Selkie, p.4
Selkie, page 4
Just thirty meters away there were boats at the docks, bobbing in the high tide. Most of them were empty, but a few had fishermen idling around or unloading their hauls for the day.
By a stroke of luck or misfortune, Owen’s boat was pulling into its spot on the docks just as Quinn reached the beach. She strode toward the water and reached back to get the laces of her dress undone and shoved the fabric down, taking her underthings with it. The day was sunny, but a biting wind skated off the water.
When her feet met the tumbling tide, she let herself walk into the sea until it came up to her calves before she stopped.
She searched the docks, waiting until she found Owen’s pale head. It didn’t take him long to realize something was wrong, as the other fishermen noticed her in the distance and began shouting and pointing. She let him see her for only a moment.
Then, with the joy of a bird taking flight, Quinn dove into the water. The chill dug straight to her bones. The pelt was instantly soaked, but she dragged the heavy fur around her shoulders and pulled it tight.
Quinn was holding her breath, but as her limbs twisted and fit themselves into the familiar shape, she felt her lungs expand, and the pressure on her chest eased. She closed her eyes to the gray-blue water, and when she opened them again, the sea was as clear as the sky above. Her body was warm beneath her fur. Fins tucked tight to her sides, Quinn kicked her tail and rejoiced in the speed and power as she shot away from the shore and into the depths.
Quinn was a seal once more.
Chapter Two
NOW
QUINN HELD HER BREATH for as long as she could, swimming as deep as she could bear the pressure. She wanted to be as far from shore as she could get before she surfaced.
Letting Owen see her on the beach had been foolish, but the shocked look on his face gave her a dented feeling of satisfaction. She could have let him discover her disappearance once he returned home and found the children alone, but watching him realize what was happening and being unable to do anything about it—in the exact place he had stolen her life all those years ago—had been worth it. To ensure that he could not chase her down, she remained far below the surface and swam into the open water away from the coast. She skimmed along the bottom until the ground dropped away and there was only the ocean stretching around her in all directions.
Before she had been trapped on land, Quinn had been able to hold her breath underwater for more than an hour. She estimated that only twenty minutes or so had passed since she dove away from the shore, but she was already feeling the strain on her lungs and body. Moving so quickly at such a great depth was pushing the limits of the body she had not inhabited in a long time. She needed to surface soon.
The midday sun was hidden behind lingering clouds and cast only a faint light onto the surface of the ocean. As Quinn rose, she used her flippers to twist in the water, scanning for boats or men cutting a path through the waves. There was nothing.
Her nose broke the surface first and she snorted to clear away the clinging water. She flicked her tail to bring her head all the way up, twisting again to look around now that she could see all the way to the horizon. The shore was far behind her, the cliffs and town merely an impression against the sky. Quinn rocked with the waves and took a few deep breaths to calm her racing heart.
What a human reaction that was. She had learned to slow her breathing on land when her pulse pounded loudly in her ears and her heart felt as if it would burst from her chest, because she had nowhere to run out the adrenaline. In those early months after Owen took her pelt, Quinn would find herself panicking without reason. She was scared of every human she met. She was angry every moment she lay by Owen’s side. She missed her mother and her herd. If she sank too far into those emotions, her breaths would come fast and hard, and it felt as if a great boulder were weighing down her chest.
During those moments when her pulse pounded in her ears, Quinn would go outside and watch clouds gather on the horizon. A story her mother had told her once would glimmer in her memory until her breathing calmed and the sky would clear.
Even now, with nothing but space around her and her pelt made a part of her once again, something was pressing at her chest like an insistent hand. She filled her lungs slowly, blinking away the seawater streaming from her fur.
Owen’s boat wasn’t pursuing her. She kept watching, waiting for a shadow to appear on the horizon. Would he have sent the other fishermen away before coming after her? In all the years she had been trapped on land, Owen had never told any of the humans who Quinn really was. Would he tell them the truth now that they’d seen her escape?
But as the moments stretched with no sign of a boat headed her way, Quinn let out a sigh.
Blue-gray waves lapped at her face. Quinn broke her gaze away from the coast and resumed her swim, skimming right below the surface. The water beneath her was full of shadows, but she saw no creatures. Not even a small shoal of fish. She could have been the only living thing for kilometers.
Whenever she broke for air, Quinn twisted onto her back and checked the way she had come. She didn’t know what was worse, not looking back and being surprised, or constantly looking to make sure no one could sneak up on her.
As she swam, her mind wandered. Owen may have chosen not to pursue her now, but when would he change his mind? Too many people had seen her running madly through the streets, leaving a trail of clothing behind her, and he would have to give them some explanation of why he’d kept a selkie under their noses for years. She had left quite a mess on his hands.
Not only did Owen have to manage his crumbling tower of lies, but also the children. When she thought of them, Quinn’s tail faltered for a second. She kicked herself back up to speed in the next moment.
Her children were the reason Quinn was free. Flora had handed Quinn her freedom herself, after Oliver had recognized the pelt as Quinn’s. They could have left it hidden in the eaves. But they had brought it back to Quinn.
And Quinn had taken it and run without a second thought. She was here now, swimming in the open ocean, because of her children, because she had left them behind.
This was probably why Owen was not coming after her. Owen had gone to the children instead. She had let him see her before she dove into the water, let him know that the children were alone. He had chosen the family he loved over her.
This decision gave Quinn even more time to get away, far away from the shore. She should be glad, shouldn’t she? That she had been right about Owen. She had been risking everything on the assumption that he loved their children more than he cared about keeping her trapped, and it had worked.
The children didn’t need her. They would, in fact, be better off without her there, and with Owen’s full attention. They would still be a family without her.
Quinn let herself pop above the water one more time to look back, even though she knew there would be nothing there. Then she inhaled and dove.
CUTTING THROUGH THE CURRENTS, Quinn felt like she was traveling down a path she had only seen in daylight but was now trying to navigate in the dark. The water was familiar to her, but strange and ominous at the same time. She had grown up in these seas. Seven years couldn’t erase a whole childhood of experience. But it could certainly dull those memories.
The seal herd she was raised in never stayed in one area for too long. They moved up and down the coast according to the seasons and the migration of the fish shoals. It was late in the year, almost winter, and by this time the herd would have moved south to avoid the worst of the storms that ravaged this part of the shoreline.
Even knowing this, Quinn was heading to the last place she had seen her herd, on that small island beach. She had nowhere else to go, and a tiny part of her was recklessly hoping that she would find her mother there even after all this time.
On that fateful night when she and the four other seals had snuck away from the herd, the swim to the beach had only taken them an hour or so, barely long enough to warrant a pause to catch their breath. Now, Quinn had to come up for air constantly. And she was moving slowly, unsure of the direction and relying on her long-unused instincts. She couldn’t rely on those instincts on land, so she had shuffled them to the back of her mind and done her best to ignore them. Uncovering them now that she was back in the water was like flexing a limb that had fallen asleep.
Eventually, the little island appeared in front of her. She dove low in the water until she found the seafloor again. The silty, rocky bottom offered little in terms of food, but that was never the reason her herd had stayed on this beach.
It was late afternoon now, and as she rose with the slope of the island’s base, she knew that her herd wasn’t here. There were no pups playing in the shallow water of the beach, no adults heading out for the evening catch. The water and the beach itself were empty. She stayed below the surface, with a few meters of water between her and the open air, slowing to a gentle glide as she swam parallel along the distance of the beach.
Quinn had known that this had been a foolish hope. Seven years had passed since she was taken from these waters; she couldn’t expect everything to have halted in her absence. The herd and her mother had moved on. Perhaps the four who had returned had told the adults what had happened, and she became another warning for the next generation to stay away from the humans.
Or perhaps, after her loss, the herd had decided that this part of the coast was too dangerous to live near. But if they never came back to the island, how could she find them again?
Frustrated, Quinn snorted and twisted away from the beach.
If she couldn’t find her herd, what could she do? She had her pelt and her freedom, but she was uncertain what to do with them.
Quinn fell back on her instincts. In her heart, buried beneath the fur and blubber and bone, what did she want to do?
A deep, unerring feeling rose up to answer her. She wanted to eat.
CATCHING FISH, LIKE HOLDING her breath, took some time to relearn. Without her dexterous hands and fingers, Quinn had to rely on her speed and teeth.
She had finally located a small shoal of fish a bit farther south of the island. Their scales flashed silver and tempting in the last of the daylight. She managed to get a little one, barely a mouthful, before most of them scattered.
Quinn was much farther out at sea after her scramble to catch the fish. The ocean yawned beneath her like the mouth of a great beast. When she was younger, surrounded by her herd, the vastness of the ocean had not felt scary. Now, she could truly feel how small she was.
She came to the surface for a breath and a break. Her hunt had nearly sapped all of her strength, and she had still not eaten enough. Even after seven years, her pelt had held on to the fat reserves she’d had when she was young, but she would burn through them quickly if she did not manage to get more to eat. With the cold and the energy she spent searching for her herd, she would not last long without food.
As the sun set, the water turned inky and dark around her. She needed to find somewhere to spend the night that was safe from humans.
As she floated beneath the surface, Quinn cocked her head. She was listening and watching for the signs of another fish shoal and another chance at dinner, but what she heard was not fish. Straining her ears, Quinn ducked deeper into the water. The noise was farther out to sea, but it traveled far enough for her to make it out. Short, high-pitched squeals and clicks. Quinn tensed.
There were more than seals in these waters when she was growing up. Her herd had clashed with a pod of orca more than once, many pups lost to their clever tricks in the shallow water where the seals thought they were safe. Even full-grown adults could get swept up in a chase.
Quinn was in no shape to escape an orca pod. But she held still and listened a bit longer. She called back to her memories of the herd when they were traveling through open water, the slight differences in the calls that she had been taught to recognize. If she was wrong, she could die.
After listening to a few more calls, Quinn set her teeth. She stayed near the surface, where it would be easier to catch a breath in a dashed escape if she was mistaken, and headed in the direction of the sound.
Perhaps she was desperate, or maybe her instinct was still too weak to force her to seek shelter instead, but Quinn wanted to see another living mammal in these waters. The squeaks and clicks grew louder, and she knew that soon enough the emitters would know she was coming.
Her wide, dark eyes could only see so much in the dim water. She was relying on her hearing as much as these animals were.
Suddenly, the squeaks stopped. Quinn stopped, too. Her nose twitched.
Then, another sound came. It wasn’t the rallying hunting cry of an orca. It was long and coaxing, curious. Quinn twisted, relieved, and began swimming toward the sound again.
At first the animals were only long, dark shapes cutting a slow path through the water. As she drew closer, she began to make out the short black fins, the rounded heads, muscular tails, and a dash of white on their chests. A pod of pilot whales. There were perhaps fifteen of them, with an older female in the lead who had been sending out the calls.
Scrambling for the lessons her mother had given her, Quinn slowed down. Once the pod was nearly upon her, she flipped upside down in the water, baring her belly to the matriarch. She needed to show them she meant no harm. In a pod this size, there was bound to be a calf. She didn’t want them to think of her as a threat.
The matriarch let loose a series of fast clicks, and the rest of the pod dropped back. She continued toward Quinn. As she drew closer, Quinn could see that the whale’s black skin was scarred, bearing years of experience and hard-won fights.
The whale stopped about a meter away. Quinn slowly righted herself, fins tucked close to her sides.
The matriarch turned her head to angle one eye at Quinn and clicked deep in her throat. The whale was wondering who she was and what she was doing out here, all by herself.
Selkies, while part sea animal themselves, did not speak as the other creatures in the ocean did. But they had developed a way to communicate with them. Through similar clicks and noises, they were able to convey simple phrases.
Whales see others, she asked the matriarch, others like me?
The whale turned to observe her with the opposite eye. Another squeak and some clicks.
Whales see seals, the matriarch told her.
Quinn’s heart leapt. Seals, like me?
No, the matriarch said, not like you. Seals made only of ocean. You are different. You are ocean, but also land.
I’m not, Quinn snapped. The matriarch leaned away from her, and Quinn reined her anger in. The whale wouldn’t know why that made her angry.
I’m sorry, she told the matriarch. I was away from ocean for too long. I look for my herd. Have whales been in these waters before?
For many seasons. This whale has led family on migration since mother whale died.
If this pod had passed by the coast during previous years’ migrations, they would have surely seen Quinn’s herd.
No others like me on your journey?
The matriarch let out a sad-sounding click. No, child. No seal like you. This whale remembers. Seen your kind before, and made friends. But this whale has not seen my friends in many seasons. Now only seals with only ocean in their bodies.
Quinn’s heart, which a moment ago had been leaping at the hope, dropped to her belly. If the pilot whales had only come across regular seals for many years, then Quinn’s herd was long gone. They had abandoned this area.
Or, she thought wretchedly, the rest of the herd had also been captured by humans in other towns. Surely if just a few of them remained, they would still travel the same paths? But if they had all been taken on land and had their pelts stripped from them, that could be the reason that the whales had not seen selkies in such a long time. Her herd had nearly three dozen members. What were the odds that seven years had been long enough to dwindle that number to nothing?
The pilot whale matriarch was still watching her. Quinn hung in the water, mind racing, and she felt as trapped as if Owen had taken hold of her pelt once more.
Is seal child all right?
Quinn grunted, tail flicking like it wanted to propel her far away, as if she could escape what she had learned by swimming from it.
Thank you for answering this seal’s questions, Quinn said to the whale. She began to back away. The matriarch clicked at her, the sound coaxing and gentle. Behind her, the matriarch’s family came to her side. A small figure broke away and circled under the matriarch’s belly. A calf. Its squeak was even higher pitched than the others.
Quinn turned and dashed away, leaving the pod of whales behind.
WITH THE LIGHT GONE and only the cold, dark ocean around her, Quinn returned to the small island’s beach. Her herd wasn’t there, but at least it was familiar.
Feeling too unsteady to rely on her instincts, Quinn stayed near the surface as she swam back the way she came. Any human on a boat wouldn’t be able to spot her in the water at this hour. But Owen wasn’t foolish enough to try to chase her down once night fell, anyway.
She knew she would come up on the island soon and popped her head above water to get her bearings. The calm waves caught and reflected the moon back at her, like a flickering eye watching from every direction. Quinn turned in the surf, looking for the dark outline of the island.
Fortunately, she spotted it easily about half a kilometer away. Unfortunately, she was able to spot it because there was another light beaming through the darkness, softer and more yellow than the light of the moon. It flashed at her, then went dark, and then flashed again. A lighthouse.
Without the mouth to curse, Quinn grunted her frustration and let out a throat-trembling bark. There was a lighthouse built on the top of the island, which meant that the place her herd used to rest during their travels was no longer free of humans. They had taken this island from her, too.
