Skirmish by the Sea. #2
“Do you have the blade I crafted for you?” I asked.
“Of course,” he said on a strained breath.
“Then you’re protected.” A surge of relief flooded me at that notion.
The many sleepless nights spent imbuing weapons with spells proved worthwhile—well over half the men remained unaffected by the hypnotic song.
Finn restrained one of Fletcher’s arms while Bash pinned the other, and I could only watch, knowing I was too weak to help. A cry crashed against the shore, pulling my gaze to the water, where a few dozen men waded through the waves—ominous shapes floating around them.
“You were right.” Bash groaned, dodging a headbutt from Fletcher. “There are seal folk in the sea.”
I moved closer to the shoreline, squinting through the haze for a clearer view. The floating lumps had black, beady eyes, peering inland from just above the water’s surface. Their sleek, silver skin shimmered under the dwindling light as they swam toward the soldiers.
The selkies had begun their attack.
Their blubbery bodies kept them buoyant as they pounced on their victims. With powerful jaws, they seized the men, thrashing their prey violently until they were limp. The soldiers being mangled didn’t scream—as though the woman’s song had stolen their souls, leaving them hollow.
A dark figure darted across the sands. For a moment, I thought it was Dog, but it wasn’t her.
Fitzroy charged heroically, wielding his sword and screaming at the top of his lungs.
He leapt into the air, gripping the hilt in both hands, and drove the blade through the woman’s chest—the tip piercing out her back.
Her hypnotic song ceased instantly; her arms fell limply to her sides. I held my breath as Fitzroy withdrew the bloodstained iron. The woman collapsed, her lifeless body striking the water’s surface with a resounding slap.
Fitzroy staggered backward, retreating inland, but a vengeful selkie had other plans. The creature bounded forward, knocking Fitzroy off his feet. He landed half on the sands, half in the foamy tide, which lapped at his legs, as though the sea were salivating for his flesh.
The selkie scuttled toward Fitzroy, snarling furiously. Despite knowing I was too far to save him, I sprinted down the beach, praying that the gods would grant me speed to stop him from becoming a martyr.
“No!” Finn wailed from behind.
I heard the sand thwacking beneath Finn’s feet as he chased after me. Before I could reach Fitzroy, a spark—like a bolt of lightning—flew through the sky, striking the selkie. Its menacing expression drained away as it flopped forward, dead.
I halted my run and turned toward the cliff edge. The cloaked witches were at work, sending spells our way. Even without seeing their faces, I recognized them. Margaret stood at the forefront, with Jane and Emma clinging to her shoulders.
A knight darted across the sands to Fitzroy’s side, helping him back to his feet. The sight of him upright flushed me with relief.
The selkies, now enraged, scooted onto the shores, their webbed flippers leaving distinct marks in the wet sands. I shuddered as I noticed blood dripping from the whiskers around their murderous mouths.
The men unaffected by the song fought back valiantly, their swords striking with precision, bludgeoning the beasts to death.
I glanced inland and saw Fletcher, still caught under the spell. “You cunt,” he spat through gritted teeth. “Let go of me.”
Bash ignored Fletcher’s onslaught of insults, fully aware he was hypnotized, and fought to keep him restrained.
I attempted to bolt to Bash’s aid, but my foot slipped, and I fell to the ground. As I turned over, an animalistic hiss pierced through the winds. A selkie wriggled toward me, dragging its belly across the sands, snapping its mouth—armored with sharp teeth.
My trembling hand reached for the hilt of my sword. “Zounds!” I cried.
Frantically, I kicked at the sand, engulfing the selkie in a blanket of gritty grains. Yet it seemed unfazed, continuing its relentless prowl toward me.
“Help!” I screamed, my voice high-pitched and unmistakably feminine.
I didn’t care if everyone in Cambas discovered I was a woman; if this creature sank its teeth into me, no one would be able to tell what I once was.
As I feared the worst, Finn appeared behind the selkie, shushing me as he crept closer.
As the beast opened its mouth to bite, Finn struck with a swift, downward stab—impaling the gray creature through its meaty back.
Blood gushed from the wound like water from a hot spring as Finn yanked his sword free.
In a heavy-handed motion, Finn grabbed me under my arms and pulled me to my feet.
“You’re not strong enough. Go inland,” he demanded, his voice sharp with anger.
I wanted to argue, but he was right—I was a terrible fighter. Catching my breath, I watched as Finn sprinted off to aid another soldier battling a selkie farther down the shoreline.
To my slight relief, the soldiers were successfully defending Cambas, pushing the surviving selkies back into the sea. However, Bash was losing his battle to keep Fletcher on land.
“Damn you,” Fletcher spat, swinging his head into Bash’s face. A loud crack echoed across the beach as their foreheads collided. Bash yelped, releasing his grip on Fletcher to clutch his bleeding nose. Unfazed, Fletcher continued his trancelike pilgrimage toward the summoning sea.
A bloodied Bash hesitated, clearly doubting his strength to restrain Fletcher. After a moment’s pause, he removed his gloves and tossed them onto the black sands. Keeping his arms by his sides, he turned his palms to face Fletcher.
I couldn’t hear his incantation, but his mouth moved quickly while his palms glowed faintly. I glanced around the beach, wondering if anyone had noticed Bash publicly performing magic, but the men were too busy fighting to save their own friends from watery graves.
A flash of fiery auburn hair caught my eye. Red, clutching the head of a decapitated selkie in one hand and a crimsoned sword in the other, was locking his gaze onto Bash.
Without hesitation, he tossed the head toward the sea and began striding toward the wizard.
“Bash!” I cried. He didn’t hear me—his focus was honed entirely on the incantation.
Acting on impulse, I dashed toward Red, desperate to stop him before he reached Bash. The sand kicked up under my feet as I ran faster than ever, determined to prevent Red from playing a god.
Red broke into a sprint, clutching his sword in both hands, the blood-stained blade gleaming over his shoulder.
“Stop!” I screamed, throwing myself between them.
Red veered to the side, ducking around me to charge at Bash.
“Smith, no!” Bash yelled from over my shoulder.
I gasped as something ice-cold struck me. Sucking in a sharp breath, I choked—as I coughed, blood spluttered from my mouth. That’s when I noticed the fletching protruding from my torso.
I looked up, first seeing Red’s horror-stricken face, then catching sight of Fletcher behind him, bow in hand.
The arrow meant for Red had struck me instead.
The realization crashed over me like a tidal wave. My legs buckled, and I collapsed onto the sand, writhing in excruciating pain. My trembling hands grappled at the arrow shaft, desperately trying to pull it free.
“Wesan gan.” Be gone, Bash yelled, unleashing a spell toward Red. The magic sent him hurtling through the air, crashing hard onto his back a short distance away.
“Finn!” a voice cried out—distant and muffled.
“Smith!” Bash gasped as he hoisted my torso, cradling my head on his thighs. His voice cracked with desperation as he called for help. While he cried out, I felt too weak to resist sleep, and darkness quickly claimed me.
I awoke lightheaded and feverish, my vision blurred and my ears ringing. A sharp, stabbing sensation radiated from my torso, and the familiar scent of welded iron and coal told me I was in the smithy—lying on my bedstead.
“I’m so sorry,” croaked a familiar voice.
I blinked until the fuzzy shapes sharpened into Fletcher’s face, looming over me.
“That arrow wasn’t for you,” he mumbled from beneath the peak of his cap.
Clearly, the hypnosis had lifted from him, though I couldn’t appreciate Bash’s successful spell amid the crippling pain.
“Keep Smith’s eyes open,” Bash demanded from somewhere nearby.
Fletcher leaned in and gently slapped my cheeks. “Stay awake.”
Weakly, I reached out. “Bash,” I called, struggling to see through my fading vision.
Bash’s fingers entwined with mine as he moved nearer, his face edging into view. “I’ll be right back. I need to find Fitzroy,” he said softly.
“No,” I choked out, panic surging as I sensed death encroaching. “Don’t go. I’m scared.”
I erupted into a fit of wet, hacking coughs as blood spattered from my mouth, freckling Bash’s face in crimson spots.
“I’ll find Fitzroy,” Fletcher assured us, his voice muffled by the heavy thump of my own heartbeat.
Bash pressed a tender kiss to my forehead, his fingertips stroking my cheek. “Don’t fear,” he whispered. “I won’t leave your side. Now, close your eyes.”
I obeyed, sealing them shut. “Hold on.” His voice floated somewhere above me.
“After the war, I’m going to take you to the Headlands.
I’ll introduce you to my brothers and sisters, and we’ll feast on lamprey—buckets and buckets of the slippery things.
I’ll take you out on one of my father’s boats to watch the sun set over the sea. ”
Tears streamed down my cheeks as I believed, with heartbreaking certainty, I’d never get to live those moments.
“Niamh!” a distant voice wailed.
It had been so long since I’d heard the call of my own name that, for a beat, I believed I’d imagined it.
“By the grace of the gods,” Finn said as I pried open my heavy eyes to see his face beside Bash’s.
“Brother,” I spluttered.
“You cannot die,” Finn pleaded.
“We need Fitzroy,” Bash urged.
Finn’s hands trembled as he clutched mine. “I’m sorry. I never should have let everyone believe your work was mine. I’m sorry—oh gods, what do we do?”
“Find Fitz—”