The instruments were not in the basement. Mark walked up the back stairs to the ground floor, holding his wand in front of him. In the auditorium, the ‘ghost light’ that burned on the stage day and night glimmered. Some said it was to stop spirits getting up to mischief because they realised the theatre was empty, others that it was to reduce the risk of fumbling around on a cluttered stage in the dark. Mark was glad of it as he stepped inside and walked down the central aisle.
He reached the middle. A violin began to play a tune more captivating than any he had heard in his life. The song came from his left, next from the right. He walked up and down searching the rows of seats. He saw nothing on the stage. A dream-like numbness washed over him and he leaned against a pillar, eyes closed.
The same, cracked voice that he had heard before they were pushed down the stairs called his name. ‘Who’s there?’ he shouted. He heard his own voice echoing in the empty theatre, and the sound of the violin. He looked at the stage. A grey mist covered the floor and the light grew brighter, shining on a glowing violin hanging in mid-air. His eyes would not turn away. He felt sick. His heart pounded.
‘What’s the difference between a viola and a coffin?’ the voice said. ‘The coffin has a dead person on the inside. I tried to put your little violist in hers. My coffin, my violin. But no matter. You are mine.’ The violin fell silent.
He dropped the bag and turned to run. His feet felt glued to the spot.
‘Come to me,’ the voice said. He felt himself walk up the steps and onto the stage. The violin floated towards him.
‘Those young musicians were ignorant. I collected them and devoured them. I need an older, wiser man. Pittenweem was old, but a fool. Once I had emptied his mind, I did not care to collect him.’
Mark pointed the wand at the violin. The crimson spark flew from the end, enveloping the violin in flame, but it did not burn. It came closer.
‘You know that death is inevitable. For everyone,’ the voice said.
Mark aimed the wand again, but no spark came. He grasped it, ready to use it as a club if the violin came closer.
‘A man about to be married is the greatest prize.’
Mark’s arm fell to his side. The wand fell from his open fingers.
‘Die and be with me.’
If he reached out, he was sure he could touch the violin. As his hand moved, His fingers brushed against his pocket and he heard another voice, squeaky and muffled. ‘Here, squire. Take this!’ He felt fluff against his fingertips as the fae pushed Pat’s wedding ring into his trembling hand. He slipped it onto the tip of his ring finger.
The song of the violin grew sweeter, imploring him to listen, filling his mind. He shook his head and raised his hand to his ear. He heard Pat’s voice, telling him of the love and the years they would have together. She sounded faint and the violin grew louder. His feet began to move, propelling him forward.
His hand shook. He could not keep it raised. Pat’s voice swelled, telling him that she had waited for him all her life. The violin made faltering, harsh scrapes. ‘And I for you, Pat’ Mark said. The mist that had gathered around his feet blew away. The violin shattered to powder, covering the floor, and Mark in dust.
He looked up at a window. It was growing light outside. Outside, a bird began singing. A shaft of early morning sunlight shone onto the empty stage.
THE END.
THE SELICH by Kenneth O’Brien
Hamish stood at the bottom of the cliff and watched Ailsa skimming stones across the steely grey waters of the cove. It wasn’t the most conventional way for a girl to spend her seventh birthday but this was what she wanted and he was happy to indulge her. He knew how much Ailsa always needed to be near the ocean. Just like her mother, he recalled.
He shivered, looked up and saw ominous dark clouds gathering out beyond the shelter of the bay. A biting wind was beginning to blow. It whipped the rising water, causing white frothy peaks as the waves grew and began to pound the coast with an increasing severity. A storm was coming.
‘Ailsa!’ he cried, cupping his hands around his mouth in order to direct his call through the strengthening breeze.
When she turned to wave in acknowledgement, he gestured for her to come away from the water’s edge.
As he watched her pick her way across the treacherous beach strewn with rocks and kelp, Hamish chewed his bottom lip in trepidation. Elspeth would be back soon, he could sense it, and she would want to take their daughter away. The thought of such a thing was unbearable.
Ailsa was tall, like her mother, but her young years gave her a gangling gait. He could see that she lacked the sure-footedness that would come with maturity. Her long, red hair lifted in the wind as she approached him with a smile. Her bright green eyes were so full of vigor that it hurt Hamish to think of a life without her.
Ailsa had gone to bed by the time the storm made landfall. The wind howled up the bay and enveloped the croft. The rain pounded the eaves and roof tiles but, when Hamish looked in on her, his daughter was curled up in her bed, oblivious to the tempest raging outside her bedroom window. He gently closed the door and made his way to the tiny sitting room where he sat waiting in semi-darkness with only a peat fire for illumination. He didn’t have to wait long before the knock came at the front door.
He saw Elspeth, still as beautiful as ever. She stood before him, smiling. Beyond the shelter of the old porch, the storm continued unabated but Hamish noted that Elspeth was completely dry with not a single hair out of place.
‘Hello, Hamish. It’s been a while.’
‘Seven years.’ He gestured for her to enter his home. ‘And it still just feels like yesterday.’
He recalled the first time they had met - the knock on the entrance to his croft and her standing backlit by moonlight when he opened the door. She had explained that she was a visitor to the island and spoke of her love of walking in the quiet of the night. She had become lost and disorientated in the unfamiliar terrain. The crofter took her into his home and, within hours, she entered his heart.
A few weeks later, she was gone. She had taken a fancy to one of her night walks and disappeared. Hamish had assumed she’d fallen from the cliffs into the sea. When he reported her missing, nobody in the village had heard of her and the police couldn’t trace her next of kin. Her body was never found and he knew people had begun whispering behind his back – saying that she was a figment of his imagination. His conviction that it had not been some kind of delusion was confirmed when he found the crying child in a basket on his doorstep some months later. He picked her up and held her to his chest. She grew quiet and he put his nose close to her body. She smelled of the sea. Hamish grasped instinctively that the infant had been a product of his time spent with Elspeth. More importantly, he finally recognised his former lover’s true nature and knew that she would return one day. It would be a day to dread.
When he awoke the next morning, the storm had subsided and Elspeth was asleep. She lay next to him in his bed and he knew that he had succumbed to the old witchcraft once again. He studied her for a moment and wondered if it was possible to both love and hate somebody at the same time. Then, he gently disentangled himself from the sheets and pulled on his clothes. He had to find a way to stop her taking Ailsa and he had an idea that might just work.
He walked past the perfectly formed dry stone dykes that protected his small fields and followed the route along the rocky path that led to the edge of the cliffs. The course then took a steep downward gradient before it terminated at the cove. He paused just before the descent and stood looking down at the waves crashing against the rocks. The roar of the surf reminded him of a heartbeat. Or perhaps the drumbeat of the Sea People? He turned his thoughts to the job at hand. This must be where she came ashore. His years of crofting on the island had given him the hardiness and balance as good as any of his sheep and it only took a few minutes for him to negotiate the steep and treacherous path down to the jagged shoreline.
The cold w
ind raked his face as he scanned the rocky foreshore looking for some clue. It must be here somewhere. His eyes settled on a dark patch at the base of a nearby cliff. A cave? He would have to be quick. The tide was coming in.
He moved as rapidly as he dared across the precarious pebble beach. The last thing he needed now was to go over on an ankle and find himself trapped at the base of the cliff threatened by the encroaching tide. He peered into the dark recess and searched with his fingers for some evidence. Eventually, he found a large slab of rock, pushed his hand into the gap underneath and felt the soft object that was hidden there. He nodded in satisfaction. Now he had the power and Elspeth would never be able to take Ailsa away from him.
When he returned to the croft, he found Ailsa and Elspeth sitting having breakfast. When she saw him, his daughter jumped from her seat and hugged him.
‘Isn’t it wonderful?’ she cried. ‘Mum’s come back to us.’
Hamish let his hand rest on Ailsa’s soft hair as he stared across the table at Elspeth.
‘Go and put some feed out for the chickens,’ he said to his daughter.
He noted Ailsa glance at Elspeth, who gave her a nod.
‘Your father and I need to talk,’ she said.
Hamish waited until his daughter had left. He watched her through the window as she made her way to the chicken pen. ‘I won’t let you take her.’
Elspeth sighed. ‘She has to come with me.’
‘No.’
‘It’s in her nature. She can’t stay here.’
Hamish struggled to keep his emotions in check. ‘How can you be so cruel? You dump her on my doorstep seven years ago and now you just expect to waltz in here and take her away from me?’
‘It’s not like that?’
‘Isn’t it?’
‘No. And I didn’t just dump her on your doorstep. You know what I am and how we reproduce. The first seven years must be spent on land. Then…’
‘Then what? You come and steal her away?’
‘Nobody has a choice in this matter, Hamish. I don’t want to hurt you but things are as they are.’
‘You could have chosen somebody else.’
‘I chose you because I knew you’d make a wonderful father. And you have, Hamish. Look at your daughter and see how fine she is. That’s all because of you. You should be proud.’
‘Don’t you dare tell me what I should be!’ Hamish snarled. ‘Where were you every time I had to nurse her through a sickness? Where were you when I had to explain why she didn’t have a mother like all the other children?’
‘I’m here now.’
‘And what about me?’
‘It’s not about you. It’s about her.’
‘She’s not leaving.’
‘She has to.’
‘No.’ Hamish turned away, unable to look Elspeth in the eyes.
‘What have you done?’
‘She’s not leaving and neither are you.’
‘Hamish?’
‘Your skin. I have it.’
It hurt Hamish to see how distressed she had become. In the days since he had taken the skin, Elspeth became increasingly weak and sickly and was soon bed-ridden. Her human form had started to decay. The flesh became pale and blistered. Her lips turned blue and cracked to reveal livid red sores. Her hair took on a deathly green hue whilst dark rings formed around her eyes.
‘What’s wrong with her?’ Ailsa wailed. ‘Why can’t we help her?’
Hamish merely shook his head, unable to tell his daughter that he was the cause of her mother’s torment. His nights were sleepless affairs and he spent them staring at the ceiling, racked with guilt.
When he could stand no more of his self-inflicted torture, he went to see Elspeth.
The room stank of decay. She lay wheezing in the bed but managed a faint smile when she saw him.
‘Why don’t you tell Ailsa that all this is my doing?’
‘What good would it do?’
Hamish searched his thoughts for an answer. ‘I don’t know. Maybe she deserves the truth.’
‘She’d hate you if she knew what you’d done. I don’t want that.’
He placed her skin on the bed. ‘I’m sorry. I’ll carry you to the cove.’
Elspeth’s eyes glittered with tears when she saw it. ‘Thank you.’
‘Can I come with you?’
‘You know you can’t.’
‘Just to the water’s edge? Just to say goodbye?’
‘Of course. You’re her father. You should be there.’
He gave a shuddering sigh. ‘Letting go. It’s just so damned hard!’
‘I know. I did it seven years ago.’
‘Does it get any easier?’
‘Not really.’
‘I don’t want to be alone.’
‘You’ll never be alone. Believe me.’
He held her one last time.
‘I’ll come visit often,’ Ailsa told him just before her transformation.
He picked up the bundle and watched the pair of iridescent dorsal fins sparkle in the starlight before they disappeared, dipping below the waves of the black waters.
‘My little girl,’ he whispered to the night. ‘All grown up.’
As he followed the winding path to the top of the cliff, he heard the drumbeat of the sea people once again and he paused for a moment. They seemed so much closer than before and Hamish thought about what a beautiful and formidable creature Ailsa was going to become as he choked back tears of pride.
He stumbled through the darkness across the moor until, eventually, he saw the lamp that he’d left burning at the porch of his croft. As he opened the door to his home, he immediately became aware of the emptiness Ailsa’s departure had created both in his house and within his heart. It was something he still wasn’t ready to deal with so he poured himself a large whisky and held it up before him, watching the light from the hearth accentuate its golden hue. His nerves settled by the alcohol, he picked up the bundle and held it against his cheek. Was it still warm or was it just the effect of the whisky?
He held the object out before him and let it unravel to its full length. Between his fingers hung Ailsa’s shed skin, the remnants of her humanity. There would never be another like it. Oh sure, he thought, she could change skins when she needed to move on land but she was all Selich now. The first shedding of skin was the last step in maturity – the genetic Rubicon - and she was no longer like Hamish. She was different, not human. But she’s still my daughter!
He held it close to his face again and let his tears touch the thin, dry membrane that had once encapsulated his child. Was it true? He wondered – that when somebody you love departs, they never really leave you?
He gently folded the skin and placed it in a drawer for safekeeping. Then, he poured himself another whisky and held it up to the window that looked out on to the distant cliffs and secret cove.
‘A toast,’ he declared as he brought the glass to his lips. ‘To my family in the sea.’
THE END.
NEW DAWN by Pascal Inard
Kanditu walked to his friend Sanlesoo’s house, thinking he might be seriously ill. In the years they'd both met for a daily drink at the Ivremort inn, Sanlesoo had never missed a meeting, not even when he had broken his arm, joking that the alcohol numbed his pain.
The shutters were closed at Sanlesoo’s house, and no one answered the door. Kanditu tried knocking on the door of a next-door neighbour.
"What do you want?" an old man asked through the closed door.
"Sorry to trouble you, sir. I'm looking for my friend Sanlesoo. Have you seen him today?"
"No, he's gone and good riddance!"
"Did he say where he was going?"
"To where no man ever returns."
Kanditu's voice quivered. "Is he … dead?"
"Ha! He would probably prefer to be dead by now."
"What do you mean?"
"The Church Police took him last night."
"How do you know?"
"I was woken up by the sound of a door being smashed. I thought it was mine, so I got up. I looked out the window and saw a Church Police wagon outside his house. Then I heard him cry he was innocent."
"Innocent of what?"
"Are you dumb? If the Church Police came for him, it can only mean one thing: he was a despicable heretic. The world needs to be purged of vermin of his kind."
"Sanlesoo is no heretic! I've known him since we were kids; he goes to church every day like everyone, and he's faithful to the holy commandments."
"If you're a friend of that scum, you've been contaminated by his wickedness, and it won't be long before the Church Police finds you too. Now go away!"
Kanditu turned back and ran. He knew he would never see his friend again, even though he was innocent. If the Church Police had decided he was guilty, no one could question their verdict. Kanditu and Sanlesoo never spoke about religion in public because they knew the Church Police had informers everywhere. In private, they had talked about the rumours that Alphonsius, the three-hundred year-old uber-pater of the Church of All Deities, didn't have the protection from Va'hadacer, deity of death, he claimed he had. According to them, Alphonsius wasn't one man, but a succession of men, each one replacing the previous one when he died. No one noticed, because he was never seen without a hood covering his face, like all the paters of the Church. Those who started such rumours quickly disappeared, but it didn't stop them from spreading.
There was the time when Sanlesoo had refused to attend the beheading of a man who had been found guilty of asking Temorig, deity of weather, for rain to fall on his crops. The paters of the Church of All Deities were the only men who had the authority to pray to the deities. That was the only way to prevent chaos, Alphonsius' edict had said, but Sanlesoo thought he had gone too far, and it was possible Kanditu hadn't been the only one Sanlesoo had spoken to about his view on the matter.
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