The Turning Read online

  Beside me, Mam sang out, “Come to me! Come!” It was the ritual greeting after a long time apart. The notes hung sparkling in the air.

  In a flash they were scooting toward the water, flippers slapping shale, bellies thumping. They splashed into the waves.

  I struck out toward them. I’d only gone a few strokes when Maura zipped up from below, rolling me over and over in a spiral. We broke apart at the surface, grinning at each other. Then Cormac grabbed my foot in his mouth and tugged me down to where the water grew dim. I kicked free and grabbed his flippers. We sped to the surface and burst through in a backflip as high as a rainbow. I splashed down, laughing so hard I had to tread water to catch my breath.

  “Hi, Aran,” said a soft voice next to my ear. Mist’s warm eyes glowed in her pale gray pelt.

  And then there was Grandmam, with her smile like midsummer sun, swimming up next to me and turning sideways for a hug.

  “I’ve missed you,” she whispered, tickling my ear with her whiskers, like always.

  “Come on!” called Maura, heading back to the beach. “Do we have tales to tell you!”

  We all turned to follow.

  I glanced back once to make sure Mam was coming. She and Lyr were behind everyone else, swimming slowly, and so close together their flippers were almost touching.

  As soon as we came ashore, Maura flopped up beside me. “We brought you a present,” she said.

  I looked around eagerly. Presents were usually something special to eat.

  Maura turned to Grandmam. “Where did you put them?”

  “I hid them away,” said Grandmam. “Close your eyes, Aran.”

  I shut my eyes as she thumped toward the rocks.

  “I helped with the carrying,” said Mist.

  Cormac chuckled. “Mist and your grandmam are the best at carrying things in their mouths. Lyr and I chomp down on everything.”

  “And I’m always swallowing things by accident,” said Maura. “Or I would have helped, too. You’ll love them, they—”

  “Quiet, Maura,” said Cormac and Mist together.

  Grandmam thumped closer. Something clinked onto the pebbles.

  “Open your eyes,” she said.

  At my feet were three golden suns, small and flat and round. I dropped to my knees and gathered them in my cupped hand.

  “What are they?” I asked.

  Cormac tossed his head proudly. “There was an old shipwreck off the mainland, where a river twists the currents around. We found a chest.”

  “Actually, it was your grandmam who found it,” said Mist. “The rest of us helped break it open. It took a while. That’s why Lyr swam ahead to find you.” She smiled at Mam. “He couldn’t wait.”

  The suns were heavy in my hand. Even in the gathering twilight, they glittered and glowed.

  “They’re called doubloons,” said Maura. “Humans make them out of gold. Well? Do you like them?”

  “I love them.” I leaned over to give each member of the clan a hug. Grandmam I hugged the hardest and longest of all.

  “Now,” said Mam, settling beside Lyr on the flat rocks. “Tell us everything! How far north you went, and if you met anyone interesting, and where the currents are shifting, and where the fish are fattest, and—”

  “Hold on,” said Cormac, scooting next to Maura. Mist stretched out long beside me, and Grandmam gazed in contentment at Mam. We were together, every single one of us, the way it was meant to be.

  I always told Mam that the times we spent alone were just as good, and she always agreed. But now she strained forward, like she was leaping into the water, eager to explore every shore, to ride every wave—to live the journey that she’d missed. A pang of guilt twinged in my chest.

  “Start with where you went,” said Mam.

  “Up the coast,” said Lyr. “Past the island with two pines, past the delta where the currents make a whirlpool.”

  “The water was low there,” said Mist.

  Cormac got a mischievous twinkle in his eye. “That’s where Maura saw this handsome selkie in the water, and she stopped to brush her whiskers and smooth her pelt—”

  “I did not!” said Maura.

  “Yes, you did,” said Cormac. “Maura never can resist a handsome face. But when she swam up to introduce herself, it splashed backward—it was nothing but a seal! You should have seen its expression. It practically flew out of there.”

  Everyone laughed good-heartedly, even Maura. Finally she said, “Well, it’s not like we meet lots of other selkies. You have to hope!”

  Lyr went back to describing their route. After the delta there were fewer boats and fewer houses along the shore, and the waters grew colder. They swam farther than ever before—so far north, floating boulders of ice sparkled in the water. And that, he said, was where they met three members of the white selkie clan.

  Mam gasped. “The white selkies! I thought they were just a tale.”

  “Their pelts are as bright as snowdrifts,” said Maura. “Do you think, when they’re in longlimbs, their hair is white, too?”

  Cormac shook his head. “Hair is always black in longlimbs.”

  “Not Aran’s,” said Maura. “He’s got those light spots.”

  Grandmam gave me a warm smile. “Dappled like a pelt.”

  I’d never met any selkies beyond my own small clan. I scooted forward. “Do they talk like us?” I said. “Are there lots of them?”

  But Grandmam had turned to Mam. “They said they’re coming to Moon Day.”

  “Moon Day!” Mam sighed with longing. She hadn’t been to the rites since I was born.

  Moon Day only came every few years, when the Moon circled closest to Earth, huge and round, and her pull on the tides—and the folk—was the strongest. I’d begged Mam to take me last time, even though I knew full well I’d need tail and flippers for the journey. It was days of open-sea swimming to reach the Spire. Without a pelt, you can’t sleep in open water, or close your nostrils to swim fast and far beneath the waves. And you have to swim there by yourself. No one can help you.

  The funny thing is, once you get there, you slip your pelt right off again. It takes legs to climb the steep path, up and up until you’re practically in the Moon’s realm. That’s where you whisper your prayers in her ear.

  “All the clans are gathering,” said Grandmam. “The Moon hasn’t been this close in eighteen years.”

  Mist turned to Mam. “We came back to find you instead of heading right there, in case . . .” Her voice trailed off as she glanced at me; catching my eye, she tilted her head, as if to say she was sorry.

  “Is it this full Moon?” I said.

  Mist nodded.

  “I wish I could go,” I said.

  This time everyone nodded.

  “Then I could meet other selkies,” I went on, half dreaming. “I bet there are lots and lots of them, aren’t there? Are all the clans different? Do any of them come from the old shores? Maybe there’d be some pups my age, and I could play with them and—”

  “Aran,” said Grandmam gently. “There will be plenty more Moon Days when you can come.”

  My shoulders slumped. Mist nudged me with a flipper and said, “We won’t be gone for long. It’s only a three-day swim if we sleep on the rocks off Black Cove.”

  Lyr shook his head. “Don’t you remember? There are humans on that island now. They’ve built houses.”

  “Humans!” Cormac’s voice dripped with scorn. “They should stay on the mainland, where they belong.”

  And then they were talking about which route to take, and old friends they hoped to see, and suddenly I didn’t want to hear any more. I slipped away and walked down the beach, scuffing at stones, all the way to the tide pools.

  The tide was out; the seaweed lay flat and shapeless. I poked at a hermit crab. It drew back into a shell covered with tiny barnacles and scraps of kelp. It was a good disguise. Unless you looked closely, you couldn’t tell who was hiding inside. I was about to pick it up when Gran
dmam appeared at my side.

  “Come on, I’ll tell you a story,” she said.

  I jumped up, but then stopped. “I’m too old for stories,” I said.

  “You’re never too old for stories. Come on, let’s go where we won’t disturb the others.”

  She scooted down the shore and I followed, relieved she hadn’t left me time to protest.

  Chapter Five

  Riona the Brave

  Grandmam’s granite-gray pelt blended in with the rocks, so her three white spots floated ahead of me like little moons. She found a place to her liking and lay down long, the surf lapping her tail.

  “I’ve brought back some wonderful new stories,” she said. “Do you want to hear how Cormac outwitted the whale?”

  I stretched out beside her. “Tell me Riona the Brave.”

  “But you’ve heard that a hundred times!”

  “It’s my favorite.” I shifted so my head rested on her side. “And it’s why we go on the long journey, right? Because of Riona?”

  “It is indeed,” she said, giving in.

  She closed her eyes to summon the story. I could feel it gathering in the air. A gull poking around in the seaweed must have felt it, too, because it raised its head to stare, then strutted over. “Story?” it asked, plunking down beside me.

  Seabirds and selkies don’t speak each other’s languages—there are so many, since each kind of seabird has its own—but we can communicate in a very simple pidgin called birdtalk.

  “In selkie talk,” I chirped, but the gull stayed anyway.

  When Grandmam next spoke, it was in her deep, rich, story voice.

  “Long ago, on the old shores, there lived a selkie pup named Riona. Her clan had always hauled out on the Skellig Islands, a long swim from the mainland. The waters teemed with fish, and the skies were aflutter with orange-beaked puffins and gray guillemots. Best of all, there were no humans anywhere near.

  “Then one day a coracle crested the horizon. It landed on Big Skellig and men in brown robes clambered out. They trudged to the top of the peak and built round stone huts. They kept to themselves, singing strange songs of worship to their god, and they posed no danger.

  “But other men, greedy men, came in their wake. Their boats dragged huge tangles of rope called nets. Those gaping maws gulp down everything in their path. Turtle, dolphin, seal—edible or no, nets don’t care. Death itself is woven into every strand. Riona’s mam warned her time and time again, ‘Don’t you ever, ever go near a net! They’ll swerve around, and snatch you up, and bind you till you drown.’

  “Now, one evening Riona was chasing a dolphin and lost track of time. When she finally swam back, her mam cried out, ‘You thoughtless pup! I was so worried, the chief himself went out looking for you. Won’t he give you a piece of his mind when he returns!’

  “Riona curled up small on the rocks, dreading her scolding. But the Moon rose, and the Moon set, and still the chief hadn’t returned. A different kind of dread now filled Riona’s heart. The clan gathered on shore, staring silently into the darkness. When dawn broke, cold and bitter, they swam out in all directions, searching.

  “Riona swam to Big Skellig and along the coast. She rounded the point.

  “There swam a great, black boat, a laden net sagging from its side. Two men grunted as they struggled to heave it up. Oh, it was a terrible sight—fish thrashing, gills gaping. But most terrible of all was the still, gray weight hanging at its center. The body of the chief, unmoving in death.

  “The humans jerked the net higher, and one of them crowed, ‘I’ll have me a fine sealskin coat this winter!’

  “The words stabbed Riona like a shark’s teeth. The chief would never have neared the net had he not been looking for her. A shift in the current, a sudden swerve—it caught him and held him under till he drowned.

  “Riona sank beneath the waves. Her heart was a stone dragging her down to the depths of the sea. Past the last hint of sun she sank, past the last fish, into total darkness. She wanted to die.

  “And then a silver light blinded her and a voice spoke. It was the Moon. ‘’Twas the humans’ net that killed your chief, not you,’ she said. ‘Will you let this evil bring your death, too? Or will you live to fight for your folk?’

  “The blinding light shifted. Now Riona saw a band of selkies braving unknown seas in search of a new home. At their head swam a pup. Riona.

  “I can’t, she thought.

  “‘You must,’ said the Moon. ‘Your folk need you. Your journey awaits.’

  “Then Riona was atop the waves again. Gathering all her courage, she swam back to her clan. She told them about the chief, and they mourned. Then she told them of her vision. Many doubted her. They clung to the past; they feared the unknown. They said she was only a pup. But a small group heard the Moon’s strength in her voice. ‘We will go if you lead,’ they said.

  “Through the wild-storm winter they swam, riding strange currents, snatching moments of sleep in the waves. Finally they came to a cluster of islands scattered like bright stones in the sea, with many a cove and nary a boat. The waters were rich with salmon and herring, haddock and smelt. One island was as like to Big Skellig as could be, with a peak that pierced the clouds. They named it the Spire.

  “That clan became many clans, spread up and down the coast of this new world. Now each year we undertake the long journey to remember Riona and the courage she found to swim off into the unknown, in search of a place where we can thrive. A place we can call home.”

  Grandmam’s voice stilled, and she gazed across the waves. “Now the humans are here, too,” she said, slowly shaking her head. And she whispered the old rhyme:

  “Beware the ship, beware the net,

  Beware the black gun in his hand.

  He’ll take you for your oil, your pelt.

  He will, because he’s man.”

  Chapter Six

  The Red Beak

  We were basking in the morning sun when Lyr slid in on the waves. Everyone lifted heads and tails in interest. I rolled onto my belly and made my own crescent arc, legs as tight together as a curving tail.

  “There are salmon to the west,” said Lyr. “And so many, you’ve only to open your mouth and they swim right in. Who’s coming?”

  The beach came alive with bodies scooting to the water. I raced ahead, my feet pounding the pebbles, and dove in. An instant later Lyr popped up, blocking my way.

  “We’re going too far for you today,” he said, in a voice that meant there’d be no discussion. Then he saw Mam back on shore. “Come, Oona,” he called. “He can fend for himself until high sun. And the salmon are huge and sweet.”

  Mam was tossing back her head to reply when Grandmam slipped ashore. Her quick eyes darted between us, reading our faces. Then she gave an exaggerated groan. “These old bones of mine! I’m still sore from yesterday.” Her head drooped. “I think I’ll stay here after all.”

  Mam glanced from Grandmam, to me, to Lyr.

  “Off with you, Oona,” said Grandmam. “Leave Aran and me to our stories.”

  Mam and Lyr exchanged smiles, and then she was rushing into the waves. A moment later two heads rose in the center of the cove. Their bodies twined, and then they were gone.

  I stomped ashore, kicking up angry sprays of water. Left behind again, and not even on my own. Didn’t they trust me to do anything?

  As soon as I reached Grandmam, she backed into the water. “I’m starving,” she said, all groaning gone. “Wait here and I’ll catch us something.”

  “I can catch my own,” I said, but she’d already disappeared.

  A moment later she popped up with a herring struggling in her jaws. She took the fish in her claws and neatly bit off the head, then used her sharp teeth to peel back the skin, baring glistening flesh.

  “Come on, then,” she said.

  I splashed over and she dropped a chunk in my hands. It wasn’t nearly as good as salmon.

  Up on shore, Grandmam stretched out long
in the sun. She patted the rocks beside her.

  “I don’t want a story,” I said, crossing my arms.

  She grunted. “That’s good, because I feel a nap coming on. These old flippers need their rest.” Her voice was growing slow with sun and sleep. “Stay close and stay out of the water, or your mam will have my pelt. Go on, say it: ‘Rough tides, riptides . . .’”

  I sighed, then chanted:

  “Rough tides, riptides,

  Orca’s thrall,

  Sharks and man—

  Beware them all.”

  “That’s right,” she said, yawning. Her flippers hugged her belly, her head fell back, and a moment later a snore escaped from her flat black nose.

  I sat there scanning the waves. After a while I found my doubloons and started experimenting, flashing bright shards of sunlight off their backs onto the water. I pounded them on rocks to see how hard they were.

  “Stop making that noise!” grunted Grandmam.

  I cupped the disks in my hand and waited until she was snoring again. Then I crept to my feet. I wasn’t going to lie there waiting for the others to return, their faces fresh with adventure, their bellies stuffed. If I had to be stuck here, at least I’d go exploring. Grandmam would never even know I was gone.

  I crossed the shore and scrambled up a rocky hill. At the top I turned back. Below me, Grandmam looked so small, she could have fit in the curve of my palm.

  A gull flew in low from the north and swooped up to land at my feet. It was the gull from last night.

  “Story?” it squawked, peering up at me. When I didn’t answer right away, it pecked at my foot. “Story!”

  I was the best in my clan at birdtalk, but all I said was, “Big swim. No gulls.” I jingled the doubloons in my palm.

  The gull’s eyes sharpened. “What?” it said, staring at my hand. “Give!”

  I bent down to show it the coins. It pecked at one suspiciously. “Not good,” it said. It must have been expecting something to eat. Then it cocked its head, listening to something I couldn’t hear, and flew off without saying good-bye.

  I followed, jumping from rock to rock. A crag blocked my way, and I clambered to the top.