The Selkie’s Daughter (2 page)

No one to care if she lived or died.

The black cat rubbed against her knee, as if to say he understood her thoughts and to remind her that
he
cared.  Annys reached out and petted his midnight head and stroked down his back, running her fingers through the long hair.

“Yes, Meone, you are here and you love me.  I give thanks to you.  Only, sometimes I ponder what it would be like to have…more.  I know ’tis wrong of me to want, to hunger for things I can never have.  Still, now and again, my heart sheds tears for the wishes and dreams that will never come true.”

Angry words echoed inside her head. 
Bastard get of a Selkie
.  It had taken years before she had fully understood the slur.  Glancing down to her left foot hidden by her boot, she could almost see her mark of shame.

Tossing off the somber fit of mind, she picked up the cat so they stared at each other, eyes-to-eyes.  His brilliant green ones glowed by the firelight; his black fur almost causing him to become a part of the shadows in the darkening cottage.  For several heartbeats, his cat face seemed to lose focus, and only the piercing eyes stayed clear within her vision.  Eerily, they began to take on aspects of a human.

“Meone, if only you were magical and could grant me a wish.”  She kissed the tip of the black nose and set the kitty down.  “Aye, ’tis a mooncalf I am being this dark night, eh?  But ’tis nearly
Yuletide
.  The shortest day.  Do you know where the twelve nights of
Yule
came from?  They are the days of shortest sunlight; they are not part of the old year, nor a part of the new.  ’Tis a space when the
Auld Ones
walk this earth in physical form, and if you are quick enough, you might even catch sight of an elf or a dwarf going about their mischief.” 

The cat gave a sniff and sat down before the hearth to relish the warmth from the fire.  The wee beastie’s expression almost seemed to say,
so, I see elves and dwarves all the time
.

“Oh, aye, ’tis cause you are special, not a mere mortal like me.  If you see one of those wondrous beings, and they stop to sip your milk and to speak their mind, then ask them if I am destined to live my life alone?”

“Meooowwww.”  The feline seemed to smile, and his tail twitched in a lazy fashion.

Annys was not hungry.  The air of sadness brought on by the heavy storm made her tired.  Giving way to the exhaustion, she unrolled the pallet she’d slept on since she had been twelve and come to live with Hagatha.  She needed to sleep while she could.  It was imperative that she would have to awaken later and tend the fire to keep it going all through the night.  But for now, she wanted to rest.

The warm heat washed over her as she lay down.  Soon, the cat came to stretch out beside her and began to rumble.  Absently, her hand reached out to pull him closer.  So heavy, her eyelids were unable to stay open.  They lowered and she quickly drifted, floating on a sea of warmth, an aura spreading and surrounding her. 

In this soothing cocoon, Annys became aware she was not alone.  Another’s presence in the small cottage should spread alarm; instead, she was filled with a peace she had never known.  Her eyes were still closed, and yet, she could
see
the whole cottage filling with silver and gold twinklings–– Pictish dust, her mother had called it.  Slowly, the flames in the fireplace shifted and swayed, and a face began to take form in the playful fire.

“You bear my name, child,” came the soft whisper.

Annys struggled to awaken, but a ghostly hand almost created from the shimmering dust reached out and stroked her head, running down the length of her long, brown hair––as her mother had oft done when she was a child.  “Màthair?”

“I am mother to many.  Long have I watched over you, protected you, dear one.”

“Hagatha?”

“That is one face I show to people through the ages.  On this night, the veil between your world and mine is ever so thin…no more than the shimmering of dust separates us in this heartbeat.  The
great wheel
turns yet again.  My time with you is past.  You stay here because you have been at peace.  Methinks you need a wee push to set you upon your final journey in life.”

“I am going to die?”

Soft laughter filled the room.  “No, my lamb.  Something wondrous will happen, something magical.  But only if you are strong enough to reach out and shape the future with your hands.  I bring you Yuletide blessings and the chance of fulfilling your heart’s desire.”

“Who are you?”

“To you, I have been Hagatha.  Others call me different.  If you recall my words, I said
you are named after me
.  ’Tis because you are born of rare blood––
Selkie blood
.  I am goddess of the lakes and rivers.  The Selkies are my people, my children.”  She stroked Annys’s head once more.  “Sleep deeply.  Before the dawn
he
comes…”

“Who comes?”

There was no reply
.

Annys wanted to open her eyes and discover whether the gold and silver sparkles still filled the air, see if the fire danced to form the face of a beautiful woman.  But she could not move.  Intense heat filled her, almost reaching bone deep.  The tranquility of the sensation was such a blessed relief that she was loath to let go of that very special feeling.

As she drifted deeper into sleep’s embrace, she could hear the cat purring louder, then a melodic humming filled the large chamber, a
fith-fath––
a
Charm of Making––
similar to ones she had oft heard Hagatha use.  Annys struggled to hold onto the questions and thoughts, only she slipped deeper into that soothing darkness.

****

Slowly, the heat’s caress faded, drawing a shiver from her body.  She was unsure how long she had slumbered.  Seeking even a meager source of warmth, she reached out for Meone to cuddle, to share their body heat as they did most nights.  Surprisingly, the cat’s fur was cool to the touch.

Opening her eyes, she saw the peat fire had burnt down to ash and embers.  “Oh, I’m sorry, Meone.  ’Twas heedless of me to sleep so long.”

Not banked, the fire would soon die out and she would have to work to get another blaze going.  Reluctantly, she put the cat away from her and went to the pile of twigs.  Snapping them, she fed the smallest pieces of wood to the embers and waited until she had coaxed the flames to come consume them, then added larger hunks of a limb.  Carefully, she added a peat to that and soon the amber glow and heady scent spread through the cottage.  She added a few more twigs to keep the blaze burning bright so the turf block would not smother the growing fire.

As she sat watching until it was burning strong enough to add two more peats, the odd dream threaded through her thoughts.  Strange, that her mind had somehow blended Hagatha with the Auld Celtic Goddess, Annis.  Her rule had been powerful throughout these Northlands, but those days had long passed.  With the new Christian church banishing the old beliefs, people rarely paid honor to Annis any longer, her memory faded.  She was a goddess of water––lochs, rivers and even small wells were her domain.  The priests railed that she was an evil deity who would grant a wish––the price was a small child, which she would eat.  But then, it seemed this church did not hold too favorable opinion on women, as a whole.  Sitting there protecting the new blaze, she breathed in the scent of the earthy peat, and without thought, began humming that same melody she had heard in the dream.

Her head jerked up when she heard the whinny of a horse.  Mayhap she was still asleep and this was naught more than a dream within a dream?  There should be no souls out on a night of such a horrible snowstorm.  She listened without breathing, waiting for some sign it was real and not her mind playing tricks.  The sound came again. 

Meone ran to the door, put his nose to the frame and began mewing loudly.

“You truly wish to go outside in this?”

There was a small kitty hole cut in the side door, where Meone could come and go out through the woodshed into the barn so he could hunt mice and such, thus it was unlike him to beg to go outside.  The black feline stood on his hind paws and stretched his leg high, as if he was trying to reach the crossbar.

“Insistent you are.  You will no’ like it out there.”

Meone howled piteously and began to frantically claw at the door.

As she reached the entrance, the deep-throated whinny came once more.  People avoided the grove.  ’Twas rare when someone ventured this far into the forest, even in the best of weather.  Generally, women came looking for Hagatha to make a tansy or a philter to draw the love of a man, or mayhap rid them of an unwanted babe when they had been none too wise.  Still, most genuinely feared Hagatha.  Witch, they called her, and in verity, there was more than a grain of truth to that.  Unless the need was pressing, few ever ventured near for dread of provoking the old woman’s wrath.  Since the passing of her friend, Annys had kept a solitary existence these long summer months.  None knew that her dear companion no longer walked this earth.

Who would risk coming out on a night as this?

Annys hesitated with her hand on the door, thinking to keep it barred and remain safely inside.  Mayhap the intruder would simply go away.  The wind moaned and whistled through the old pines, causing her to shiver.  Only a fool or an idiot would be out on a night such as this. 
Or someone in trouble.
  She felt guilty thinking to stay protected when somebody could be lost or ill.  Without doubt, they would need shelter to survive this night.

Decision made, she reached for her woolen mantle from the hook by the door, and swung it about her shoulders.  Annys hoped she would not regret this choice, but she could never live within her heart knowing she had left someone out in a storm this ferocious.  She lifted the heavy wooden bar across the door and set it aside.  When she pulled the door open, the winds rushed in, whipping high the flames in the fireplace.  She glanced to the writhing light, recalling the face from the dream. 

The deep-throated neigh of the horse drew her attention back outside.  Snow swirled so thickly she could not see, but then the driving flakes parted and there stood a magnificent destrier.  Annys blinked as she saw it was without a rider.  “Poor beastie.”  She could shelter it in the small barn.  The old byre had room enough for it to stay with the cow.  Their shared body heat would see them have an easier time this night.

As she started out, Meone fell in step behind her.  “Stay here.  Despite your black color, it would be too easy to lose you in a snowdrift.”  Obeying, the feline circled back to the hearth.

Annys closed the door and ventured into the storm.  The snow was deep, nearly reaching her knees, the winds piling drifts high around the outside of the small house.  Walking was hard. 

As she approached, the grey animal turned its head to the side so he could watch her.  No ordinary horse, it was a knight’s destrier.  A beautiful creature, the thick mane and tail were nearly white.  As her steps drew closer, it nodded its head up and down, the tresses undulating to the point it seemed born of this shuddersome storm.

“Where have you fetched yourself from on this bad night?  Mayhap you are a goblin steed of the
Unseelie Court
?”  Annys had never ridden a horse, never had to care for one.  The animal was daunting; thus, she was just a bit scared of the massive creature.  “A pact, eh?  You will no’ harm me, and in return, I will give you some oats and a place to be safe from the snow.”

The horse nickered again, the guttural murmurs in his throat bespoke urgency.  She reached out and started to take hold of the reins hanging around its shoulders.  Then, her eyes were attracted by something on the ground: an arm tangled in the stirrups!

“Our lady have mercy!”  A man!  Unable to tell if he was still alive or not, she leaned closer to judge his state. 

Even in the strange, shadowy half-light created by the snow, she could clearly tell he was a knight and one of some worth.  His horse was of the finest blood, a belonging that warriors valued above all others, and he was clad in a heavy mail hauberk that came just to the tops of his legs.  A small gasp escaped her as she spotted that an arrow protruded through the slit where front and back were joined at his hip.  A second shaft of wood stuck out from his left shoulder.  Looking back at the wake where the horse had dragged him, she saw no blood trail.  Fortunate for him.  Wolves would have closed in on the scent and he and the horse would never have stood a chance. 

Her trembling fingertips brushed his cheek.  He was very cold, but the flesh was still soft.  Cupping her hand over his neck, she waited to feel his blood saying he lived.  At first, she felt nothing.  Just as she feared that he was past helping, the faint throb moved under her hand. 

He still survived!  But not for much longer, unless he was warmed and treated. 

Annys glanced back at the cottage.  The task of getting him inside was daunting.  Used to doing all the chores necessary to survive, she was a strong woman.  Only, he was a tall man, plainly a warrior, which meant he was heavy with muscle and carried the extra weight of mail on his frame.  Her stomach rolled, anxious she might not be able to drag him inside, or worse, in the struggles ran the risk of injuring him further.  Glancing back to the horse’s head, she pondered if the animal would permit her to lead him into the house.  The door was small, but if the beast kept its head low, he would just fit.  Would the animal accept her commands and not panic inside?  If spooked, he might trample his master.