1
Faye
Blood
There is blood
There is blood on me
It’s on my skin
It’s in my hair
I can taste it
I will drown
I will drown in it
I will drown
I can taste it
It’s in my hair
It’s on my skin
There is blood on me
There is blood
Blood
2
Faye
The sea roared, thundering off the nearby cliffs, echoing back and giving each wave two voices, two opportunities to call to me.
I sat still. On a rock. My gaze trailed in front of me but didn’t land on any one thing. The cerulean sea rippled in the morning breeze. Pale clouds ornamented the sky. Water billowed over a rock, flashes of spray flying into a million fragmented drops.
Another wave washed in, beckoning me. The air held the taste of salt. The wind brushed my black hair around me. I did not brush it out of my face. I did not move.
Once, nothing could have stopped me from answering the call of the sea. Not the cold or the rain or the danger that might lurk within its cobalt depths.
That time had passed.
I shuddered into my selkie cloak, tucking my hands into the sleeve and running my fingers along its velvety interior. The sun climbed the horizon with a hint of spring’s warmth. But I shivered, wrapping down further into the cloak. A coldness seemed to linger just under my skin, like icy fingers that grazed over me. Warmth wouldn’t come.
I readjusted the cloak, it’s creams and grays catching the morning light.
I froze.
My hands had blood on them.
I shook them. And shook them. And shook them.
It wasn’t blood. It wasn’t real.
You’re fine, Faye. Stop it. It isn’t real.
My throat clenched up. I sucked in a sharp breath. I couldn’t breathe. I would drown. I would drown on my breath.
Untucking my legs, I stood up. The wind billowed my cloak out around me. The ocean called again, crashing, and humming, and whining for me to join it.
I turned my back on it and walked away.
Daron’s father Prometheus’ estate sat next to the sea. I had spent two full days getting lost in it when we had first arrived. Old paintings and tapestries and stained glass windows and multiple dining rooms and a library that had an actual ladder filled the home.
My feet sprung against the moss creeping between pavers. The gardens held the mint greens and timid flowers of spring. I had seen these gardens before. In Daron’s tent. The magic in the tents at the protector’s camp created a scene that brought its inhabitant comfort. Mine brought me the sea. I sighed. I kept walking.
A half an hour passed before the whispers of a waterfall drifted to me.
“I was wondering if you might come visit us today,” Sair, the selkie leader said. Her long gray hair rested on the white fur of her cloak.
“Am I coming too often?”
“No, come as often as you please.”
The selkie village sat tucked up at the top of the cliffs, the ocean in the background, the waterfall churning behind it, breathing mist that flew out on the wind, kissing us. The selkie homes, small earth-colored cottages, tucked beneath the shade of large trees. Wild gardens that allowed the flowers to climb and twine and mix as they pleased framed the houses.
“I thought I might come see the children’s stories again. If that was all right.” My hair had fallen between us like a curtain. I didn’t shift it.
“Do you like the selkie stories so much?”
“I like the children. They’re so innocent. They have so much hope.”
Sair rested a hand on my arm. “If you need to talk, I’m here for you.”
I looked down at my hands. A burgundy shadow arched around them. Was it blood? No. I had already told myself a hundred times. I was fine.
“You may not like what I have to say,” I whispered.
She brushed a strand of my hair back. “I can hear whatever you need to share, Faye.”
We stood just below the branch of a towering oak tree. A wind blew through it and the leaves rustled. My voice tangled up in it. “During the battle, I killed people. A lot of people. And I made decisions that resulted in other’s deaths.”
Her lips formed into a thin line. “That’s what happens during battles.”
I shook my head. “I can’t get past it. And I don’t deserve to.”
“Of course you do,” she said, gripping my arm. “Everyone has choices they have made they regret. It’s part of being alive. Learning to forgive ourselves and learn from our mistakes is part of life’s journey.”
“Everyone makes bad choices. But not everyone kills, do they?”
She furrowed her brow but didn’t speak. Well, what could she say to that? Selkies were beings of peace. They didn’t condone war. They didn’t kill others. No one else in this village had killed someone, except me. I wasn’t even a real selkie. I had never belonged. And that was never as true as it was now.
“Faye?” Sair said. I looked up, meeting her gray eyes. “Why don’t you stay here for a time?”
“What do you mean?”
“Stay here in the selkie village for a few months. Rest. Recover.”
“I can’t,” I said. “I’m needed now. We leave in a few days.”
She pressed her hands together. “How will you be useful to others if you do not first meet your own needs?”
I swallowed. “I don’t know. But I have to figure it out. I’ve committed to this. I need to see it through.”
“Well, if you desire to return at any time, know that you would be welcome here.”
“Thank you.”
We approached the storyteller, who sat on the edge of a rock by the waterfall. Her white hair swayed in the breeze. Mist blew off the falls, peppering us. I took a deep breath. A dozen selkie children, each adorned in miniature cloaks, gathered around her. The fur across their shoulders ruffled in the breeze.
The storyteller raised her hand and used her water magic to create selkies that swam around the children in the air. A child, so young he still had dimples below his knuckles, jumped up and splashed one of the water selkies between his hands. The water splattered on him and his eyes popped open, his mouth parting. I smiled.
“Sit still now,” the storyteller said. “And I will tell you a human tale today.”
The children gasped and sat down, their movements graceful, crossing their legs, their cloaks puddling around them.
The storyteller raised her hand and created more selkies that swam around her. “There was a time when selkies would go into the human world. Once a selkie female foolishly left her cloak on the rocks of the coast.” The children’s eyes widened. The storyteller created a water female who shucked her cloak. Even my heart dropped at the sight of the cloak abandoned. I ran my fingers along the inside of my sleeve, it’s velvety touch like a promise.
“A human found the cloak and,” she lowered her voice to a whisper, “stole it.” The children gasped and jumped. “He told the selkie female she would have to live with him and be his mate. ‘Please,’ begged the female, ‘let me have my cloak back.’ But he refused and locked her cloak away.” She snapped her hands together, resulting in a second jump from the children.