The Selkie Bride

by Melanie Jackson

  “Aye, at times. The seals help us make it, of course, noo that our women are gone. Bags of seal milk are mixed wi’ brine and sea fruit and then taken out at high tide and anchored in the kelp. The sea stirs them. After, the whey is taken out and fed to the young ones who are tae old tae nurse any longer.” He added: “We eat the curd ourselves sometimes, when we tire of sea fruit and fish.”

  “Seal milk…” Of course. Where would they get goat or sheep or cow milk, and besides, why would they prefer it?

  I would have asked more, but Eonan gave a sigh and our attention returned to him. His breathing deepened for a moment and then seemed to stop while he stretched the rest of the way into his skin, looking rather like someone wiggling his fingers to reach the depths of his gloves. Then something utterly disconcerting happened. For a moment, it seemed as if Eonan were becoming aroused.

  Lachlan and I were both relieved when Eonan’s eyes opened, and I was especially happy when his nascent tumescence subsided, since what he was feeling was probably not his own emotion but mine. Though he was unable to speak in selkie form, his gaze said that he knew it was I who had stitched up his wounds, and that he cared for me in an equal manner, probably even wanted me sexually. Though shaken and slightly embarrassed by this revelation, I managed a smile for him and stroked him once on his head.

  They were different, these two. Eonan was simpler, more animal in impulse, playful, shameless and accepting. Lachlan was much more a creature of calculation and reason.

  Lachlan’s gaze was weighty as he considered our silent exchange, but I did not face him. I could not. It wasn’t really that I was still irritated by his forcing me to confront my feelings for him, but I still felt too raw and naked inside to risk any discussion of the matter. I knew the truth. The baby knew. Eonan knew, since I had probably stitched some of my turmoil as well as desire into his fur. Probably even the faerie mound and Herman knew. If Lachlan did not, he would have to content himself with guesswork and supposition until I was stronger.

  “Rise up, ye lazy pooka,” Lachlan said at last, offering his hand to his cousin. “Ye’ve slept enough and there is work tae be done. We must leave the mound.”

  Eonan chuffed and rolled onto his stomach without aid. He stretched again and yawned hugely.

  “Be glad yer half pooka and more sex than reason,” Lachlan muttered. “It let my Megan stitch thee up.”

  Chapter Twenty-five

  Blunt my spear and slack my bow, Like an empty ghost I go, Death the only hope I know.

  —“The Maiden of Morven”

  We stood on the shore, looking toward where the isle of the fisherman’s chapel was supposed to be. Or, rather, Lachlan and I stood. Eonan, still in selkie form, was lying on the sand.

  We could see nothing through the fog that had pushed all the way to the narrow beach. The sea was oddly calm, as if Triton himself had frozen the tides, horrified by the finman and his acts. Or was it our temerity that amazed him? Wasn’t it King Lear who said upon such sacrifices the gods themselves throw incense? Or perhaps it was just that the powers of the finman and Lachlan were deadlocked, and the sea itself taken prisoner.

  Lachlan turned to me as he pulled his skin around himself. “I shall breathe for ye, lass, when ye can’t manage on yer own. Hae no fear of the sea whilst I am with ye. Ye’ll come tae nae harm.”

  He pulled the seal skin over his head. Drawing me down to the surf with him, he changed form and fastened his mouth over mine as we plunged into the slack black water. After the first shock of the cold, I opened my eyes and saw a phalanx of strange and very large seals close in around us. Were these Lachlan’s kin? I wasn’t sure. They seemed like the seals on the beach and not so large or clawed as Lachlan and Eonan.

  I knew the reputation of the island where we were going. I had never attempted a visit because the bit of stone and cruel beach that made up the isle was surrounded by a forest of upthrust vicious gray rocks shaped like a shark’s teeth that could rip the bottom from a boat, and it was guarded by a constant off shore wind that only the strongest oarsman could overcome. Why it was called the isle of the chapel of the fisherman I did not know, but the place was considered haunted and shunned by the current inhabitants of Findloss because of these strange winds that blew day and night.

  I did not close my eyes, since the water did not bother them at first, and I felt the need to watch for the finman, who might not be far behind us. It was difficult to judge from beneath the waves what was happening above the surface, but it seemed that we passed under a band of pure black clouds where lightning danced. These clouds hurled an unpleasant dark rain down upon the water’s surface, a painful downpour that did not dissolve when it hit the sea; and while Lachlan was somehow breathing for me, I could tell that this unnatural rain smelled strongly of sulfur and rotting things. So bitter and caustic was it, I was finally forced to close my eyes. After a moment, my skin began to sting as though bitten by a million ants. Lachlan’s arms about me tightened, and he jerked us deeper into the ocean where the water was yet pure, if dark and cold.

  I thought that I might cry out from the pain and pressure against my ears, but finally we moved into a place of eerie calm and clean water, and our pace slowed to one less frantic. We drifted back to the surface, and realizing that I had not inhaled on my own for some impossibly long time, I took a great gasp of air. Beside me, Lachlan and Eonan’s breathing was also fast and labored. Though we breathed hard, it did us little good. It seemed the air was slowly being robbed of oxygen, and made me think of the deep shafts of the tin mines back home, or, far worse, of an enclosed tomb.

  “He’s tainted the very oceans,” Eonan said, as he pushed his seal skin back and revealed his face. This was pale and sickly, but then so was Lachlan’s. I stared at my hands. They looked as though they belonged to a corpse. The light here was unnatural and anathema to all healthy things.

  The air split with a protesting yowl, and I realized that Eonan had carried Herman. Warned, Lachlan’s cousin promptly set the wet cat on the gritty sand and let him get on with the business of restoring his sodden fur. It was not my imagination; the cat was growing larger.

  Lachlan continued to carry me. I looked up at the sky as I wrung out my hair. Though surrounded by storm on all sides, the heavens overhead were clear, as though we were in the eye of a hurricane. But though the sun shone, it seemed as though something dark had been drawn over its face to blot out its vigorous light; an unhealthy veil separated us from the rest of the world. There was illumination in this foreign monochromatic land, but no heat and nothing green would grow.

  Around us, the water was completely clear and calm. Too calm. It was dead, as sterile as water boiled for laundry. I thought then of the Dead Sea and understood how it could have a name like that. I wondered if other humans would perceive it this way, or was I seeing this evil because of my new senses?

  Lachlan released me once my feet could touch bottom, and I walked gingerly onto the sterile sand littered with gray humps of rock. “Beware the crabs, lass,” Lachlan warned, his voice hard. This was still the stranger Lachlan—the hunter. I did not fear that he would offer me any violence, or even be neglectful of my well-being, but I doubted there was any comfort to be had from him at that moment.

  “They pinch viciously and will eat ye if they get a chance, for they are trapped here forever and always hungry fer living flesh,” Eonan added, and I realized then that it was not stones that littered the beach, but rather crabs similar to the ones that had been in the finman’s cave. The sound of their clicking claws was the only thing that disturbed the silence.

  One approached, pincers waving. Though I am not in the habit of offering harm to fellow creatures, I speared it with my javelin and watched with satisfaction as it writhed and then withered. The effect on the evil beast was the same as pouring salt on a snail, and it pleased me despite my now-blistered hands. Perhaps I had not been carrying these toxic items for no purpose. Maybe here they would lend greater power over our foe.


  “ ’Tis time we starved this beast.” Lachlan said. I did not know what he meant, but followed him and Eonan as they walked up the shore and headed purposefully for the only structure on the isle.

  They did not approach the door of the stone building, but instead went to the slitted windows and began prying off boards. They used only their bare fingers, apparently impervious to the pain that humans would feel if we abused our hands in that manner. Finally, after they had pried off all the boards, when the maximum light reached inside, they pulled the shattered remains of a rusted gate off the door and entered the chapel.

  I followed slowly, carrying Herman, who was terribly heavy but whose heat I found comforting. From the doorway it was easy to discern the interior. The chapel was austere, even with the boards pulled off of the windows, but that did not come as any great surprise since we were in Scotland. The building was not a normal church, whatever may have been intended by the men who had built it centuries ago. It had no decorative belfry. It had no bell. There was no cross or statues, no communion tokens, nor wafers, nor chalices for wine. All it had were crypts. They all said: unknown. I realized sadly that these were temporary graves for drowned sailors and fishermen who waited for someone to claim them.

  There were also dozens of pots and jars, all turned upside down, and I realized with a thrill of horror what they must contain. My reading had told me that when a finman stole a soul, if he did not consume it at once, he put it in an upside-down pot where he could dine on it later. Lachlan and Eonan began righting pots, and I put down the cat to join them in their efforts. I had not forgotten the poor fisherman and wanted to set his soul free.

  My panting exhalations condensed into vapor and refused to dissipate. It was the same with Lachlan and Eonan. Our breath slowly gathered around the pots, surrounding them in a light fog. My lungs protested that they were drowning in a cold sea. I ignored them as best I could; we were on land—however strange and poisoned—and I tried my best to convince myself that this meant that we were safe and nothing could happen.

  I tipped upright the first pot I reached. It was a teapot with a broken spout that had been stopped up with wax. The moment the obstruction broke, something rushed out into the growing fog, an entity formless but visible for the moment that it passed through my frozen breaths. It blew by me in a short stream with a sigh that was like a mournful hymn—chyrme, was what the locals called seal death songs, the ones they sang when their young were killed and their skins taken.

  A soul! I thought, fresh tears starting in my eyes as I watched the faint silver trail that marked its passing. Perhaps drawn to the light, it fled through the door. Around me, other souls were likewise escaping.

  Crying quietly at this awful proof of all the stories of the fi nman’s evil, I crawled to the next pot, quickly turning it over. I went to another and another, myself made frantic by the terror of these trapped souls who knew we were nearby and sensed hope of escape. But each soul I freed was weaker and colder than the last, and I realized it was because the oldest and most depleted souls—some human, some not quite—were at the back of the church. For a moment I knew their names and stories, a bit of them brushing my mind as they fled past, racing for the freedom of the open air. But the contact also weakened and bewildered me, part of their fear and horror clinging like burs.

  Each also stole a little warmth from my body, a little life. It was a horrible and draining assault, but I did not blame the thieving and sometimes insane souls. I forced myself on, no matter how tiring, until at last the tiny new life inside of me protested. Only then, reminded of my child’s existence, I froze in place. Lachlan and Eonan would have to finish this task. I would not risk my baby.

  As though hearing me, Herman came close and again pressed himself against my body. Immediately, I warmed. Feeling stronger, I left the chapel with the cat, he on his paws and I on my hands and knees. I looked back from the doorway. Eonan and Lachlan had nearly all of the pots overturned. Their faces were alike, masks of themselves, distorted by disgust and loathing for the finman. I understood. Doubtless some souls had been kin or friends. They were entitled to their rage.

  I did not watch them finish. Instead, Herman and I just slumped against the building, trying to breathe normally of the horrible air and to warm ourselves in the gray-green light offered by the veiled sun.

  Chapter Twenty-six

  A devil, a born devil. On whose nature Nurture can never stick.

  —William Shakespeare, The Tempest

  “Here,” Lachlan said. “Try this.”

  “What is it?”

  “Cheese. Eat a bit before we leave. It will make ye stronger.”

  I accepted the wet, yellowish lump without interest, but the babe inside me apparently recognized it as some high treat and I found myself eating it with growing enthusiasm. I was also enjoying watching the water roll down Lachlan’s body, though I made an effort to keep my scrutiny discreet. I probably failed, but neither Lachlan nor Eonan seemed at all self-conscious. They probably expected me to be completely enthralled, now that my mate was near. Or perhaps it is just the way of the selkies to feel no more concern with nudity than a seal might.

  “I believe that fer the trip back ye should carry the moggie and I’ll take Megan,” Eonan said to Lachlan, coming to sit beside me. I didn’t mind his closeness, even though he was naked; a part of me was with him now and always would be. And I just liked being near a warm naked body. It seemed normal. I would have preferred Lachlan’s, but Eonan would do. He was my family now.

  “Was Herman ill-mannered enough to claw you?” I asked, after I swallowed some more cheese. For the first time in days I was feeling content and sated.

  “Nay. As I said afore, pookas and imps hae much in common. But I waud still prefer to carry ye. Yer moggie’s fat and getting fatter. Look at the beastie. He’ll be as big as a coo afore long.”

  “Nonsense. And you are just being lazy.”

  “Lazy, aye. But verra handsome.” Eonan grinned.

  He was indeed handsome, if not in the same league as Lachlan.

  My child’s father shook his head at us, as though we were fractious children. And to him, perhaps we were. I think he was amused at our play even if he was not inclined, or capable, of joining in. I thought about blowing Lachlan a kiss just because it was undignified and fun, but I couldn’t count on him understanding the playful act. It was just as likely that he would be confused as delighted. I thought, not for the fi rst time, that it would be helpful if he came with some sort of translator that could explain his expressions and silences.

  “Well, I would go with you,” I said, turning back to Eonan. “Except for the fish breath.” I waved a hand in front of my face.

  “What have ye agin’ fish?” the young selkie demanded. His tone was light, but he and Lachlan both looked as exhausted and haggard as it was possible for those fine physical specimens to look. Intense anger does that to you. The difference between them was that Eonan was incapable of remaining serious and subdued. Not even grief could suspend his humor for long, not even when it might be in his best interest to be calm and reflective.

  I, on the other hand, was feeling better after my rest and food. Perhaps I was becoming accustomed to the stale air, or maybe the atmosphere was improving. Whichever it was, I was breathing more easily. I noticed that several of the misshapen crabs had died, withered by a brightening sun.

  “There’s nothing wrong with fish—so long as it’s on a plate and not on your breath.” I looked over at Lachlan. “Why is Herman getting bigger?”

  “The beast is a mystery tae me,” Lachlan answered. “But if I was tae make a guess, I waud say that he is growing larger sae he may protect ye.”

  “Are you getting big to help me?” I asked the cat, who was now the size of a large water spaniel. He blinked lazily but did not answer. This wasn’t remarkable, except, in that moment, I had the feeling that he could have spoken if he chose. “What a good kitty, so brave and handsome,” I ad
ded.

  This time, both Eonan and Lachlan snorted. Herman came closer to me, assumed an expression of benign idiocy and began pawing my lap. His claws—his now very oversized claws—were carefully sheathed.

  I noted that he could shed like a real cat in spite of his larger size. I gathered up his stray hairs and rubbed them into a ball, which I tucked in my shattered chemise. It is a testament of how far my thinking had come that I was actually concerned about leaving any of his hair behind, lest the finman could somehow use it against him.

  “Wherever we’re going when we leave Findloss, we’re taking the cat,” I said quietly. When Lachlan remained quiet I added: “Embrace the concept. We have a pet.” It was bold, using the plural in that statement.

  Lachlan raised a brow but still said nothing. Herman began making a noise that seemed a bit aggressive for a purr now that he was so large, and his expression was perhaps a little smug as he stared at my lover, but I stroked him anyway. Good, bad or really big, Herman was family. I wouldn’t let him go.

  “Lachlan, can the finman bespell me?” I asked, changing the subject. “I think he tried once and failed. That might be something we can use to our advantage.”

  Eonan and Lachlan both stared hard at me, and I began to wish that I hadn’t spoken. I didn’t relish being lectured again about how I was to stay at home and keep the hearth fires burning.

  “Ye’ve felt the finman in yer mind?” Lachlan demanded.

  “No, I saw him on the beach when I was searching for Eonan. I think he tried to put a spell on me but was too sick. I was also up a cliff so he couldn’t reach me. And I ran away at once,” I said to palliate them.

  “Can a MacCodrum be eye-bitten?” Eonan asked. Eye-bitten. He meant bespelled.