Chapter Fifteen

Finn

We ran away from the crowd and up a stone staircase. As the island grew steep and pointed, we veered off onto a narrow path. One side hugged a wall of rock; the other was a sheer drop to the sea.

He stopped to peer over. “This is the highest I’ve ever gone. We don’t have peaks like this where I come from.”

“We could just explore around the beach if you want,” I said. I didn’t care what we did, as long as we did it together.

He must have thought I was scared, because he said, “I’ll show you how. Watch your step. These skins are so thin, the stones cut right through.”

I nodded as if I were learning something new. I let him go first so he couldn’t see how easily this came to me, how tough my soles and palms had become. His clan was probably like mine, only taking longlimbs for special rites.

“What’s your name?” he said, heading up the path again.

“Aran.”

“I’m Finn. Are you on your long journey, too? It’s special when it coincides with the rites. We swam for more than a moon to get here. The elders told Brehan—that’s our chief—that we had to come this year, even though it’s so far from home.”

“Did you come all the way from the old shores?” I asked.

He snorted. “Of course not! We come from the north, where the islands are made of ice. It’s as far as you can go. Except some say there are ancient wise ones still farther north, at the very peak of the world. The wise ones are magic. They don’t even need to come to Moon Day because they’re always talking with the Moon.”

We made our way toward a high ledge and lay down, our heads hanging over. Beyond a tumble of boulders, rock walls circled a clear blue pool. Late afternoon sun bounced off the water, reflecting red-gold ripples across the stone. And there, where wall met water, was a black arch.

“A sea cave,” I said. “Let’s go!”

We leaped to our feet and ran, searching for a place to jump into the pool. Now the trail was crowded with selkies heading upward. One group moved slowly, cheering on a tiny pup as she toddled on fat, wobbly legs. I looked over my shoulder as we passed them; she was only the second pup I’d seen.

Finn seemed to read my thoughts. “I’m glad you’re here,” he said. “I was afraid there wouldn’t be anyone to play with.”

“Where are all the pups?” I asked, speeding up again.

“There aren’t many. Brehan says it’s a disaster. It’s because humans are poisoning the ocean, and netting all the fish, and making the water too warm. There need to be lots more pups for the folk to survive.”

“But there must be hundreds of selkies here.”

“This is nothing.” Finn pointed out to the waves where a few stragglers were swimming ashore. “Brehan says these waters used to be so full of selkies, you could walk in longlimbs across their backs. That’s one of the reasons we came so far to be here. Some of our clan”—he nudged me in the ribs—“are here to find mates.”

The path curved. “There,” I said. “If we climb to that rock, it’s a straight dive down.”

We scrambled over to the precipice. Then we were standing at the top of a great rim. The water glittered so far below, it was like looking down from the heavens.

“I feel like the Moon,” I whispered.

A puffin whirred out from the cliff face below us.

“And there’s your worshipper!” said Finn.

A feather floated off the puffin’s back and we watched it drift down, down, down toward the water. Suddenly I wanted to grab it. I raised my arms overhead and dove. The air rushed past me and then I sliced into the water, the coolness closing over my skin. I rose with the feather in my hand.

Finn stared down in wonder. “How do you do that?” he called.

It wouldn’t work to talk him through a dive. “Just jump!” I cried.

He flew out from the cliff, arms and legs waving like an octopus, and hit the water with a gigantic splash.

He rose to the sound of cheering from the hillside. “That’s my clan,” he said, giving them a wave. Then we swam to the dark arch of the cave and slipped through.

We paused, treading water. Near us, the low rays of the sun lit curving walls, but the cave stretched back into darkness.

“Wow!” said Finn.

Wavelets were lapping at something big in the center of the cave. I swam over. At the edge of the light, a magnificent boulder rose from the water. The front was a long, smooth slope. I swam around to the back. Hollows were gouged into the rock, making steps. I scrambled up and sat at the top.

Just then, the sun dipped, shining a ray of light straight at me. I held the feather high, a chief brandishing a token of power. Finn gave a mock bow.

I started to slip—the rock was a perfect slide! I splashed off into deep water.

“My turn!” cried Finn, snatching the feather.

We slid down on our seats and our bellies, feetfirst and headfirst, the rock more slippery each time. Our howls of glee echoed around the cave until it sounded like there were hundreds of selkies crowded inside. I’d never had so much fun in my whole life.

I was on the rock, feather in hand, when Finn said, “I can hardly see you.”

The sun had disappeared.

Then a blast of sound filled the cave, an unworldly voice singing a single booming note.

“The conch!” said Finn. “It’s time for the rites!”

I slid down and swam off as fast as I could. I would not be late for this, the most important night of my life.