Storm Surge

by Melissa Gunn

Danae looked sourly at Mr Fluffbum.

  “Another mouth to feed again, then.”

  “Oh, Mum, don’t be so mean about him. You know how much I’ve missed him, and I thought he was gone forever. I’ll figure out a way to feed him. Er. Somehow. He’s asleep now, anyway, so I’ll feed him when I’ve got back from looking for Tammy.”

  Freya’s Mum was looking indecisive, twisting a corner of her blanket into a tight spiral.

  “I don’t know, Freya. I haven’t had enough sleep to think straight.”

  “Look, Mum, how about I have a scout around the likely places, and come back to let you know if I find her. Maybe you can start cleaning up the house. Make sure Mr Fluffbum doesn’t get out those front windows, they’re cracked. Maybe keep the door shut. See you soon.”

  Freya felt odd, telling her mum what to do. Wasn’t she supposed to be the child still? Picking up a leftover flapjack from the bench to serve as breakfast, she slung her rucksack on and hobbled out of the house, carefully closing the door behind her - for all the good it did when the windows were broken and the roof had holes in it.

  In truth, they hadn’t been here long enough for her to have any good ideas about where Tammy might have gone. She was surprised that Tammy had socialised with the were-foxes and not told the family. The mere presence of weres might have made them move on, job or no job.

  Freya headed out of town first, partly because she didn’t feel like going anywhere near where she’d been set on by the were-foxes, and partly because she thought Tammy might have gone out to find a water-deity for solace or protection. She trudged up the steep hill that sheltered a series of valleys from the storms that beset the coast. The clouds were clearing now, and the wet grass on either side of the road glittered in the sporadic sunshine.

  As her muscles warmed up, the walk became almost enjoyable, apart from that annoying blister, and occasional stabbing pains in her leg. Not to mention the constant gnaw of worry for her sister. Small birds sang in the hedgerows, and Freya glimpsed a buzzard soaring away in pursuit of small prey. There weren’t many trees out here to be blown over, so there was little evidence of the storm’s passage at first.

  Cresting the hill behind the town, Freya had a broader view of the landscape. She now saw that the fields of grain and hay, usually punctuated by the occasional spinney or lone tree, were instead littered with roofs blown off barns and houses. The storm had flattened the long grass in un-mown hayfields.

  The valleys she sought were soon in view. The first stream she reached had scoured away a large bite on either side of its usual course, bloated with brown, racing water. Freya did not much fancy summoning a water-spirit from such a place, but she didn’t know any other way to find Tammy. She wasn’t a tracker to be following a scent, and no footprints had survived the battering rains of the night.

  There wasn’t much in the way of vegetation near the stream where it raced into a culvert under the road, so Freya left the road and followed the stream’s path at a respectful distance until she came to a stand of small trees and shrubs. Poking around to find an appropriate species, she selected a few herbs and got as close to the water’s edge as she dared before drawing a circle around herself, as Tammy had taught her. Gritting her teeth briefly in annoyance that she had to do this alone, she began the song-web. It took her a few tries to get it just right. She’d been lucky, last night in the fountain. When eventually she managed to summon the local water deity, it turned out to be surly and uncooperative because she didn’t co-operate with its desires.

  “You call that a thyrsus, girl? It’s just a bunch of weeds,” the nix - one of the many types of water deity Freya had encountered over the years - sneered at her.

  “I had to improvise, OK? And you came, didn’t you?” Freya tried to keep her temper. Every stand of fennel for miles had been flattened by the passage of the storm. She’d had to make do with a thin stem of yarrow wound about with goosefoot bedstraw. It was not an impressive wand.

  “I came because no-one’s called me in longer than I care to remember. Well, weeks, anyway. I suppose I should be glad you’re not trying to poison me with hemlock.”

  “Yes, remember that, there are other weeds I could have used,” Freya said. “Anyway, I wanted to ask if you’d seen my sister.”

  “You have a sister? Hmm. Couldn’t you have brought her too? I could do with a good warm-up, and two young maidens sounds better than one. Come closer, you. I can’t reach you when you’re up on the bank there.”

  “I said I was looking for my sister. And I’m quite comfortable here, thank you.”

  Freya ducked as the nix reformed itself from something horselike into a more human-male-shaped watery figure. It brandished an amorphous, dripping shape at her. Freya could see a thin, silvery fish inside it.

  “I could teach you the fiddle. Very popular, fiddle-playing.”

  Freya avoided the drips and peered at the shape.

  “Oh, is that supposed to be a fiddle? I couldn’t tell. Times have moved on, sorry. If I wanted violin lessons, I’d sign up online, I wouldn’t enter into a dodgy bargain with a water spirit for some tuition.”

  The nix let its fiddle splash back into watery nothingness, releasing the fish.

  “Where’s the gratitude in young folk these days? People used to beg for fiddle lessons from me. Come on, just step a little closer and give your favourite old nix a hug for coming out to see you. I didn’t have to, after all.”

  “Thanks for that and all, but I just want my sister. She looks like me, maybe a bit blonder. Shorter hair. Are you sure no-one like that has been here?”

  “Oh, her. She was fun, not like you. But she hasn’t been here for weeks. Such a shame.”

  Well, at least the slippery nix knew who she meant.

  “So, you haven’t seen her, last night or today?”

  “I already told you, no. Now are you going to be friendly-like?”

  “Probably not. Sorry.”

  Freya was more than ready to end the conversation; despite the efforts she’d made to initiate it. She was satisfied that the watery deity had not seen Tammy, and dismissed it with thrown salt. She wished she knew a better way to end these summonings. Perhaps a more polite way existed, but Tammy hadn’t taught her any other method.

  Trudging onward, Freya repeated the process with all the small streams she came across, with similar results. At least her song-webs improved, requiring less repetition to work. Perhaps she should have been doing this all along. None of the water spirits had seen Tammy since she first visited them a few weeks ago. That absence rather disgruntled some of them. At least this assured Freya that Tammy’s usual actions upon arriving in a new area had not changed. She always liked to maintain a ‘positive acquaintance’, as she put it, with the local water bodies. It seemed that this had made her rather a popular newcomer. A shame Freya couldn’t use similar tactics at school. Not that she would want to. She shuddered briefly at the thought.

  At last, hungry despite having eaten all the snacks she’d taken with her, she turned for home, weary and dispirited. The whistle of the wind had begun to grate in her ears, and she was tired enough that her eyes kept closing as she walked. The bruised one throbbed in time with her footfalls.

  Pay attention, Freya, you’re supposed to be looking for Tammy.

  Nevertheless, her eyelids drooped as she crested the top of the last hill before the descent to the sea. A short, yipping bark sounded off to her right; her eyes flew open. A group of were-foxes were congregated at a crossroads, blocking her path. Freya’s entire body went tense. This time, Gareth from her school was with them as well as a number of women. Some were semi-familiar faces, perhaps people she’d seen in town. Some were the attackers from last night. Others were completely unfamiliar. She stopped, wishing there was a handy wall she could back up to. None of the drystone walls around here were in good enough repair to be considered as something to provide protection.

  This time, a woman stepped forward. She shared the same col
ouring as the rest of the pack, reddish brown hair and brown eyes. To Freya’s surprise, she held out her hands in a non-threatening manner.

  “Greetings,” she said.

  Seriously? Freya thought. Who says that?

  “I understand that you had an... interaction... with some of my family last night. They wish to apologise to you. They were under a misapprehension about you which has now been corrected. Boys? Step up and make your apology.”

  A number of the taller young men shuffled forward and mumbled variations on ‘sorry’, ‘It was all a misunderstanding’ ‘won’t happen again’ before slinking towards the back of the group once again.

  Freya was viciously happy to see that some of them also wore bruises.

  “I hope you will bear our family no ill-feeling, especially since our two families will be encountering each other regularly in future. This was what we had wished to meet with you about last night, though the storm and the ill-considered actions of our younger members delayed that meeting. I presume you are in search of your older sister?”

  Freya’s mouth dropped open. She hastily closed it again, not wanting to appear at a loss.

  Never act like prey among predators.

  “Er... yes. I am,” she managed to say. “But I have no idea what you mean about meeting regularly. Is... is there a reason we’d want to do that? I mean, no offence, but I’m not exactly keen to spend time with the ‘younger members’ I have met.”

  The woman smiled, a dazzling smile full of unspoken secrets.

  “Your sister Tammy is joining our family. Of course we will meet again. Hopefully you will get over your dislike of our boys once you have had time to heal, and they have had time to improve their manners. Won’t you, boys?”

  The woman’s last words were clearly directed to the boys who had been so heavy-handed (and heavy-booted, and possibly heavy-toothed) with Freya the previous night. They shuffled nervously, avoiding the woman’s gaze.

  Freya didn’t know what to think. Had Tammy gone mad? Why would she join a were-pack? And where was she now? Some of her thoughts must have shown on her face, because the woman spoke again.

  “Are you not happy with your sister’s actions? You will be gaining a whole new set of relatives.”

  “No! I can’t believe she’d be joining a pack of things like you. It’s - it’s just not like her!”

  Freya was sputtering with anger. The pack in front of her stirred, discontented muttering reaching her ears. Realising that she’d better try to be polite - after all, she had no other leads on Tammy, and she really, truly didn’t want to be hurt by these weres again - Freya hastened to add;

  “No offence meant, really, it’s just that... she’s always been more interested in water-deities. Of course, we hadn’t come across people like you before.” This was true, now Freya came to think of it. At least, she’d never come across were-foxes. “Umm. When did you say Tammy met you?”

  The woman smiled again.

  “I only met her recently. But she encountered one of our number several weeks ago. I believe it must have been just after your family arrived here. She has spent rather a lot of time with our clan since then. I believe she will be one of us when she returns from the sea.”

  Freya found it hard to believe the woman. It was true that she hadn’t seen much of Tammy since their arrival in this town, but had she really taken up with weres? And what did this woman mean, return from the sea? The latter she could at least ask about.

  “What are you talking about? Why would she go near the sea, especially in a storm like last night’s one?”

  “Because she wanted to become one of us, and the sea is key to that. Or rather, what lies under the sea. Our ancient homeland is there, and to become a part of our clan, she must bring back an appropriate artifact. You didn’t think we bite people to turn them, did you?”

  The woman’s voice was rather condescending.

  “Like I said, I really don’t know much about your kind,” responded Freya. “But biting is what all the books say about weres becoming weres - well, apart from the weird sex-object-obsessed books.”

  She blushed despite herself. She hadn’t meant to mention those books, which she’d borrowed from Tammy a couple of years ago, then wished she hadn’t. Some ideas were hard to un-imagine, however much one wanted to.

  “And I’ve never heard of whatever ancient homeland you’re talking about. But your clan didn’t seem to like the way I smelt, last night. They certainly weren’t what you might call welcoming. Why would Tammy be any different? Does she smell any better?”

  “She does, as it happens. And she’s different enough from you that she has made a union with my son,” snapped the were-woman, losing her smile.

  Gaia wept, thought Freya. What has Tammy done now? And how do I tell Mum about this? Or maybe she knows and that’s why she’s so upset. I bet Tammy doesn’t really smell much different from me. Why would she?

  Looking at the woman, she spoke slowly and clearly, as though to someone stupid.

  “Tammy is my sister. I want to make sure she’s OK, and that she’s happy about her choices. Have you seen her? Can you help me find her? Also, what can I call you?”

  The woman looked at Freya somewhat icily now. Freya realised she had asked a series of questions without waiting for answers.

  “You may call me Lisichka, though I’m sure you realise that’s not my full name. And as for your sister, if all has gone well with her search, she should be arriving near the sea-cliffs shortly. The storm surge often helps bring new artifacts closer to shore. If you wish to come to meet her, kindly refrain from insulting my kin. And stay upwind.”

  Great, now we’re on a hunting trip, thought Freya. But at least I have a name. I’ll have to do some research on weres when I get electricity again. And undersea lands, too.

  Aloud, she said, “Alright. I’m ready to go whenever you are. Lead on.”

  Lisichka did just that, stalking to the front of her pack - no, clan - of weres, and starting the journey down the hill. Freya sighed tiredly, and trudged after her. Evidently these weres had no additional transport, either. Of course, after a storm many roads would be closed due to fallen trees. It seemed unlikely that a handy country bus would come bumping along anytime soon. She started to sigh again, decided they might consider it rude, and walked after the weres in silence instead. The wind was blowing from the direction of the sea, washing Freya in foxy-scented salty breeze, so she assumed she was downwind, or upwind, or whatever they called the right place to be.

  Tammy and a were-fox. How could that have happened? And why would the weres have attacked Freya, if they were about to be kin in some way?

  She had no answers.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

  LOOKING FOR TAMMY

  Freya was glad when they finally reached the steep stairs leading down the cliffs to the sea. The blister on her heel had been joined by several more. Her wounded leg was protesting continued use. What had she been thinking, to go out again last night after the first incident? Now, her whole body ached, with occasional stabs of pain from bites, for added interest. She was extremely uncomfortable in the presence of the were-foxes who had beaten her the night before, and twitched whenever one glanced back at her. She had no reason to trust Lisichka’s control of the youths. The last thing she wanted to do was spend time with them, but she also wanted to see her sister safe.

  So near the sea, the strong breeze had increased to buffet them dangerously as they descended. Freya wished she’d thought to bring a tie for her hair, as her tresses lashed her in the eyes while she tried to take careful downward steps. She paused a moment to braid her hair instead. She knew it was a futile effort, since without a tie it would quickly unravel again, but her hands kept going through the habitual movements. It was briefly comforting to have her hair out of her face, at any rate. She then had to hurry to catch up with the were-fox clan.

  The last few metres of steps were covered by gigantic piles of flotsam. Large rocks,
whole trees, a boat or so, unidentifiable coloured bits of plastic, seaweed, a dead bird, it was all jumbled together in a random assortment. Freya followed the path picked out by the were-foxes, trying not to breath in the already-strong smell of decay emanating from the pile. Or maybe that was just seaweed.

  The beach was covered with detritus from the storm – so much so that at first Freya didn’t see the figure washed up at mid-tide. Ragged clothing blended in with torn plastic bags – still a regular feature of beaches despite being banned years ago – and parti-coloured stones helped to disguise the body that lay there. The were-foxes had headed in that direction as soon as they set foot on the beach, so it was several minutes of careful rock-hopping before Freya could see the body that was her sister. Pushing her way through the surrounding weres, heedless now of their destructive potential, Freya reached her sister’s side.

  Tammy was lying face down on the stones, one hand flung out towards the cliffs. Her hair was dark with seawater. The waves still broke around her feet, and if the beach had had any more slope, Tammy would have been sucked back into the churning, silt-tinted sea within minutes. The tide was coming in.

  Clutched in her sister’s outflung hand was a curiously shaped piece of flint. Glaring at the weres who circled her, daring them to come any closer, Freya pushed her way to her sister, and gently opened Tammy’s hand. The flint was roughly chipped into the shape of a canine. Perhaps, Freya thought numbly, it was a fox.

  The hand suddenly clenched around the flint once more, startling Freya into dropping it. Her heart beating wildly, Freya cried out.

  “Tammy! Tammy, are you alive?”

  She immediately felt silly for doing so. Despite all the fantasy tales she had read as a child, zombies were not a thing. Weres, demis, water spirits and more, certainly. But zombies were things of the imagination. So, no matter how dead her sister had looked, lying on the beach, if she moved, she was most certainly alive. She took a deep, steadying breath, and asked in what she hoped was a more measured tone,