The Scottish Selkie

by Cornelia Amiri (Celtic Romance Queen)

  Warmth glowed inside his chest and shined like a sunbeam straight to the bottom of the sea. The healing plant beckoned to him. Seafire brought him hope like a fire lit in a cold, dark beggar man's hut.

  In his human form, he called out the selkie name for the herb, “Arrkeeee". Bethoc's cure.

  Though it hid deep in the dark waters, he had to find it, he must. It was Bethoc's only chance. Malcolm ripped off his tunic, unbelted and climbed out of his braies. In that moment, he tossed aside the new religion for the old.

  Malcolm lifted his arms above his head and called out to the God of the Sea, “Manannan Mac Lir, ageless prince of the Tuatha de Danann, I invoke your power.” Malcolm's insides warmed and his flesh tingled from the magical energy in the air. “I, a shape shifter of the seal, call out to you. God of the Waters and shape shifter of the heron, guide me. Watch over my path as I seek the magical Seafire to save the life of my mate, my love, my wife. Bethoc.”

  Malcolm pulled the thick gold band off his forearm and laid it on a large black rock. “Manannan Mac Lir, God of the Sea, hear me, as I make due sacrifice. Remember me as I remember you. Honor me as I honor you. Manannan Mac Lir, take possession of this offering.”

  Malcolm drew his sword, and held it with both hands clinging tightly to the hilt. He stretched out his arm, so the blade lay above the shimmering, white-foamed sea. “Oh Shinning One, Manannan Mac Lir, grant me the sacred Seafire, so it may bestow its healing power on Bethoc. Heal her, oh shining one. Great Manannan Mac Lir, grant me this boon.”

  Malcolm shut his eyes and in his mind he sought out and bore back the Seafire. Upon bequesting the cure to Bethoc, she was healed. Hale and hardy once more. Heat filled his body from inner core to outer flesh. His every muscle and every thought were focused on saving Bethoc. “Oh Manannan Mac Lir, honor me as I honor you. Bequeath to me as I bequeath to you.”

  Malcolm stepped back and held his sword out, above the smooth, gold armband on the rough, black boulder. With one powerful strike, he severed the armband in two. Killing it, so nothing human would corrupt the gift he bestowed on the old god.

  He took a deep breath and sheathed his sword. Then Malcolm picked up the two halves of the armband, one in each hand. With a flick of his wrists, he tossed them into the sea. The wave bore them to Manannan Mac Lir. “God of the sea, I give thanks to you for bestowing your favor and blessing upon me.”

  Having fulfilled the sacrifice to the old god, Malcolm picked up his selkie skin in both hands, and shook it out, so it unraveled to its full length. With his eyes shut, he mustered his strength as he slipped into his skin. Raw power coursed through him. In the tips of his toes and fingers the sensation of nettle pricks deepened until he could barely stand it. A mystifying tremor coursed through his body as his human form changed into a seal. A selkie.

  Malcolm no longer stood with two feet on the ground. Now his belly rubbed against the wet sand. Sliding his front flippers first, then his stomach, and lastly his back flippers against the soft sand, Malcolm slunk over to the discarded clothing he just shed. With his teeth, he picked up his leather potion pouch. Using the webbed fingers of his front flippers, Malcolm pushed the strap over his head and slung the pouch over his left side. He pointed his black snout into the air, flexed his flippers, and swam into the cold sea.

  “Aark, Ark,” Malcolm barked to the roaring waves. He slapped his back flippers and webbed feet hard against the water, causing a huge splash as he cut through the waves.

  “Aark Ark.” Malcolm spotted the dragonhead Viking boat, manned by the bloody youths who attacked the wagon: the men who hurt Bethoc. He kicked the water with his powerful rear flippers and shot through the white foam until he was under the long, wooden ship. With his full animal strength, he whacked his flippers against the bottom of the longboat again and again, pounding it until it capsized, tossing the Vikings into the sea. Kicking and paddling with their hands, the Norsemen fought the ocean for their very lives, just as Bethoc fought for hers in a wagon on the way to Scone.

  Malcolm lashed the water with a hard flick of his front flippers, releasing the torrent of anger, which burned through him. A surge of release shot through him, his muscles slacked the tension they had held and his mind drifted for a moment in the joy of vengeance, then forcing his mind to focus, leaving the Vikings helpless to the mighty sea, Malcolm dove under.

  He cut through the water as an arrow flies through the air. His only thought was the spiked crustacean whose underbelly lay covered in Seafire. His only purpose was Bethoc.

  Deeper and deeper, he descended into the blackness of the sea. Not only his body, but his spirit plummeted as well, leaving him not much more than a boneless skeleton drifting downward into a bottomless sea, with water rushing between dried, dull white bones of a hollow man, or seal. He knew not which, nor did it matter. Black and cold as ice, the depths no human had ever seen. Shadows in the dark and the moving sea creatures played tricks on his mind. He saw Bethoc before him and all around him. He had to touch her, had to kiss her. But Bethoc wasn't with him. He let out the high pitch wail only selkies make. A sound even sadder than a human crying.

  Then he recalled his quest for arrkeeee, Seafire, to save Bethoc’s life. In his head he could see one of the spiky crustaceans on the bottom of the sea floor. Small and round with toxic quills, those venomous spikes formed a shield for the crustacean, a natural defense to keep fish from devouring them. If a selkie or human came in contact with even one deadly spike the venom caused certain death. An agonizing, painful demise. Upon the smooth bottom of these crustaceans is where the algae, Seafire, grew.

  Orange-red and sun-yellow, it looked like fire, emitting a glowing, crackling blaze of energy. An amber ball shimmered in the center, circled by a band of glistening sun-yellow streaks reaching out to the edges like a thousand rays of light. So rare, Malcolm had seen it only once in his life, yet he must find it again. Bethoc's life depended on it.

  As he descended deeper and deeper, a bad feeling haunted him. Danger. Then he heard a clicking noise. With a jerk of his head he scanned the dark waters. Killer Whales. A pod of seven large black and white mammals headed for him.

  He would fight and win, somehow. For Bethoc. Each of the long powerful beasts were twice his size, but he was a warrior. He fought for duty, at times even for pleasure. Malcolm had seen more combat than these creatures could dream of. They merely attacked for food. They didn't know of the dirty fighting ways of man. He had to survive, for if he died, Bethoc would die.

  Staring at the looming beasts, he picked out the leader. Malcolm knew the head male would attack first, so he concentrated on him, peering into the beast's large, black eyes. The moment the whale began to circle him, Malcolm swam alongside. They sized each other up. Man or beast, a warrior determines when the enemy is going to make his move.

  Malcolm flapped his back flippers with all his might, shooting out of the whale's way just as the huge beast lunged for his chest. The whale missed. Now beneath the whale, but only a span away, Malcolm kicked his powerful back flippers into the beast's belly. Malcolm pushed his front and rear flippers around the whale, so now wrapped over the beast's middle, he squeezed his seal body against the mighty creature, crushing him in a tight, painful hold.

  The whale thrust his long body to and fro trying to throw Malcolm off.

  But even the powerful creature couldn't budge the selkie and his steadfast resolve to win this fight, not only for his life, but for Bethoc's.

  Malcolm felt a rush of water as the second whale approached. Pushing his flippers against the whale he was wrapped around, Malcolm released his hold. He swam free, and out of the second whale's reach before the beast lunged.

  But the second whale could not halt its deadly charge. The killer bite missed Malcolm, but inadvertently dug deep into the leader of the pack. The alpha whale roared in the dark water. His blood formed a vapory pool of scarlet, drifting upward.

  With surprise his best weapon, Malcolm lunged for a third black and white
beast, who roared in shock at a seal attacking him. I am no seal you slippery sea-ox. Pain shot through Malcolm as he slammed his full body weight against the beast's belly. You fight a selkie and a Scot. He rushed atop the whale's head, slapping him hard with his front flippers. With all his might, Malcolm thrust his back flippers against the whale with strong powerful kicks. As he pummeled the huge beast, a forth whale lunged.

  Twenty and more whales will not keep me from saving my Bethoc. Malcolm kicked his flippers against the whale's body and bolted through the water toward the area beneath his new assailant's head. Wrapping his front flippers around the whale's neck and curling his seal body to the side, he squeezed with all his might, cutting off the remaining air the beast still held in his lungs.

  As the whale surged through the water, Malcolm clung to the beast in his strangle hold with all his might then his grip slipped. He let go of the whale, but whacked him on the head with his powerful rear flippers. The whale paused as if disoriented. Suddenly, the large beast shot up through the water toward the surface in need of air.

  The six whales looming near grew still and Malcolm as well. Each tried not to show fear as a shark glided toward them, drawn by blood flowing from the bitten alpha whale.

  The six killer whales ignored Malcolm for the larger danger, and swam swiftly away from the looming flat-headed shark. Following the trail of blood from the wounded whale, the shark ignored Malcolm as well.

  Malcolm dove straight down to the bottom of the sea in search of the life saving Seafire. He glided through the water, deeper, closer to the bottom of the sea. Without hesitation, he swam on through the dark, chill water. Then he spotted a lush sea glade.

  Malcolm let out a long sigh of relief, creating a cluster of floating bubbles as joy welled inside him. He slowed as he neared a clump of rangy, red plants Awed at the magic of the vast depths and the oddities there, he found the sea floor a fairyland of color, plants, and otherworld creatures. He swam above the sea garden, scanning every plant and rock for a sign of the crustacean he sought. He didn’t know which sea plants gave off what scents but overall fragrances similar to amber, water lilies, and musk filled his nostrils. Colorful fish and strange fish-like creatures glided past him. But he took no time to look; he was on a quest to save the woman he loved. He had not even told her he loved her.

  Malcolm shifted his gaze from one crustacean to another. His heart leapt in his chest as he spotted a purple creature with sharp spikes jutting out its half-round body. The crustacean's flat bottom rested in the sand. At the happy shock of discovering the magic plant, his mouth dropped open, briny seawater seeped in, and the strong salty taste stung his throat.

  Excited, Malcolm’s mind swam with red and orange lights. He wanted to roar but he couldn't underwater. Instead, he silently ogled the purple treasure, and each of its ninety-nine sharp spikes coated with a poison fatal to man and seal.

  Malcolm placed his front flippers on either side of the pretty yet deadly, purple crustacean. His flippers trembled with eagerness, but with an iron will he stilled the shaking in both flippers. Carefully, he slid his webbed fingers into the sand and swept to and fro at an even pace. Slowly, he dug deeper into the soft sand until both flippers were cupped together as he held the bottom of the purple crustacean. The muscles in his web fingers tensed, but he could not falter now. With full concentration and one fluid, perfect movement, he flipped the crustacean over. All of the deadly, ninety-nine poisoned spikes impaled the sand.

  Yes. Yes. Malcolm felt like turning somersault after somersault. The strongest heather-ale had never made him this giddy.

  Malcolm gazed at the glowing algae, a ball of fire, an orange-red blaze shimmered in the center and glistening streaks of sun-yellow stretched outward like beams of light. He clapped his two front flippers together with joy. Bethoc would be saved.

  Malcolm squirmed and twisted his head and his front flippers, pulling off his potion pouch. With his flipper, he scraped the seafire off the bottom of the crustacean and into the pouch. Malcolm pulled the drawstrings of the pouch with his teeth, till it was tightly closed, then slipped the strap back over his head.

  The wall of fear he’d built in him melted like a block of salt in the rain. The name Bethoc rang like silver chimes in his head. Bethoc ... Bethoc ... Bethoc ... She would live. Malcolm turned front flips and back flips through the dark water. No longer cold, he felt adrift on a warm lake, bathed in sunshine like a floating log. Malcolm twirled upward, spinning through the ebony water until it turned a brilliant blue. He blew bubbles with glee. Bethoc. Bethoc would be saved.

  Malcolm shot through the water. Upwards he sailed with one thought on his mind. Bethoc. Sweet Bethoc. Malcolm broke through the surface with a huge splash. He barked loudly with joy, soared through the water to shore, and slunk onto the rocky beach.

  It was not Samhain, a magic day in which both gods and humans crossed the barriers from one world to the next, but he knew when the heart was willing, one could always cross. Many a selkie had changed into human form of their own free will, and he had a better reason than most. He had to save Bethoc.

  Chapter Thirteen

  Bethoc couldn't feel the thick warm wool of the bratt wrapped tightly around her. She couldn't sniff the soft, pastoral scent of lavender petals sprinkled over the floor of her chamber. She didn’t know her eyes were shut or realize she was unable to open them. Bethoc was unconscious.

  Drifting in a wound fever dream, she stood on a white, vapory cloud gazing at Drostan as he walked toward her on one side and her father on the other. They stepped one by one on lithe swirls of vapory fluff and floss to reach her.

  Drostan held out his arms, and in a loud jovial voice he greeted her, “Bethoc you have come to me. We shall be wed as promised.”

  Her father's brown eyes widened as he gazed at her. “Do not listen to him, Bethoc. It is not your time. Leave this place so you may live a long life and be free.” Bethoc's sire tenderly took her hand in his. “Follow your heart, daughter mine.”

  With those words, she floated up, up, up, high above her father and Drostan. Weightless, she drifted through the azure sky until she landed on a moon-toned bridge of feathery, abstract shaped columns. Bethoc ran down the billowy pass of clouds until she reached a tunnel. It wasn't dark as tunnels usually are, nor was it underground. The transparent passageway was filled with radiant white light.

  As she stooped to crawl into the opening, a great wind picked her up off her feet. With a loud whooshing sound, the gale pulled her through to the other side. She found nothing at the end of the tunnel and when Bethoc looked down, she lost her footing and tumbled off the edge. She drifted through the air in a floating motion, like a leaf in the wind, until she fell through the roof of the castle at Scone.

  Landing soft as a bubble, she came to rest on a plush pallet in a roomy chamber, lighted by rows of burning candles, arranged on a large wooden chest by the bed. Malcolm stood at the foot of her bed, smiling. Bethoc couldn't move or speak, yet felt safe and loved, like a soft bratt was snugly wrapped around her, keeping her warm.

  * * * *

  Malcolm placed his four flippers firmly on the rocky shore and peered up at the sky. Land is such a different world than sea. He gazed up at the heavens filled with so many dark clouds, the sun could barely peak through them. The fresh, cool drizzle in the air showered the salt off his seal body. The fishy odor drifted on the refreshing breeze, which blew softly against his skin, invigorating him even more. The taste of sea-salt lingered on his tongue.

  He drowned out the cawing of the gulls and the barking of a true seal by focusing his entire being on changing. Rather than becoming distracted, he told himself every sound brought him to a deeper and deeper focus on shifting his shape back to human form. Magical energy radiated from the core of his soul. He yielded to the shuddering spasm of shape changing. His blood, bones, and muscles burned and shook with a turbulent explosion until his sleek dark sealskin burst from his body.

  After shedding t
he seal pelt, he stood whole, nude, and human. His muscles burned and his flesh tingled from the wrenching experience. Too drained to move, he took a deep breath and willed his newly changed body to relax.

  Now centered and grounded, he grabbed the pouch holding the treasured Seafire, and looped it over his shoulder. Then he picked up his tunic and braies where he had left them on the shore. After brushing off the wet sand and muck as best he could, Malcolm slipped his clothes on. He had to get to Bethoc in time to save her.

  His feet beat with energy as he dashed down the shore toward Scone. In his head he saw the creamy tone of Bethoc's skin. He sniffed the air as if smelling the heather scent of her hair and his fingers tingled as if stroking the long, silky strands. Mostly, he thought of her spirit. Free and strong like a selkie.

  Once Malcolm saved his Pict princess, he would tell her he loved her. Then he would tell her the truth. Tell her he was a selkie. Malcolm ran far, across lush green land on which the Tay River flowed. He panted as he clutched the pouch in his fist. Soon he would be at Bethoc's side.

  As he neared Scone, he could see the wall of the city. Passing fields of shaggy cattle and longhaired sheep, he nodded greetings to townsfolk going about their chores. As it was daylight, the gates were open. He ran inside the city and past the hill where Kenneth would soon be crowned.

  Once he reached the palace, he banged on the heavy hillfort door and yelled at the porter. “It is I, Malcolm of Dalriada, come to save my lady wife, Bethoc.”

  The porter opened the large creaky, oaken door. “Malcolm, where have you been?”

  “I have no time to speak to you. Bethoc needs me. Where is she?”

  “Her chamber is thither.” The porter pointed down the long hall.

  From iron sconces on the walls, burning firebrands cast a golden glow, filling the drafty corridor with warmth as Malcolm ran toward the bedchambers. Upon spotting Riona, he called from the other end of the long hallway. “Where is Bethoc?”