Submerging (Swans Landing) (4 page)

“No chocolate?” I growled.

Josh reached into a bag and pulled out a few candy bars.

We ate in silence for a while. Despite the fact that I didn’t care for peanut butter sandwiches, it seemed like one of the best meals I had eaten. At least it wasn’t seaweed or raw fish, which was what we had been living on for the past two months.

“It’s getting late,” Josh said. “We should go to bed and then we’ll explore the village tomorrow.”

“We’ve been swimming for weeks without rest,” I said. “I’m planning to sleep for days.”

After we ate, I headed to the bathroom to try to wash up. I had never been a girl who spent hours on her looks. I kept my straight brown hair long because it was an easy style. I never wore makeup. It washed off whenever I was in the water anyway. But still, I was shocked at how tired and dirty I looked when I saw my reflection in the tiny bathroom mirror. My face was gaunt, my cheekbones almost cutting through my skin. My hair was dry and brittle from months of saltwater. Did this happen to every finfolk who spent so much time at sea, or was it a result of the weakened human part of me?

I didn’t have a comb, so I ran my fingers through my hair in an attempt to unknot the strands. The saltwater had turned it into tangled waves around my shoulders.

After washing my face and rinsing my dry mouth with water from the squeaky faucet, I returned to our room.

“Bathroom’s all yours,” I said, climbing back into my bunk. While Josh disappeared into the bathroom, I laid across the bed once again. Already I could feel the pull of the ocean wanting me back, but I’d had enough of the water to last me a lifetime. For now, I wanted to sleep on dry land.

I drifted off to sleep before Josh had returned.

Chapter Five

I opened my eyes to a white ceiling only inches above my face. My body ached and my muscles seared with pain as I rolled over. All of that swimming had toned my arms and legs, but it had also worn them completely out. I didn’t think I’d be able to walk properly for the next month.

Leaning over the side of the bunk, I saw Josh was still asleep, his arms thrown over his head and his mouth open in a snore. Somehow I had managed to sleep through the noise. I must have been more exhausted than I thought.

I slipped out of bed carefully to keep from waking him. I was not in the mood to deal with his bossiness yet.

It was early, judging from the pale sunlight streaming through the windows, but I wasn’t the only one up. Some other guests wandered between their rooms and the bathroom, and in the kitchen I found the woman from the front desk making coffee. My stomach growled at the smell.

“Good morning,” she greeted me with a quick nod. “There’s hot coffee and tea if you’d like. And you can have use of the stove if you need to cook anything.”

Thanks to Josh’s peanut butter and bread, my cooking options were limited.

“Thanks,” I said, padding over to the counter to pour a small cup of coffee. I liked mine loaded with sugar, so much that Grandma always called it “coffee-flavored sugar water.” When the woman turned her back, I grabbed a nearby saltshaker and added a few shakes in as well. The finfolk genes made me crave salt constantly whenever I wasn’t in the water.

I stood near the window as I sipped my coffee, looking out at the semi-circle bay. The fog was thick on the horizon, but I could see the shape of land across the water.

“What’s that island out there?” I asked casually. “The one across the water?”

For a moment, I hoped she would tell me no island existed there. I’d read once in a book about finfolk that they were known to live on vanishing islands. Maybe this was one of them, and my journey to find the finfolk was almost over.

“That’s Papay—Papa Westray. It’s only a short trip over if you want to tour it.”

I wasn’t really interested in the tourist thing, but I did need to explore Westray at least. Keeping up the appearance of an American tourist, I asked, “Are there tours here, around Pierowall? Or around Westray itself?”

The lady nodded. “There are some, but if you ask me, you don’t need to wait for a tour. You can easily walk the island at your own pace.”

I drank the last of my coffee and thanked her.

A quick visit to our room showed that Josh was still asleep. I was unable to remain still, a feeling of restlessness sweeping over me. I glanced at Josh once more, biting my lip. A quick walk wouldn’t hurt and I’d probably be back before he woke anyway.

The morning was cold and my breath hung in the damp air. Gray clouds filled the sky, but other people were out and about along the main road. It was a small village, much like Swans Landing, and the people all seemed to know each other, judging from the way they smiled and waved as they passed. I had journeyed thousands of miles to end up in another isolated island.

Did any of these people ever feel suffocated, stuck here on this island with the same people they had known all their lives? Back in Swans Landing, it was impossible to hide or to blend in and be invisible. All of your problems were known by everyone else and secrets were hard to keep hidden.

My chest tightened, as if it were being constricted by an invisible hand. I needed to get away from people, from the small town enclosure I was in once again. I needed wide open spaces, room to breathe.

I stumbled down the street, trying to keep the panic off my face as I gasped for air. I brushed by people, sometimes knocking into them, but I didn’t stop. My feet moved faster until I was running past shops and homes.

Finally I broke free of civilization. Wide, green fields spread out around me. I kept walking for a long time without any destination in mind. The wind whipped my hair around my head, the strands stinging my face.

A white lighthouse grew larger in the distance the farther I walked. My gaze focused on it and my feet moved faster toward the structure.

The Swans Landing Lighthouse had always stood watch over me throughout my life. It wasn’t a tall lighthouse, short and stout, but it was bright white with a single black line around its middle. This lighthouse on Westray was much taller, but it was also white, and for a moment I could almost imagine myself being exactly where I had started from.

The lighthouse was surrounded by a low wall and I wasn’t sure if I would be trespassing if I got close to it, so instead I strolled across the open field around it toward the edge of the cliff on which it stood.

Swans Landing always felt like the edge of the world since no other land was visible from its shores. But this felt like the other side, like the water stretched on forever. The land dropped out before me, falling into cliffs high over the ocean. Waves crashed against rocks far below and all around me hundreds, maybe thousands, of seabirds swooped and dove from their perches along the exposed rock.

I sucked in the deepest breath I could, breathing the familiar salt air. I stood on the opposite side of the Atlantic Ocean that I had always known, but still it was the same. I knew the sound of its song and the taste of its salt in the air. I was home.

The earth had a song of its own, though it wasn’t sung as often as the water songs were. It was older, quieter, and harder to hear over the sound of water. But here it felt stronger, the vibrations more intense than I’d ever felt them before.

I closed my eyes, breathing the sweet air deep into my lungs. The songs of the earth below my feet and the water farther down competed inside me for attention. They merged for the briefest moment into one sweet, ancient song, unlike anything I’d ever heard before. It dissolved quickly, and the two songs were once again separate. I pressed my lips together and hummed along with the familiar water song.

“Sailor,” a voice whispered around me. When I opened my eyes, I saw her dancing along the cliff in front of me. My song faltered and she started to dissolve into golden bursts, but then I continued humming and her image grew vibrant again.

My mama, young and beautiful, wove her way around the field, smiling and throwing her head back to laugh. She looked happy, the way I always imagined she must have been when my daddy was alive, when they were in love. Had she been happy when she realized she was pregnant with me, even though my father was married to another woman? Had she loved me because I was a part of him?

I choked back a sob, the song faltering, and my mother faded away, dissolving into a golden mist. It was the human part of me that let me see her when I heard a finfolk song. It was the human part that made me weak.

I feel to my knees in the grass, burying my face in my hands and letting the wind take away the sound of my crying.

“Singing in public is not the best idea around these parts,” said a voice thick with a Scottish brogue behind me.

My head snapped up. A guy not much older than me stood in the grass, chewing a long green blade between his teeth. His bright blue shirt stood out against his pale skin and red hair fluttered in the breeze.

My first instinct was to run. But where? He stood between me and the rest of civilization back in Pierowall.

Besides, he had already heard my song. Every muscle in my body was tensed, ready to fight if needed.

“Who are you?” I asked.

“Callum Murchadh,” he said, nodding at me. “And now may I ask, who are you and where did you come from? You do not belong here.”

A chill tickled down my spine. “What makes you say that?”

Callum shrugged. “Not hard to tell. I know everyone in Pierowall. And I know the kinds of people who usually come here on holiday.” His gaze scanned over me. “But you are no tourist.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” I stood and brushed grass off my knees. “I have to go.”

I walked past him, but Callum reached out and grabbed my arm.

“I heard you sing.”

I froze, panic tickling its way up my spine and across my scalp like tiny spiders. “So?” I asked, pulling my arm from his grasp.

He shrugged again, looking out toward the water. “So it was a nice song.”

I studied him for a long moment, trying to determine who he was.
What
he was. He looked human, but then, so did I.

“Who are you?” I asked.

He rubbed his cheek, cocking his head to the side. “I think the question is, who are you?”

“I’m...a tourist,” I said, but my voice sounded small and pathetic, not at all as confident and tough as I wanted it to be.

He laughed and the sun shone on his brilliant red hair as he moved his head back. “And I’m just someone who lives by the water.”

He walked closer to the edge of the cliff, looking over as if deciding whether to jump off.

“Did you follow me here?” I asked. There was no one else around. Would anyone hear me if I screamed?

Callum gazed out at the water as he spoke, his hands in his pockets. “If anything, you are intruding on me. I’ve come here every morning for the last five years. I think I have the right to ask where you came from.”

He was tall and his clothes hugged his body in that perfect way they should. He stood so that the sun outlined his profile, showing off the strong curve of his nose and chin.

“My brother is waiting for me. I should go.” I wanted him to know I wasn’t here alone, in case he turned out to be psycho. A good-looking psycho.

“You can stay if you’d like. But you should know that people can hear you.”

“Well, that’s good,” I said. “Because if you come near me, I’ll scream.”

“So who are you?” he asked again.

I shook my head, crossing my arms. “I’m not stupid. I’ve seen plenty of horror movies. I won’t be the gullible girl that gets herself killed by the charming foreign guy.”

He smiled, revealing gleaming white teeth and a deep dimple in his left cheek. “I’m charming, aye, but harmless.”

I snorted. “Why should I take your word for it?”

“Because,” he said, “you could easily get away from me. If you ran, I would be at a disadvantage.” He reached down and pulled up one leg of his jeans, revealing a metal artificial leg. He tapped it with one finger. “It gets me around, but slows me down a wee bit. I’ve never been much of a runner anyway.”

My mouth opened and closed for a moment as I tried to think of an appropriate response.

He let his jeans leg fall back into place. “You don’t find me quite so charming now, do you?” he asked, his forehead creasing into a scowl. “Don’t look so pityingly.”

He turned toward the water, breathing in deep. The wind rustled the grass around us and birds shrieked over the ocean.

“I love the salt air, don’t you?” he asked.

I didn’t answer as I stared into the hazy distance.

“I’ve lived all my life near the water,” Callum went on. “Almost a part of it, you could say. I never get tired of it.”

My gaze practically bored holes into his skin as I studied him for any clues as to who he really was. But he looked like any other human boy, though not quite a boy. He was probably a couple years older than me, still pretty young-looking, but with shoulders that had broadened nicely.

“What about you?” he asked. “Do you have a love affair with the ocean too?” He winked one brilliant green eye my way.