“Is she dead?” someone asked.
I could feel the men all around me, peering down at my limp form, half-covered in fish that gasped for breath outside of the water. I felt a pitying kinship with these fish, having been snatched unwillingly from the ocean in the same net and for a moment, I imagined myself scooping them up and throwing them overboard to freedom.
“Aye, likely dead,” said another voice. “Why else would she be out this far?”
I blinked away the salt water in my eyes and then sat up, causing a few of the men to jump and gasp.
“Um,” I said, looking at the grizzled faces that stared back at me. “Hi.”
The men stood in stunned silence for a long moment, gaping at me.
“What were you doing in the ocean, wee hen?” asked one of the older men, his beard gray and thick, Grandpa-like.
“Oh...” I said, drawing out the word as I tried to think of an answer that wouldn’t cause any alarm. A shipwreck wouldn’t work, they’d call the Scottish equivalent of the Coast Guard to report it. No wrecks of any kind. Which left one answer I could give.
“I was, you know, going for a swim,” I said, smiling wide at my rescuers.
The six men exchanged looks, raising their eyebrows. For a moment, the only sound was the slapping of the fish as they flopped on the deck and the water lapping at the sides of the boat.
“Do you...eh...” The gray haired Grandpa-like man gestured toward me, his cheeks reddening. “...usually swim half-clothed? So far from shore?”
The one inconvenience to being finfolk was that I couldn’t wear clothing on my lower body. If a finfolk changed form while wearing jeans, they would be ripped to tatters, unusable once he or she had changed back into human form. Sure, I could have worn a skirt and been okay, but they had a habit of twisting and bunching up around my waist while I was swimming. They were too annoying for long periods in the water.
“Oh, right,” I said, looking down at my legs, which were bronzed from a lifetime outdoors. “The current pulled my clothes off.”
“The current?” the man asked.
The boat rocked and I reached out to steady myself on a large wooden crate. “It’s pretty rough out there. I don’t recommend going swimming today.” I pulled the waterproof bag off my back and unzipped the biggest pocket. “I have some more clothes with me.”
The men were decent enough to turn away while I dressed. I wasn’t exactly shy, but I appreciated their gesture. Finfolk quickly got used to being half-naked in front of other people.
Once I had pulled on a slightly damp pair of jeans—the waterproof bag wasn’t as waterproof as it claimed to be—someone draped a thick woolen blanket over my shoulders for warmth. It was early May, but the air here was much colder than the warm May days I was used to. The water that dripped from my hair and soaked through my shirt was icy.
I scanned the water’s surface quickly. I hoped Josh wouldn’t try to board the boat to save me. It was hard enough to explain my presence. It would be impossible to explain why two of us were wandering around the ocean half-naked.
“Care for a cuppa?” the gray haired man asked. “It isn’t good, but it’s hot.”
I shook my head. “No, thank you. Actually, I should be getting back.” I made a movement toward the side of the boat, but the man lurched forward, grabbing my wrist. He stared at me with wide eyes above round cheeks pink from the cold air.
“Are you mad?” he asked. “That water is freezing. You can’t possibly think of swimming back to shore.”
I couldn’t explain to him that finfolk could handle colder water temperatures than humans could. And I couldn’t explain that my half-brother was waiting in the water for me to return.
“Maybe she’s a mermaid, Malloy,” one of the other men said, laughing. “She has to get back to her own people, you know.”
The men laughed and I forced myself to laugh with them. Don’t look nervous, I told myself. These men obviously didn’t believe in stories about mermaids. They had no reason to believe I was anything other than an insane girl who took frigid swims too far offshore.
But still, the gray-haired man called Malloy eyed me with a curious look. “Why don’t you have a seat in the cabin,” he said, smiling kindly. “Get out of this wind. We’ll take you back to the harbor.”
My gaze darted toward the water. All that stood between me and freedom was a deck covered with glistening, flopping fish, gasping their last breaths. What would the men do if I suddenly ran for the side and jumped overboard? Would they call the police? Would they send divers after me?
“Don’t attract attention,” Grandma had always told me. Tourists visited Swans Landing during the summer and the way we kept ourselves safe was to keep our secret and remain invisible in front of outsiders.
Sorry, Josh, I said silently as I squeezed my eyes shut and let out a long breath. Then I opened them and smiled at Malloy.
“Thank you,” I said through clenched teeth. “That would be nice.”
I let Malloy lead me into the small cabin of the boat, hoping Josh would be smart enough to stay out of sight until we reached land.
Chapter Three
The fishing boat pulled into the harbor as the sun sank in the west behind us. I’d had to stay on the boat while the men took in their catch for the day. They were polite and courteous, and I didn’t feel too out of place aboard a fishing boat. I’d spent my life growing up near, on, and in the water. My best friend Dylan Waverly and I had helped Lake Westray reel in crab pots and rake for oysters in the Pamlico Sound. The water was my life.
I kept watch at the bow of the boat, my hands gripping the rails as the land approached. The day had never warmed up much and I shivered in the strong breeze that swirled around me. My eyes scanned the water constantly for signs of Josh, but he was nowhere near the surface, which left me both relieved and worried.
Malloy, the captain of the ship, had warned me several times that I might get seasick, being so close to the front of the boat. But I never got seasick. It wasn’t something that happened to finfolk.
“Where are we?” I asked as the other men rushed around, tossing ropes and climbing overboard to the creaky dock below. A city lay clustered around the shores of the harbor, sloping among the hills that stretched out behind it.
Malloy eyed me, raising one bushy gray eyebrow. “You’re a long way from home, aren’t you?” He’d kept his eye on me ever since I’d arrived on the boat. Goosebumps prickled along my spine whenever I caught him staring at me with a look like he knew I was more than what I seemed to be.
When I didn’t respond, he said, “We’re in Stromness. On the Mainland. Orkney.”
Orkney! So we had at least made it to the right area.
“I’m here visiting family and got a little lost while swimming,” I said, trying to keep my voice calm. “Maybe you can help me. Do you know of anyone by the name of Mooring?”
Malloy scratched his head. “Mooring? No, can’t say as I do. I know many families here in Stromness, but no Moorings.”
Finding the finfolk and my mother wouldn’t be easy. There had to be a clue, something I could go on that would lead me to the next step from here. Josh’s last name wouldn’t be much help. Canavan was purely a human name. His finfolk genes came from his great-grandmother.
When I asked if he knew any Waverlys, Malloy shook his head no. I pushed aside thoughts of Dylan and focused on other finfolk family names I knew. I ran through a short list—most of us were related to each other and shared the same last names—but Malloy didn’t have any leads.
“What about...Westray?” I asked, cringing as I thought of the girl who had stolen Dylan’s heart.
Now Malloy narrowed his eyes. “Westray,” he repeated, rolling the word out in his thick Scottish brogue. “Can’t say as I know anyone here named Westray, but there is an island by that name.”
Tingles shot their way across my scalp like tiny spiders. “Where is this island?”
Malloy nodded into the
distance. “North of the mainland.” He gave me directions from Stromness to Kirkwall, where there were ferries that traveled to the islands farther north. He rubbed his thick beard with one hand. “Only, I don’t know what you’d hope to find. The village there is even smaller than Stromness. Not much to interest a wee hen like yourself.”
His gaze burned into my skin, seeping deep into my bones. I swallowed, keeping my hands clenched on the railing to hide the trembling. I knew not all humans were friendly toward finfolk. I had grown up with warnings of what some of them might do to us if they found out our secret. As kids, Dylan and I used to try to scare each other with stories of finfolk ending up as aquarium exhibits. Not that we’d ever heard of that actually happening, but it was a recurring nightmare we’d both had once.
I felt like I should say something, anything to distract us from the current conversation. But then Malloy spoke again.
“Well, what should I do with you?” he asked. “I would probably be in trouble if I let a lassie I plucked out of the ocean go wandering off without evidence of a passport to prove you’re here legally.”
I hadn’t thought of this problem. Of course I didn’t have a passport. I didn’t need one during a swim across the Atlantic Ocean.
I opened my mouth to speak as a shout echoed across the dock. “Sailor! There you are!”
Josh stood on the wooden deck, his hands on his hips. He was dressed in only slightly damp jeans and a black hoodie, his bag slung across his back.
“Your boyfriend?” Malloy guessed.
I rolled my eyes. “Worse. My brother. Is that proof enough that I’m here legally? I have family waiting for me.”
Malloy studied me for a moment, but then he nodded. “Aye, go on to your family.”
I giggled, trying to sound light and carefree, like a silly American girl who had gotten lost while swimming in a foreign country. “Thanks for the ride.”
Malloy walked me over to the rusty metal ramp where I could descend to the dock. “My pleasure. But next time, better keep to swimming near the shore.”
Josh stood like a glowering statue as I made my way down the dock toward him. Only when I had reached his side did he move, wrapping one thick hand around my arm and pulling me away from the boats and the people as quickly as possible.
Josh didn’t say anything as we maneuvered away from the docks and into narrow streets between small shops.
After a moment, I’d had enough of Josh’s silent glare. “Say what you want to say,” I told him.
A muscle in Josh’s jaw twitched. “You could have been killed,” he said. “Or found out.”
“I changed back to human form before they got a good look,” I said. “Besides, I doubt any of them would have believed they’d really caught a mermaid if they had seen anything. They probably would have brushed it off as a trick of the light or something.” I waved a hand dismissively.
“This isn’t Swans Landing, Sailor,” Josh spat at me. “We have to be careful. We don’t know how the people here would react to finfolk.”
I pulled my arm from his grasp, snorting. “Right, because the people back home were so friendly.”
Not everyone in Swans Landing was finfolk. In fact, most of the people on the small, isolated island were human. The locals all knew our secret, but the only reason they didn’t reveal us to the rest of the world was because no one else would believe them. Still, relations between finfolk and humans were not pleasant—due to the fact that I had been born.
The humans in Swans Landing blamed the finfolk for the death of Josh’s and my father. They blamed my mother for seducing him and tempting him away from his human wife.
All my life, I’d lived with the knowledge that my very presence was the reason for the tension among the people of the island. Lake, Mara’s dad, insisted it was the declining fishing industry and the strained economy causing many of the problems, but I knew better. I had seen the way some of the people looked at me. I knew what they thought when they saw me.
It was good that I had left.
“Did you happen to find out where we are while you got a ride to shore?” Josh asked, interrupting my thoughts.
“I did,” I said smugly. “We’re in Stromness.” I stopped and turned to him, feeling my heartbeat quicken with excitement. “We made it to Orkney, Josh. We’re here. Now we just have to find the rest of the finfolk.”
“And how exactly do we do that?” he asked. “I don’t think they advertise their location.”
“The captain of the ship told me about an island to the north. It’s called Westray.”
I cringed at the light in Josh’s eyes and the quiver of his lips. I knew the name would make him think of Mara. I hated that she could have such a strong effect on him from thousands of miles away.
“That’s where we have to go,” Josh said, nodding to himself as if he had a sudden insight. A moment before, he’d had no direction, and now, because of some stupid girl back home that he barely knew, he had everything all figured out. “We’ll find what we’re looking for there.”
Chapter Four
I had spent a lifetime on ferries. Swans Landing was accessible by only two ways: private boat, or a three hour ferry ride that ran three times each day, beginning at 7 A.M. and ending at 7 P.M. each night.
When I was little, leaving the island with Grandma was an adventure. I’d always stand at the front of the boat and watch the water foam as the ferry sliced through the current. Seagulls hovered around, waiting for me to feed them a snack from the bag of chips I’d beg Grandma to buy from the galley.
Somewhere along the way, the ferry ride lost the magical quality it had once held. I stopped going to the mainland except for a handful of times over the last four years. My body rebelled at being too far inland anyway, leaving me feeling light-headed, nauseous, and craving salt water.
Yet, the ferry ride from Kirkwall to Rapness Pier in Westray had left me invigorated. The air was charged with something I had never felt before. Everything felt different, older and more alive.
When we arrived in the village of Pierowall, Josh pulled his cell phone out of his pocket again and glared at it. “Still no signal,” he said. He had insisted on bringing his cell phone with him during the trip, wrapping it up in three plastic sandwich bags inside the waterproof bag to make sure it didn’t get wet.
A few people milled through the village, men nodding to us as they passed and women giving a warm smile. Children eyed us curiously, obviously noting that we were outsiders. It was odd to be an outsider. I had spent so much of my life within the confines of Swans Landing, seeing the same people every day.
“I think we’re probably far outside your service area,” I said.
I led the way into a gray building marked “Hostel.” A desk was set in the front lobby of the hostel, covered with scattered papers and a phone. It looked busy, but there was no one in sight.
Josh peered up the stairs as if someone would magically appear because he wanted them to.
I tapped the little silver bell on the desk several times. The ding echoed through the room. I kept slapping it until the sound became so irritating that no one would be able to ignore it.
“Coming!” a female voice called from a room off to the left. A moment later, a young woman bustled through the door, holding a laundry basket propped on one hip. She deposited the basket on top of a stack of papers on the desk and then moved behind it to look at us.
“May I help you?” Her gaze flickered between us, before settling on me, as if she knew I’d been the one ringing the bell.
“We need a room,” I said.
“Do you have a reservation?” she asked.
I raised my eyebrows. “Do we look like we’d have a reservation?”
“I have a bunk room available,” she told us. “How long will you be staying?”
Josh and I exchanged a look. “Is it possible to stay on a night-to-night basis?” he asked.
She looked at us again for a long moment before answ
ering. “Checkout time is at noon each day. If you haven’t checked out by then, you’ll be charged for another night.”
We’d exchanged some of our money to pounds before we’d left Stromness, so Josh handed over enough cash to cover the first night. Our room turned out to be barely bigger than a closet and contained a set of twin-sized bunk beds.
“I get the top,” I said as soon as I spotted the beds.
Josh scowled. “Thanks for letting me have a chance to consider.”
I shrugged. “I’d be too afraid of you crashing down on me to ever sleep.”
Josh let out a grouchy huffing noise, then tossed his bag onto the lower bunk.
“I saw a general store across the street,” he said. “We should go buy some food before it closes.”
I wasn’t in the mood to go out again. I was hungry, but I was also desperate for some solitude. I’d been stuck with Josh attached to my side for two months. I needed a moment to breathe and think without hearing his voice.
“I’ll wait here.” I climbed into the upper bunk and stretched out. I hated to think of how many other people—greasy, sweaty people—had laid on this same bed. But it was a bed and it didn’t rock and it wasn’t wet. I probably would have laid on a mattress stuffed with hay and proclaimed it to be the best thing I’d ever felt right about then.
Josh crossed his arms. “We should be careful.”
“I am being careful,” I said. “I’m waiting here while you go to the store.”
But Josh didn’t make any movement to leave. I could see him debating whether to go or to keep fighting with me.
“I’ll be right here when you get back,” I told him. “The longer you wait, the longer it’s going to be before we can eat and the more irritable I’ll be when you finally get back.”
“Fine. But don’t go anywhere. Don’t touch anything. Don’t speak to anyone. Got it?”
I waved my hand again and closed my eyes. “Got it, big brother. Now go.”
I breathed a sigh of relief when he finally disappeared through the door. Usually I hated being alone. Being alone gave me too much time to think. But right then, I relished the solitude. It was nice to not have to talk to anyone or keep up appearances about what anyone else expected me to feel or say or do.
Submerging (Swans Landing) Page 2