Page 31 of Saved By the Selkie

“Naardan! Wait up!”

We hop up a small snowbank, where the ocean heaved beneath the ice and created a slope. “Naardan! What’s going on?”

He turns back. “I think you’ve been followed.”

He points down the hill, across the clear expanse of the ice. It’s difficult to pick out among the dark bodies of the seals all tightly wedged together in the growing twilight, but there are two tall, dark figures making their way among the seals on two legs.

I look at Naardan. “I don’t understand. I couldn’t have been followed—you said it yourself. Sint Jahns is a long way from here. Don’t the humans hunt your people? They’re probably just—”

Naardan shakes his head. “The hunters don’t come until the end of pupping season,” he says, “normally. And they come in droves—many groups, with their sleds and their yapping dogs. They bring horrible weapons.”

He nods across the ice. “Look at these two. They come alone—just the two of them. They bring no sled, no yapping dogs. They don’t have the hapick.”

I look at the seal, waiting for him to finish. “They’re here well before the pupping ends,” he says with a frown. “Lir, I think they’ve come looking for you.”

“That can’t be right,” I say, glancing desperately across the ice. I left. I swam so far. How could they have possibly followed me?

But as I watch them, I can’t deny that they seem familiar. Even in the dim light of the early setting sun, the one seems to have Johan’s nose. My stomach twists unpleasantly, and there’s a sudden flurry of motion in my belly as the pup reacts to my fear.

And the other … the other human seems like …

eighteen

Aramis

J

ohan gives me a rough shove, sending me stumbling across the uneven surface of the sea ice. I nearly trip over a seal, who yawns, baring sharp canines at me. The animal closes its mouth and regards me like it can’t make up its mind about me.

“Come on,” Johan says angrily, “where’s your selkie?”

I shake my head. “Johan,” I protest, “I told you. He might not even be here—”

I fervently hope Lir isn’t here, for both of our sakes. The last three weeks have been incredibly rough. Johan and I survived by spearing fish off the surface and melting snow in a bucket. Johan wasn’t stupid enough to leave theRiggerentirely unprepared, but there was only so much we could bring with us. Our rations ran out in the first week or so, except for the hardtack, which lasted until about the end of the second week.

We made landfall—or well, ice fall—last night, under the cover of the moonlight, and we’ve spent the short Arctic day stumbling along the ice. I’m slow and uncoordinated, weak, and every step only weakens me further. My limbs wasted while we were aboard that bloody dinghy, and I haven’t healed from my wounds. I won’t be surprised if I have to cut off my own arm shortly. I’ve been checking for signs of infection—so far, so good, but I know how quick these things can go. And it’s not like I’ve been able to take care of the injury or nourish myself to properly heal up over the last month.

I don’t think I could take Johan in a fight. If we find Lir, I’ll do my best, but it might be all I can do to buy the selkie time to give Johan the slip.

If that’s all I can do, then so be it. I hope against hope that Lir isn’t here. Things will be so much easier if we just don’t find him.

Even though I want to see him. I could die happy if I could just see him one more time. I won’t even ask him to forgive me.

“Come on!” Johan gives me another shove, stalking along behind me. He’s deteriorated after our lengthy boat trip as well, but a kind of madness seems to drive him now, giving him an animal strength I’d never thought him capable of. He kicks at my ankles.

“Quit it!” I protest, and he kicks me again. “I can hardly see in this light!”

“Well, hurry up and find him then!” Johan barks.

“I’ll find him faster if you stop kicking me!”

Johan reaches for the gun holstered at his hip. “Keep bellyaching,” he snarls, “and you’ll find something faster, all right.”

We glare at each other for a moment. Then I turn away, glancing back over the seemingly endless expanse of ice. The dark bodies of all the seals look the same to me in the twilight; I’m not sure I’d be able to tell Lir apart from any others.

Although I’m not trying as hard as I could. I don’t really want to find Lir. Still, I make a good show of it, lifting my hand to shade my eyes and peering out across the herd. Some of the seals are bouncing across the ice; most have wallowed into the snow, rolling together. Occasionally, I catch a glimpse of something white wriggling, and I realize it’s a pup.

It’s birthing season, I guess. I’m a little surprised the seals are tolerating us so well. You’d think they’d be afraid of humans, especially humans that come out on the ice. I know a few people in New York with beautiful sealskin winter coats, white and crisp as the snow, and I know now where it comes from.