Chapter Twenty-Six

The Puffin

I sensed the tides; I watched the Moon. Maggie had a different way of keeping track of time. It was called a calendar. Each day she took it out of a drawer in the kitchen and drew a line through one of its boxes. Then she put it back without saying a word.

I started swimming every morning before the sun cracked the horizon. Maggie warned me to be careful. “Someone sees you swimming like that, and next thing you know, your picture’s on the six o’clock news. Your dad could hear about it.” She thought for a moment. “Anyone finds you, say you’re my nephew. Then tell me right away and we’ll figure out what to do.”

So I stayed close to shore. I dove deep and swam low, and I rose for breath cautiously, making barely a ripple.

I did that for two whole days.

But now that I’d had a taste of really swimming again, the ocean was calling to every drop of my blood. Holding back was torture.

On the third day, I was sitting, fuming, at the base of the cliff when a gull cried out overhead. I jumped to my feet. Of course! The seabirds! I started with gulls since they’re the most talkative. I gave them food, setting out crabmeat in cracked shells and sharing my catch. Soon we had an agreement.

Word got around to the other seabirds. Gulls and guillemots, ospreys and oystercatchers: they all started warning me when boats were heading my way. Now I could swim farther from shore. As long as no other humans saw me, I wasn’t breaking my promise.

Each trip made me bolder. My routes became longer. Out to the little islands in the strait. To the skellies that were too small to call islands. To the reefs that lurked near the surface, because boats avoided shallows. The best days dawned shrouded in fog. Fog meant freedom. In the white haze, I was just another splash of wave. On those days I swam far and long and hard.

My limbs had always been lean and strong. Now they were growing more muscular. I could swim farther without needing to stop and tread water. If I swam hard enough, I didn’t have room to think about Moon Day, or the dangers my clan was facing, or how long was left until the second full Moon.

I’d come back to Maggie’s panting and dripping, exhausted enough to go inside and sit quietly, just like a human boy.

One day I was standing on top of the cliff when a puffin flew up and plopped at my feet. She looked exhausted. I was surprised to see her traveling alone.

“Where does the wind carry you?” I asked in birdtalk.

She cocked her head to look up at me. It was a long way for her to look; puffins have such short necks.

I held out my arm. “Come,” I said.

She fluttered up, then sidestepped to my shoulder, her orange beak close to my ear. She was breathing hard. She preened and I stared out to sea politely to give her a moment to gather herself.

Then, “Help?” she grunted, in a low, rough voice.

I nodded to show I’d try.

She stretched out a wing. “Hurt. Lost flock. See flock?”

For the first time in ages I smiled. I could help! “Two suns gone,” I said pointing to a rock out in the strait. “Big flock. Sleep there. Fly west.”

“What west?”

I pointed to show the exact direction and she chortled, relieved to know where to find them. She rubbed the side of my face in thanks.

“Me lose flock, too,” I said.

She made a low, sympathetic rumble.

“Selkie flock,” I said.

She bobbed her head up and down, then grunted, “Me fly. Me look.”

I lifted my arm again and she waddled out to spread her wings.

“Good winds!” I called as she flew off.

A sudden crash split the air behind me.

I spun around. Maggie was standing, openmouthed, by the house. A fallen box lay at her feet and glints of metal were scattered all around.

“Mother of God!” she exclaimed, staring at me. “Were you talking with it?”

Her eyes, her voice—everything shouted danger.

Since I’d been here, I hadn’t heard her speak with a single auklet or sandpiper or gull. She threw out crusts without saying a word. Not once had a bird flown to her feet for conversation or settled beside her.

So even though we’d come to some kind of understanding, I looked right at her and answered, “No, of course not. Who talks with birds?”