43
A Child in the Water
In between two worlds
In between two bodies
One whole me
Winter saw her hair floating on the waves: the Midnight child, the blonde, quiet little girl she had played with so many times. She dived at once and swam towards her as quickly as she could. The water was freezing. In her human form Winter felt the cold on her skin, a million tiny needles piercing her. It was unbearable, but she knew that if she changed, she wouldn’t have arms to hold Mairead with, so she tried to endure it. The cold took her breath away. She thought her heart would stop. After a few seconds she just couldn’t take it anymore, she couldn’t breathe, she couldn’t move. She willed herself to keep going, and she did, though pain ripped through her chest and black sparks danced before her eyes.
Winter had no time to ask herself what had happened for Mairead to be floating in the frozen sea, but she knew that whatever tragedy had befallen the little girl, it was a long time coming. She had sat beside Mairead on the beach many times, basking in the moonlight the way her father used to do. She had heard Mairead crying and calling in despair after her dreams, and nobody comforting her.
At last Winter was there, so close to Mairead that she could entangle her fingers in her hair, pale strands twisted around her human hands. She tried holding the little girl in every way she could – by the arms, by the chest, by the head – but she was just a little girl herself.
Finally the cold and distress had the best of Winter. Her breath faltered and her body started turning by itself. She had no way to stop the transformation. She kept swimming around Mairead in a circle, begging her with her seal eyes to hold onto her. Winter had no more power of speech, no arms, and her skin was slippery, but she could have helped her. Mairead could have held on, had she wanted to.
She didn’t.
Winter caught her eyes for a second, those green eyes, her wet eyelashes – from tears or seawater, Winter couldn’t tell – and they were far gone, somewhere else already. She watched the girl sinking slowly. She watched the black sky, the black waters, the faint glow of the lighthouse beam moving slowly on their stretch of sea, from east to west, from west to east, until there was no more blonde hair left to illuminate. When it was finished, Winter pushed her body back to shore for her mother and father to find. Then she looked for a lonely place among the sea rocks, to cry and mourn in peace the girl she couldn’t save.
Winter’s mother had always told her, since she was a little girl, to keep her real nature a secret. Nobody would understand, she’d said. The other children from the island would be scared, even if stories about creatures like her have been told here since the beginning of time. Selkies.
But most of all, she had to keep her nature a secret from the Midnights, her mother always admonished her. And Winter managed to do that, even though she used to play with Mairead all the time, and even though she was at Midnight Hall a lot when her mum was working there.
For years, it was easy to hide her true nature. From babies to young men and women, people with Elemental blood grow at a normal pace, like everybody else. It’s only once they reach young adulthood that they start growing older slowly, so slowly as to give the illusion they stayed young forever. Winter always knew that when she reached the age of eighteen or so, she would have to isolate herself from the community on the island, and live somewhere truly wild where nobody knew her, or they would notice that she wasn’t growing old.
But before that time came, the Midnights found out about her in an entirely different way.
Mairead had been dead two years. Winter was seventeen. It was a perfect sunny day, and she was on the beach with the seals, sitting among them. They were lying in the sunshine, basking in the light and the fresh wind. Winter was happy and relaxed, and for the first time in her life – the first and last time – she took to her seal form without first making sure that she could not be seen. It was a mistake.
When she clambered back on the rock, she saw him watching her.
For a second Winter thought it was Stewart. Stewart and Winter had played together as children, though he was three years older than her, and as they grew up, he’d started looking at her with different eyes. Winter knew he liked her, and he was gentle and kind. Not like the rest of the family. Had it really been Stewart, Winter could have explained, she could have begged him to keep it a secret.
But it was James.
Winter, having changed back into her human form, was frozen to the spot, horribly, painfully aware that she was naked, though it had never bothered her before. He strode towards her, an avenging angel with a black soul.
“How could you, Winter? I don’t even want to look at you.”
“James …”
“You’re not even an animal! You’re a monster!”
Winter thought she’d never forget his eyes as he was shouting at her, so intensely green. And his hair so golden. He looked like the prince from a fairy tale, like a knight in shining armour, and yet she’d always known that beyond his appearance there was a soul as hard and as cruel as a blade.
“Your mother is a whore, and so are you. Cover up.” He averted his eyes, as if Winter’s body disgusted him. “Come to the house. Now. We’ll have to decide what to do.”
She didn’t go up to the house, of course. She ran home and cried with her mother. Murdina Shaw was beside herself with worry. The man everybody thought was Winter’s father, Hugh Shaw, had died the year before, and her real father had left long ago. Winter and Murdina were alone, and they had no idea what to do.
They were summoned. Hamish himself went to their cottage – something never seen before, the laird walking into the little house – and asked them to go and speak to him and Morag, that they would sort it all out, that Murdina could keep her job and her home and everything would be fine.
Winter and Murdina stood in the grand hall, ready to take judgement. Murdina had her head low, though she’d done nothing wrong, while Winter felt James’s eyes burning into her, travelling over her body in a way that made her cringe. When he’d seen her on the rocks there was something in his eyes that wasn’t loathing, or righteous indignation. His gaze had lingered on Winter a little longer than it should have had he been so thoroughly disgusted by her as he’d said he was. Fear blossomed in Winter’s chest. She knew then that she had a place somewhere in James’s black heart, the place where he kept cruelty and desire.
Morag and Hamish reassured Murdina that she could keep her position as housekeeper and that there was no need to leave the cottage. They told her that they knew she’d been deceived, and misled, and it wasn’t her fault she’d ended up having a child out of wedlock, and with a …spirit, Morag said, spitting out the word. They said they could accept Winter’s presence on Islay as long as she kept herself hidden, and as long as they were happy with her behaviour. Things would change if she were to mate with another Elemental. That’s the word they used, as if Winter were a beast.
“If we get the slightest hint that you’re conniving with demons, Winter, we’ll crush you,” Morag said calmly.
“Why would I?” Winter replied, aghast. “Why would I ever do that?”
“Some Elementals end up serving the Surari, Winter. They become their minions, or even their slaves. If that happens to you, I’ll make sure I’ll rip that seal skin off your body myself.”
As Morag said that, Murdina sobbed and brought her hands to her face. The sound of her fear and horror echoing in high-ceilinged room was burnt forever in Winter’s memory – and the sight of Morag, with Hamish and James on either side, sitting in judgement of them like a heartless queen.
They were dismissed with a wave of her hand.
Stewart met them on the way back to the cottage. Murdina held onto Winter’s arm, gasping as she saw him.
“It’s fine, Mrs Shaw. I’m here to help.”
Murdina breathed out, relaxing ever so slightly, but Winter didn’t allow herself to hope.
Stewart continued, “Winter, listen. They’re not going to harm you. They just want to keep an eye on you, that’s all. I’m sorry.”
Winter looked into his face, so similar to James’s and yet so different – gentler, with dark green eyes, mellower than the harsh emerald of his brother’s. “You knew, Stewart. Didn’t you?”
“I’ve seen you a few times,” he said, blushing. “I never told anyone, I promise you.”
“Of course. I believe you. So, do you think it’ll be OK? Do you think I can stay?”
“I’m sure. They just wanted to scare you. They’ve made their point now. Just … don’t step out of line and you’ll be fine. Mrs Shaw?”
“Yes, my lad?” Murdina put a grateful hand on his arm.
“I’m sorry,” he said softly.
Since that moment, Winter often wondered what would have happened between Stewart and her had she not left. She doubted he would have gone against his family, but she’d never know.
Stewart was wrong, of course. They didn’t leave Winter alone. James didn’t. She kept well away, trying to melt into the landscape, spending most of her time in the sea on the other side of the island. She hoped that would be enough, that she wouldn’t have to leave.
But one afternoon, James came looking for her. He wasn’t angry. He wasn’t out of control. It wasn’t rage that had taken hold of him and brought him there to Machir Bay, looking for silver-haired Winter. She saw him from afar, striding on the sand, a young man of nineteen with cold eyes and something in his hand: a silver dagger, engraved with Celtic patterns. She stood from where she was sitting on the rocks overlooking the sea.
Rage burnt inside her. With all her heart and soul, she hated him. And she hated Morag Midnight. They had destroyed Mairead, and they had sat in judgement of her mother. They’d called her a monster, an abomination. She hated them both, and Hamish too.
James stopped at the feet of the sea rocks and looked at Winter with cool, calm eyes.
“I’m getting married soon. To Cathy.”
She was taken aback. What was he expecting her to say, congratulations?
“Poor Cathy,” she replied.
“Very funny. By the time I get married, I want this island to be clean.”
Winter understood at once what he meant. She knew that the blade he was carrying was for her.
“I won’t use the Blackwater, Winter. It’d be too painful for you. I’ll use this,” he raised his sgian-dubh, “and I’ll make it quick. You might as well let me do it, because sooner or later, I’ll get you.”
Winter was terrified, but anger had the best of her fear. She saw red, and threw herself on him. He was too strong for her, Winter’s only real strength was in the water. He held her down, and his hands were burning her skin already.
“Not the Blackwater,” she implored, hating herself for begging, but to have her skin and flesh and bones melt away like she was some demon … She didn’t want to die that way, she couldn’t.
“No. Don’t worry, Winter,” he said, and his voice became strangely soft. “It won’t take long.” He looked her straight in the eye as he pushed the sgian-dubh into her side, slowly, tenderly even. When he took it out Winter thought she’d die from the pain, but he stroked her hair and held her.
“Shhhh. It’ll be over soon,” he whispered.
But it wasn’t over soon at all. He had pierced her so that she would lose blood slowly, and her agony would last a long time.
James walked away as if nothing had happened, leaving Winter on the sand.
She implored him to come back. “Please don’t leave me,” she said, hating herself for having begged him twice, but she wanted to live. She was too young, too full of life never to swim again, never to lie in the sun again.
He didn’t come back, of course. Winter watched James Midnight walk away, feeling the whole world spin as the little patch of bloody sand beside her became bigger and bigger. She crawled into the sea, dragging herself inch by inch, and let the water enfold her. Her despair eased at once, because at least she was going to die in the water – given the circumstances, she felt she couldn’t ask for more.
But it wasn’t her time.
Her sight was blurred, she was weak, she knew she was lost, and then she heard a high-pitched, whale-like sound, and a whisper. “Hemalla, putri …”
It was her father in his Elemental form. He was a whirlpool of water, a bit darker, a bit denser than the sea, vaguely seal–shaped. He cradled Winter to him and swirled around her until everything went black and she was sure she’d died.
*
Winter woke to find herself on a rock in the middle of the sea, so far from the shore that she couldn’t see land anywhere. She was surrounded by a pack of seals, their black noses nudging her legs, a fin resting on her arm, as close as they could get, to make her strong again. Her wound was agony, but it wasn’t bleeding anymore. Her father had healed her.
She swam ashore and slipped into her mother’s cottage – Murdina cried as she heard what had happened, but she promised to pretend Winter was dead. It was the only way.
Winter swam to Jura, and up to Colonsay, and there she lived, mostly alone with the seals. She didn’t return to Islay until her mother got ill. By then Hamish and Morag had died, Cathy’s destiny was a mystery – she had been sent away – and James was in Edinburgh. Winter couldn’t leave her mother to die alone, and she couldn’t take her away from the island, it would have broken her heart. She had no choice but to return.
Not long after her return to Islay word came through that James and his second wife, Anne, had died too. The family was finished, but for Sarah Midnight and for Stewart’s son, Harry, in London. Winter knew already that Stewart had ended up rejecting the Midnights, and that he’d moved to New Zealand and died young. Winter never set eyes on a Midnight again, until Sarah arrived. She felt no hate for her. Stewart was a kind man, and Mairead was as innocent as a seal pup – Winter couldn’t hate the whole family.
And Sarah? Would she be like her father, like her grandmother?
Maybe Sarah would be the one who saved the Midnights, who restored them to their old power, to the way they were always meant to be – protectors, guardians of them all.
44
A Child Ashamed
She was told they knew
She was one of them
A child ashamed,
Already sure
Her blood was black
… I wish I could ask for forgiveness. I wish I could say I did it because she asked me. She asked me by trying to do it herself, over and over again.
But in here I only write the truth, and here it is: she was about to jump into the cold waters, to be drowned like an unwanted kitten. But at the last minute, she turned around.
She said, “Mum, I want to go home.”
And I thought of her screaming, I thought of the hours spent trying to get some sense out of her, of her precious diary full of scribbles and little drawings and stupid poems when she should have done her job, for all of us. And I didn’t mean to, of course, but before I knew it, all the disappointment, the sheer embarrassment of having such a coward for a child came back – and yes, that’s what she was, a coward – and I pushed her into the water.
She looked at me, surprised. That was the last thing she’d ever expect. Of course. Who would think that their mother is going to put an end to their life?
She fell into the water and she didn’t struggle. No splashing, no writhing. She just floated there for a minute, and then she looked at me again. As if she had accepted what I just did.
She looked so scared, though. And her little hand went up towards me, once, but without much spirit, as if she knew I wasn’t going to take it.
Without spirit, yes. Even in death she was spineless.
Our eyes met and she was without reproach. Her gaze was sweet, resigned, which made me despise her even more – and still, those eyes will stay with me as long as I live. I watched Mairead throw herself back to float with her face skywards. Her little face was quite blue already, and I knew she’d die from the cold before she’d die drowning.
I am quite dead myself now. But I have to find a daughter for the family. She won’t have the dreams, but at least she’ll have witchcraft. Proper witchcraft, not Mairead’s little gentle games.
How was she ever born into our family?
When I walked in and I told them all – when I told them how I tried to save her – they looked at my dress, and they saw it was dry. Hamish accepted it. He couldn’t entirely blame me, anyway. Mairead was half his. Probably all his, given the way she had turned out. James, even at his young age, understood. But Stewart. Stewart hates me now, even more than before.
I foresee that this will dissolve our family. Another consequence of Mairead’s uselessness, I suppose. All I can do is wait until James is old enough to marry and see that he and his wife have the daughter I was supposed to have.
*
Slowly, deliberately, Sarah tore the letter to pieces, and piece by piece she put it into the fire.
The last memory of Mairead’s murder had been destroyed.
45
Broken Destiny
What they turned you into
Black embers
It was well after midnight when Nicholas came to find Sarah in her room, sitting beside the cold, black remains of the fire. She looked very small and very lost in the big, shadowy room. Then she turned her face to him, revealing her tear-streaked cheeks.
“What happened? A dream? Oh, Sarah.”
She let him put his arms around her, inhaling woodsmoke and soil, the Nicholas scent she’d come to know so well.
“It wasn’t a dream,” she told him quietly. “I read the last letter. Morag Midnight was a monster. And so was my father. And so am I!”
“What? Slow down! What letter?”
“The final letter. Yes. She … my grandmother …” Sarah covered her face with her hands.
“It’s OK. It’s OK.”
“It’s not OK! She murdered Mairead! It was she who killed her! And my father knew! They all knew!”
“She killed her own daughter? Why?”
“Because Mairead couldn’t cope with the dreams. She wasn’t strong enough. She took her to the sea and threw her in. And Mairead was …resigned. She accepted it, in a way, if you believe what Morag wrote. She wanted it!”
“You told me she was only thirteen. A thirteen-year-old child doesn’t want to die!”
“She must have been made to feel that way. Can you imagine? She knew she was a disappointment.” Sarah’s voice broke.
Nicholas held her close. Was this a chance he needed to take? He didn’t want to use the mind-moulding on her again, but he wanted to make her feel better, and he didn’t know how. In desperation, he cast his numbing fog around her again, cradling her in his arms, watching as it took the edge off her thoughts, softening her pain.
“Shhhh. It was long ago. It was so long ago, and you can forget it now,” he soothed.
Sarah closed her eyes. “I can’t. I’m just like them.”
“No, you aren’t. It ends here, Sarah. The misery that was handed down to you. You don’t need to hand it down to your children. Although their blood is in your veins, you’re your own person. You can choose who you are.”
Nicholas’s hypnotic voice was calming her, bit by bit, as it had done so often. She felt the familiar dizziness taking her, weakening her.
“Do you hear me, Sarah? You don’t need to be like them.”
“That’s what Winter told me,” Sarah murmured into his chest, confused. She wrapped her arms round him.
“You can choose who you want to be.” Nicholas repeated his mantra over and over, his hold on her strengthening.
You need me too, she thought suddenly, the notion piercing the blanket of sleepiness that he brought with him. She frowned, surprised. He was comforting her, not the opposite, so why was she feeling this way, that she was somehow supporting him, that for once he was the vulnerable one?
Sarah disentwined herself from Nicholas and looked into his face. She gasped at what she saw. His eyes were as red-rimmed as hers, and just as troubled. He looked as if he was on the verge of breaking.
“Don’t be upset, Nicholas. I’ll be fine. We’ll be fine,” she whispered, but the blurriness was returning. “I’m so tired. I can’t speak. I can’t think. Why are you doing this to me? What are you doing to me?” She wasn’t sure whether she was making any sense now.
“I’m sorry,” he murmured into her hair. “I’m sorry.”
“I don’t want this anymore, Nicholas. Please stop,” she muttered, leaning against him, unable to move.
“I’m sorry,” he said again, but he didn’t lift the fog – he wanted to hold her in his arms for as long as he could, and never let her go.
It was late the next morning when Sarah walked into the kitchen.
“Are you feeling OK?” Sean asked her when he saw her pale face and tousled hair. He put down his sgian-dubh – he and Elodie had been practising the runes again. “You look terrible.”
Sarah stretched and turned slowly around, taking in the scene. “I’m fine. I fell asleep.”
“Come and sit down,” Sean interrupted. He didn’t want to know the details. “I’ll make you a cup of coffee.”
Sarah smiled wanly at the offer. Caffeine man, she used to call him, because he thought that everything could be fixed with coffee.
“There might be biscuits to go with that,” Niall began, pulling a tin out of one of the cupboards.
Elodie chipped in. “Oh, me too, thanks!”
Mike stood up. “Here, take my chair.”
“I read the last letter. My grandmother murdered her daughter,” said Sarah suddenly. Her words fell like stones, and the room was silenced. “She wasn’t good enough. My aunt Mairead, I mean. She was frightened, she couldn’t take the dreams. They were too much for her. So Morag drowned her. Just there.” Sarah pointed out the window, towards the beach. She spoke as if she couldn’t quite believe what she was telling them.
“Jesus,” whispered Niall.
“So anyway. I’m going for a walk. Alone,” said Sarah before anybody could suggest otherwise.
“No you aren’t. Unless you have a death wish,” replied Elodie. “The demon-bird is still out there.”
Sarah shrugged. “I need to be alone.”
“I’ll walk ten steps behind you, OK? But I won’t leave you.” Sarah looked at Elodie, surprised. There was warmth in her voice, something she wasn’t expecting.
But Sarah misunderstood. I hate to be pitied. She lifted her chin. “No thanks.”
Elodie took a step back, biting her lip. Sean was about to speak, but too late.
“I’ll come with you,” said Nicholas, appearing as if from nowhere.
Sarah swung round. “No. I need to think,” she whispered, a tight note in her voice.
Nicholas’s face darkened. “Of course. I’ll leave you be.” He stood back to let her pass.
“You’re not going anywhere on your own.” Sean strode over and took Sarah’s arm, turning his back on Nicholas.
Finally, Sarah exploded, shaking him off in a single violent movement. “Will everybody let me be! I’m a curse! I’m a walking curse! And I want to be alone!”
Sean and Elodie exchanged a quick look, and unspoken words passed between them. Sarah would not go alone.
Nicholas frowned as he watched Sean storm out after her, but he didn’t stop him. Sean’s form blurred and vanished as he walked onto the beach.
Sarah sat on the rocks at the far side of the bay, lashed by the wind and rain, looking out to sea, eyes dark with sorrow. Let the demons come. If the last of the Midnights dies, it might not be entirely a bad thing.
Sean sat not far from her, invisible to her, so immobile, so still that he was sand and water, part of the landscape, watching over Sarah, keeping her safe.