We made our way toward a high ledge and lay down, our heads hanging over. Beyond a tumble of boulders, rock walls circled a clear blue pool. Late afternoon sun bounced off the water, reflecting red-gold ripples across the stone. And there, where wall met water, was a black arch.
“A sea cave,” I said. “Let’s go!”
We leaped to our feet and ran, searching for a place to jump into the pool. Now the trail was crowded with selkies heading upward. One group moved slowly, cheering on a tiny pup as she toddled on fat, wobbly legs. I looked over my shoulder as we passed them; she was only the second pup I’d seen.
Finn seemed to read my thoughts. “I’m glad you’re here,” he said. “I was afraid there wouldn’t be anyone to play with.”
“Where are all the pups?” I asked, speeding up again.
“There aren’t many. Brehan says it’s a disaster. It’s because humans are poisoning the ocean, and netting all the fish, and making the water too warm. There need to be lots more pups for the folk to survive.”
“But there must be hundreds of selkies here.”
“This is nothing.” Finn pointed out to the waves where a few stragglers were swimming ashore. “Brehan says these waters used to be so full of selkies, you could walk in longlimbs across their backs. That’s one of the reasons we came so far to be here. Some of our clan”—he nudged me in the ribs—“are here to find mates.”
The path curved. “There,” I said. “If we climb to that rock, it’s a straight dive down.”
We scrambled over to the precipice. Then we were standing at the top of a great rim. The water glittered so far below, it was like looking down from the heavens.
“I feel like the Moon,” I whispered.
A puffin whirred out from the cliff face below us.
“And there’s your worshipper!” said Finn.
A feather floated off the puffin’s back and we watched it drift down, down, down toward the water. Suddenly I wanted to grab it. I raised my arms overhead and dove. The air rushed past me and then I sliced into the water, the coolness closing over my skin. I rose with the feather in my hand.
Finn stared down in wonder. “How do you do that?” he called.
It wouldn’t work to talk him through a dive. “Just jump!” I cried.
He flew out from the cliff, arms and legs waving like an octopus, and hit the water with a gigantic splash.
He rose to the sound of cheering from the hillside. “That’s my clan,” he said, giving them a wave. Then we swam to the dark arch of the cave and slipped through.
We paused, treading water. Near us, the low rays of the sun lit curving walls, but the cave stretched back into darkness.
“Wow!” said Finn.
Wavelets were lapping at something big in the center of the cave. I swam over. At the edge of the light, a magnificent boulder rose from the water. The front was a long, smooth slope. I swam around to the back. Hollows were gouged into the rock, making steps. I scrambled up and sat at the top.
Just then, the sun dipped, shining a ray of light straight at me. I held the feather high, a chief brandishing a token of power. Finn gave a mock bow.
I started to slip—the rock was a perfect slide! I splashed off into deep water.
“My turn!” cried Finn, snatching the feather.
We slid down on our seats and our bellies, feetfirst and headfirst, the rock more slippery each time. Our howls of glee echoed around the cave until it sounded like there were hundreds of selkies crowded inside. I’d never had so much fun in my whole life.
I was on the rock, feather in hand, when Finn said, “I can hardly see you.”
The sun had disappeared.
Then a blast of sound filled the cave, an unworldly voice singing a single booming note.
“The conch!” said Finn. “It’s time for the rites!”
I slid down and swam off as fast as I could. I would not be late for this, the most important night of my life.
Chapter Sixteen
The Moon’s Ear
I crested a final ridge and stopped, speechless. Before me, hundreds of selkies crowded into a vast hollow. The curving rock face echoed their shuffling and murmuring until it sounded like the surf far below. Above us, on a jutting ledge of rock just under the Spire, stood a broad-shouldered selkie. A white streak blazed in his hair like a bolt of lightning. That must be the Great Chief of all the clans. On a ledge below him stood the Caller, her black hair cascading to her feet.
Finn ran past me toward the group that had cheered his dive. They greeted him with hugs and exclamations over his scratched knees. I was following in his wake when a hand grabbed my shoulder.
“There you are,” cried Mam, her eyes bright with excitement.
Lyr, Maura, Mist, Cormac, Grandmam: everyone was there, looking so different in longlimbs. They shifted to make room for me in the crush.
I was turning to point out Finn when a blast from the conch made me stop.
In the sudden hush, the Caller’s clear voice filled the air:
“Sing, O Moon, the song of the sea!
Sing of the salt-spray, the tears, and the freedom
Erasing the border twixt wave-foam and shoreline.
Sweet comes the turning that sets the soul free.”
The haunting tune swept me up like a current, and then its rhythms were surging inside me. My breath rose and fell to its pulse.
The notes drifted away, and a deep voice boomed like combers crashing ashore:
“IN THE BEGINNING!”
My eyes flew up to the ledge. The lightning-haired selkie stood with his arms straight out before him, palms turned upward. I caught my breath. This wasn’t going to be anything like the warm, familiar tale I’d always known.
He raised his arms skyward, and we turned as one to face the sea. Before us was darkness. And then . . .
A single beam of light appeared at the edge of the world. It streaked across the waves toward the Spire like a brilliant, silver path. I gasped in awe.
A motion caught my eye. A tall, muscular selkie was resting his hand on Finn’s shoulder. That must be Brehan, his chief. They gazed at the horizon together, the silver light reflecting in their eyes.
Slowly, gracefully, the Moon began to rise. Around her, the air shimmered blue and green: she had donned her halo to greet us. Now we would sing and chant her to the center of the sky.
“In the beginning,” said the Great Chief, “there was the Moon. She circled a forsaken sphere of dirt and dust and rock. . . .”
The story was familiar and yet the words were new and strange. It felt like it was happening now, for the very first time: the barren Earth, the Moon’s longing. He came to the part where the Moon began to sing, and softly, as softly as a breeze, a wordless tune caressed the air. It tugged at my heart like all the hunger and heartache and joy I’d ever felt. At first I thought the Moon herself was singing. But it was the Caller, her skin white as moonlight, her hair dark as night.
As the Great Chief’s voice rolled on, I could almost feel the song tugging moisture from the air. It swirled into mist, and then rain; it fell upon the Earth. When the chief paused, I knew what to do. I’d been practicing my whole life. I chanted along with everyone else:
“Hail the rain, the blessed rain, sung by the Moon into being!”
I’d never heard it like this before. Each voice was swept up into something greater: the single voice of the selkie folk.
As the last word rang out, the Moon rose above the sea. She hovered, huge and round, waiting for us to sing her higher.
“Hail the ocean, great and gray, sung by the Moon into being!”
“The Moon wandered the vastness of space,” said the chief, and the crowd began to sway. When Mam and I told the story, the swaying was gentle and playful. But now, hundreds of selkies swayed together from side to side, and the power felt primal, remorseless. We were the waves, surging in the Moon’s wake, curving in crests and crashing in hollows, straining to hear every precious note of
her song.
“Hail the wave-foam, white as first mist, sung by the Moon into being!”
We stilled, becoming as solid as rock. Now we were the islands rising from the waves. The Moon rose higher, her light filling me.
Finn looked toward me, his eyes full of the same wonder I was feeling. My hand rose in an instinctive greeting.
That’s when Finn’s chief glanced over. His brows lowered in a frown. I followed his gaze to my hand: I was still clutching the puffin feather, and it looked like I was waving it at Finn, playing during the holiest rites.
I dropped the feather in shame. The chief’s cold eyes swept over my hair, my skin. He bent to whisper in Finn’s ear.
I shivered, a leaf in a cold wind.
Then the Great Chief’s voice swept me up again. “—the shoreline, where water meets rock, where dark sea meets bright sand, where borders are constantly changing. Once more the Moon sang.”
The Caller sang one pure note, as round and shining as a pearl.
The Great Chief said softly, “As each note landed on that shimmering line, it became a selkie.” He paused, and then his voice split the air like thunder:
“WE ARE THE FOLK BORN OF THE LINE WHERE WATER MEETS THE LAND!”
Another perfect note, and another, floated down to the shore and the shimmering line of foam. The Moon was gigantic now, filling the sky. The air felt electric.
Finn and I looked up at each other at the exact same moment, as if we were connected by our own strand of moonlight. A friend, I thought, with a longing deep and true.
The hairs on my arms stood on end, as though lightning was about to strike. I looked down. My skin was glowing with silvery light.
Suddenly everyone was chanting, “Hail creation! Wave-riders, shore-striders, sung by the Moon into being!”
The Moon was right above me! This was the moment!
I raised my face and prayed silently: Please, Moon, let me live in my true form, the way I’m meant to be. Please.
The air was thick with prayers swirling upward, and my skin was still tingling. This must be how it happened! First the tingling, and then the thickening of skin into fur. I stared at my arms. Now, I thought. Now!
Chapter Seventeen
Storm Waves
The conch blared and the Great Chief cried, “Let the dancing begin!”
I startled, looking around in confusion. Mam was there beside me, and then she was gone, swept away by Lyr. Selkies surged around me, grabbing partners, but I stood still, a rock in roiling waves, staring at my arms. The tingling was fading. I tried to hold on to it, but it was like grasping at air.
My skin was still skin.
But my pelt had to be coming now. I’d felt the Moon’s magic!
My breath came short and shallow. I tried not to panic. At least I didn’t stand out from everyone else. All around me, legs were dancing, kicking, leaping.
Of course—that was it! If the Moon changed me now, I’d be the only one not in longlimbs, still different from everyone else. I’d have had to take my pelt right off again. No, my pelt would be waiting for me in the cave, and the cave was sealed until daybreak.
Finn’s hand clasped mine. “Grab on, it’s the storm dance!” he cried, pulling me into a quickly moving line. The selkie at the head half ran, half danced, and the pattern passed from hand to hand so we were whipping along in his wake—a ribbon of dancers, cresting and falling like waves.
“I’ve been looking for you,” Finn shouted over the music.
My feet stepped higher, lighter. Maybe waiting wouldn’t be so bad after all.
Finn leaned closer. “You’ll never believe what my chief said.”
“What?”
“He said that your father—”
The line of dancers snapped back and forth, and I struggled to stay on my feet. Someone grabbed my other hand.
I raised my voice above the roar. “What about my father?”
“Brehan said he was human. I said that was madness!”
“No, it’s true.”
“It is?” He stared at me wide-eyed. “He was?”
How could I explain it to him here? I needed to take him somewhere quiet, just the two of us, so I could find the words. How my father wasn’t a selkie, but it didn’t matter, because I’d be in sealform before the rites were over. But the music grew faster and the dance’s waves wilder, and I couldn’t pull my hands away.
Finn shouted, “He said you’re human, too.”
“No, I’m going to turn!”
“Wind waves!” called the leader, as quick curves pulsed down the line. The rocks echoed back music and laughter and the drumbeat of pounding feet. We were nearing the Spire.
“That’s what I told him,” said Finn. “But he said to look at your hair with its funny bright spots. He said to look at your eyes.”
“One is brown,” I cried. The rocks echoed back in a mocking voice: One is brown . . . brown . . . brown. . . .
“Storm waves!” called the leader. The music thundered. A towering wave of a curve was surging toward me.
Finn looked right at me. “He said you’re never going to turn, and I can’t—”
The line flung me forward, and then—snap!—our hands pulled apart. Gasps and cries and sharp peals of laughter split the air as we went flying in all directions. I tripped and tumbled across the stony ground, crashing to a stop against the Spire. A jutting ledge above me blocked the moonlight.
From beyond the gloom came ripples of happy laughter. Someone called, “Find your partners!” The rocks warped the music into something dark and jarring. I didn’t want to dance. I had to find Finn and explain.
I scooted out of my hollow and wiped the dirt from my arms. Around me, everyone was dancing in couples or small groups. At the sound of Finn’s laugh, I looked up. There he was in a circle of six, hands clasped tight, feet moving in a complicated rhythmic step I’d never learned. His face was bright with joy. And holding one of his hands was his chief.
How could I wait until daybreak? I needed my pelt now. I needed to put it on right in front of Finn and his clan.
I could almost see it: their eyes growing wide with wonder and admiration, their voices begging forgiveness. We should have known, they’d say. Of course the Moon provides for her own, on this night of all nights! I’d smile humbly as I accepted their apologies, and then Finn and I would belly-scoot into the waves, tumbling and tossing each other about, leaping in backflips. We’d spiral down to the depths, until our clan leaders slapped the surface hard with their flippers, calling us for our journeys home, and Finn would say he’d rather come with me.
It was all I could do not to run to the cave. I forced myself to sit there, rocks gouging my back, waiting for Finn to see me and come over.
One couple was dancing with such spirit, a circle of admirers had gathered to cheer them on. I saw an arm flung high, a wave of black hair flying. Then the circle shifted, revealing the pair, their faces glowing, step matching passionate step, the pull between them as strong as the tides—
It was Mam and Lyr.
I rocked, buffeted by a changing wind. I’d always been the center of Mam’s life. It didn’t need saying; it was just how it was, obvious each time the others left or an orca’s fin broke the waves. But the way she was looking at Lyr now . . .
I clenched my fists. Mam could do whatever she wanted. Come daybreak, I’d have my pelt. I’d have air in my blood to swim deep, and flippers to speed me along with the rest of the clan. She didn’t need to stay back for me.
The dance ended amid a burst of cheers. Then Mam was scanning the crowd, searching for me. I couldn’t stand the thought of her rushing over, the joy in her eyes replaced by the same questions pounding through my veins: How? When? So I stood and waved to show her I was fine, and then I disappeared into the crowd.
Cormac was talking with Finn’s chief, their heads bent close together. That meant Finn was free. I went looking for him.
The banquet was spread out on low, fl
at rocks. Finn was by himself, gulping down prawns.
I ran up. “There you are!”
He glanced around anxiously, grabbed my arm, and pulled me back behind a boulder.
“Listen,” he said in a hushed voice. “I’m not supposed to talk with you anymore.”
My heart plummeted.
“They say”—he paused and took a deep breath, the feelings battling across his face—“they say you’re a danger to us.”
“Why would I want to hurt you?” I said. “You’re my friend.”
“It’s not that you’d want to. You couldn’t help it. You’d draw attention and make humans notice us. They’d see we aren’t seals. They’d catch us and put us in zoos.”
“In what?”
“Zoos. That’s where humans trap you in a metal cage so they can stare at you. One of the elders lived on land for a while and he told us about zoos, and circuses, where they make you do stupid tricks to entertain them. We’d see humans coming and be trying to swim away and you couldn’t keep up.”
I tried to answer, but all I could do was shake my head, harder and harder.
“Maybe I’d stay behind to help you,” Finn went on. “That’s what you do for a friend, and then I’d get caught. It’s too risky. And it’s not just humans. What about orcas, and great whites? Sometimes you only have a whisker’s advantage when they’re on your tail. You’d be so slow with your splashing—”
“I don’t splash!” My voice was too sharp. “And besides, it doesn’t matter, because I’m turning. That’s why I’m here!”
“They say . . .” He stopped all of a sudden. Pity washed across his face like a swirl of white foam.
I wanted to leave then, run away across the crags, as far as I could go. But I couldn’t help myself. “What”—the words came out all twisted—“what do they say?”
He answered so softly, I strained to hear him. “Not everyone turns, you know.”
The Turning Page 6