The Seal Lover

This story begins as many do, with a tavern, a selkie, and a sailor.

Róncobar stumbled across the cobblestone street, away from The Bay Inn. He’d tried to drink a pint for each of his fallen crewmates. He’d only managed five. This was a pitiful attempt. Some balladeer sang of a ghost ship called the Shadow. A crew hanged. A man blinded. Oddly cheerful for a ballad.

He felt the street sway. Was he at sea again? Róncobar caught himself on a wall and vomited. No.

He reached The Bay. Salt on his tongue, mixed with the sour taste of vomit and ale. A dinghy rested at the shore. Green letters which he couldn’t make out were painted on the side. Róncobar stole the boat. Nobody would miss it. Just like nobody would miss him. The only person who might have was dead. Down and drowned and never to be found.

Róncobar rowed out to sea.

The waves were almost still, as he rowed. As if they mourned with him. As if they knew. Perhaps they did. He’d heard somewhere that the sea knew its own. And The Maiden had joined the depths. Captain Uileog had joined the depths. Róncobar would join the depths. Did the ocean know that too?

Mist clung to his skin, along with his sweat. He rowed as the sun set, casting the sky in orange. Flames seemed to dance upon the ocean. Flames. He saw the faces of his crewmates in the water. Of Uileog. As if a reflection. Then, gone. Róncobar vomited.

A little farther. He rowed. Then, he heard music.

Was it a dream again? Had he fallen asleep in the inn? Was the balladeer still playing those same bittersweet songs?

The voice was unfamiliar. A language he did not speak. Feminine. Melancholy yet soothing. Róncobar leaned forward, trying to make out a shape through the mist. Or maybe, he was trying to wake up. His boat tilted abruptly to the right, and the voice was near his ear.

He froze, “What are you?”

Her song halted, and she pulled herself completely into the boat before him, “I am a selkie.”

Róncobar scrambled backwards, but there wasn’t anywhere to escape to, “But–this…”

He must have drank too much. Because he was dreaming of dead men and legends. A legend wearing a grey sealskin coat. With large, dark brown eyes. Long dark hair which seemed too long for her. If she were a human, she would probably trip over it constantly.

“Have you never seen one of us before?” she sighed, a smile on her features, “Do you think me a legend?”

Róncobar only stared at her.

She leaned closer and whispered, “Why are you alone in the dark, my brave companion?”

Her breath felt cool against his skin. And she was dripping on him. It couldn’t have been a dream, right?

The selkie maid seemed to wait for his answer. Perhaps she could read his expression. Perhaps she couldn’t. Róncobar did not answer.

“Please, stay with me until morning,” her voice carried the same rhythm, but was now tinged with concern.

Róncobar stared at her, wary, “You won’t…drown…me?”

She stared back, “No.”

“Ho–how…can I…trust…”

“My word is as true as the ocean is deep,” the selkie maid replied, eyes sparkling in the moonlight.

He went quiet.

“Why are you here?” she asked.

“To…let the…sea…t-take me…”

The words slipped out. Róncobar cursed the ale. He cursed his friends. He cursed the sea.

Was he…crying now?

The selkie maid took his hand, “Why?”

Róncobar told her of The Maiden. Of his friends. Crewmates. How Uileog had taught him everything. How The Phoenix had set fire to The Maiden. He spoke of the captain’s face when he’d cut Róncobar’s rowboat free from the ship. Grinning. Prideful. Róncobar spoke of how he had been the only one to survive.

As he spoke, he wept. The selkie maid wept with him.

Then, dawn came. The waves were almost still, reflecting the rosy hues of dawn. She smiled, and held out her hand, offering a chain necklace with a pearl on it.

He accepted the gift.

“May your journeys be pleasant, and may the waves flow your way,” it sounded like a blessing.

“Thank you,” Róncobar replied.

She leaned closer once more, “If ever you feel alone, just listen for me. You may hear my voice in the waves of The Bay.”

And the selkie maid was gone, leaving only a splash and a memory. A memory of her tears. A memory of her touch. A memory of her voice.

And, of course, the pendant.

Róncobar wore that pendant for the next four years. He searched far and wide, hoping to find the selkie maid again. That night had been special. She had saved him. He needed her. Over time, that need shifted to a desire to have her, until, finally, he gave up.

For the next two years, Róncobar sailed. He grew in money. And in skill. He kept trying to drink a pint for all of his fallen crewmates. He kept failing.

Then, one afternoon, he heard a voice.

The voice was familiar. A language he did not speak. Feminine. Melancholy, yet soothing. Soon, she propped her hands on his shoulder and the song was in his ears once more.

“Hello, old companion,” Róncobar whispered, “I’ve been waiting for you.”

She kissed him on his cheek.

He’d needed that. Almost forgotten how much he’d needed that. But he never forgot much.

They stepped apart from each other. He hadn’t known selkies could look older. Mermaids never did, after all. Her hair was still long, but it had been braided back. Her dark eyes still sparkled in with that playful light. Her grey selkie coat was around her shoulders. It was too warm for a coat.

Róncobar smiled.

They spoke of many things, then. Of Róncobar’s voyages. Of time spent in New Ookry. Of how he’d missed her. Of her songs and of how she’d found him. Of how a pirate had slain The Phoenix by way of flame. Of new friends. Of mornings seen. Then, of his want for her. His need for her.

They embraced.

Róncobar took her coat, and stepped away.

The selkie maid went pale, “Give it back.”

“I need you.”

“No,” the sparkle in her eyes seemed to die, “You don’t understand.”

She grabbed the coat. He wrenched it from her grasp.

“I need you to stay with me.”

Because selkies always left. Even if they loved someone, that love could never compare to the sea. That’s what the legends said. They always left unless someone took their coat. He wouldn’t let her leave him. Not this time.

Soon, they were married.

Róncobar locked his selkie maid’s coat away in a sea kist. He left the pearl pendant there too, but he kept the chain of the necklace, as it would hold the key. Then, he hid the sea kist.

They had a child. A half selkie boy. He could not become a seal. He would not leave his da’. No. He was not really one of those fickle selkies. Not like his mum. Sworn to love one moment, and grief the next.

This story ends as many begin. With a locked chest, a man, and his stolen selkie bride.