Chapter Fifty-Eight

In This Skin

I ran down the black line of pavement, past looming houses and the empty hulls of cars. The houses thinned and night deepened. The hard road gave way to dirt. Then the breeze shifted and there it was: the thick, salty smell of the sea.

I leaped over a fence, running even faster now, over grass and then soft earth, toward a line of trees. There were ferns underfoot, and branches blocking the sky, and the sharp scent of pine. I knew where I was going. I felt it in my bones.

Through the branches came a shimmering light.

I burst out from the trees and stopped, staring. In a vast, black sky, the Moon was rising, huge and full.

Slowly now, I walked across rough stone to the edge of the cliff. The ocean spread out below me to infinity. Out in the water, three rocks raised their pointed heads. A tiny row of man-made lights showed the sweep of a far shore. The moonlight silvered my skin; it danced on the tips of the waves. But the waves were empty.

Was this the right place?

I stood straight, my shoulders back, my arms stretched long at my sides. I drew in a deep breath and sang, “Come to me! Come!”

The words floated out across the water, each curving wave catching and reflecting the tune.

Where were they?

I lifted my arms out straight before me, palms raised like the Caller at Moon Day, and sang louder, beseeching, “Come to me! Come!”

I could swear the Moon was watching. Her clear, honest light filled me. Full of ache and longing and love, I sang out a third time, “Come to me—”

From out in the waves, a voice sang, “Come!”

A silver head was surging toward the cliff. Mam! Another head popped up behind her, and another, skimming the crests. They sang out together, their voices rising as one: “Come to us! Come!”

I dove from the cliff, piercing the waves.

Never had I swum so fast! I was already past the first rock when—whoosh!—Mam zoomed up and braked hard, head back and flippers forward. A glittering splash of silver drops sparkled down as my arms wrapped around her. The warmth of her pelt. The soft brush of her whiskers against my cheek.

“Aran,” she whispered. “Aran, my son!”

The rest of the clan zipped around us, laughing and calling my name. I hugged them all, Grandmam first. “I knew you’d be fine,” she said, nuzzling my ear.

Lyr exclaimed, “Look how big you are! And how fast you swim! Is this the same Aran we left behind?”

No, I wanted to say, not the same. But before I could speak, there was Mist swirling around me, and Maura pretending to nibble my foot, and Cormac, spiraling down and then zipping up into a backflip.

Then I saw someone else, waiting quietly just outside the circle, his fur shining white in the moonlight.

“Finn!” I cried, streaking over. “What—?”

“Our clans are living together now!” he said with a smile.

“But your chief . . .”

“I convinced him to let me come. Because we’re all hoping . . .” He stopped and looked at Mam.

The clan had gathered around me in a circle. Anticipation rose from them like steam.

Mam flicked her tail and swam up beside me. “I brought it,” she said.

Now I saw the straps holding something close to her body. My mouth fell open; my heart was pounding. She couldn’t mean . . .

She nodded, her eyes huge and bright. “Come over here.”

I followed her to the jutting rock. She hauled out halfway, her tail still in the water.

“Help me take this off,” she said.

The strap and the pouch were made of animal hide, with clasps made of bone.

“Open it,” said Mam.

My hands trembled as I lifted the flap and reached inside. I touched fur. Seal fur.

A pelt.

I pulled it out and laid it down on the rock, staring. It was brown and gray, like pebbles jumbled together.

I gasped. “Where— How—”

“The wise ones,” said Mam. “They were farther north than we’d ever imagined. The white selkies had ancient tales about where they lived, but not even they had journeyed so far. So far we got iced in. I nearly went mad, not being able to get back to you!”

“That’s the truth,” sighed Lyr.

“But find them we did,” said Grandmam. “And your mam talked them into letting her bring you this pelt.”

Mam nudged it forward with her nose. “Spread it out,” she said.

My hands moved slowly. So slowly. The fur felt odd and stiff. I spread it out on the rock. The rounded curve of the head. The flippers, hanging lank and empty, black claws clattering against stone.

The Moon was almost directly overhead. Her light picked out every individual hair of the pelt.

And all I had to do was slip it over my shoulders . . .

“Where did it come from?” I said.

There was silence. Then, “A dead selkie,” blurted Maura.

My head jerked up.

Mam sighed, as she so often did with Maura. “That’s not quite how I’d put it.” She turned to me. “Long ago, a selkie died while in longlimbs. So his pelt was left behind. The wise ones said to give it to you beneath a full Moon. They said you’d know what to do.”

I lifted the pelt. The gap down the front fell open. I spread it wider, so the shoulders would fit over mine. . . .

“Go on!” urged Mam.

But this wasn’t how I’d pictured it at all. I’d imagined my pelt slipping on as smooth and light as a breeze. This pelt felt heavy and stiff. It felt . . . wrong.

“Well?” said Mam. “Hurry! I want to see you in it!”

I started to slide my hand into a flipper. And then I stopped.

This hand.

With this hand, I fought off sea lions. With these legs, I swam for days at a time. With these ears and eyes and instincts, I sensed the weather. I found the best currents. I foraged and caught all the food I needed. I survived.

In this skin.

I held the pelt in front of me—Mam breathless, expectant—and then I folded it up.

“I can’t,” I said. “It isn’t mine.”

“Not yours?” cried Mam, aghast. “Of course it’s yours! Didn’t I go all the way north to find it for you? Didn’t the wise ones—the ones who talk with the Moon, Aran!—didn’t they say I could bring it to you?”

She’d risked so much for this pelt. So I could keep up. So I could go on the long journeys. So I could be like everyone else.

I swallowed hard. And then I slipped the pelt back into its pouch.

“It’s someone else’s skin,” I said.

Mam gave a mournful, despairing cry. “But then how will you ever belong? How will you live?”

It was the question I’d spent my whole life asking. A lifetime of being different, of feeling I wasn’t enough. But now I knew. In my deep heart, in my bones, I knew the answer.

“I guess I’ll live as myself,” I said.

The pouch slipped off the rock and under the waves.

Overhead, the Moon felt even closer than on Moon Day. The air shimmered, alive with sparks of light. My skin was tingling.

Finn gasped. “Look!”

Everyone startled back in a splash, staring at my hands.

I lifted them before me and spread them wide. My fingers were linked by webbing. With a fingertip, I traced the new line, a curve of soft, almost translucent skin.

And my arms! The silver light shimmered on skin . . . and then on fur, black and sleek and shining.

I sat down quickly with my feet in the water. My legs were together, then tighter, fusing. I kicked in wonder and awe. The water splashed up high in a glistening arc, tossed, not by feet, but by a tail. My arms snugged tight by my sides. My shoulders strengthened around the muscles of my powerful neck.

I didn’t just hear the sound when my pelt gathered. I felt it deep inside. There it was—and part of myself slipped into place.

My clan circled around me, their faces radiant with joy.

There was a bright cry of wonder. But it didn’t come from the clan.

We all turned and stared back at the shore.