1861, Isle of Selbane, in the Hebrides off the west coast of Scotland
“Happy birthday, Lyall!”
Lyall closed her eyes and held her breath, remembering the whisper of air as she blew out the candles on her birthday cake. The hiss of fabric as she pulled apart the ribbon of her present, her parents’ expressions mirroring each other with anxiety and hope written clear across their faces—her mother’s eyes had held the trace of tears as Lyall pulled aside the plain burlap cloth covering the present bundle, her father’s eyes hard as stones in his face as he gazed on with a frown wrinkle between his eyebrows. The feeling of the pelt beneath her fingers, soft as the finest silk, as the coarse burlap fell away and her sealskin, the birthright she’d only just learned was hers a few weeks prior, fell into her lap.
The sealskin was snow-white—which her mother explained was lanugo, the soft baby fur designed to keep young pups warm in their seal form—and small, small enough to cover her thighs like a child’s blanket.
“Don’t worry. You’ll grow into it,” her father had promised.
Now she held the sealskin up to her chest and inhaled, taking in the cedar box scent of the container the sealskin had rested in for the last twenty-two years. The water lapped at her waist, chilling her skin as she stood in the ocean water of the cave.
She glanced over her shoulder, careful not to disturb her long blonde hair that covered her bare breasts, and peered uncertainly at her parents. They stood together on the shore next to one of the large boulders that lined the cave beach like sentinels, her father leaning heavily on his cane, one arm around her diminutive mother’s shoulders. They were the only ones in the cave, which had been exactly to Lyall’s liking for her first attempt at changing into a selkie, like her parents.
Her mother gave her an encouraging smile, which Lyall tried to mimic. But the shivering from the cold water made her teeth chatter as she turned back to face the outlet of the cave, where the water flowed into the larger expanse of the sea.
She was naked, as her parents had insisted she must be, as she held the baby sealskin up to her chest. It provided instant warmth, as if someone had recently worn it and it radiated the body heat from someone else.
She closed her eyes again and took a deep breath.
“Fasten the hooks first,” her mother had explained at the house earlier that morning. “They’ll be small and difficult the first time. But you’ll get the hang of it soon.” She’d smiled at Lyall with a look filled with pride.
Lyall had squashed the fear that rose in her at her mother’s words. In truth, she was petrified of her first change, which her father warned might be painful the first time. She was a sucker for pain, barely handling even splinters without tears. So the thought of full-body anguish was terrifying to her, though she kept that part quiet. She couldn’t bring herself to squash the naked hope in her parents’ expressions whenever they spoke about her birthday or her first change.
The thought wore on her as her birthday approached, filling her with both dread and anticipation in equal measure. What if she didn’t do it right? Was it possible to only half-change and be stuck as a half-seal, half-human? What if she turned all the way, only to find herself unable to handle the pain of the change without throwing up or embarrassing herself?
Or worse, what if it didn’t happen at all?
Her parents had mentioned, a few weeks ago and only once, that some children born to selkie parents in their human forms could never change into their selkie forms, even with the sealskin.
Lyall shivered at the memory of that thought. The pressure to perform, to make the change the first time, sat on her like a weighted blanket, a sopping, dreaded mass on her shoulders that bowed her over as she stood in the water of the crystal-lined cave.
She glanced around, noting the quartz that covered the ceiling of the cave, catching the dying rays of the sun’s light and making them sparkle like diamonds. This had been the cave where her best friend Una had captured the selkie man Ronan, the action that led to her parents’ admission that they, too, were selkies, and potentially her, as well. It was a sacred place, Una had told her, set just off the inlet that led to the ocean. It was a place of secrets, of beginnings, and it had been the first place that popped into Lyall’s mind when her parents asked her where she wanted to change for her first time.
Had her birthday party been only that morning? It seemed like so long ago already, as if days had passed in between her opening of her present and walking down to the cave and shucking out of her clothes behind one of the large boulders inside. Then she’d wrapped herself in a blanket and waded into the water, clutching the sealskin as if it were a lifeline.
And, she supposed, it was. To another world. Another life. Infinite possibilities.
Hope welled in her, chasing away the fear. Anything was possible today. It was her birthday, after all.
She smiled to herself and positioned the sealskin over her shoulders like a cape, as her parents had instructed on the walk to the cave. She tried to fasten the tiny bone hooks that lined the edge of the small sealskin, but she could only manage a few. They scratched at her collarbones as she shivered in the water and waited for the change to happen.
“Picture yourself as a seal,” her mother called from behind her.
Her father made a hissing sound of displeasure. “Leannán, that’s not helpful,” he groused. “She doesn’t know what that feels like!”
Lyall felt her confidence slip. He was right. How was she supposed to picture something she’d never experienced?
“Well, what do you think she should do, Prion?” her mother huffed. “I’ve never had to teach this before. I just did it.”
“Lyall, honey, just think about your sealskin covering your entire body. Picture yourself covered in fur, and let the change happen as it will.” Her father’s voice rang with the air of authority. The air, Lyall had learned only weeks ago, of a commanding general and leader of their selkie clan warriors, the Anchors. It had shocked her to learn that her gruff, loving father was actually a prince of the Liath Clann selkies and the Strategic Commander over all the Liath Clann Anchors. It was a title given to him by his father, King Righ, once it was apparent that his selkie skin, damaged maliciously by a rival siren, would never allow him to transform into his seal form anymore.
Lyall could feel the pressure creeping back over her shoulders, the weight of her father’s lost ability pressing onto her skin. What must it cost him to watch his daughter transform in the way he hadn’t been able to for decades? This moment was important to her. She had to change.
She curled forward, willing her body to transform. Her hands clenched into fists at her sides, knuckles turning white with the strain of her desire.
Change! she demanded of her body. Turn into a seal! Let this work!
Her body trembled as she braced for the change, the pain that her father said would claim her. Her stomach flipped into knots from the anticipation, the hope and the dread that warred with each other as she hoped and prayed for the change to happen.
Seconds ticked by, turning into long, lonely minutes.
Finally, gasping as she let out the breath she’d been holding, she called over her shoulder, “Am I doing something wrong? Shouldn’t it have happened by now?”
Silence met her question.
A few more seconds ticked by, and she risked a glance over her shoulder. Her parents still stood where she’d last seen them, but their faces were carefully neutral, holding none of the happy anticipation that had been on their faces all day.
As she watched, they glanced at each other, sharing a long look. Then her father nodded once, and her mother stepped forward, beckoning with one arm.
“Come here, Lyall,” her mother said in a grave voice.
As Lyall turned and waded back to shore, she saw her father turn and hobble out of the cave. She stopped, shocked at the depth of the hurt that seared through her. Was he so disappointed in her effort that he couldn’t even bear to look at her?
She waded to her mother, watching her father’s slow progress, noting the stooped slump to his shoulders. Her questioning look found her mother’s gaze, and her mother pulled her into a firm hug.
“It’s ok,” her mother whispered into her hair.
“What’s ok?” Lyall asked in confusion, trying to pull back to look her mother in the face. But her mother held her fast. “Should I try again? Did I do something wrong?”
“No, baby, you did nothing wrong. It’s just that—”
“It’s just that what?” Lyall asked, panic rising in her at the realization that her father had left because they were going home again. Her attempt to change was over. She had failed.
“It’s just that we knew this might happen.” Now her mother leaned back to clasp Lyall’s face in her chilly hands. She peered into her daughter’s eyes as she spoke in a soothing voice, as if Lyall were a frightened animal. “It was a long shot that it would work, and—”
“That’s it?” Lyall said, her disappointment making her voice break on the last word. “I should try again!” She gestured to the water, half-turning as if to go back in, the sealskin hooks scratching like small fingernails at her throat. “I can do it if I try again, I know I can! I’ll just—”
“No.”
“—try harder this time!” The panic rising in her made her feel full of frantic energy, as if she had to move, had to speak faster, had to do something, anything to fix what had failed. Where she had failed.
“Lyall, no.” Her mother’s voice was sharp, sharper than she’d ever spoken to Lyall before, and the tone stopped her like a slap to the face. She stared incredulously at her mother, noting the pity that slid along her face. “We’re done. It didn’t work. It’s okay.”
“But…” she began, but her mother put a finger to her lips, stopping her words. But it’s not okay. The words burned against the backs of her lips, burned hotter than the shame that flooded her body.
She had failed. Her sealskin was just a pelt. Her father had left. She had failed.
Her mother gathered the wet blanket and covered Lyall with it, placing the blanket over the top of the useless sealskin.
The wet wool instantly warmed her, even as she started shivering, not from the cold but from the depth of her failure. This had been her chance to prove she was special. That she was worthy of something bigger than herself. She’d always felt out of place, had never felt like she belonged among her group of friends. And now she knew why: not because she was something special, but because she so spectacularly wasn’t.
Her shoulders bowed under the weight of the heavy, wet material. Her mother placed an arm over her shoulders and steered her towards the cave entrance, pausing to stuff Lyall’s discarded dress in a satchel brought along for that purpose.
The women walked in silence as they stepped out of the cave and into the dying rays of the sunset’s light. Up ahead, Lyall saw her father making his slow progress through the tufts of sea grass as the sandy beach yielded to the sturdier dirt of the island. She glanced at her mother and saw the lines on either side of her frowning mouth, set like rows carved into granite. Though they never would say it, Lyall knew her inability to change disappointed them. That this had been a turning moment for them all, a great potential that had come crashing down on their hope like the waves of the deep sea.
A breeze gusted, lifting Lyall’s hair and caressing her face like her mother’s hands had moments ago. She felt coolness on her cheeks and realized that she was crying silent tears that coursed down her cheeks leaving salty trails dried by the wind. It whistled past her ears, and the sound was like a sigh that whispered failure failure failure in time to the beating of her broken heart.
###
She begged off her mother’s solicitous attempts for company back at the house. Her father, upon arriving, made his way to his bedroom and shut the door, cutting off any attempts at reconciliation. The sound of the door clicking shut had carved through Lyall with a finality she didn’t know what to do with.
So she said she needed to visit her best friend, Una. But once out the door, she didn’t head south towards the house Una shared with her selkie husband, Ronan, but instead veered west towards the home of Lucas Hew, her boyfriend.
The walk was short, but by the time she made it to his house, her eyes were puffy from crying and snot was leaking down her upper lip. She knocked on the door, not knowing what she was going to say or how she was going to explain showing up unannounced on his doorstep, but only knowing that she longed for the comfort of his arms around her. She needed to be held by someone and told she was still special, even if she couldn’t explain why she needed to hear it.
The door opened to reveal a smiling Lucas, caught mid-laugh at something happening inside. But when he saw who it was, his face sobered.
“L-L-Lyall! I didn’t expect to s-see…” he broke off as he took in her disheveled appearance. “What’s wrong?”
“I… I just…” But she was sobbing so hard she couldn’t get the words out. So she flung herself into his arms, pressing her tear-soaked face to his shoulder.
But instead of putting his arms around her, he grabbed her shoulders and gently pushed her away. “Lyall, now isn’t a good t-time.”
“What?” Lyall asked, confused, as she wiped away a tear from one cheek. “Why?” She couldn’t understand why she wasn’t already in his house, seated in front of the fireplace while he offered her tea and demanded to know who had hurt her.
“Who is it, Lucas?” called a laughing female voice from behind Lucas.
I know that voice, Lyall thought.
She looked questioningly at Lucas, who had a strange blush working its way up his face.
“N-now, L-L-Lyall, I did-didn’t know you w-were coming tonight,” he said in a stern voice.
His stutter is worse when he’s nervous, Lyall thought.
She tried to step around him to enter the house, but he sidestepped into her way, blocking her. She gazed up at him in shocked wonder. “Why are you behaving this way, Lucas?” she demanded, sniffling. Her dismay had faded and angry irritation was taking its place. “Who’s in there with you?”
Lucas stared at her with an expression she couldn’t immediately place. After a long moment, she realized, with a shock, that it was pity. Pity was written clear across his face and there wasn’t an ounce of sympathy mixed in.
Lyall drew back with a hand on her chest.
“Lucas?” the other voice demanded from inside. And Lyall realized she did recognize it.
“What is Donalda Roid doing here?” she asked. She felt as if she were spinning, as if the ground beneath her feet were shifting like sand. It suddenly became very hard to breathe.
“Now, Lyall, this isn’t w-what you th-think,” Lucas began.
Then, from behind him, two pale hands slid over the tops of his shoulders and down to his chest. Donalda’s curly brown ringlets cascaded like ribbons over one of his shoulders as she pressed herself to his back and peered around him.
“Oh, Lyall!” Donalda exclaimed in surprise. “We weren’t expecting you tonight.” She grinned at Lyall and her smile brought to mind for Lyall rows of shark’s teeth. She gazed at Lyall while she remained draped over Lucas’s back.
Lyall felt drained of emotion. She tried to summon anger, betrayal, rage, but all she felt was a detached sort of shock that filled her like ice.
Lucas looked pained, as if the whole ordeal was embarrassing for him. “Lyall,” he began, then stopped as she took a step backwards.
“Were you ever going to tell me?” Lyall whispered, pressing her fists to her stomach. She felt queasy and as if frozen pieces of herself might burst apart if she didn’t hold herself together.
Lucas glanced over his shoulder at Donalda, then back to Lyall. “I was going t- going to tell you—”
“When?” Lyall’s voice was a whisper.
“About a month now,” Donalda offered with a toothy grin.
Now Lyall recognized a feeling inside her, a burning warmth that seemed to thaw her from the inside out. She fanned the flame of it, encouraging it so that she could process the scene before her. “And what about Tamhas?” Her voice shook, but she was proud to hear that it didn’t falter in the wind. “What does he think of this? And so soon after you’ve been betrothed?”
Now Donalda’s face turned mulish and her mouth puckered up. “What he doesn’t know won’t hurt me,” she groused. “Besides, I can’t stand to be around someone who reeks of fish all the time.” She pressed her hands into Lucas’s chest, hugging him tight. “Not when there’s other fish in the sea, right Lucas?” She purred the words into Lucas’s ear, and Lyall could see his discomfort change into something softer, something intimate, as if she wasn’t standing there at all.
Like a snake striking, Lyall’s hand flashed through the air and connected with Lucas’s cheek with a ringing clap. Then it reversed mid-air, flying back the way it came so that the back of her hand slapped the other cheek.
Lucas reeled from the impacts, one hand going to press against the side of his face as he gaped slack-jawed at her.
“That was for sneaking around behind my back!” Lyall raged, recognizing the ember inside of her as a fire of betrayal. She let go of her control on it, letting the feelings wash over her like waves of regret and anger. “And that was for making me fall in love with you!”
Tears began coursing down her cheeks, leaving scorched trails on her heated face. She turned on her heel and marched away, heading towards the safety of her own home. Behind her, she heard Lucas calling her name and the muffled sound of Donalda trying to coax him back inside the house.
But inside her mind, she raged. Raged against the betrayal and the smug smirk on Donalda’s face as she draped over the man Lyall loved. Raged against her own stupidity, which seemed to be the brightest emotion of all. She poured out her tears in wave upon wave down her cheeks, which felt as hot as a forge.
How could he do this to her? When she’d given him so much of her own heart. Was this all that love offered? Betrayal and pain?
Typical, a voice inside her head whispered. How typical of you. To throw away your one shot at happiness, just like you threw away your shot at being a selkie. The voice was insidious in her mind, and it whispered to her the entire way home. Whispered how pathetic she was, and how everyone saw it but her. Told her that nobody would ever love her the way she wanted and that wanting it made her a bigger fool than before.
By the time she made it home, her eyes felt swollen and hot from the crying. She eased her way into the house, noting from the darkness that her parents must’ve gone to bed already. She slunk to her bedroom and threw herself face-down on the bed.
“Stupid girl,” she whispered to herself. “Foolish, stupid creature. How could you ever have thought you were special?”
The darkness had no answer, but, in her mind, she gave up, relinquishing her hold on the angry flame that had burned inside her all the way home. She closed her eyes and clenched a pillow to her chest and curled into a ball, letting the final wave of self-loathing wash over her. She succumbed to the pain, feeling as if there were small needles pricking every inch of her from the inside out, like small spiked creatures trying to scratch their way out of her skin.
And she did nothing to stop it. Instead, she clenched the pillow tighter and let the darkness claim her.
