Kingdom of the Sea

by Isobel Robertson

  “They’re just stories,” he said abruptly. “Ye’re a fool if ye believe in any of them.”

  Gunnar’s comments sounded too much like accusations, and that needled at him. He wasn’t to blame for what had happened to Lisbetta.

  Gunnar didn’t speak to him for the rest of the journey, ignoring all his attempts to restart the conversation. They had still not exchanged a single word when a rocky shoreline appeared in front of them, bones of sunken ships littering the craggy seabed, and Gunnar hauled himself up onto a pebble beach, disappearing from view. Cormac followed him, scrambling on the rocks to catch another glimpse of the magician. He stood still for a second, dripping wet, suddenly feeling very alone and small in this vast, wind-whipped landscape, where faded grass and harsh rocks met the steel-grey sea.

  He trudged across the beach after Gunnar, slipping on the damp stones that shifted and slid beneath him. His feet were bare, and for the first time he missed his boots.

  The two of them left the beach, clambering up a small rocky crag that led them further along the coastline, until at last they stood on a patch of rough grass at the top of a cliff. Cormac looked around and frowned. What about this windswept, barren site was so important that they had travelled all day to reach it? A few stones lay scattered about in odd shapes - the remains of long-ruined houses, perhaps?

  “This place was once my home,” Gunnar said, speaking out loud for the first time. His voice was rough and faded from disuse, and his accent strange, but Cormac understood him well enough.

  “I lived here before I left for the sea,” Gunnar continued. “But it looked very different then.”

  Cormac looked around with more attention, dark suspicion beginning to grow. He did not know what this place was, or what its history might be, but he guessed that it was old, older by far than his hometown in Scotland. What secrets was Gunnar hiding? How old was he truly?

  “What happened to this place?” Cormac asked, but Gunnar did not answer, simply turning away to stare out at the sea. He paused on the cliff edge for a moment, then he leaped, crashing into the water below. Cormac stood frozen for a moment, not sure if he should follow.

  But Gunnar had brought him here for a reason. They had not swum for hours just for a moment of pointless conversation. Cormac wandered around, occasionally poking at a stone, trying to imagine what this place might once have looked like. One house still had the stone edge of a hearth marked out, and he thought of his own fireside at home. Perhaps this too had once been a comfortable, much-loved home. He picked up a small stone spearhead from another house, rolling it around in his hand, testing the still-sharp edges. He did not understand this place.

  Suddenly, he realised that he had been walking comfortably on land for some time now. Nothing tugged him back towards the sea, nothing pulled him in the direction of the palace. Unlike the first day, on the beach, there was no terrible pain, and no strange, rogue current to pull him under. Had he broken that part of the curse on himself as well? Was he free again?

  Could he go home?

  He turned his gaze south-west, hoping he stared towards Scotland, and he let the excitement build inside him, even as he fought down the guilt.

  He could go home.

  By the time Cormac pulled himself up onto the beach near his hometown, it was dawn. Dripping wet, he sat on the sand, wondering if it was excitement or fear that sent his pulse racing at such a speed. What might have happened while he had been away? He had to find out if his children were safe and well.

  He half-ran through the town, ignoring the strange looks he got from friends and neighbours. No doubt there had been gossip. His wet feet skidded on the cobbles, but he didn’t slow down. Almost slamming into his door, he tried to wrench it open, but realised it was locked. He knocked hard, impatient to see his children.

  The door swung open after what felt like an agonisingly long time, and Moira gaped out at him. They both stood frozen for a second, and then Moira swung into motion, her hand flying out to slap Cormac across the face.

  “Where have you been?” she shouted at him. “Disappearing like that - I’ve been a mess, trying to look for you! And where’s Lisbetta? What’s been going on? I’ve been feeling magic flying from her so often that it’s made me sick with worry. And then you! Not a word, nothing, for weeks. You’ve not even tried to tell me what’s going on!”

  Cormac waited until she paused to suck in a deep breath, and put out a hand to stop her.

  “I havenae been able to come and explain. Moira, there’s some sort of selkie curse that gripped Lisbetta, and affected me through her. It’s only now, since we broke the first layer of magic, that I’m able to return to land at all. Lisbetta is still trapped in her seal shape, and she cannae shed her skin.”

  Now it was his turn to pause for breath.

  “So that’s why I havenae been home. Now, may I come in and see my children?”

  Moira frowned at him. How much did she believe? How much had she already guessed?

  “They’re still asleep,” she told him. “But you can come in and have some breakfast. They’ll be awake soon enough, and no doubt eager to see you.”

  She ushered him into the parlour, then bustled off to the kitchen. Cormac sat, feeling oddly uncomfortable in his own house. How different it was from the towering white walls and mosaic-lined corridors of the palace.

  Moira was clearly living here again, presumably to care for the children, and she seemed to have settled in well. This had been her home as a child, and she had lived here until Cormac married Lisbetta. She’d finally decided to leave - not, as Cormac had hoped, to a husband and children of her own, but to the small apartment attached to their shipping business. It was unconventional, to say the least, but Moira liked to be different, and living alone seemed to suit her. She had always spent a lot of time at Cormac’s house, though, helping Lisbetta with the cooking and cleaning, and occasionally taking care of the children.

  Cormac had never expected to be so grateful that his sister still lived nearby. Who could have imagined anything would have taken him away from his children?

  Too restless to stay seated, Cormac paced the parlour, barely managing three steps at a time in the tight space. What was taking Moira so long?

  A familiar voice drifted down the hallway from the kitchen, and he froze. Red!

  The door flew open and his friend barged through, the red hair he was named for flying out in a braided sailor’s queue behind his head.

  “Where have ye been?” Red demanded. “What’s all this nonsense Moira’s telling me about Lisbetta?”

  Cormac explained as briefly as he could. Red knew all about Lisbetta and Moira’s magic, although he didn’t always believe it, and he certainly didn’t like it.

  Red shook his head heavily.

  “This is too much for a simple man like me. There should be no such thing as underwater kingdoms and fancy seal-folk.”

  “Well, there are,” Cormac said, silently agreeing with his friend. “And I must return there. I still have tae find a way tae free Lisbetta.”

  Red sighed. “I dinnae like tae say this tae ye, Cormac, but ye need tae stop being such a fool! Ye’re no magician, and this is no’ yer fight. Her selkie people will find a way tae free her, if such a thing is possible.”

  “And if they don’t?”

  Red shrugged. “Then ye have no choice but tae let her go and move on with yer life. Ye wouldnae be the first man to lose a wife, ye ken. Consider yerself lucky that she’s still alive, whatever shape she wears.”

  “How can ye say that?” Cormac asked, horrified by the idea - and guilty that he might once have thought the same. Whatever her strangeness, Lisbetta was still his wife. His to protect and care for.

  “I will find a way to free her,” he told Red, although all his old thoughts came spiralling to the surface. He was no magician, and certainly no selkie. What help could he offer Lisbetta?

  The sudden sound of running feet on the stairs put a stop to their argument
.

  Cormac’s three children came barrelling through the parlour door, all screaming greetings at once. Cormac wrapped them in the tightest hug he could, fighting the prickle of tears and the catch in his throat as tiny arms clung to him.

  “Yer mama’s unwell,” he told them when they all asked. “I’ve been helping her tae get better. Yes, she will be better soon.”

  “Will you stay with us, papa?” little Joseph asked, his blue eyes bright with tears. Cormac sighed and reluctantly shook his head.

  “I’m just visiting, little man. I must go back to help yer mother, so she can get strong and well, and come to see ye again.”

  The children all burst into tears at that. Cormac hugged them all again, staring down at two tearful sets of blue eyes, and one pair of eyes so dark it made his heart ache. Rona was so much like her mother.

  “I have tae leave again,” he said, turning to Moira. “I thought that maybe I could come home, but I cannae leave Lisbetta.”

  Moira wrapped him tight in her arms.

  “I love you, brother,” she said, kissing him on the forehead. “I’ll be waiting her for your return. Remember that you can reach me, if you need to.”

  Cormac frowned at her. She smiled enigmatically.

  “You already ken the feeling of it. You have a connection with Lisbetta, do you not? Feel for that with me, and we’ll never truly be apart.”

  Cormac didn’t quite understand what she meant, but he nodded all the same.

  “I love you too, sister.”

  And then he left, stepping back out into the street, the scent of the sea in his nostrils, and a new sense of resolution in his heart. He would help Lisbetta to be free, and he would bring her home. Whatever it took, he would protect his family. All of them.

  By the time the palace gates rose up ahead of Cormac, shimmering in the faint blue light, he felt like he was on the edge of some powerful revelation. The truth hovered just out of his reach, teasing at the corners of his mind as his thoughts spun round and round. He already knew. But knew what?

  At last, he had discovered some sort of faith, some trust that he could fix this.

  He would discover exactly what had trapped Lisbetta, and he would bring her home.

  The palace walls drew closer, the crumbling turrets and golden roofs almost familiar now. Cormac headed for the main gate. Why make things inconvenient for himself? He had nothing to hide - not unless Gunnar had told everyone that he’d left.

  “Cormac King, you are summoned to her majesty’s presence.”

  The guard swam out in front of him as Cormac entered the dark tunnel of the gate.

  “What’s happened?” Cormac asked, his stomach suddenly fluttering. “Has something happened to Lisbetta?”

  “You have been summoned,” the guard said, his face blank. “Follow me.”

  Cormac tagged along behind, his heart pounding as they swam through the endless corridors of the palace. Selkies watched him pass, clustering against the walls to make way. He could hear their whispered thoughts flicking from one richly-jewelled selkie to the next, the magic practically reflecting off the silver weapons and gleaming hair. Beautiful, all of them, but cold. There was no warmth in any of those dark eyes.

  They returned to the great throne room where Cormac had first met Anja. It was decorated in red this time, thick tapestries covering the walls and blazes of red cloth hanging from the high, vaulted ceiling. Cormac’s skin prickled, a shiver running through him. The water felt colder here.

  The guards pushed him to his knees, and he did not resist. At least the thrust of the water lessened the impact.

  Anja stared down at him from her throne, her face impassive.

  “Where have you been, Cormac?”

  All this, just to ask a question that she had no business asking? Cormac’s time was his own. Still, he did not want to make trouble with his sister-in-law when it was not necessary.

  “I went to visit my children,” he told her, making the thought as open and honest as possible. “As I am more than entitled to do.”

  “You did not have my permission.”

  “With all due respect, yer majesty,” Cormac said carefully. “I dinnae need yer permission. I am not yer subject.”

  “You are here because I permit you to stay! You are alive because I permit you to live! Do not defy me again!”

  She swam towards him, leaning so close that her heavy pearl necklace almost brushed his forehead. She stank of fish, and heavy perfume, and a faint trace of fear.

  “You will not leave this palace without my permission again. Do you understand?”

  “Your majesty.”

  Cormac stared straight ahead, refusing to make eye contact. She hissed in frustration, a noise that he heard with his ears, and brushed past him. Her swirling robe hit against him and her sword clipped the side of his head, but he did not move until he heard the throne room door slam behind him.

  Guards came to either side of him almost immediately, each gripping one arm.

  “I won’t fight you,” he said, but neither responded. How many selkies even considered him their equal? They seemed to treat him as little more than a vaguely intelligent animal.

  The guards threw him into his room, not as gently as they might have done, and locked the door in his face. He thought about trying to force it open, but he knew it would be pointless. Instead, he sank down on the luxurious bed and wondered what he might have missed.

  How might Erlend have got to Lisbetta, when he should be weak and powerless since his punishment by Anja? What might Lisbetta not have told him? For a moment, Cormac wondered if Lisbetta, unhappy in her marriage, had been meeting her long-ago fiancee, but he quickly crushed the idea. He and Lisbetta certainly had their problems, but she would never betray him like that. He trusted that she had never heard from Erlend again.

  He sat and pondered for a while longer, thinking back through everything he had learnt from Gunnar. Selkie magic was complex, yes, but it also followed rules. There were patterns and precedents for everything. He just had to find the right one. No magic could be created from nothingness.

  His thoughts went round in circles, so thick and confused that he half-imagined he could see them trailing spirals in the water around him. This was doing him no good. He had to get out. Stretching his hands and shaking his neck out, he prepared.

  Don’t notice me, he willed, sending the thought out to the guards beyond his door, but trying to keep it silent. Don’t see me. Don’t see me leave. He filled the thought with all his willpower, one hand in his pocket, clutching the ancient flint spearhead he had found at Gunnar’s home. Then he gently tested the door. Locked.

  Open, he told it, stroking the lock gently. Open silently. Open smoothly.

  With an almost inaudible click, the lock mechanism shifted. Had it worked? He eased the door open, once again repeating Don’t notice me.

  He slipped into the corridor, coming face to face with two guards who stood opposite the door. He was only feet away, staring straight into their dark eyes beneath silver helmets. Neither guard blinked. Hardly believing the evidence of his own eyes, Cormac began to swim past them, along the corridor and around the corner. No shout followed him, no magic knocked him to the ground. How could this be possible? How could magic be so easy?

  Drifting through the palace, he trailed his fingers over the uneven tiles of the walls, wondering how old they were. Something about this beautiful building unsettled him, filtering into his bloodstream and tilting him off balance. He pulled his fingers away from the walls and shoved his hands into his pockets, shivering a little.

  Tearing his attention away from the wall, he realised that he had swum all the way to the edge of the small, almost-abandoned courtyard where he had first found Lisbetta. What was it about this place that seemed to draw his attention? He was about to swim forward when he realised that he was not alone. Anja and Lisbetta hovered in the centre of the courtyard. Anja seemed to be talking to Lisbetta, leaning down to look into
the seal’s eyes. What was she saying?

  Cormac leaned a little way out of the doorway, hoping to get a closer look at Anja’s expression.

  Then he noticed, truly noticed, as if he had never seen her before. He saw her pearl necklace, the seven teardrop-shaped pearls that never left her throat.

  The story of the selkie-wife who shed seven tears and fled back to the sea.

  Suddenly, Cormac knew, with a certainty that he could not explain. He could almost see the web of magic that criss-crossed the courtyard, tying Lisbetta to Anja, and him to Lisbetta.