Chapter Thirty

The Rock

The wind was rising, the waves breaking higher around me. I rode up a towering crest and looked toward shore. Halfway back, something thrashed to the surface.

A fish leaping, I tried to tell myself.

But two gulls flew over and circled, shrieking their danger cry.

The next thing I knew, I was swimming back toward the girl as fast as I could, riding the crests to keep her in sight. The splashing stopped as she sank underwater, then started again, wilder and shorter, and the waves were crashing, and the gulls were screaming, and I didn’t know if I’d make it in time.

She was under the waves when I reached her. My hand closed around her wrist and I pulled. The moment her head burst through, her arms flailed out, raining frantic blows on my face and arms as she tried to grab on and climb above water. She was coughing and gulping, and kicking so hard I had to push her away.

“Calm down,” I shouted, trying to get close again. But she was blind with panic—her nails raked my arm, and her fist struck my face. I backed off and dove. This time I came up behind her. I grabbed her shoulder, rolled her onto her back, and started swimming.

Finally she realized I had her. Her body let go into stillness. Now I could settle her weight and swim on my side. Her black hair floated around her face like seaweed at high tide.

It was too far to carry her to shore. Farther out in the strait, a crag jutted up from the water. It was our only chance. I lugged the girl through the rough chop, struggling to keep her head above water. Before long, I was short of breath and my arms were aching. The current sped up, rushing toward the crag. If it carried us past, I didn’t know if I’d have the strength to turn and fight my way back through. We were hurtling closer to the slap and crash of wave on stone. I grabbed the girl tighter—I couldn’t drop her now!—and, gathering all my strength, gave a powerful kick—

My feet touched rock.

The girl grabbed on to the solid stone, white-knuckled, coughing.

There was barely enough room on the crag for the two of us. I sat with my feet in the water and stared back at the curve of Spindle Island, struggling to catch my breath.

I could have left her then. I’d brought her this far, hadn’t I? Saved her when she was certain to drown. Wasn’t that enough?

But her breathing eased, and I was still there.

She sat up beside me, hugging her knees tight to her chest. She was shivering so hard, her whole body shook. But she was smiling. And her eyes, clear and bright and gray, were smiling, too.

“You saved me,” she said. “Thank you.”

To my amazement, I smiled back.

I looked at her closely. There was the same alertness I’d seen on the bluff. Her chin was determined, her limbs strong and thin, her feet almost as calloused as mine.

She nodded toward my upper arm. There were three long, red scratches.

“Did I do that?”

I shrugged. “It’s all right. You couldn’t help it. People don’t swim very well.”

“Except for you. That first time I saw you, I thought you were a seal. And then you waved.” She rubbed her hands roughly up and down her arms. “You look so free in the water!”

“But that’s how you are on land,” I said. “Like you belong.”

The rest of the world, with all its dangers and rules, had disappeared. The wind sang across the water, and the waves struck the rock, now high and light, now deep and dark, like voices blending in a tune.

“What was that song you were singing?” I said.

“Back on shore? It’s one of Grandpa’s old ballads. It’s called ‘Sule Skerry.’”

“Will you sing it now?”

She shook her head. “I only sing when I’m alone.”

I looked at the vast stretch of white-tipped water separating us from shore. “This is pretty alone.”

A smile played at the corners of her mouth. “Okay, but don’t laugh.”

She started singing in a clear, true voice,

        “In Norway land there lived a maid,

        ‘Baloo, my babe,’ this maid began.

        ‘I know not where thy father is,

        Far less the land that he dwells in.’

        “It happened on a certain day

        When this fair maid lay fast asleep

        That in there came a gray selkie—”

I missed the next line, because when she sang the word selkie, my heart stopped. No wonder the song had been calling to me! It was about my folk! But this was a human song. How could they have the rhythm of the waves, the joy and the longing, so right?

Now the girl was singing,

        “‘Awake, awake, my bonnie maid,

        For oh, how soundly thou dost sleep.

        I’ll tell thee where thy babe’s father is,

        He’s . . . He’s . . .”

Her eyes widened. “Oh, now I remember!—

        “‘He’s sitting close at thy bed’s feet.’”

She stopped.

“Just a little more,” I begged.

“Well, I know one more verse.” She sat up straighter.

        “‘I am a man upon the land,

        I am a selkie in the sea,

        And when I’m far from every strand,

        My dwelling ’tis on Sule Skerry.’”

As the last notes drifted away, the sun broke out from behind a cloud. In the sudden warmth, the girl stretched her legs long and gazed at me, bright-eyed. “Do you think there really are any?”

I gulped. “Any what?”

“Any selkies.”

What would happen if I told her? If I let the whole story pour out, the truth I’d kept locked and silent for more than a moon? But before I could speak, a boat’s motor throbbed the air.

It was heading in our direction. The world came flooding back in.

I leaped to my feet. “As soon as you see it, shout,” I said. “Shout and wave as big as you can!”

“See what?”

The throb became a distant growl. The girl jumped up as she heard it, too.

I stared into her eyes. “Swear you won’t tell anyone you saw me.”

“I won’t tell.”

That wasn’t enough. Not for how much I was risking.

“Swear to the Moon!”

Her face was solemn. “I swear to the moon.”

The boat crested the horizon and I raised my arms to dive.

“Wait!” she said. “What’s your name?”

“Aran,” I said, and I dove.