Chapter Sixteen Idris #2
I pull out Mervyn’s journal to check the map again.
I’m definitely in the right area. If this is where he hid the skin, I have no shortage of places to look and no particular place to start.
I begin at one side of the stretch of beach, slowly making my way along, like Abram when he searches for wreckage.
I don’t know exactly what I’m looking for.
There is an area on the far side that stretches out smooth and wide.
I pause at the edge, struck by a sense of familiarity.
My toes tap a beat, and I imagine the echo of a song in the air.
As I glance back to the sea, in my mind I see the moon rising full on the winter solstice.
It would come directly out from this cove and bathe the whole beach in silver.
That’s what feels familiar about this place—the stretch of even ground is the same size as the Folk’s dancing area. In fact, I think one night the hall shaped itself to replicate this very spot.
I move on, combing the rest of the beach. When I find nothing, I look around. Perhaps the selkie skin isn’t down here, after all. It could be buried on top of the cliffs.
There’s one pillar of land that’s become separated from the main part of the coast to form its own tall island.
I’m drawn to the path that winds from the rocky beach up its side, narrow and steep.
True follows me, scrambling over the rougher bits.
The wind catches at the edge of my coat, trying to pull me over the edge and into another darker cove below.
I pause, wrap an arm securely around a rock, and lean out over the drop.
My heart races, and for a moment I feel truly awake for the first time in weeks.
I close my eyes, letting the wind tear at me. But soon the cold turns sharp and uncomfortable, and I retreat into the shelter of the hill. I take a deep breath and continue my climb.
At the top I step onto a small field of tall, golden grass.
The ground under my feet is soft here, almost squishy.
Deep with moss. True squeezes past my legs and trots ahead, nosing at some of the rabbit holes.
I follow him unsteadily. The terrain is covered in bumps and dips.
I wonder whether these were once houses, some long-ago settlement reclaimed by the land.
We have a lot of those on the islands. Abram might know.
I have been searching for some time, and the sun is steadily lowering toward the horizon, when the clinking in my head shifts and morphs into a word. A word repeated in the wind.
“Idris!”
I blink, turning to look round. At the place where the path meets the hill’s crest, Kit is waving to me.
My heart lifts in surprise—and something warmer.
Once she sees I’ve spotted her, she continues forward, holding her skirt to one side to avoid tripping.
The wind claws at her hair, pulling some of the dark strands free.
True bounds toward her, and I have to call him off before he barrels into her, sending her over the side.
She is smiling by the time she reaches me, one hand resting on True’s head. Her gaze goes past me to our surroundings. “This is amazing.”
I glance in the same direction, trying to see it as she does.
The cliffs curve and jut into the ocean, and the blue of the water is matched by the blue in the sky, so that everything is big and wide and open.
Birds circle overhead, and gulls cry out at us, and the breeze never stops blowing.
The way the grass bends and shines under each gust makes me feel strangely settled, and the dance of Kit’s loose strands of hair across her cheeks is more beautiful than all of it.
Realizing I might be staring, I clear my throat. “How did you find me?”
“I went to the house, and one of your servants directed me to Mager Head.” She gestures toward the mainland of Skyare. From here you can see for miles back inland. A gray horse is grazing on that side of the gap. “They let me borrow a horse so I could catch up with you.”
I shade my eyes to get a better look. The dappled pattern across the horse’s hindquarters confirms my suspicion.
“They let you take my horse?” I say, amused. “I didn’t realize my servants were so bold.”
“I think they were more concerned,” she says.
I choose not to hear this, turning my attention to the bumps in the grass. I nudge one with my boot. Whatever lies beneath is solid, like a stone.
Kit opens her mouth, and I imagine she wants to ask all the logical questions. Why are you out here? Is it really a good idea to exert yourself? Are you sure this is the right thing to do?
“I thought maybe I could find the queen’s selkie skin,” I explain before she can speak. I wave the journal’s map in her direction. “My great-great-grandfather had this place marked. But I haven’t found anything yet.”
Kit takes the book from me and frowns, studying it. Slowly, she says, “I’m not … sure that this is evidence that the selkie skin is here. His sketch could just mean he saw a seal?”
“Maybe,” I admit. “But seals are commonplace. Why record it?” I put my weight against the nearest bump in the grass, pushing until a small gap opens in the ground.
Just dirt. “If I could find the skin, she might release me from the curse. And even if not, it should be returned—not hidden out in the wilderness somewhere.”
“Have you found anything promising?” Kit passes the book back to me.
“No.” I sigh. “But I don’t really know what I’m looking for. I just thought …”
The foolishness of my search sits between us, though Kit is too kind to point it out.
Even with the tentative clue on the map—which could be nothing, after all—there is too much land to search.
Too many places to hide something hardly bigger than a cloak.
And it isn’t as if Mervyn would have constructed a monument to mark the place where he hid his prize.
For all I know, the last person to know the location of the skin died when Mervyn did.
“Idris,” Kit says. The wind snatches at my name, pulling the sound away from us. “I found a way to help you.”
I lean closer to her, partially to hear and partially because the wind is a physical force pushing against my back. True lies at our feet, watching us keenly. The grass waves, and shadows dart and drift across the horizon. Everything smears in and out of focus around me.