrying that waves lapped over her, or might even pull her out to sea.
To her surprise, however, the seal’s pathetic mews brought her back. Wherever her son was, here was another mother’s son, and he needed help. Briah gathered the seal pup into her arms. His liquid brown eyes were so much like Kamin’s that she wondered briefly if this in fact was her son—transformed, yet returned as she had demanded.
All at once, it didn’t matter. Briah got as far as the cave. The fire was out and she was too tired to light it. She dried the seal with Kamin’s blanket, then curled around him and fell into an exhausted
sleep.
****
For seven days, Briah cared for the seal as if he were her own. In fact, it was three days before she was finally convinced that he wasn’t her own. The seal, who had an unusual golden cast to his brown fur, was close in size to Kamin. His eyes were hauntingly familiar. He even had some of Kamin’s mannerisms: curiosity, playfulness, and a strong attachment to Briah. But it soon became apparent that this seal was not her son, magically transformed.
The seal baby was far too clingy to be Kamin. He clung to Briah with an almost desperate affection. He was uncomfortable inside the cave—even when there was no fire in the hearth—yet would not leave it, or her. Sometimes she had the feeling that the pup was watching her in a very human way.
On the seventh day, Briah packed all of her belongings. The supply of baskets she had made in the course of the years was barely enough to hold the clothing, blankets, tools, snares, utensils, ornaments and food she had acquired. She stacked them neatly above the hidden passage that had brought her here—now half underwater. It would be clear by early afternoon. By then, she would have returned from an expedition to the sunken ship, to see if any of its metal treasure could still be salvaged. Briah cursed herself for not going back for it sooner, but there was nothing to be done about it now.
Lastly, she picked up the seal and carried him to the shore. Sitting down beside him, Briah spoke, although her gaze remained fixed on the rolling waves.
“You’ve been well enough to go home for days now,” she said. “But it’s taken me this long to face the truth. My son is gone, and I can’t get him back. I can’t stay here alone with his memory, so I will leave. That means it’s time for you to go too, little one.”
In the silence that followed, Briah continued to stare into the vast watery world before her, although she desperately wanted to look at her companion. She clung to the silence a moment longer, and beside her heard a voice:
“Please don’t go!”
Then she turned, so fast her neck nearly snapped.
Beside the woman sat a little boy with golden brown hair and red, nearly raw, skin. Beside him lay his seal fur.
CHAPTER 15
“So. You decided to let me see you,” said Briah calmly. “And you really can speak my language.” Her mind spun with stories of animals in human form. But hows and whys were not important now. Only one thing was. “Will you tell me where my son is?”
“I can’t,” sobbed the boy. He was, she realized, older than Kamin. Probably five or six in human years.
Briah’s maternal instinct surfaced again. “Are you hurt?” she asked. “Your skin looks...”
“It will heal in a moment,” said the boy. Even as he spoke the red faded, leaving normal, if pale, skin. “I’ve never changed before. They say it’s always hard the first time.”
“Who are you?”
The boy’s lips tried to form a word. Finally, he shook his head. “You could not pronounce my name. But my people are the roane.”
“Mermen?” she asked eagerly, thinking that if the strange creature she had come to love were part of this, perhaps all would still be well.
“No, those are different. Roane are seal folk. In the sea, we are seals. On land, we can shed our fur, and live as humans—for a short time. If one of your kind steal our fur, we are trapped to live as a human. Some of your men have gotten wives from us that way.”
“That I can well believe,” said Briah, deciding not to ask herself how she could believe any of this. But, somehow, it made sense. “Did your people take my son?”
“We had to,” said the roane.
“Why?”
“I don’t know. I just know it’s important.”
“But why are you here?”
Very human looking tears welled up in the boy’s eyes. “Both my parents are dead.”
“Seal hunters?” asked Briah.
The boy nodded.
“And your people sent you here? To another human?”
“You wouldn’t stop calling for your son! We—they thought you’d give up! Any other woman would have!” He looked at her accusingly, but with longing. “I had no close kin. I needed a mother; you needed a child. They sent me, and hoped you’d be content. So did I.” Now he looked at Briah with a child’s sense of betrayal, and the tears spilled from his eyes.
“No, don’t!” Briah pulled the boy to her and held him close. “It wasn’t your fault that I couldn’t forget my son!” Suddenly, anger welled up inside her. “What’s the matter with your people? They steal a baby from his mother? Send an orphan into an alien world? Then convince him he’s a failure if a grieving mother can’t simply substitute one child for another like a pair of shoes!
The boy pulled away and stared up at Briah in amazement. “No!” he said, shaking his head, causing Briah to wonder if the gesture was universal. “They’re not like that! I don’t know what shoes are, but my people are good. They love me, and they were trying to ease your suffering!”
“I wouldn’t be suffering if it weren’t for them!”
“We can’t help that!”
“Prove it!” snapped Briah.
“How?”
“Take me to your world. Let me see that my son is safe. Let your people explain their good deeds to me.” Briah could see the boy was struggling with his loyalties. Taking a deep breath she added, “If you don’t, I’ll leave you here on this beach forever.” It was a cruel lie, but she was fighting for Kamin with every weapon she had.
The boy cried out. Briah had to fight herself not to rush in and comfort him. Finally he said, “All right. Follow me.”
He dove into the water and disappeared from view. What surfaced a moment later was a golden brown seal.
“Uh, can I follow you?” Briah asked.
“Yes.” His voice was muffled, but easy enough to understand. “Just hold on to my body.”
Briah paused. Was this a trick? The child had reason to hate her for rejecting him. Yet she sensed no malice in him; only pain and confusion. Could she follow the roane to his realm and survive? And could she ever return to her own world if she did? Well, without Kamin, it really didn’t matter.
Briah waded into the water and took hold of the seal’s back flipper. “What about my clothes?” she asked, glancing down at leather bodice and feather skirt.
“Leave them on,” said the roane. He dove beneath the waves, Briah swimming behind.
Deeper and deeper they went, farther from land than Briah had ever been. She struggled to hold her breath. Finally, when her lungs burned and she could hold it no longer, Briah gasped for air—and found she could breathe. It felt strange. It wasn’t quite air—at least not like what she breathed on the surface. Rather, it was thick like honey and nearly as sweet. Whatever it was she breathed sustained Briah well enough to afford her time to look around at the strange new world surrounding her.
How colorful everything is, she thought. The water was dark this far down, yet everything that moved in it seemed bright with color. Fish were many shades of blue and green and red. Some were huge, with gaping mouths or jagged teeth that made her tremble.
As they reached the bottom, Briah saw plants that glowed with an eerie light that barely touched the light that filtered down from the distant surface. Towers of rock and coral soared gracefully. As Briah and the roane child passed between two enormous pillars of stone, Briah stared, certain they could not be natural. Yet they were unlike anything she had every seen made by humans.
Once beyond the pillars, Briah saw things that were more familiar. Pieces of sunken ships lay strewn about. Manmade goods of metal and stone were arranged on tables of rock and coral. Altars? she wondered. Decorations perhaps? There were drinking vessels and urns, delicate jewelry and even bits of cloth. Briah tried to ask her guide about them, but only gurgles came out, while salt water tried to rush down her throat. She gagged, nearly losing her grasp on the roane.
Soon after that, they reached the entrance to a large cave. Once inside, the roane sl
ipped from Briah’s grasp. She felt a rush of panic, certain she was about to drown.
Instead, she found herself in shallow water. Air—familiar air, but heavily scented by the sea—filled the upper half of the great cavern. Islands of rock protruded from the water. Gathered on the rocks, or swimming in the shallow waters, were hundreds of seals. Seal people, Briah reminded herself. For there was no doubt in her mind that the looks they were giving her were full of intelligent concern. They did not, however seem surprised to see her.
Her guide led Briah to an elderly pair, seated a little higher than the others on great chair-like rocks. Used to recognizing people of rank by dress or decoration, Briah still had no trouble identifying these two as the seal king and queen.
The king gurgled a sound that Briah assumed was the child’s name, followed by the words, “What have you done?”
“I brought the boy’s mother,” said the young seal. “I had to.”
There was an angry murmur from the assembled seals. The child—-Briah had begun to think of him as Pup—began to tremble. Briah stepped forward, wrapping a protective arm around the child and pulling him to her. “Don’t blame him,” she said, surprised at the strength of her voice. “I forced him to bring me.”
“And how did you do that?” asked the queen, a tremor of amusement in her voice. Her fur was a rich silvery gray, and would have sold for more than Briah had, in the markets of Eirann.
“I...” Briah suddenly wasn’t sure which direction to take. How much blame was it safe to take on herself here? And how safe was Pup—or Kamin? “I threatened to abandon him. To a child who’s already lost his parents, and then cast out of his home, that’s the worst thing that could happen. But of course, you knew that when you sent him to me.” The accusation was clear in her voice, and many seals behind her gasped.
“I fear you have a bad view of us,” said the seal king.
“Why should she not?” the queen asked sadly. “We stole her child from her, then sent her a grieving orphan as a replacement. He knows we meant him no harm, yet he was harmed none the less. How must it look to her?”
The Seal Queen Page 11
