Chapter 5 #2
"Not here. This place is sacred, but it's not active anymore.
The communion points are elsewhere, in deeper water, in places I can't take you yet.
" I hold her gaze, willing her to understand what I can't say directly.
"But I can show you enough to help you understand what we're fighting to protect.
What those corporate surveyors will destroy if they get their way. "
Her expression hardens at the mention of corporate surveyors, a tightening that tells me I've touched on something that matters to her. She came here to save the whales, to protect the ocean from exploitation. Whatever else she believes or doesn't believe, that motivation is genuine.
"Maritime Development Corporation," she says, and the name sounds like a curse on her lips.
"They've been trying to get development permits for months.
Malcolm Carrick has connections in Edinburgh, in London, probably in Brussels too.
Every time local opposition mounts a challenge, he finds a way around it. "
"You know him?"
"I know his type." Her jaw tightens. "Corporate predators who see natural resources as profit opportunities.
They don't care about ecosystems or endangered species or the communities that depend on these waters.
They care about shareholders and quarterly reports and finding the next thing they can strip-mine for money. "
The venom in her voice surprises me, speaks to history I don't know yet. Someone like Carrick hurt her before, or hurt something she cared about. The knowledge settles into place alongside everything else I've learned about her, adding depth to the picture I'm building of who Isla really is.
"We should go." I gesture toward the passage that leads back to the beach. "The storm will pass soon, and I want to check the outer boundaries before we head back to the harbor."
She takes one last look at the ancient carvings, her hand brushing against the stone in what might be farewell. "Will you bring me back here? There's so much I could learn from these walls, so much that could help us understand what lived here before."
"Perhaps." I leave the word hanging, deliberately noncommittal. "When the time is right."
We make our way back through the narrow passage, out onto the beach where the skiff waits exactly where we left it.
The glow in the water has faded slightly as the storm clouds begin to thin beyond the cliff walls, letting weak sunlight filter through to compete with the luminescence.
Isla pauses at the water's edge again, staring out at the cove like she's trying to memorize every detail before we leave.
Every instinct demands I close the distance between us, pull her against my chest the way I did when the wave nearly swept her overboard.
The memory of her body pressed against mine, her face in the hollow of my throat, her heartbeat racing in time with my own, burns through me with an intensity that borders on pain.
But I hold myself still, keep my hands at my sides, and wait for her to climb into the skiff of her own accord.
The row back to Deepwatch passes in silence, but it's a different kind of silence than before.
The air between us has changed, some barrier lowered or bridge built that wasn't there this morning.
She saw the caves. She touched the carvings.
And instead of dismissing what she experienced, she asked to come back.
It's more than I dared hope for.
The journey out of the hidden cove requires the same careful navigation as our entrance, threading through the gap in the cliffs with inches to spare on either side.
But the storm has passed while we explored the caves, leaving behind the kind of crystalline clarity that only comes after nature has spent her fury.
The sea stretches before us in endless shades of gray and blue, calm now, almost peaceful.
That peace shatters the moment we round the headland.
A vessel sits in the waters beyond the outer boundary markers, a sleek white ship that has no business being anywhere near these coordinates.
Corporate colors gleam on the hull, and even at this distance, I can see the equipment mounted on the deck.
Sonar arrays. Sampling equipment. The same kind of gear that showed up in the hidden cove where I found evidence of surveyors weeks ago.
My hands tighten on the wheel hard enough to make the wood creak.
"Is that who I think it is?" Isla has moved to stand beside me, her voice tight with the same anger I'm fighting to contain.
She grabs her binoculars from the equipment case and trains them on the distant ship.
"Maritime Development Corporation." She spits the name like a curse. "The Northern Promise. I've seen her in their promotional materials."
"They're inside the protected zone." She lowers the binoculars, jaw tight. "The boundary markers are clearly posted. This is supposed to be a marine sanctuary."
"Supposed to be." I adjust course, angling Deepwatch toward the survey vessel even though every instinct screams at me to stay away, to protect what's mine rather than confront the threat directly.
"Carrick has permits," Isla says, bitterness sharpening her voice. "Papers signed by people who should know better. Political connections that make the local protections meaningless."
"They've been testing the boundaries for weeks." I can see crew members on the deck of the Northern Promise now, can see them pointing at our approach. "Moving closer each time, waiting to see if anyone will actually stop them."
"Then we stop them." Isla's voice has gone hard, determined.
"I have documentation. Data showing protected species in these waters, evidence of unique ecosystems that would be destroyed by development.
If they're violating the sanctuary, I can report them to every regulatory agency that has jurisdiction. "
"How long would that take?"
She hesitates. "Reports take time. Appeals take longer. By the time paperwork makes it through proper channels..." She trails off, understanding dawning on her face.
"They'll have finished their surveys and started dredging." I hold our course steady, closing the distance between Deepwatch and the corporate vessel. "I've watched fishing grounds get destroyed that way. Protests and petitions filed while the damage gets done."
"So what's the alternative?"
"Local interference. People who know these waters, who can make their operations difficult enough to affect their timeline." I meet her eyes. "Things that might get someone arrested."
"You're talking about sabotage."
"I'm talking about protection. Whatever form that takes."
I can see movement on the deck of the Northern Promise as crew members scramble to document our approach.
They know who I am, know my reputation among the fishing fleet, know that my boat has been spotted near their survey sites more than once in recent weeks.
Let them document. Let them file their own reports.
The people who matter already know where I stand.
I don't take Deepwatch close enough to create an incident, just close enough to make a statement. We pass within a hundred yards of the survey vessel, near enough to see a silver-haired man standing on the bridge, watching our passage with cold patience.
"That's him," Isla says, her voice flat. "Carrick. I've seen his photo in enough press releases."
He raises his hand in a mocking wave, and it takes everything I have not to alter course and ram his pristine hull.
"I've read about his other projects," she continues.
"The damage he's done to coastal communities in Norway, in Iceland, in the Orkneys.
He promises jobs and investment, delivers environmental devastation, and moves on before anyone can hold him accountable.
" She's gripping the rail now, knuckles white. "Someone has to stop him."
"Someone will." I guide Deepwatch past the boundary markers and into waters where the corporation's permits don't extend, where their presence would constitute clear violation rather than the gray-area intrusion they're currently exploiting.
"But not alone. Not without understanding what we're truly fighting for. "
The words are out before I can reconsider them, and once spoken, I can't take them back. My bear growls approval, and I know what I have to do next even though it goes against every instinct I've developed over the years of keeping to myself.
"There's a meeting tonight," I tell her as the Northern Promise shrinks in our wake. "People who share your concerns about the development. People who know these waters and what lives in them better than anyone else on the island."
"A meeting?" She looks at me with something that might be hope or might be suspicion. "What kind of meeting?"
"The kind where decisions get made. Where plans get formed." I hold her gaze, willing her to understand what I can't say directly. "Where you might find allies who can help you in ways that official channels never will."
She's silent for a long moment, staring at the distant survey vessel as it continues its work in waters that should be protected. Then she nods, just once, a sharp decisive motion that tells me her mind is made up.
"What time?"
"After sunset. I'll come to your rental." I turn back to the wheel, to the course that will take us home. "Wear something warm. And Isla?"
"Yes?"
"What you see tonight, what you learn, will change things. There's no going back once you know." I meet her eyes one final time, letting her see the weight of what I'm offering. "Be certain this is what you want."
She doesn't look away. Doesn't flinch. Just holds my gaze with that fierce determination that drew me to her from the first moment she stood on my dock and refused to leave.
"I've been chasing answers for years," she says. "I'm not stopping now."
As Deepwatch turns toward harbor, Isla stands at the rail watching the hidden cove shrink behind us. She doesn't look back at me, but her hand rises to touch the pendant at her throat, fingers pressing against metal that pulses with warmth she's stopped trying to explain away.
Tonight, the brotherhood will meet. Tonight, they'll see what I've seen, sense what the beast inside me has recognized since the moment she arrived on Skara.
And when they understand what Isla really is, when they recognize the selkie blood that runs in her veins, they'll know why the ocean called her home.
What they decide to do about it is another matter entirely.