Submerging (Swans Landing)
Page 7
Callum sighed. “More than you know.”
I remembered the way he’d looked in the rain, his pale skin wet and shining, his hair darkened by the water. I wondered again what he looked like in his finfolk form.
He turned to me, looking into my eyes. There was something there, something I couldn’t figure out. I opened my mouth, licking my dry lips.
“What happened to your leg?”
Callum’s body visibly stiffened. He turned toward the musicians and didn’t answer me.
I could take a hint, especially one as big as what he sent me way. “Then tell me why you’re banished from Hether Blether,” I said.
Callum shook his head. “It’s a long story.”
“I have time.” Thin wisps of clouds hung in the purple sky. Song night was approaching quickly. Already, I could feel the pull of the water calling out to me. “Since you’re not helping me get where I need to be.”
“It is not a nice story,” he said. “It will make you think badly of finfolk, maybe even of me as well.”
I suppressed a shiver as the wind blew over me, lifting the ends of my hair. “Why? Did you kill someone?”
I had meant it as a joke, expecting him to laugh and roll his eyes. But his face only tightened even further into a grimace.
“Why do you want to find the finfolk so badly?” he asked.
I turned away from him, letting out a sigh. “We told you,” I said. “We need to find someone.”
“Is this someone really that important?” he asked.
My eyes stung suddenly with tears and I let the wind whip them away before they could trickle down my cheeks. “Yes, she is.”
“There is a good chance she never made it to Hether Blether.”
I gritted my teeth until my jaw ached. “But there’s also a chance that she did. I have to believe that until I find out otherwise.”
“What if she’s not? What if you came all this way and you somehow get to Hether Blether, and then this person you’re looking for is not there?”
It was the exact question I didn’t like to think about. I had to trust that my mother had come this way. Maybe she had even once sat in the same spot where I now sat, looking out at the bay and trying to find the way home. I could see her clearly in my head, the young woman that appeared whenever I sang. She had to still exist somewhere, waiting for me to find her.
There wasn’t a possibility that she wouldn’t be there at the end of this journey. It was the only thing that kept me going.
“If she’s not there,” I said in a choked voice, “then I’ll keep searching. For as long as it takes, wherever I have to go. I’m not going home until I find her, so save your breath. You won’t convince me not to keep looking.” I shuffled my feet along the grass and rocks. “Haven’t you ever had someone that was so important to you, you’d do anything for them?”
Callum turned his face away from me. “Who is she?” he asked, his voice so low I almost couldn’t hear him over the sound of the music.
I didn’t want to trust him. He hadn’t given me any reason to let him have this secret. Except he was finfolk, probably the only pure finfolk I’d ever met, and he hadn’t told anyone else about Josh and me.
“She’s my mother,” I said at last. “She left when I was a few months old, after my daddy died.”
Callum shifted closer, his arm brushing mine. “How did your father die?”
Josh played on, oblivious to our conversation. I studied his features, looking again for a face there that I had never seen.
“He drowned.”
I could feel Callum’s surprise even though I didn’t look at him. “Finfolk can’t drown,” he said.
“My daddy wasn’t finfolk. Not fully. His grandma had been finfolk, so he had some of the heritage, but he couldn’t change form. He was unlucky enough to fall in love with my mama and he died trying to be with her.”
“So you’re a half-breed,” he said.
My lip curled at the words, the insult some people back in Swans Landing liked to spit at me.
“Don’t call me that,” I growled through clenched teeth.
“I’m sorry,” Callum said. “But you’re not fully finfolk. In Hether Blether, that fact matters. If you make it there, you can’t let anyone know you’re part human. Don’t tell them Josh’s last name, don’t mention your father drowning.”
His expression was grim. His mouth was set in a tight, straight line and his eyes had turned a darker green.
“Why?” I asked.
“How many stories about finfolk have you heard where you come from?” he asked. “Do you know what they used to do to humans?”
I shrugged. “I read in a book once that finfolk supposedly abducted humans and married them.”
Callum grimaced. “The myths get warped over the years. Yes, finfolk abducted humans. But trust me, Hether Blether is not the place to be human. Be as finfolk as you possibly can. Your last name will help. Mooring is a true finfolk name, and it will offer some protection.”
In the traditional sense, Mooring should never have been my name. If my parents had been married or if my mama had followed human traditions, I should have been named Sailor Canavan, like Josh. Maybe because of the circumstances of my birth, my mama had chosen to give me her name instead. But the name Mooring came from Grandma Gale. My granddaddy was human, but he and Grandma had never married, and so she gave my mama her own name.
Twice, I should have had a human name, and yet the name I had was the one thing my family had blessed me with. Maybe the one thing that would help me in Hether Blether, if Callum was right.
But I still had no way of even getting there.
“Why would I need protection,” I began slowly, “if you won’t help me?”
My mouth went dry as I waited for his response. He was the only hope I had, the only chance of possibly finding my mother.
“I’ll help you,” he said at last. “I’ll take you as far as I can.”
I wondered if this was all a joke, if he was toying with me for fun. How much did I really know about this guy? How much could I trust him?
“I thought you didn’t have the key,” I said.
His mouth twitched. “I don’t. But I know where it is.”
Chapter Eleven
My shoes crunched on rocks as I came to a sudden stop at the end of the path.
“I’ve already been here,” I said. The building looked as tiny and forgettable as it had two days ago when I’d visited. Annoyance flashed through me. This was a waste of time, I’d already decided that on my first visit, and I wasn’t eager to see it again.
“Follow me,” Callum said. He had arrived at the hostel early that morning as the sun broke through the misty fog that hung over the village. I hadn’t told Josh where we were going, in case Callum didn’t really have the key. I didn’t want to get anyone else’s hopes up.
It took a moment for my eyes to adjust to the darkness inside the museum. The woman from my earlier visit fussed over Callum, squeezing him in a tight hug as if she hadn’t seen him in years.
“Moira,” Callum said as she released him, “this is my friend, Sailor.”
I didn’t have time to consider Callum calling me his friend because the woman turned toward me and her mouth broke into a wide, crooked grin, her eyes flashing in the bit of sunlight that streamed through the open door behind me.
“I knew you’d be back,” she said, pointing a finger at me. “You have questions, I can see it in your eyes. I knew you wouldn’t be able to stay away.”
I ignored Moira’s comments and crossed my arms, scowling back at Callum. “So where is it?” I asked.
“Moira,” he said, turning to her again, “I need to take back the key I gave you.”
Her smile vanished suddenly. “That is one of the best pieces I have in the collection,” she protested.
“I have something I can trade for it.” He held up a bag in one hand, which he had been carrying but wouldn’t tell me what was in it.
“They came from Hether Blether,” Callum told her. “The starfish adorned the king’s palace. The shells are from a finfolk child’s game, and the spear point is from a finfolk guard’s weapon.”
Moira poured over the items with interest, captivated by the sight of them. To me, they looked like ordinary objects that Callum could have picked up anywhere. He’d probably found them while walking along the bay of Pierowall. There was absolutely no reason to believe any of these things had actually touched finfolk hands, other than his own.
But Moira seemed satisfied. She nodded and she straightened up. “Aye okay, I’ll take the trade,” she said. “But only because it’s for you. I wouldn’t give it up for anyone else.”
The little woman led us across the room to the corner where the finfolk display was kept. She carefully lifted the glass box from over the table. I stepped forward, trying to figure out which item was this mysterious key Callum wanted so badly.
Moira’s fingers wrapped around the twisted piece of metal that held the drawings in place. She held it in her palm as if it were fragile and offered it to Callum.
“Thank you,” Callum told her softly as he took the metal from her.
Moira gazed wistfully at his closed fist. “If you decide you have no use for it, you will consider bringing it back to me?” she asked, a hopeful note in her voice. “I couldn’t bear the thought of it ending up somewhere else, in a place where it wouldn’t be revered.”
Callum squeezed her hand. “I promise, you’ll be the first to have it should I no longer need it.”
Moira gave a sad smile, but she nodded. Callum said good-bye to her and then we left the little museum, emerging back into the hazy morning.
“That’s the key?” I asked, when we were alone.
Callum opened his hand and showed me the piece of metal. It was old and thin, only a narrow, rusty piece of iron. There were no special markings on it. It didn’t even look like any key I’d ever seen.
“This was forged in Finfolkaheem,” Callum told me. “That was the capitol of the finfolk homeland, a city far below the ocean’s surface. It is lost to us now, as are many of the vanishing islands. This key will help guide us to any of the islands we wish to find, though Hether Blether is the only one I know of still in existence.”
“How exactly does it work?” I asked.
“We only need to have it with us when we go into the water. The key can feel the pull of the islands and will lead us to the closest one.”
I wasn’t sure I believed any of this, but at the moment I didn’t have another option. “So let’s go,” I said. “We can get Josh and then search for this island.”
Callum shook his head. “It doesn’t work that easily.”
I tilted my head back and sighed. “Of course not. What now? Some ancient riddle or curse we have to break? Do we need to sacrifice a crab?”
“You watch too much telly,” he said. “No, I only meant we can’t go because it’s not the right time. There is a reason they’re called vanishing islands. They only appear during certain times of the month. We have to wait until Monday.”
“Why?” I asked.
He smirked. “Do you not know? Can’t you feel it?”
Of course. The new moon was two days away. I could feel it inside me, that pull toward the water that was already beginning. On the first night of every new moon, the finfolk back home would go to the water, gathering in the darkness to sing. It was an urge none of us could resist, even during the height of the summer tourist season, when it became dangerous to risk being seen.
“Song Night,” I said. “The song calls us home.”
“We have to wait until then to try it,” Callum said. “And we’ll need a boat.”
“We’re finfolk,” I said. “Can’t we swim there?”
“You’re finfolk,” Callum corrected me, his voice hardening. “But I told you, I gave up my heritage. I need a boat. I’ll take you as far as I can, then you’re on your own.”
Chapter Twelve
As Monday night descended on Pierowall, the sky stayed black, unlit by the new moon. Callum met us at the beach along the bay. We had our bags strapped to our backs, all of the few belongings we had packed inside. If all went according to plan, Josh and I would not be returning to Pierowall with Callum that night.
The village of Pierowall sat along a semi-circle bay, which opened out into the cold Atlantic. It was late enough that most of the homes behind us were dark. The lack of a moon in the sky made the night even darker.
A small motorboat sat on the shore, one end bobbing in the gentle waves that washed onto the beach.
“Are you sure we can all fit in that?” I asked, eying the boat. Josh wasn’t exactly a small guy, and though Callum was thin, he was tall. I wasn’t sure that even I could fit into the boat comfortably.
“We’ll fit,” Callum assured me. “Unless you’ve changed your mind about going to Hether Blether.”
I set my jaw and then climbed into the boat, claiming the seat at the front of the bow.
“You’ll need to push us off,” Callum told Josh. “I can’t because...” He gestured toward his prosthetic leg.
Josh nodded and Callum climbed into the boat, settling down in the middle seat. He moved expertly, as if he had done this many times before.
“Where’d you get the boat?” I asked.
“Think I stole it?” Callum challenged.
“I wouldn’t put it past you.” I wasn’t sure how much I should trust him. The way he’d peddled “finfolk artifacts” at the Fae Museum in exchange for the key unnerved me, if in fact they were real. The spearhead from a finfolk guard’s weapon sounded like something a person didn’t find lying around somewhere. It left me with a sickened feeling in my stomach, and I couldn’t help imagining all the ways Callum might have come into possession of things he could barter so easily and without any hesitation.
The other option was that none of the things he had bartered were actually what he claimed they were. And that would mean he had taken advantage of a woman who didn’t seem to be all there in her mind.
“I borrowed the boat,” Callum told me.
“Borrowed is a vague term.” I clutched the sides of the boat as it rocked when Josh pushed it into the water. “Does the person know you borrowed it?”
“Aye,” Callum answered, his tone dry. “I’m not a thief.”
I nodded to the twisted metal tucked into his belt. “Then tell me how you got that key.”
Callum grinned and winked, but he didn’t answer my question.
Josh leaped into the boat, splashing cold water around us. He had to be quick to avoid changing form. Finfolk could delay the change for a few minutes when needed, but eventually it would come if they remained immersed in salt water.
The engine rumbled to life, sputtering and coughing, and then Callum steered the boat into a turn away from the village. My teeth chattered as the cold breeze hit us full force once we were out on the water. New moon was the best time for this journey. It was so dark there were no other boats out for late night fishing, and if anyone looked out the windows of the homes near the shore, they wouldn’t be able to make out the little rowboat on the surface of the black water.
We left the bay and ventured into the water between Westray and Papa Westray. Then we turned east into the black night.
The water became rougher the farther we went from land. Our little boat bobbed and pitched on top of the waves, sea spray bursting around us in white foam. If we had been human, the adventure in the little boat might have been dangerous. We could have tipped at any moment among the bouncing waves. But being finfolk allowed us the luxury of not having to worry about drowning out in the cold Atlantic.
I perched on the front of the boat, leaning as far over the edge as I could without losing my b
alance. My eyes scanned the dark night around us, but I couldn’t see anything except blackness in every direction. There were no signs of an island anywhere.
“So how do you know we’re going in the right direction?” I yelled to Callum over the motor.
He cut the engine, letting the boat drift on the water. He held the twisted metal clasped tightly between his hands. His eyes were closed, his face contorted in a pained expression.
After a moment, he opened his eyes. “We’re going in the right direction,” he said. “The key will lead us.”
I looked beyond him to Josh, trying to pass a silent message to him. I couldn’t feel anything that told me we were going the right way. I had expected something. This was Song Night. The whole purpose of the song was to call us home, so I thought I should hear or feel something.
Josh didn’t look worried as he studied the darkness around us. He seemed to trust Callum to lead the way, as if there was no reason not to.
Callum started the engine again and we sped farther away from Westray and into the black night. The boat pitched again and I grasped the edge tight. I leaned over the side, peering down into the water. It was too dark to even see my reflection. Water sprayed up into my face, leaving a salty taste on my lips. It had been too long since I’d been in the water. After the two month swim, I didn’t think I’d care to be immersed again, but now I felt the craving building inside me. My body urged me to dive deep. It was Song Night. It was what I was supposed to do, what I had always done my entire life.
I reached a hand down, plunging my fingers into the icy liquid. The ocean’s vibrations flowed up my arm, making the hair along my skin stand on end. Dizziness and nausea washed over me. It wasn’t right to fight against my natural urge, not on this night. This night was meant for the water.
Golden sparks flashed at the corners of my vision before I heard it. A soft song flowed up from the water around me. The song of the Atlantic, the one that had been ingrained into me from birth.
I shouldn’t have been able to hear it. The motor still sputtered and roared behind me, yet the song was clear in my ears over the noise.