The Selkie Bride

by Melanie Jackson

  “Yer moggie is an imp. Ye can only kill them in verra specific ways.”

  “An imp?” I was spending a great deal of time repeating Eonan’s words, but my brain seemed unwilling or unable to take them in on the first try. “I haven’t read about imps. What are they?”

  “Aye, weel…imps can be many things: cats, rats, sometimes sma dogs or hares or birds. They live a lang time, a verra lang time. And they need…” Another pause as he picked his words carefully. “They prefer a certain kind of companion. Like a witch or a mage.”

  A witch? Did he mean me? I started to ask, but decided I didn’t want to hear the answer. Instead I said: “So, in summation, our situation is as follows: Fergus, in need of magic, probably to find buried Spanish treasure, first tried to kill his cat. When that didn’t work, he talked my husband into waylaying and stealing a heart from a finman. But not just any finman. They chose the wickedest and most powerful monster around—one who had already buried this village once.”

  “Aye,” Eonan agreed. “Mayhap Fergus thought it best tae stick wi the devil he knew. Perhaps he had a spell tae contact this finman too. They are nowt sae easy to meet, ye ken?”

  “I ken that Fergus wasn’t merely an incompetent mage. He could have qualified as the village idiot!” I gulped some tea, glad that it wasn’t hot enough to burn. “And Duncan was one too, if he helped.”

  “He was o’erqualified as an idiot,” Eonan suggested. I didn’t ask if he meant Duncan or Fergus. “Even a fool waud know better. ’Tis the sheer insanity o’ the act that has had Lachlan sae baffled and wondering if there is mair going on.”

  There was a silence and I eventually asked, “Why didn’t Lachlan tell me this? Does he not trust me? I thought surely after…well, all that has passed between us, that he would be willing to confide more.”

  Eonan actually looked uncomfortable. “Lass, ye must understand aboot the auld king.”

  “Yes? Understand what?” I got up and poked at the fire with more force than was necessary. “That he’s stubborn, secretive and untrusting?” Like my family. Like Duncan. Like me—though I hadn’t ever thought of myself that way before. Still, the shoe fit a bit too well. As was the habit in my family, I had come home from Duncan’s funeral and brushed the unhappy and rather dirty memory of my strange marriage under the parlor rug and tried my best to do the out-of-sight-out-of-mind trick. But squint as I would, the bulge never got any smaller or any easier to look at. And even having fled to Scotland I could not escape it, since one can never outrun one’s memory.

  Well, I’d had enough of sweeping unpleasant things under the rug. There wasn’t any more room under there. I vowed that from here on out I would face the unpleasant things rather than hiding from them.

  “Lachlan…he is verra old,” Eonan was saying. “The eldest of all of us. He was born intae an age when there were great wars and our males were ca’ed tae bloody battle at an early age. He’d very little gentleness as a pup, and was given young tae a wizard fer training when he was only nine seasons auld. He learned tae keep his secrets or suffer.”

  These words made my heart clutch a little. I could only barely imagine Lachlan as a child, but the thought of any young boy being taken from his mother and given to someone for training was horrifying. Particularly someone who would make a child suffer.

  “His first wife…weel, she was of a guid family. Her clansmen were strong allies and she made a decent consort fer a king. But there was little love there. It was tae his second wife that he gave his heart. And she didnae live long after giving birth tae their son. I think for a time he was a bit mad wi’ the loss. The family wasnae verra understanding. It was then he renounced his clan and disappeared.”

  “But why? Was he ashamed of loving her? Did he actually agree with the rest of his clan that she wasn’t good enough for him?” There was a bit of self-interest in this question, I have to admit.

  “Nay, nowt a bit of it. Understand, wi’ oor people yer king ’til ye die. Lachlan didnae want the honor, and he kenned that anither should lead us when he was sae weakened wi’ grief and anger at his own clan. Weel, lead them. I wasnae even born yet.” This was said with the typical smugness of a human youth, and I had to smile at the similarity.

  “How did you meet Lachlan?”

  “In happened in the year of the Great Inundation. I was still a pup and couldnae change at will. I’d been caught in a fisherman’s net when the boat capsized and was dragged down tae the bottom of the sea. Lachlan rescued me. He got me tae shore and then left at once. I didnae guess wham he was then.”

  I thought of how horrible a death this could have been, and tried not to show my horror at what had nearly been his fate. “You were very fortunate.”

  Eonan nodded and went on: “Fer a long while he traveled the warld. It isnae oor way tae leave the clan, but Lachlan went and lived wi’ the merrows and mermen and other sea folk. I found him only by chance many seasons later and he swore me tae secrecy. The clan was thriving and he didnae want tae be king again. He still missed his wife and couldnae forgive them fer their treatment of her. They didnae ken at the beginning that soon the selkie women waud die out forever and we waud all be seeking wives among the humans and especially the fey. They didnae want tae believe this horrible thing.”

  “Poor man,” I whispered, staring into the flames. I hadn’t loved Duncan that way, but I could easily imagine the huge hole the death of Lachlan’s wife had torn in his life. Certainly I understood the anger at his unsympathetic family.

  “Ladies were different then tae. They were…mair biddable. He isnae yet accustomed tae the modern lassies. And he hasne been thinking of finding anither wife. Ye’ve surprised him. Ye’ll need patience.”

  “Let us hope that this old dog can learn a new trick,” I muttered, resisting the urge to snort. “Duncan rather used up my patience.”

  “Pardon?” Eonan sounded startled.

  “It’s just an expression.” I put up the poker and returned to my chair. I’d had enough of hearing about Lachlan’s unhappy past and felt that to speak any more of it without his presence was to indulge in gossip. “So, what now? You stay here playing guard dog until Lachlan returns?”

  “Aye—but I want tae be clear. I am nowt a dog. I am selkie wi’ a bit of pooka thrown in.” He gave me a look.

  “I understand,” I said gravely. “Shall we continue to search for the finman during the day?”

  Eonan looked shocked. “Are ye daft? Lachlan waud skin me. Yer tae stay inside and keep safe. We leave the searching tae Lachlan.”

  “You don’t think I make good bait to draw the finman out?”

  “Aye, excellent bait. And Lachlan willnae stand fer it.”

  I did snort that time, but didn’t argue. Even young dogs needed a little while to learn new behaviors. I got up and headed for the kitchen.

  “What are ye aboot?” This was said with some alarm, as though I might find a way to end my benign confinement by crawling out a window barely wide enough to accommodate a cat.

  “Looking for the last of the honey. I’m going to eat those cockles I dug up.”

  “Wi’out cooking them?” He sounded hopeful.

  “Definitely. But I need honey.” I added: “Lachlan better hurry. I need…something. Sweets. Maybe they have a sweetshop in Keil. I am so hungry all the time, and nothing I eat helps!” It was driving me mad.

  “He shallna linger unnecessarily,” Eonan promised, though he sounded uneasy for the first time. “Yer very important tae him.”

  “I hope so. Because I don’t think I can do this alone.” This I said softly. Leaning over a much-scarred work table, I cracked open a shutter and whistled for the cat. When he didn’t appear, I asked, “Will Herman come back while you’re here?” In spite of reassurances that he would come to no harm, I did not feel easy with the feline absent.

  “Mayhap he will. Pookas and imps are close kin. And, after all, what’s not tae like?”

  Eonan proved correct. Herman did appear wh
en we sat down to eat, and he assisted us with the remaining raw cockles. He didn’t want them cooked, either, but permitted me to pry open the shells.

  The cat kept his distance from Eonan, but he showed none of the hostility or shyness that he had with Lachlan or the finman. Though neither of the two males got close to the other, I noticed that each scented the other from time to time. Their flaring nostrils made them look enough alike that I couldn’t help but chuckle.

  “Why did ye marry a Culbin?” Eonan asked suddenly, after a longish silence. “I hae thought on it and can see nae reason why ye’d be sae daft.”

  The words were rude but the tone was not. Lachlan’s cousin reminded me of a precocious child who did not quite have the knack of good manners yet. He also reminded me, even more so than my lover, that these creatures were profoundly estranged from the concerns and motivators of my world.

  “It was hope, mostly.” Then I thought for a moment about what I had said. “My world was a very small one—a rather secretive one, it now seems—and I never felt I belonged.”

  When Eonan nodded encouragingly, I continued. “I hoped that by marrying Duncan my world would enlarge. And so it has.” I laughed wryly. “Also, let us not forget the power of flattery to turn a young woman’s head. Duncan courted me diligently, relentlessly even. And now I know why. He wanted someone to fight off the finman.”

  “Ye shouldna blame yerself, lass. It was wrong of yer people tae move away frae the place they belonged. Yer clan belongs here, near the sea. The way ye felt was yer true nature, trying tae get ye back home. Duncan took advantage of ye in yer weakness. It is the way of vile men to use kind women.”

  I nodded, finally feeling comforted after all the blame that had been heaped on me by my friends and family. “Eonan, I’ve been thinking,” I said, trying without much success to wipe honey off of my fingers. Herman and Eonan had declined to try my new recipe of raw cockles in honey, and were consequently a deal more tidy. “Could there be more than one finman at work here?”

  He stared at me. “Why are ye asking? Fer that matter, why are ye thinking? Ye should be fast asleep after that enormous meal.”

  I gave him what I hoped was a withering look. Though willing to discuss many more things than Lachlan, he certainly was mistrustful of my cooperation with his and Lachlan’s plan for my safety.

  “Th is finman seems to be everywhere, and he is managing to evade both Lachlan and me. One day he was in the vaults of the church, but he also seemed to be in sea caves up the coast where Lachlan was hunting. I know that he’s a powerful magical being, but he can’t be omnipresent. Can he? It just occurred to me that ‘he’ might appear more all-pervading if there were more than one of him.”

  Eonan was thoughtful. “All finmen are born twins,” he admitted slowly. “In that they are like…” He stopped, looking guilty.

  “Like what?” I asked.

  “Nithing. It is just common in sea folk. Like with water kelpies.”

  “So there could indeed be two of them at work. Our finman might not be doing everything on his own. He might actually be holed up in a sea cave somewhere, nursing his injuries and sending his brother ashore to search while he makes mischief with the tides and weather.”

  “I am doubtful. In finmen, the stronger twin always eats the brother. If they both live, then the power is halved between them.” I was speechless with disgust at this casual pronouncement, but Eonan continued: “They hae anither nasty trick, however. They can enslave any weaker mind that comes too close to their sphere of influence. And this one is a powerful sorcerer. It might be that he found someone else wi’ magical abilities and has been using them. Animals too are at his call.”

  “Like sharks,” I said, remembering how Lachlan had been attacked. Thinking of him made my heart contract a little. I prayed again that he was well, even if he was stubborn and pigheaded and bossy.

  “Aye, like sharks—and also ither weaker finmen.” A pause. “Or humans. Though this requires greater effort and is not often done.”

  “So there could be more than two enemies working together. Is there any way to find out if this is true?” I took a breath as I considered something else. “Never mind that; is there any way to get word to Lachlan about what we suspect? I don’t want him walking into a trap, and I fear he may be, since the finman—either the finman or his slave—isn’t here now, and could be off lying in wait for him.”

  “How dae ye ken the finman is not aboot?”

  “The weather. The cat.” I thought about it. “And I don’t see or feel him. I could sense the last time he was near. He smelled bad.” It was just something I knew, a conviction made more certain by my increased sensitivity.

  Eonan didn’t dispute this pronouncement. Instead, he ruminated in a surprisingly serious manner. “Mayhap I could gae oot at twilight and try tae send a message. It waud be useless tae gae now.”

  I noticed that he didn’t tell me how he was going to do this or why he couldn’t do anything during daylight hours. I was very curious about this matter, but didn’t press him for details of selkie communication; it was one more thing for Lachlan to explain—if he were willing.

  “Herman and I will be fine while you’re gone,” I assured him quickly. “We have Lachlan’s talisman for the door. And Herman is a very good guard cat.”

  Eonan nodded. “Ye’d have tae bar the door against everyone, though. Yer neighbors, strangers—everyone. Ye couldna make a single exception.”

  “I know.” It was frightening to think that any of my neighbors could be overshadowed by this monster, but after what had happened to Bertie Stornmont, I did not try to deny the possibility. No sane person would drink a bottle of lye, and it would take great power and magic to force a person to do it.

  Chapter Twenty

  When night came silently lay Dead on Culloden Field

  —Alexander Cowan

  How could wind blow from every direction? Somehow it did, and the storm carried the taint of damnation in the form of brimstone and rot on its every eddying current. But I had no sense of the finman nearby, so I remained convinced of the necessity of carrying out our plan.

  I could tell that Eonan was uneasy about leaving me unprotected, and I almost stopped him a few times, since there was danger for him as well. But then I thought of Lachlan, and the fear that clutched me was greater than any dread caused by the smell of the wind. “Why does it always storm?” I muttered.

  Perhaps to him the answer was obvious, for Eonan sounded nearly prosaic. “The finman needs the lightning tae beat his stolen heart.”

  I didn’t like this, but it made horrifying sense. I had once seen a demonstration where current was passed through a dead frog, making his legs kick. And was it not lightning that brought Frankenstein’s monster to life?

  “Be very careful,” I said quietly, checking the talisman on the door. “And maybe you should bring your skin to the cottage when you return. There is a secret room. We could hide it there.”

  Eonan nodded once, and I felt honored that he trusted me. It was more than Lachlan had done, I thought with some bitterness.

  “Aye, and ye have a care yerself as well. Bar the door ahind me, and dae not open it unless yer moggie says it is safe.” Eonan smiled at Herman, and I swear the cat nodded in response. Then Eonan was gone, into the twilit storm, and Herman and I were alone.

  “Go with God,” I whispered belatedly, aware that perhaps this was not the right thing to say to a selkie but needing to say something. I didn’t know any other blessing, except, “May the wind rise up to greet you,” and that didn’t seem appropriate, given the breath of Hell being exhaled that night.

  I barred the door, made up the fire and then sat down with another of Fergus’s books. This time I did not read closely but skimmed until I found a section on selkies. This I read diligently, translating slowly and perhaps inaccurately what I could out of the old Gaelic. Herman took up a position on the table beside me, careful not to block the lamplight but close enough to
reach out a paw and touch me if he needed to get my attention. He didn’t mind that I occasionally scratched him under the chin. In spite of Eonan’s belief that Herman was an imp, I could not in any way detect that he was different from other cats. And yet I knew he had to be.

  “I’m glad you’re my kitty,” I told him once, and he obliged me with a few rough purrs.

  I read all night and into the dawn, and Eonan did not return. Once an hour had passed, the tiniest tendrils of unease began to curl around my heart. Dread’s touch was light, as soft as the moonlight that found its way through the clouds and past my open shutters to crawl up my arms, but I felt it all the same. And though I wanted to deny it, I could not repudiate the growing alarm that came with Eonan’s prolonged absence. Certainty that something had gone awry grew with every passing hour until I was near panic.

  After the sun was well up, we gave in to our fears; a weary Herman and I fetched the yew beater and iron shackles from my bedroom, then unbolted the door and went to find Lachlan’s missing cousin. It was a desperate act, yet I felt I had no choice. At the edge of the dizzying path that ran along the cliffedge, common sense—a commodity I had been lacking for some time—briefly asserted itself and I slowed my steps. But fear for Eonan could overcome every emotion, and even sensibleness, and I found my footsteps quickening again almost immediately.

  The cat led the way. It never occurred to me not to follow him. My belief in his supernatural makeup was by now absolute. I was afraid of our task, of course, but guilt spurred me on. Lachlan’s cousin had gone out into the night as a favor to me. If he had been killed or captured, the fault was mine. The thought of this was unacceptable, something I could not live with. And there was other guilt besides. I had hidden emotionally from my husband when he needed me and—though I didn’t know it at the time—left him to be eaten alive by fear of this monster who stalked Findloss village. Maybe the fear was earned if Duncan had helped Fergus steal the finman’s heart, but the creature was evil and had been for a very long time. At the beast’s door lay the deaths of everyone buried in Findloss: Bertie Stornmont, some poor nameless merman, and probably countless others besides. He wasn’t going to get the chance to harm anyone else important to me. He was not going to harm Eonan.