The Turning Read online

  “You didn’t swim?” I asked.

  “I swam in longlimbs near the house. I had no wish to go very far.”

  I shook my head in disbelief. Why would anyone swim with legs if they had a choice?

  “Then I was pregnant. We sang to you as you grew in my belly, my songs of the sea and his songs of the land. He built a cradle shaped like a boat. We were happy.

  “And yet, mornings, after his boat puttered away, the waves called to me stronger than ever before. I swam dawn to dusk, forsaking all else, and finally I realized why: a selkie pup needs the rhythms of the deep salt sea in his blood. To do right by you, I needed my pelt.

  “I climbed to the house, opened the chest—” Her voice was trembling. She stopped and took a deep breath. “My dapple-gray pelt, my path to the sea: it was gone.”

  “No!” I said.

  But Mam nodded.

  “That night, when he came home, I ran up and told him about my pelt. He got a knowing look and said, ‘You won’t be needing that anymore now, will you?’

  “My heart split in two. Oh, I’d heard the old songs with their warnings, but I’d thought he was different. How foolish I’d been! He was like all the rest. He stole my pelt so I couldn’t swim away. When you were born, would he steal your pelt, too? You’d be trapped on land forever. You’d never know your selkie soul.”

  Mam shuddered; her fear echoed down my spine, and I shuddered, too.

  Her words came faster. “For your sake, I pretended to agree with him. But his arms felt different, like a net holding me down. That night I lay unsleeping by his side. Come morning, as soon as he sailed away, I ripped that house apart in a frenzy: dumping out drawers, prying up floorboards, climbing into the rafters. At day’s end, I cleaned it all up and put my smiling mask back on. Day after day I searched. You kicked in my belly as if to say, ‘Hurry!’

  “Finally, I wrenched the doorstone aside. There, in a filthy, shallow hole, lay my pelt. I ran to the shore as fast as I could with my great round belly. I sat in the shallows and tried to tug the pelt on. How tight it had grown! I let out all my breath and squeezed—and then I was looking out from my sea eyes once again. I dove.”

  My heart was pounding. “You left so I’d be a selkie,” I said, trying to sort it out.

  “You are a selkie. One day your pelt will come and you’ll dive deep and strong and true.”

  “But . . .” I didn’t want to say it. “Are there some . . . ? Do some . . . ?”

  Her voice grew hard and insistent. “It can happen. Some children take after the human parent. They’re left on shore with human kin. But I knew you were a selkie then. I feel it now. It’s your nature, Aran. Your destiny.”

  She was so confident. And yet . . .

  “One of my eyes is blue,” I said.

  “And the other is brown.”

  “My hair has light spots.”

  She stared at me fiercely. “You don’t need to drink fresh water, do you? Humans do. And you never get cold. That’s proof enough right there.”

  “They get cold?”

  For the first time since telling me the truth, she smiled. “Why else would they wear those ridiculous clothes?”

  Clothes—so that was the baggy extra skin.

  The surf splashed over my legs and I looked down. They looked different. My whole body looked different.

  I picked up a stone and hurled it into the waves.

  Later, as night thickened around us, Mam laid her head on the rocks. I stretched out higher up the shore. I was grateful we were spending the night here, away from the rest of the clan. The tide turned and began to ebb away. . . .

  I was swimming, but my body felt all wrong. Geysers of spray splashed up from my arms. Why were they so clumsy? A wrinkled orange hide covered my skin, sagging and shifting as I moved. Its weight was pulling me down like stone. I sank below the waves into darkness, deeper and deeper, until my chest was bursting. I had to get the hide off, now! I dug my fingers in and tugged, hard, and it peeled away— My skin came with it. I’d stripped myself like a fish. And blood brings sharks—

  I startled awake in darkness, gasping for air. Then I felt the hard rocks under my back. I heard the waves and Mam’s breath.

  Mam kept saying my pelt would come soon, that all I had to do was wait. But how could I wait now that I knew what was lurking inside me? Any day it could start spreading like eelgrass, crowding out the rest of me, until nothing was left but a greedy, blackhearted, two-legged man.

  A faint glow showed where the Moon was hiding behind a bank of clouds. Did she even know I was here? I wanted to reach up and rip the clouds away. Then maybe she’d finally see me. She’d remember she left me here, stuck in this skin.

  Chapter Eleven

  Him

  You can’t swim very well with a knife in your hand. That’s why I went overland the next morning while Mam swam ahead. At the top of the cliff, I looked down. The clan was gathered in a tight circle around Mam. Lyr glanced up and saw me; he said something to the others and they shuffled apart.

  I climbed down and they greeted me too brightly, trying to pretend nothing had changed.

  “Want a fish?” asked Maura. She dropped one at my feet, a little apology.

  I shook my head and sat down with my back against a cedar log. Most of the rough bark had fallen off, leaving the tender inner bark exposed. I set the knife down on the pebbles in front of me and glared at the others, silently daring them to say something. They glanced at the knife uneasily and then looked away. So we weren’t going to talk about that, either.

  I started peeling off long strips of cedar like I was picking at a scab. A pile grew at my side. I wrapped a strand around and around my hand.

  Cormac was the first to give up pretending. Turning to Lyr, he said, “Now that everyone is here, we should leave.”

  “But this is a beautiful haulout,” said Mist.

  Cormac tilted his head in my direction. “The man might have seen him.”

  Him. Like I didn’t even have a name.

  “He didn’t see me.” I pulled the strand so tight it gouged a line in my flesh. “And he didn’t smell me, either.”

  “So we can stay.” Mist smoothed the shale with a flipper.

  “Stay?” said Cormac. “After what we did with the man’s boat? He’ll have already told other humans. Anything different gets their attention. They’ll come.”

  Grandmam’s eyes sharpened. “And if they see him, a boy living with seals . . .”

  “No need to worry,” said Lyr. “We’ll be gone long before they get here.”

  I stared down at my hands, ripping off strands of cedar and twisting them together, binding them with knots. Anything not to look up. Lyr could say all the consoling words he wanted, but everyone knew the truth. The clan had to move because I was stuck in this stupid body.

  Because the Moon had forgotten all about me.

  “There’s a cluster of rocks to the west,” Lyr continued. “It’s on our route. Oona and Aran can wait there until we’re back from Moon Day.”

  The knotted cord was as long as my knife. I turned it and started another row. The others kept talking about the journey to Moon Day and the Moon’s open ears. They were leaving me behind, like always.

  But this wasn’t like always. I jerked a knot tight. I couldn’t keep waiting, now that I knew what was lurking inside me. Out of the whole clan, I was the only one who needed to climb the Spire. I had to stand where the Moon would finally see me, where she’d hear my prayers.

  My shoulders straightened, my chin lifted. “I’m going to Moon Day, too,” I said.

  There was a sudden silence. Mam’s forehead creased in dismay. I spoke louder. “You said it’s the closest the Moon’s come in eighteen years. So close she’ll hear every prayer. She needs to hear mine!”

  “But Aran,” said Maura. “You can’t go without a pelt.”

  I shook my head, swallowing hard. “You just have to swim there.”

  “Exactly. And you
can’t possibly swim that far if all you’ve got is legs.”

  “If legs are all I’ve got,” I said, twining two cords together, “then that’s what I’ll use.”

  Maura looked aghast. “Don’t be ridiculous. You’d never make it. And besides, it isn’t considerate. Think how you’d slow us down.”

  I jumped to my feet and glared down at her. “Then I’ll go by myself!”

  Suddenly everyone was talking about the dangers of boats and airplanes, of orcas and sharks; and how long it took to swim; and Grandmam said she didn’t mind staying behind with me, and Cormac muttered about the risks to the clan if I were seen—

  “Enough!” snapped Lyr. “We’ll discuss this later. Be ready to leave tomorrow morning at high tide.”

  I didn’t wait to hear any more. Grabbing a tangle of cedar, I ran to the cliff and scrambled up one-handed. I turned to look back at them, my chest heaving. Then I hiked to the rocks at the island’s peak. No one would follow me here.

  I wasn’t a fool. I knew how dangerous the journey would be, in longlimbs and alone. But I didn’t have a choice. I had to get to Moon Day, come shark or come storm. I’d need the knife to protect myself, and a way to carry it that left my hands free for swimming.

  I sat down cross-legged with the pile of cedar strands by my knee. Now that I knew what I was making, I worked fast, twisting and knotting the cords, row after row. Before long I had a sturdy, supple mesh as long as the blade and twice as wide. I folded it in half and wove a strand in and out to bind the edges. I measured a dangle of strips around my calf and braided a strap. The knife holder was ready.

  I lashed it to my leg, slid the knife inside, and stood, feeling its weight. I reached down and pulled the knife out. Too slow. I’d never save myself from attack that way. I tried again, a little faster.

  But I’d be using the knife in the ocean, not on land.

  I headed down to practice on the far side of the island, away from the clan. I was passing a dark ridge when a voice came drifting up from the other side. Lyr. I stopped, trying to make out the words.

  “You know you should come,” he said.

  I climbed the ridge and peered over. Far below, Mam and Lyr lay side by side in a small inlet, their shoulders touching. Waves lapped their tails.

  “We’ll never see such a gathering of the clans again,” said Lyr. “And besides . . .” A new note filled his voice, firm and warm and sad. “You can fool the others, Oona, but you can’t fool me. The Moon is calling you, pulling you as relentlessly as she pulls the tides. You can’t hold her off forever. Even if Aran . . .”

  A wave crashed, drowning out the next words, but I saw the devastated look on her face, and how he placed his flipper on hers. Something twisted in my chest. And then Lyr was saying, “. . . sleeping in open water. He’d never . . .”

  The jagged rocks bit into my palms. I pulled back from the edge and jumped down. Then I ran all the way to a lonely patch of shore. I’d show them. I’d swim by myself to Moon Day and get my pelt, and then I’d be faster than anyone else. They wouldn’t be able to keep up with me.

  Chapter Twelve

  The Harness

  I was underwater out past the breakers, knife in hand, when Mam zoomed up and swam a spiral around me. Long cedar strands trailed from her mouth. She tilted her head toward the surface, and then darted up with a flick of her flippers. I stayed down another moment, setting my jaw as I put the knife in its holder. I wasn’t going to let her talk me out of this journey.

  But when I rose, she was already racing off through the gathering fog—away from the island. Away from the clan.

  I glanced back toward shore in confusion. Had the others left early for a new haulout? Was she taking me there? I struck out after her, the knife an unfamiliar weight on my leg.

  I didn’t even see the rocks until Mam surged up from the water and landed on a stone shelf. I hauled up after her. She was dropping the cedar strands onto a pile so large, she must have made several trips.

  “Where are the others?” I asked, looking around. “What are we doing here?”

  Mam took a deep breath. “Aran, I decided you’re right. You need to be at the Spire for the rites. I’m going to make sure you get there. We’re going together.”

  “Together?” I said, hardly daring to hope. She nodded. “Really?”

  “Really,” she said. And then she beamed at me, a ray of light through the fog. A weight lifted from my heart, and I flung back my head, laughing in a whale spout of pure joy. I spread my arms wide and started spinning around, faster and faster, until I toppled over into the waves.

  I hauled out, shaking the water from my hair. “Where’s everyone else?” I asked, eager this time. “How did you get Maura to agree? Did you growl at her? I’ll swim really fast, I’ll hardly slow you down at all, and—”

  “Well, you see . . .” Mam’s smile faded just the tiniest bit. “It’s going to take us longer, so you and I will swim on our own.”

  I shrugged off a twinge of disappointment. It didn’t matter. I was going to Moon Day.

  “We have some preparing to do.” Mam nosed around in the pile and pulled out a thick cedar strand with her teeth. It was twisted and braided, like a fatter, stronger version of the cords I’d made. Mam must have been in longlimbs to make it, and that surprised me. She hardly ever changed anymore.

  She draped the cord over my palm. “I’m not as clever with my hands as you are. It will be faster if you finish the braiding.”

  I looked at it, confused. “What is it?”

  “A harness.” There was the slightest edge to her voice.

  “A harness?”

  “You’ll strap it around me and hold on so you won’t fall off my back. I got the idea from watching you make your sheath.” She nodded at the knife holder on my calf. “Don’t worry, I’ll tell you how long it needs to be and how the pieces go together. Work fast—we need to leave early tomorrow.”

  I still didn’t understand. “But Mam, I won’t be on your back. I’m swimming. I have to get to Moon Day on my own. That’s the rule.”

  “Rule?” She poked at the pile of strands so she wasn’t looking at me. “Different situation, different rules. It’s not like you’re a newborn, or too old or sick to climb to the top of the Spire. That’s what the rule is about.” She turned toward the north. “Besides, there isn’t time for you to swim. The full Moon is only six nights from now. It’s a three-day journey to get there, and that’s in sealform. We’ll need five with you on my back. And we’ll be sleeping in open ocean. So you see, we need the harness.”

  Something about this didn’t feel right. But Mam was so sure. And if this was the only way for me to get there in time . . .

  I sat beside the pile of cedar and picked out two strands.

  “Still,” said Mam, “let’s keep this between us, all right? The others don’t need to know you didn’t swim there on your own.”

  I swallowed hard, then grabbed another strand.

  Mam nodded in approval. “Three of those braided together for strength,” she said. “And twice as long as my body.”

  For a while the only sounds were the lapping waves and the rustle of my hands at work. Mam passed me strands as the cord grew longer. The fog thickened, wrapping us in white.

  Mam started to hum. It was one of my favorite tunes from the story of creation. From the time I was small we’d told the story together, her calm voice letting me know all was right in the world.

  Now I whispered, “In the beginning . . .”

  Mam smiled and took up the tale. “In the beginning, there was the Moon. She circled a dry, barren planet called Earth.”

  “And she was lonely,” I said.

  Mam nodded. “Deep in her loneliness, the Moon sighed. Her sigh became music, a song so sweet with longing, it pulled tiny drops of moisture from the bone-dry air. They began to dance to her song.”

  “That was the mist,” I said, reaching out a hand. Mam passed me another strand of cedar.

>   “Yes, the swirling mist. Now the Moon sang louder. The little drops became bigger drops, and those became rain, falling on the face of the Earth.” Mam turned to me. “Sing it with me, Aran. Like you’ll sing at the rites.”

  We sang together, “Hail the rain, the blessed rain, sung by the Moon into being.”

  “And what did the Moon do then?” Mam asked, as she’d always done.

  “She sang louder still.”

  “Yes. And the louder she sang, the harder it rained, until the Earth was nothing but ocean.”

  I took a deep breath and we sang, “Hail the ocean, great and gray, sung by the Moon into being.”

  We began to sway gently from side to side, and the rhythm worked its way into the strands of bark.

  “The Moon wandered the heavens,” said Mam. “And the waters followed, straining to hear every precious note. They surged in her wake, curving in crests, crashing in hollows. And so the waves were born.”

  I sang, “Hail the wave-foam, white as first mist, sung by the Moon into being.”

  We stopped swaying because now came land.

  “The waves pulled aside so the islands could raise their heads,” said Mam. “Now the land was ready to welcome life. The Moon looked down at her work. There was one place she loved the best: the shore, with its ever-shifting dance, now water, now sand. What would be worthy of this place? Once more the Moon sang, and this time, as each note landed on that shimmering line, it turned into a selkie.”

  I sang the next words, my heart so full, it felt like the Moon was calling me then and there. “Hail creation! Wave-riders, shore-striders, sung by the Moon into being!”

  The last notes drifted out to sea. With them, they carried the doubt that had been haunting me. I’d reach the Spire. I, too, would be sung by the Moon into being.

  The fog wove into the growing darkness until I could barely make out the pile of cedar.