Selkie's Rapture

by Lena Loneson

  “Do you hear that?” he asked.

  The fisherman shook his head. “I hear wind and you.” A large wave hit the side of the boat, rocking the vessel and spilling over the top, soaking them both. Eamon was grateful for the bailing buckets he saw scattered throughout the mess in the back of the small fishing boat. They might soon need them. Seamus steered diagonally into the next set of waves, turning the wheel hand-over-hand with strong arms.

  Eamon felt helpless, sitting and pointing at the pennywhistle’s call, his other hand clutching his seat so he wouldn’t be thrown overboard, Nora’s pelt squashed in the shoulder bag beneath his arm. Where was she?

  It seemed they searched forever, until he couldn’t see the shore when he glanced back, but that could have been because of the rain. It came down in sheets. The tempestuous Irish weather he’d warned travelers about in his Antitourist article was in full force this week. It matched his mood, the sharp rain striking his face like bullets, ripping into his heart.

  How could he have been so stupid? He knew how confused Nora had felt, torn in three—her mother, Eamon and her quest to find out the truth about herself. What had he thought, asking her to move to Canada? That she would leave her mother and the only home she’d known behind, leave any chance to find out what had happened to her father? Desert her mother, just as the selkie had years ago?

  What a fool he’d been. It didn’t matter whether she stayed with him. It didn’t matter whether she loved him. It mattered that she lived.

  He’d pushed her into those waves and if she drowned it would be as if he’d held her under the water herself. He couldn’t stop seeing the accusation on Mary Catherine’s face. This was her only daughter. Nora may be his second love, but she was her mother’s only daughter.

  A hand clamped down on Eamon’s arm. Seamus was yelling, his voice lost in the wind. Gesticulating at a speck in the distance.

  Was it her?

  It had to be.

  They pulled closer, slowing the boat. The wind pushed it back. Eamon caught a glimpse of Nora floating on her side, her limbs barely moving, her black hair spread out over the water. Her skin was so pale. She wore the red dress from the picnic. It had been torn to shreds.

  “Nora!” he called. She didn’t look at him. Her arms flailed helplessly and too slowly against the water. She rolled onto her side with her face out of the water, gasping for oxygen. Had she heard him? “Nora!”

  Seamus pulled up as close as he could but they couldn’t get within eight meters of her. The waves were too strong.

  Eamon clutched at a yellow foam life ring tied to the boat. How would he throw it to her with the wind so harsh and moving against them? Had she even seen them? Did she have the strength to hold it, if he could toss it within her reach?

  He kicked off his shoes, déjà vu overwhelming him. On the beach several nights ago, he’d jumped in after Nora and saved her. On the ship twenty years ago, he’d let the Coast Guard go after Keelin and she’d drowned. He wouldn’t make that mistake again.

  Eamon let the life ring fall to the floor of the boat. He pulled the selkie’s pelt from his bag.

  Seamus was yelling something at him. Eamon couldn’t—or didn’t want to—hear the fisherman. Eamon nodded at him. He held the pelt aloft as if it could explain his plan. Was he losing his mind? As if the idea selkie pelt would clear everything up. But the fisherman’s eyes widened in understanding. Of course—he was a man of Ireland, a man of the sea and Áiné’s friend. He knew. Seamus’ lips moved, mouthing, “Go to her.”

  Eamon waved a quick thank you. He gathered his courage together, thinking of Nora waking scared in his bed, dancing as she played onstage and laughing at his travel stories. Then he jumped over the side of the boat, clutching Nora’s pelt as if it were his lifeline.

  The cold was a shock and he plummeted below the surface. Eamon kicked hard with his legs, pushing himself to the top of the ocean. When his head broke the surface, he was struck by the power of the waves. Water slammed him back against the boat, bruising his shoulders. He narrowly missed hitting his head. Looking up, he saw Seamus waving wildly. Eamon nodded, knowing what the man meant—he’d have to take the boat to a safe distance so Eamon didn’t knock himself out on the hull or get torn to pieces by the motor.

  In the meantime, Eamon might drown and the boat wouldn’t be close enough to save him. But it was their only option for getting to Nora.

  The boat’s engine growled. Eamon kicked off from the side, swimming as hard as he could away from the deadly motor. He pulled with his right arm, still grasping the pelt tightly with his left. He propelled himself forward with his legs. This was what he’d lived for—every day he’d spent climbing, swimming, rowing or biking, building up muscle and endurance, would prove itself in this moment.

  Saltwater stung the inside of his nostrils. He coughed up the liquid he’d inhaled. A wave splashed over his head, driving him under the water. The sky was so dark that when he was under, he couldn’t tell up from down. He spun, somersaulting. The pelt nearly slipped from his grip. He held it tighter.

  Where was the surface? He couldn’t see.

  But he could hear. Eamon stopped his struggling and listened. There—the faint sound of the pennywhistle from above. He shut his eyes and kicked his legs, pushing himself toward it, trusting Keelin to lead him to the surface and to Nora.

  He surfaced nearly underneath her, spitting seawater from his mouth. It was just in time. Her pale limbs were barely moving, her hands twitching to keep herself afloat. “Nora.” A wave crashed over them before he could do anything more than speak her name. Eamon sputtered to the surface again. He reached out for her, careful not to grab on to her—to his survival instincts, her limp form appeared to be a lifeboat, but logic told Eamon that if he grabbed her, he’d just pull her under with him.

  “Nora?”

  She didn’t seem to hear him. He trod water beside her, the muscles in his legs screaming for relief. He had one hand taut on the pelt and one holding her shoulder to keep the waves from pulling her away from him once more. He moved that hand to her face, turning her head so he could look into her eyes.

  They were open, at least, and blinking. Her gaze was distant, unfocused, the black pupils of her eyes huge, eclipsing the irises. Her lips were so pale that they seemed lost in her face.

  He brought his own lips close to her ear. “I’m here, little one.” Could she hear him? The waves rippled around them but they were quieter out here, without sandbars or the beach to break them. If his legs hadn’t hurt so much, if he hadn’t been terrified for her life, he’d almost have said it was peaceful.

  Her lips moved, mouthing a word—Eamon. At the sight he let out a cheer to the heavens and almost forgot to swim, letting his legs relax for just long enough to plunge his head underwater. He rose, gasping and spitting up another mouthful of water. He wouldn’t be heartbroken if he never tasted salt again after today.

  “Nora, can you swim?” He watched her face for signs of comprehension. Her eyes had gone distant again. Her cheeks were slack, without movement. “Nora!” He slapped the side of her face lightly. “Nora! Can you swim with me? I have a boat!”

  She shook her head. Her mouth might have formed, Tired.

  He was shivering. The waves were calming but it was too cold to stay out here much longer, even if the sun came back. He touched her cheek where he’d slapped it. She wasn’t shaking—was that a good sign or bad? Seamus’s boat was a speck of white in the distance. Eamon didn’t think he could swim for it on his own, let alone pulling Nora. He might manage it, in which case she’d be grateful to him for saving her life. She might even fall in love with him and choose to stay with him forever. If she lived. It was a gamble.

  But she could swim on her own if he let her. She could swim back to the boat, all the way to shore, as a seal. It would save her life. She could also swim out into the ocean, far from the coast of Ireland, where he would never see her again.

  Eamon made the decision quickly.
Really it wasn’t a choice. He rested the pelt under his arm and used both hands to tear the rags of her red dress, the dress she’d worn on their picnic, from her body. He unclasped her bra, watching her small breasts fall free, the nipples so cold they’d pebbled, completely at attention. He pulled her knickers off, ripping the side until they slid free of her dark curls.

  How would this work? He’d have to hope that like any natural creature, her instincts would take over.

  A wave coursed over his head. The pelt nearly slipped from his arms. No! Treading water, he placed the pelt on her nude body.

  With the saltwater burning his eyes, he wasn’t sure how it happened. If someone had asked later, he wouldn’t have been able to give a clear account. The fur melted into her, slipping over her skin like molasses, but so quickly, an oil slick erasing her pale human body. Her hair shortened and coarsened to match the fur. Her legs melded together, twisting and turning into a parody of a human body, and where her arms had been, fins appeared. He couldn’t see her face—she had turned it away from him, dipped it under the water…

  Another wave hit him. He was caught off guard, staring at the seal-creature that had been Nora. The wave smacked him in the face and he lost control, shoved below the cold, dark surface of the water. It knocked the wind from his lungs. He tried to suck in a mouthful of life-saving oxygen and got only seawater.

  The water pulled him under. The pressure in his lungs grew. They were burning him from the inside out. He waved his arms through the water, frantically, helplessly, but it was too thick and he was too tired. It did no good.

  Was Nora safe? Had she completed the transformation to selkie and would her new body know what to do? Was she already celebrating her freedom, swimming to safety, at home in the ocean, or was she floundering?

  If he knew she was safe he could let go. Perhaps this was his fate. It wasn’t Nora who was meant to drown. No, she was the one to carry on Keelin’s life force—a selkie born from the soul of a drowned human. Eamon was the one who would sink and finally rest, at peace, on the ocean floor.

  He was okay with that. There were places he hadn’t seen yet, but if his traveling was over, he could accept it. He’d loved two women in his forty-three years. That was more than many men received. He let his body relax. He didn’t hurt. His skin was numb from the cold. His senses were depleted, vision clouded by water, hearing blunted by wind, smell deadened by salt.

  The brush of fur over his legs startled him. Nora?

  A shadow, larger than any seal he’d ever seen, swam beneath him. The selkie butted at him with her powerful head, pushing him upward. She slid underneath him, churning her flippers. He wrapped his arms around her. The seal’s body was wide as a tree trunk, bigger than Nora herself. She was warm, hotter than Nora-as-human. He pressed his face against her as she swam them to the surface. The fur was pleasantly soft, slick and hot. His shivering began to slow as he soaked up her body heat.

  They broke the surface together. She swam faster than he could have imagined, her muscular tail moving from side to side, gliding them across the surface toward the boat in the distance, which was rapidly becoming closer. He laughed out loud. She had been born to swim like this. How could he have thought she’d be awkward, uncertain? As soon as he’d given her the pelt, she’d known exactly what to do.

  She turned her head back at him, barking her delight.

  He was sorry when they reached Seamus’s boat.

  The fisherman had slowed the boat and now brought it to a stop. He was grinning and yelling something at them Eamon couldn’t hear. There was no surprise or shock on his face, only a broad smile of awe and happiness. Eamon understood. It was a gift to experience the otherworldly up close. Nora glided them near enough for Eamon to reach up and grasp Seamus’s hand as he leaned over the side of the boat.

  Seamus pulled him aboard with his strong grip. He helped Eamon to a seat, which he took gratefully, his legs turning completely to jelly.

  “Well, I’ll be,” the fisherman said, leaning close to Eamon’s ear. “I’d always known the tales were true but never thought I’d see a selkie in the flesh.”

  Eamon followed his new friend’s gaze. Nora floated next to the boat, using her fins like rudders. Her black seal eyes were intelligent, but there was something not entirely human peeking out at him from their depths.

  “Thank you,” he said.

  She dipped her head and barked twice, as if to say thanks back. Or goodbye? If only he spoke seal.

  Then she dived beneath the surface.

  That was it. He searched for some emotion welling from within. He expected regret at losing her or joy at saving her life and seeing her happy. But he was too tired to feel anything or do anything besides cover himself with one of Áiné’s afghans for the ride home. The blanket was wet but still warmer than the air. Seamus was quiet as they cruised through the water, more slowly now that there was no danger at hand. Eamon had his thoughts to himself.

  How would Mary Catherine respond when he told her that Nora was safe but a seal? Would she thank him, or spit in his face? He’d done exactly what she’d attempted to prevent twenty years ago when she’d hidden the pelt. He’d enabled her daughter to leave humanity behind forever.

  His worry turned to anger. If she’d given Nora the pelt years ago, her daughter wouldn’t have nearly died.

  People dotted the beach in the distance in front of their boat, as small as ants. Eamon pulled the afghan tighter around his body, shivering. Seamus aimed for the wooden dock that stretched out into the sea. Two women ran to the dock, shoes pounding on the boards. The curtain of slowing rain blurred their features.

  The boat rocked beneath his feet as Seamus helped him to step from a padded seat onto the dock. The afghan fell into the bottom of the boat. A woman’s frail hands grasped his. Áiné? No—Mary Catherine. On the dock, Eamon felt adrift and off balance. His sea legs didn’t know what to do with the solid wood beneath them.

  “Where is she?” Mary Catherine asked.

  “She’s safe.” Eamon’s throat scratched with the words. “She’s home now. She swam away, strong and healthy.”

  “Where is the pelt?”

  Eamon shook his head. What could he say? “I’m sorry. It’s part of her now.”

  “No!” Mary Catherine’s small fists beat at his chest. She was so weak she’d never hurt him, but Eamon felt off balance all the same. He gasped in air. His chest was so cold it burned. How could he explain it to her?

  “I had to. It was the only way she’d live.”

  “I don’t believe you.” Mary Catherine’s eyes were cold and accusing. “My daughter is not a selkie. I’m her mother. I know what she is. She’s half me. She’s half human. She would have been happy on land if you hadn’t come along.” She’d stopped hitting him but it wouldn’t have surprised him if she’d opened her mouth and spat fire.

  Was she right? Had Eamon opened Nora up to something she could have lived without?

  “Seamus, let’s help them to shore.” Áiné grasped his arm on one side and Mary Catherine’s on the other, keeping them apart. The three of them barely fit widthwise on the dock. She moved forward with Mary Catherine, leaving the fisherman to help Eamon.

  His first step onto the beach felt unnatural. Eamon’s wet, socked feet sank into the sand. Maybe he didn’t belong on land anymore. His two loves were lost to the sea. Why couldn’t he have drowned with them? Why did the ocean continually spit him up?

  He didn’t want to live without Keelin or Nora. Mary Catherine’s hatred was justified. She turned to him and unleashed her fury once more. “Where did you get the pelt?” Her mouth puckered in her anger. “No one should have been able to find it.”

  This was what Nora had lived with all her life. It amazed Eamon that she could be so wild and curious when she had been raised by a mother filled with terror.

  He remembered the first night he’d met Nora and the fear that had frozen his heart as he’d seen her lithe form battered by the waves. He cou
ld understand that fear. Even then, not knowing her, not having grown to a point where he was falling in love with her, he’d been terrified. She was so small and gentle. He’d wanted to protect her from the world—the emotional pain of enduring the village gossip and the physical elements of the storm. He wouldn’t have been any better than Mary Catherine if Keelin hadn’t helped him to realize that he was holding her back.

  “You took her from me,” Mary Catherine said. But it wasn’t true. She’d have pushed Nora away with or without Eamon.

  “No,” he said, aware that he was only going to cause pain to an already distraught woman but unable to stop himself from speaking. She wasn’t the only person feeling pain today. “You’re the one who lied to her. You’re the one who didn’t let her be herself.”

  The whole “if you love her, set her free” notion was such a cliché, but weren’t clichés born of truth? If only he’d realized it sooner. Maybe Nora would still be with him.

  “Look!” One of the women on the shore, not Áiné or Mary Catherine but perhaps a hotel guest, pointed at the surf closest to shore. “It’s a seal. Isn’t it beautiful?”

  Eamon’s heart leaped. Was it her? Had she come back for him? A black shadow moved beneath the waves. The rain had stopped and the wind calmed. The surface of the water was deep blue and growing calmer. The seal’s black form swam closer.

  “Nora!” Mary Catherine called. “Nora, my child!” Her face was filled with joy that relaxed her features and, for the first time, Eamon saw where Nora had gained part of her beauty. Mary Catherine ran toward the water. Eamon stayed put. It wasn’t his turn—it wasn’t his place.

  The seal rose from the surf, pulling herself up on flippers, whitecaps crashing over her head. She barked loudly as Mary Catherine grew closer. The human woman stopped her progress, hesitating a few feet away. She didn’t know what to do.

  “Go to her,” Eamon shouted. If Mary Catherine didn’t accept her, would Nora be chased away again? He wanted to run to her and tell her he loved her, as a human or as a magical beast. But this was her mother’s moment. Not his. Warm skin pressed into his palm. He looked back to see Áiné flash him a small, steadying smile. He twined his fingers with hers, sucking some of his friend’s strength into his body.