“Nightmare. As always.” It had been the usual dream about Grandad, only this time, I was the one who dived off the cliff at the end.
I hesitated at the edge of the beach, trying to focus on each breath, the rhythm of inhaling and exhaling, instead of the soft grains beneath my feet. Yet I couldn’t entirely ignore the tide creeping in, devouring more of the shore with each passing minute. Or the kittiwakes floating on the sun-drenched surface of the water, some with their bottoms in the air, bobbing for tiny silver fish.
Even the sight of waves fizzling out made my knees weak. It was difficult not to think of the Bully, Mam’s oily serpent, and of the fossegrim. Of Nessa, Eveleen, and Alis gasping for air as the misty phantom held them underwater.
Halfway to the waves, I discarded my cloak. Fynn did the same, revealing his bare chest—and his scars. The marks had dulled to jagged pink lines for the most part, though they still needed time to fully heal. I sucked in a breath as his trousers dropped to the sand. He wore Da’s oldest—and smallest—pair of striped swim trunks, which by some miracle clung to his narrow waist.
My cheeks and neck warmed.
I grabbed Fynn’s hand in preparation for the salty plunge. We walked to the waterline, my pace slowing as we drew ever closer, and I flinched as chill sea foam finally tickled my toes. “I wish the water wasn’t so cold,” I gritted out with the little air left in my chest.
“It won’t feel so bad once you’ve been in a while.”
“If I don’t bash my head against a rock first and die.” I couldn’t help gazing toward the horizon, looking for a filmy figure hovering above the water.
Fynn’s fingers closed over my shoulder. “You won’t be anywhere near the rocks. We’re going straight out, so you can get used to the feeling of being in the water. Then we’ll come back to the shallows so you can practice swimming.” He pointed past the cliffs, to the distant spot where the sea turned from blue-green to deepest navy.
“We’re going out of the cove?” I gasped.
“I’ll be holding you the entire time. No monster could ever steal you from my grasp and live to tell the tale.” Fynn winked, and though he sounded sure of himself, as usual, I didn’t understand how he could make such a rash promise. Or how, after seeing the same images in Morag’s book as I had, he could look upon the sea with such eager eyes.
Turning, he strode swiftly into the churning surf, leaving me standing amidst popping foam and broken seashells.
“Be careful!” I yelled after him. I paced the wet sand, kicking sharp pieces of shell out of my path. One minute, Fynn was up to his waist in the dazzling water, and the next, he’d disappeared.
“Fynn!” I shouted, my throat burning. “Fynn!”
“Over here!” He resurfaced, with water rolling off his chest and a piece of kelp adorning his hair like a crown, like a young Neptune rising from the waves. In that moment, he was like nothing I’d seen before, filling me with wonder despite the blood rushing in my ears.
Then he waved, breaking the spell. I put my hands on my hips, but it was a minute before I could scold him. “That wasn’t funny!”
He swam with ease around the rocks in the cove, his arms darting in and out of the blue while his legs created white fountains where they struck the water. I’d never seen a body slide and twist through the sea with such grace. Perhaps Fynn had been a fish in another life.
A wave carried him back to shore. He rolled across the sand laughing, the healing skin on his stomach straining with each breath. He narrowed his eyes against the sun. “Now it’s your turn.”
Taking my hand, he led me slowly but deliberately into the surf. To my fate.
The wet sand sucked at my feet with each step like the beach wished to anchor me there forever. I clutched Fynn’s arm for support as the crashing waves reached my ankles, making my skin crawl. The tickle of sea foam was gentle, but the nearby slap of water on the rocks seemed to say, Don’t trust me. I can be as soft or harsh as I please.
My knees shook, and soon the shaking spread throughout my whole body. I tried to focus on my breathing, but I couldn’t count the seconds I was drawing in a breath when the water pooling around my feet seemed to be coaxing me forward, gently tugging my ankles each time a wave retreated. Trying to pick me up and take me with it, as though to the sea, I was nothing more than a piece of flotsam to be easily swallowed.
His brow furrowed. “Tell me if you need to turn back.”
As the water crept up my calves, all I could do was nod. I needed to turn back. I should never have attempted this. Fynn’s fingers curled around mine, but not even that was enough to help me take another step into salty, murky water where I might tread on the squishy tentacles of a lusca or the rubbery fins of a glashtyn.