Chapter Eleven

Him

You can’t swim very well with a knife in your hand. That’s why I went overland the next morning while Mam swam ahead. At the top of the cliff, I looked down. The clan was gathered in a tight circle around Mam. Lyr glanced up and saw me; he said something to the others and they shuffled apart.

I climbed down and they greeted me too brightly, trying to pretend nothing had changed.

“Want a fish?” asked Maura. She dropped one at my feet, a little apology.

I shook my head and sat down with my back against a cedar log. Most of the rough bark had fallen off, leaving the tender inner bark exposed. I set the knife down on the pebbles in front of me and glared at the others, silently daring them to say something. They glanced at the knife uneasily and then looked away. So we weren’t going to talk about that, either.

I started peeling off long strips of cedar like I was picking at a scab. A pile grew at my side. I wrapped a strand around and around my hand.

Cormac was the first to give up pretending. Turning to Lyr, he said, “Now that everyone is here, we should leave.”

“But this is a beautiful haulout,” said Mist.

Cormac tilted his head in my direction. “The man might have seen him.”

Him. Like I didn’t even have a name.

“He didn’t see me.” I pulled the strand so tight it gouged a line in my flesh. “And he didn’t smell me, either.”

“So we can stay.” Mist smoothed the shale with a flipper.

“Stay?” said Cormac. “After what we did with the man’s boat? He’ll have already told other humans. Anything different gets their attention. They’ll come.”

Grandmam’s eyes sharpened. “And if they see him, a boy living with seals . . .”

“No need to worry,” said Lyr. “We’ll be gone long before they get here.”

I stared down at my hands, ripping off strands of cedar and twisting them together, binding them with knots. Anything not to look up. Lyr could say all the consoling words he wanted, but everyone knew the truth. The clan had to move because I was stuck in this stupid body.

Because the Moon had forgotten all about me.

“There’s a cluster of rocks to the west,” Lyr continued. “It’s on our route. Oona and Aran can wait there until we’re back from Moon Day.”

The knotted cord was as long as my knife. I turned it and started another row. The others kept talking about the journey to Moon Day and the Moon’s open ears. They were leaving me behind, like always.

But this wasn’t like always. I jerked a knot tight. I couldn’t keep waiting, now that I knew what was lurking inside me. Out of the whole clan, I was the only one who needed to climb the Spire. I had to stand where the Moon would finally see me, where she’d hear my prayers.

My shoulders straightened, my chin lifted. “I’m going to Moon Day, too,” I said.

There was a sudden silence. Mam’s forehead creased in dismay. I spoke louder. “You said it’s the closest the Moon’s come in eighteen years. So close she’ll hear every prayer. She needs to hear mine!”

“But Aran,” said Maura. “You can’t go without a pelt.”

I shook my head, swallowing hard. “You just have to swim there.”

“Exactly. And you can’t possibly swim that far if all you’ve got is legs.”

“If legs are all I’ve got,” I said, twining two cords together, “then that’s what I’ll use.”

Maura looked aghast. “Don’t be ridiculous. You’d never make it. And besides, it isn’t considerate. Think how you’d slow us down.”

I jumped to my feet and glared down at her. “Then I’ll go by myself!”

Suddenly everyone was talking about the dangers of boats and airplanes, of orcas and sharks; and how long it took to swim; and Grandmam said she didn’t mind staying behind with me, and Cormac muttered about the risks to the clan if I were seen—

“Enough!” snapped Lyr. “We’ll discuss this later. Be ready to leave tomorrow morning at high tide.”

I didn’t wait to hear any more. Grabbing a tangle of cedar, I ran to the cliff and scrambled up one-handed. I turned to look back at them, my chest heaving. Then I hiked to the rocks at the island’s peak. No one would follow me here.

I wasn’t a fool. I knew how dangerous the journey would be, in longlimbs and alone. But I didn’t have a choice. I had to get to Moon Day, come shark or come storm. I’d need the knife to protect myself, and a way to carry it that left my hands free for swimming.

I sat down cross-legged with the pile of cedar strands by my knee. Now that I knew what I was making, I worked fast, twisting and knotting the cords, row after row. Before long I had a sturdy, supple mesh as long as the blade and twice as wide. I folded it in half and wove a strand in and out to bind the edges. I measured a dangle of strips around my calf and braided a strap. The knife holder was ready.

I lashed it to my leg, slid the knife inside, and stood, feeling its weight. I reached down and pulled the knife out. Too slow. I’d never save myself from attack that way. I tried again, a little faster.

But I’d be using the knife in the ocean, not on land.

I headed down to practice on the far side of the island, away from the clan. I was passing a dark ridge when a voice came drifting up from the other side. Lyr. I stopped, trying to make out the words.

“You know you should come,” he said.

I climbed the ridge and peered over. Far below, Mam and Lyr lay side by side in a small inlet, their shoulders touching. Waves lapped their tails.

“We’ll never see such a gathering of the clans again,” said Lyr. “And besides . . .” A new note filled his voice, firm and warm and sad. “You can fool the others, Oona, but you can’t fool me. The Moon is calling you, pulling you as relentlessly as she pulls the tides. You can’t hold her off forever. Even if Aran . . .”

A wave crashed, drowning out the next words, but I saw the devastated look on her face, and how he placed his flipper on hers. Something twisted in my chest. And then Lyr was saying, “. . . sleeping in open water. He’d never . . .”

The jagged rocks bit into my palms. I pulled back from the edge and jumped down. Then I ran all the way to a lonely patch of shore. I’d show them. I’d swim by myself to Moon Day and get my pelt, and then I’d be faster than anyone else. They wouldn’t be able to keep up with me.