Of the Land and the Sea
“Muirín,” I said. “Your mother named you of the sea,” she said. “She must have loved you a great deal.” “But she wanted to be here more.” I hated how my voice shook. “Síofra was strong, but she was forced to resist the call of the sea for too long. When we are without our coats, humans think we are like them. They don’t know we cannot live without the sea for long. We heard her songs from afar, but we could do nothing without endangering more lives. If one human could capture us, then more could follow.” I swayed in the water as the tide pulled me. I felt its power, its pull. I had heard many stories of the dangers of open water, but in this moment, none of them could quell my desire to follow. The storm grew closer, lightning more frequent, and thunder echoed as raindrops pelted the water. The others looked up, uneasy as the fishing boats drew back to harbour and the storm rained down upon them. “Oh, my dear child. Your captor took her from all of us. He wanted our protection on the water and knew we would give it so long as he had one of us locked away.” I shook my head. “Then why is he still safe?” She looked at the boats quickly approaching. “He still has something of ours. He has kept it far from your mother’s reach, and we cannot risk another one of ours to find it. We wouldn’t even know where to look.” Mama’s coat, I thought. I gripped the edges of the woman’s selkie coat, the pelt was soft and warm compared to the freezing water. “What if I knew?” I asked. “Well, child, you are both of the land and the sea, just as you are both your mother’s love and your father’s daughter. It is a choice only you can make. They are coming quickly, so go now. You will know what to do,” the woman said before she dove into the water. A seal resurfaced and I shook, partly from cold, partly from fear. I raced back up to our house on the hill, stripped off my sodden dress, sprinted to Papa’s room and took the key from the desk drawer where I’d watched him hide it, then ran outside to the cellar door. I didn’t have long. There would be no going back if what the selkies said was true.
soon. If I saw him now, I didn’t know if I would have the resolve to do what I knew I must. It took all my strength to pull the trapdoor upward toward me.
( Stairs led down underground; I sang Mama’s favourite lullaby to ward off fear as the damp earth swallowed me in darkness. ) Everything about it made me want to run, but I forced one foot after another until I reached the bottom. It was a small space with three walls of shelves: cans of food, bottles of alcohol, and wooden crates in the farthest corner. The tune I hummed changed slightly and power flowed through the melody. It guided me in ways of which Mama spoke. The song carried the magic of the sea. I closed my eyes and walked where it led me. The wordless melody was so loud in my mind I didn’t know if my lips were still moving. I reached out as it rose to a crescendo and pushed open the lid of the centre box. I reached instinctively; my hands met the comforting warmth of the pelt. It smelled like Mama and the sea. I dragged it outside into the light to see the spots freckling its grey coat, the same as Mama had mapped on her face. I tugged it over my shoulders and felt its heavy coat drag behind me as I started to run. I knew the others waited for me, calling me home. I added my voice to theirs. The thought of them leaving without me was unbearable. Instinctively, I dove into the water, and Mama’s skin stretched and stitched around me, both foreign and familiar. Underwater, I saw the others—more than a dozen. The woman I had spoken to greeted me and guided me into deeper waters, my body unused to its new form. Their anger surged in song; the waves grew fierce. Papa’s boat had stayed out while the others surrendered and returned to shore. His skiff was right above us, his face looking down into the water, urgently searching. He saw us and reached out too suddenly, too far. The boat overturned and his leg caught in the netting. As he was dragged down, he flailed for help, desperation, not recognition, in his eyes. This would be my secret: I watched as he sank. ( )
The key turned in the lock easily, but I hesitated. The boats would be in the harbour, and Papa would be back
24
Fiction
The Lighthouse Erinn Sturgeon