by Cari Z
“Keep it up, lads, you’ve about an hour of this to look forward to,” Megg informed them. Nichol groaned good-naturedly but Colm just sighed, feeling a strange sense of peace as the water surrounded them. The salt air and the gentle breeze combined to make him feel a bit like he was in a dream, and Colm shut his eyes and just rowed for a while, trusting in Megg to keep them from crashing into the cliffs as he basked in the sense of peace he felt.
“Selkie blood for sure,” Megg said with a chuckle. “The sea is in your bones, Colm Weathercliff.” In that moment, Colm felt like he could believe her.
They rowed steadily, coasting over low waves that sent them bobbing up and down. Megg sat and steered and cradled the supplies in her free arm, and it wasn’t too long before she guided them in toward the cliffs. “Ye’ll have to duck your head down in a moment, love,” she told Colm. “We’ve got to get under a little ledge here.” Colm ducked down, and a moment later, they passed through.
“See?” Nichol said quietly as they kept rowing. “It’s not all fun and games being a giant, is it?” He smiled, but it was a soft thing, not the perpetual grin he seemed to carry with him everywhere. The light was softer in here too, somehow hazy, and the water was much clearer, not churned as it was by the waves and the wind beyond the rocks. Farther back in the cove—although it seemed to be as much a cave as a cove, almost—was a tiny gravel beach. Before long, they’d rowed up to it, and Nichol leapt out and pulled the boat ashore. Colm joined him and helped Megg out, Sari nestled in her arms, then looked around.
The light filtered in through a narrow crack at the top of the cliff, no more than two or three feet wide. It spread out from the surface to create roughly a bowl shape, with the beach along the back of it. Blue moss glistened on the craggy granite surface, long tendrils of it dripping moisture down to the water below like slow-moving tears. Tufts of dark green algae emerged from the surface of the sea every now and then, and the pebbles of the beach crunched gently under Colm’s feet.
“How did you even find this place?” he asked, the stillness of it affecting him as much as it seemed to Nichol, and keeping his voice down.
“It used to belong to the selkies,” Megg said as she took the lamp and set it against the back wall of the beach. “My husband’s father lived in a village close to these cliffs, and he heard the selkies playing below and watched them transform on this very beach. It took him months to work up his nerve, but one night he climbed down from the cliff top and stole one of the selkies’ pelts. He climbed back out again, and the next day a beautiful young woman came to his village and declared herself his wife. They had three children together before she found her pelt again, and my Rory was the last of them. She left them when he was only three, but he saw her many times in his youth, though she and her family have long since abandoned this place now.” Megg smiled a little sadly. “I think she came to meet him, when Rory made his own return to the sea.” She shook her head, then brightened. “Now, my loves, let’s get things ready. The sun will be down before we know it.”
Megg used the lamp to light both of the smudge sticks before blowing it out to preserve what was left of the oil. She handed one stick to each of them. “Use them to cleanse the air,” she instructed them. “Just use the basic symbol.”
The basic symbol for the Four, the gods worshipped by the whole of the Muiri Empire, was an elongated X, with brief pauses at each of the endpoints. The gods, each associated with a cardinal direction, were the guardians of the elements, and through them the masters of the entire world. That, at least, was what the priests taught. Colm had always been interested in the other Two, those who guarded the places that were made of no element at all except space, above and below, but worshipping their power was forbidden. The worst mages, those who had caused the most egregious casualties during the war, hadn’t been the mages who worshipped fire or water, air or earth. It had been the ones who had worshipped the deepness of the abyss, or the lofty darkness of the night, who had been able to kill scores of men with no warning, nothing but a sweeping wave of shadow.
Now definitely wasn’t the time to be thinking of such things. Colm made the simple X through the air, watching the smoke dissipate almost as fast as it appeared. The smell of cedar oil almost overwhelmed the other ingredients, drifting hints of sage and lavender and sailor’s tobacco. It smelled different from what the priest had used back in Anneslea, which Colm supposed was part of the point. This seaside scent was more suited to his father’s spirit.
“Well done, lads, bring them back now,” Megg said after a bit, and they returned the sticks to her. Megg set them on the edges of the sugarglass bowl, then poured Ger’s ashes into it. On top of them, she set the votive, which she lit after blowing the edge of a smudge stick to a glowing point. The smell of lavender joined the rest of the miasma, familiar and soothing. Sari extended her nose toward it, bowing her head low in a movement strangely like a benediction, before she backed away from the water’s edge.
“May the Four look with favor on the spirit of our departed kin, Ger Weathercliff,” Megg intoned, but there was still love in her voice, not impersonal like with the priests. “May they welcome him back to their fold, may they give him the comfort that he has earned after his time toiling in this world. May his spirit find the peace of the water, the strength of the earth, the gentleness of the air and the warmth of the fire. Bless him, and take him back into your loving embrace until such time as his soul is ready to return again.”
Megg leaned forward and set the sugarglass bowl down in the shallows, and the four of them watched it float there, unmoving, for a long moment. After a while, Colm thought that perhaps it had been a mistake, perhaps this wasn’t what his father’s spirit would have wanted for its remains, but no sooner had he had the thought than the bowl began to move, drifting outward as though the tide was going out instead of coming in. Colm watched it go and unexpectedly felt his breath catch in his throat. The little light of the votive intersected with the light of the setting sun, floating beneath the rocks of the cove before it headed out into the ocean.
“There he goes, there’s a lad,” Megg said gently. “Go on, Ger Weathercliff, go on to your next life. All’s well done here. We’ll look after your boy.” She wrapped a comforting arm around Colm’s waist. After a moment, Nichol’s arm crept over his shoulders, and for the first time since the night before he left Anneslea, Colm was able to let his tears fall, not worrying that someone might judge him for it.
The light of the votive rose and fell with little eddies, and just before it passed beyond the edge of the cove, it suddenly went out. “There he goes,” Megg sighed. “Home again, and glad of it I’m sure.” She leaned up and kissed Colm’s cheek. “You did well to bring him here, my love. Don’t be sad for him. He’s where he needs to be now.”
“I know,” Colm whispered, and then on impulse kissed Megg’s forehead. He could barely see her smile in the fast-encroaching dark, but it was there.
“I’ll relight the lantern,” Nichol said, pulling his flint and steel from his pocket.
“Thank you, love,” Megg said distractedly, sitting up straighter and then grimacing. “Oh, these old knees of mine… Colm, be a dear and help me to stand, won’t you?” Colm got up and brushed the gravel from his knees, then offered his arm to Megg. She pushed up from the ground and was almost vertical again when she suddenly froze. “Oh.”
“What is it?” Colm asked, worried by the sudden tension that had frozen Megg in place.
“Oh, my darling,” she said, not paying Colm any notice now. “My darling, you’re here.” At her feet, Sari meowed loudly, her two tails twisting against each other until they were practically knotted together.
“Who’s here?” Colm asked. Was Megg having some sort of episode? “Do you need to sit back down?”
“No,” Nichol said quickly, his voice excited. “No, it’s my grandad! It’s him, look!” Colm looked where Nichol was poi
nting and, after a moment, saw a pair of glowing eyes in the water. The rest of the creature was too dark to make out.
“Are you sure?”
“I would always know him,” Megg said, throaty with emotion. “And Sari knows him. Rory, come here! Don’t be shy now, darling, come here to me.” The eyes grew larger, and a moment later, the sleek dark body of a seal crawled up onto the little beach, its whiskers wiggling with excitement. Megg reached out, and the seal let her touch its head, turning to nuzzle against her palm.
“My love, it’s been too long,” Megg said, and laughed. “Ahh! Be careful, those tickle! You are still a rascal, aren’t you?”
“Hi, Grandad,” Nichol said, bending over next to Megg. The seal let him caress his head as well. “It’s good to see you again.”
“Darling, this is Desandre’s eldest,” Megg added, motioning toward Colm. “His father came from these parts. Tell me, do you think he might have some selkie blood in him?” She looked up at Colm and winked.
The seal barked, and Colm obligingly held out his hand. The seal came closer, sniffed him once, twice—
It suddenly hurtled itself back into the water, barking like mad. Colm slapped his hands over his ears against the noisy echo, and even Megg looked taken aback. “Rory!” she scolded, but the seal didn’t stop barking. “Oh, by the Four,” Megg snapped, her happy reunion spoiled. “Whatever it is, you’re making a cyclone out of a wee squall! Honestly.” She turned to her grandson. “Why isn’t the lantern lit yet?”
“I got distracted,” he defended himself.
“Well, get it done now! Colm, love,” she took one of Colm’s limp hands. “Don’t pay that old fool any heed. I don’t know what’s gotten into him, but it’s likely nothing to do with you.”
“It doesn’t seem that way,” Colm said. His mind was working overtime on what it could be about him that Rory Searunner had found so distasteful.
“It could be as simple as you being in a place he considers ‘sacred’,” she said disgustedly, having to raise her voice to be heard over the barking. “Avast, ye old fool, give it a rest, for the love of the Four!” Megg shouted at him. Surprisingly, the seal quieted immediately. “That’s better,” Megg muttered, and a moment later, she actually smiled when Nichol got the lamp relit. “There we are! Now we can go home.”
The ride back to Caithmor wasn’t nearly as nice as the ride out had been. The boat was filled with a strained silence, and even with Colm’s poor night vision, he could see the seal following beside them, keeping its glowing eyes unceasingly on him. They returned the boat, oars and all, and made their way back to the inn, where Colm begged off eating any supper—“Really, what I had this afternoon was plenty, thank you”—and retreated to his place on the floor of Nichol’s room. He clutched at the folded bag that had held the ashes and stared up at the skylight and the velvety darkness of the night, and wondered what he would do now. Perhaps he didn’t belong here after all. Colm had done what he’d come to do. Perhaps he should leave before his presence became burdensome for Megg, who now had reason to doubt him. He couldn’t go back to Anneslea, no, but there were other options, other places.
Colm was so involved in his own thoughts that he didn’t even notice Nichol come up the stairs until he sat down on the cot, the swollen wood of it protesting with a creak. “Colm?” Nichol asked hesitantly. Lit by candlelight, his face softened even further, youthful and tender. Colm didn’t think he had ever looked like that himself. “Are you all right?”
“I’m fine,” Colm said, and Nichol snorted.
“You’re lying,” he replied. “Not that I blame you, that was right strange out there, but you don’t have to lie to me. It’s all right if you’re not fine.”
“Okay,” Colm said irritably, just wishing for a moment that he could be alone, “I’m not fine.”
“I didn’t think so,” Nichol said, perfectly calm. “Is it because of Grandad? Because Gran’s right, sometimes he’s just a crabby old bastard, even as a seal. You shouldn’t let him get to you too much.”
Colm sat upright, not wanting to continue this conversation on his back. Even sitting on the floor, his head was almost as high as Nichol’s on the cot. “It’s not just that,” he confessed. “Although that didn’t help. I suppose it’s that…well, I’ve done what I came here to do. I have no real reason to remain in Caithmor any longer, and I can’t go home, I just…I can’t.” He braced himself for an interrogation, but Nichol nodded.
“Because it would feel wrong, like walking backward when all you want is to be running forward.”
“Something like that.”
“I understand. S’how I feel about the navy. I’ve seen those ships, those great ships, I’ve seen how fast they fly and heard the stories of the men who man them, and I have to have it for myself,” Nichol confided. “I love Gran, and I’ve always helped her run the Cove, but it’s not the life I picture for myself, you know? There’s no adventure in waiting tables and clearing plates.”
“I don’t need adventure, I need a home,” Colm told Nichol, letting his desperation show through. Nichol looked surprised.
“I thought Gran already spoke to you about that. This can be your home, Colm. Gran would never throw you out, and she already likes you better than me. It will be perfect, actually. She’ll have family to stay by her side once I’ve gone abroad. I’ll feel better that way, certainly.”
Colm didn’t like to think about Nichol leaving. He’d only known him for a day, and already Colm felt more alive for the other man’s presence. “I don’t want to intrude,” he said. “I feel it’s taken me hardly any time at all to turn your life upside down.”
“Living means you get jostled about a bit,” Nichol grinned. “I don’t mind it. You’re good company, Colm Weathercliff, don’t let anyone tell you differently. I’m honored to share what little room I have with you.”
“You’re remarkable…” Colm really wanted to stop with just remarkable, but he forced himself to finish. “Remarkably strange.”
“And you are not the first person to tell me that,” Nichol said agreeably. “Now, no more fretting. You’re as good as home, mate, just accept it. Gran and I aren’t going to let you go at this point.”
It felt so wonderful to be wanted, genuinely wanted. “Thank you.”
“Yes, I’m so magnanimous, me. Got someone to help me work the inn, bring in a daily catch and who’ll doubtless let me bother the hell out of him when I’m bored. I think I’m getting the better end of this deal, Colm.” He blew out the candle and lay back on the bed. “And we’ll get a real bed sorted out, I promise.”
“I’m fine,” Colm said, and this time he really meant it.
“So you are,” Nichol replied sleepily, rolling over onto his side. “So you are.”
Chapter Seven
His first full week in Caithmor was one of the best of Colm’s life. In the mornings, he woke up before Nichol, always before Nichol, who could keep snoring through almost anything. Colm would take advantage of his solitude to bathe alone, although the memory of that one time with Nichol struck him each morning with fresh desire that he had no interest in confronting. He would grab a bowl of porridge from the kitchen, or occasionally a slice of honey loaf drenched with butter if the cook was in the mood to be fancy, and then spent the earliest part of the day out front with Megg, quiet and content in each other’s company.
That peace lasted until Nichol joined them, damp from bathing and still half-asleep. He would kiss Megg’s cheek, then playfully kiss Colm’s before flopping down in a chair and downing an entire pot of black tea. Megg laughed and Colm ducked his head and did his best to brush the casual affection off, but it came too readily and too often to completely ignore.
For the first few days after the burial, Colm kept to the inn, helping Megg as best he could and trying not to be in the way the rest of the time. Nichol took more shifts with the Sea Guar
d and always came back full of tales, most of which were undoubtedly pure fiction, but they were interesting anyway.
On the third day Nichol saw Colm laboring over a letter to Baylee during a lull in customers and offered his assistance in writing her. “I’ve always been good with a nib,” he said, reaching for Colm’s quill and grimacing when he saw the dullness of the point. “Well, no wonder you’re having trouble. This is ridiculous. Give me your knife.” He sharpened the quill, looked over the half-written letter, rife with misspellings and crossed-out words, and then looked straight back at Colm. “What’s next?”
Nichol’s help made composing a letter a pleasant task for the first time Colm could remember. He sent a small collection of shells along, something Kels would enjoy, and included a note from Megg for Desandre before closing it all up. They found a caravan heading toward the mountains that would get it as far as Isealea, to be handed off to Raener there, who would ensure that it got to Anneslea.
“You told your mum that you’d be working as a fisherman here,” Nichol said as they walked back from the merchant district, a little poorer after negotiating a fare for the delivery. Colm nodded and unconsciously hefted the remaining coins in his pouch, estimating how long they would last. Megg was more generous than he deserved, giving him food and lodging for a bit of labor, but even with her help, he would need to purchase warmer clothes before the summer was over, and his boots were almost worn through the sole.
“So that means you don’t want to join the Sea Guard?” Nichol asked, but it was more of a statement than a question.
“I don’t think it’s the right fit for me,” Colm said, then elaborated when Nichol still looked a bit morose. “You’re using it as a means of preparation for naval service, and I’ve never dreamed of such a thing for myself. I’m happy working as a fisherman, or I would be if I could find a boat that would take me out,” he added. “I can fish from the sea wall, but that won’t bring in enough to save Megg having to buy more at the market.”