Chapter Twelve

The Harness

I was underwater out past the breakers, knife in hand, when Mam zoomed up and swam a spiral around me. Long cedar strands trailed from her mouth. She tilted her head toward the surface, and then darted up with a flick of her flippers. I stayed down another moment, setting my jaw as I put the knife in its holder. I wasn’t going to let her talk me out of this journey.

But when I rose, she was already racing off through the gathering fog—away from the island. Away from the clan.

I glanced back toward shore in confusion. Had the others left early for a new haulout? Was she taking me there? I struck out after her, the knife an unfamiliar weight on my leg.

I didn’t even see the rocks until Mam surged up from the water and landed on a stone shelf. I hauled up after her. She was dropping the cedar strands onto a pile so large, she must have made several trips.

“Where are the others?” I asked, looking around. “What are we doing here?”

Mam took a deep breath. “Aran, I decided you’re right. You need to be at the Spire for the rites. I’m going to make sure you get there. We’re going together.”

“Together?” I said, hardly daring to hope. She nodded. “Really?”

“Really,” she said. And then she beamed at me, a ray of light through the fog. A weight lifted from my heart, and I flung back my head, laughing in a whale spout of pure joy. I spread my arms wide and started spinning around, faster and faster, until I toppled over into the waves.

I hauled out, shaking the water from my hair. “Where’s everyone else?” I asked, eager this time. “How did you get Maura to agree? Did you growl at her? I’ll swim really fast, I’ll hardly slow you down at all, and—”

“Well, you see . . .” Mam’s smile faded just the tiniest bit. “It’s going to take us longer, so you and I will swim on our own.”

I shrugged off a twinge of disappointment. It didn’t matter. I was going to Moon Day.

“We have some preparing to do.” Mam nosed around in the pile and pulled out a thick cedar strand with her teeth. It was twisted and braided, like a fatter, stronger version of the cords I’d made. Mam must have been in longlimbs to make it, and that surprised me. She hardly ever changed anymore.

She draped the cord over my palm. “I’m not as clever with my hands as you are. It will be faster if you finish the braiding.”

I looked at it, confused. “What is it?”

“A harness.” There was the slightest edge to her voice.

“A harness?”

“You’ll strap it around me and hold on so you won’t fall off my back. I got the idea from watching you make your sheath.” She nodded at the knife holder on my calf. “Don’t worry, I’ll tell you how long it needs to be and how the pieces go together. Work fast—we need to leave early tomorrow.”

I still didn’t understand. “But Mam, I won’t be on your back. I’m swimming. I have to get to Moon Day on my own. That’s the rule.”

“Rule?” She poked at the pile of strands so she wasn’t looking at me. “Different situation, different rules. It’s not like you’re a newborn, or too old or sick to climb to the top of the Spire. That’s what the rule is about.” She turned toward the north. “Besides, there isn’t time for you to swim. The full Moon is only six nights from now. It’s a three-day journey to get there, and that’s in sealform. We’ll need five with you on my back. And we’ll be sleeping in open ocean. So you see, we need the harness.”

Something about this didn’t feel right. But Mam was so sure. And if this was the only way for me to get there in time . . .

I sat beside the pile of cedar and picked out two strands.

“Still,” said Mam, “let’s keep this between us, all right? The others don’t need to know you didn’t swim there on your own.”

I swallowed hard, then grabbed another strand.

Mam nodded in approval. “Three of those braided together for strength,” she said. “And twice as long as my body.”

For a while the only sounds were the lapping waves and the rustle of my hands at work. Mam passed me strands as the cord grew longer. The fog thickened, wrapping us in white.

Mam started to hum. It was one of my favorite tunes from the story of creation. From the time I was small we’d told the story together, her calm voice letting me know all was right in the world.

Now I whispered, “In the beginning . . .”

Mam smiled and took up the tale. “In the beginning, there was the Moon. She circled a dry, barren planet called Earth.”

“And she was lonely,” I said.

Mam nodded. “Deep in her loneliness, the Moon sighed. Her sigh became music, a song so sweet with longing, it pulled tiny drops of moisture from the bone-dry air. They began to dance to her song.”

“That was the mist,” I said, reaching out a hand. Mam passed me another strand of cedar.

“Yes, the swirling mist. Now the Moon sang louder. The little drops became bigger drops, and those became rain, falling on the face of the Earth.” Mam turned to me. “Sing it with me, Aran. Like you’ll sing at the rites.”

We sang together, “Hail the rain, the blessed rain, sung by the Moon into being.”

“And what did the Moon do then?” Mam asked, as she’d always done.

“She sang louder still.”

“Yes. And the louder she sang, the harder it rained, until the Earth was nothing but ocean.”

I took a deep breath and we sang, “Hail the ocean, great and gray, sung by the Moon into being.”

We began to sway gently from side to side, and the rhythm worked its way into the strands of bark.

“The Moon wandered the heavens,” said Mam. “And the waters followed, straining to hear every precious note. They surged in her wake, curving in crests, crashing in hollows. And so the waves were born.”

I sang, “Hail the wave-foam, white as first mist, sung by the Moon into being.”

We stopped swaying because now came land.

“The waves pulled aside so the islands could raise their heads,” said Mam. “Now the land was ready to welcome life. The Moon looked down at her work. There was one place she loved the best: the shore, with its ever-shifting dance, now water, now sand. What would be worthy of this place? Once more the Moon sang, and this time, as each note landed on that shimmering line, it turned into a selkie.”

I sang the next words, my heart so full, it felt like the Moon was calling me then and there. “Hail creation! Wave-riders, shore-striders, sung by the Moon into being!”

The last notes drifted out to sea. With them, they carried the doubt that had been haunting me. I’d reach the Spire. I, too, would be sung by the Moon into being.

The fog wove into the growing darkness until I could barely make out the pile of cedar.

“That’s enough for tonight,” said Mam, all practical again. “Put that higher up so it’s safe, and we’ll finish in the morning. We need a good night’s sleep.” She scooted up past the reach of the tide and stretched out long, wiggling into a comfortable position.

But my head and my heart were too full to let go. I tried to make her keep talking.

“Did the Moon make humans, too?”

“The Moon created all life.” Her voice was growing heavy with sleep.

“Why did she only give them longlimbs?”

“Well, she didn’t want all that nice land to go to waste now, did she? Someone needed to live there.”

She said it like joking, but it made sense. Some humans lived far inland; if they had pelts, they’d die of sadness for not being able to reach the sea. “Mam,” I said, turning to tell her. But there wasn’t any answer, just her breath matching the rise and fall of the waves.

I should join her. I should close my eyes. But how could I sleep? Tomorrow I was leaving on the journey that would change my life.