“Is there any way around having to swim to Dagon? Maybe I could meet him at a shoreline…” She trailed off.
“How is it that you never learned? I thought ordinary Americans knew how to swim.”
Because I’ve always known the water is full of death. “Just never got around to it.”
“Tomorrow morning, we swim. Whether you want to or not.”
28
Fiona
With Lir by her side, she stood on the rocky shore, dipping her toes in the icy water. Moonlight rippled over the black waves. Her first swimming lesson would take place in the dark morning hours, with a man covered in a giant octopus tattoo, and she didn’t even have a bathing suit. “What am I supposed to swim in?”
Lir yanked off his shirt. “Not a woolen dress. Apart from that, I honestly don’t care.”
She’d strategically wrapped the scarf around her bra, as she had when running. It was just like a bathing suit, right? Still, knowing that it was cotton instead of a bikini made her pause before pulling off her orange dress and crumpling it into a ball.
The cold ocean air blew against her skin, and she crossed her arms in front of her chest. Lir threw his trousers on a rock, now wearing only a tight pair of black shorts. She tried not to stare, glancing instead at the cresting waves that rushed over the rocks. Rohan would be jealous as hell.
Lir strode into the sea while Fiona lingered on the craggy shoreline.
He waved her in. “Come on, then. You won’t learn to swim on the shore.”
She stepped over the pebbles, closing her eyes as cold sea foam rushed over her feet. Her teeth chattered, and when she closed her eyes, she saw a flash of the faceless man on the beach in South Boston. The phrase “dead man’s fingers” popped into her head, and she shivered. Is that a type of seaweed, or did I just make that up?
Lir stood in water up to his waist. “Are you coming in, or are you too scared? Even you couldn’t drown in a few feet of water.”
Fighting the urge to gag when her feet touched the slimy stones, she pressed forward. “I know. Rationally, it’s just water, and I’m rational, so I can just rationally walk into…” Frigid waves washed over her hips, and she tried not to imagine bloated hands reaching from the depths to grip her ankles. She shut her eyes again, jumping slightly when Lir touched her wrist.
He grasped her hand, pulling her further into the murky water. “You need to do this. Or you will have to return to Dogtown.” She gasped when the water passed her bellybutton.
He was right. She could return and live among the wolves, hiding in a kennel. But then she’d never destroy the Purgators and stop them from slaughtering everyone. What purpose would her life have, then? None whatsoever.
Her fingernails dug into her palms as she followed Lir over the slippery rocks deeper into the sea. They must be coated in some kind of algae. The air smelled of seaweed, but at least underneath that was Lir’s herbal smell.
His hand felt warm in hers, and in the chilly waters she felt drawn to him. When you were seasick you were supposed to stare at one point. Maybe that would work for an oppressive sense of dread too. She fixed her eyes on a star tattoo on his back.
When she was in the water up to her chest, he paused, glancing back at her. “You’re not speaking. We’re past the breakers now.”
She swallowed as a wave rushed toward them, chilling her shoulders. Why is everything so slimy? She knew that all around her, dead man’s flesh sprouted like sea cabbages, corrupted limbs threatening to pull her to the ocean floor and smash her face into the rocks, leaving only a gaping cavity.
“Fiona?”
“I’m here. I’m here.” Her arms hovered over the water’s surface in the stilted posture of the undead.
“In the next few steps, you’ll have to move your arms and legs.”
Something soft and wet wrapped around her leg, and her heart leapt. Tearing her hand out of Lir’s grip, she turned, fighting her way through the waves. On the jagged rocks, she ground to a halt. She hunched over, her hands on her knees, and vomited up last night’s cornbread.
Gasping for breath, she held up a hand. “I’m fine! I’m fine. Just something I ate.”
“There’s fresh water in the boat.”
She picked her way over the rocks to the rowboat and grabbed Lir’s canteen, pouring some water into a small metal cup. After washing her mouth out with the fresh water, she returned the cup and squared her shoulders. Rational. I said I was going to be rational. As she shuffled back over the rocks, she scratched her forehead. “You know the things on the bottom of the ocean that feel like boneless fingers?”
He smirked. “You’re scared of seaweed?”
“I mean, it’s just a plant, so, no.” She shot him a look intended to convey that he was the crazy one.
He studied her. “You’re genuinely afraid of the sea.”
There was no hiding it from him. She shrugged.