white speck of Finian’s boat.
“It was just a game,” I cried to the sea. “I take it back!” But the rain came anyway, great hard drops that stung my face and pounded fragile butterfly wings.
Throughout it all, Sir Edward stood motionless on the pier, just watching, black satin drenched by cold rain. He said not a word of warning or encouragement as I pushed past him for the second time and almost fell into the
Windcuffer,
cursing the random, erratic winds. The
Windcuffer
shot away from the pier, rearing back to leap the waves, pitching so hard into troughs it seemed she must tear a hole in the fabric of the sea.
The waves snatched the amber bead from my palm. “For smooth sailing!” I screamed, but the sea had forgotten the rules, or else it was too late. My fingertip wept blood. Salt wind stung my eyes, a lone gull flew past.
I made for the Seal Rock in the mysterious way a pigeon heads for home. But I wasn’t even halfway there before the giant palm of one of those waves slapped at the
Windcuffer.
I slammed into the mast, and precious seconds passed before I could breathe again, before I realized that the water lapping about my ankles hadn’t come from the sea and crashing waves.
I pressed my hand to the floor. My finger fit comfortably into a crack between the boards. How did the flooring come to be damaged? The sea below was filling up the
Windcuffer
faster than the sky from above.
The flooring gave way. The waves were on it in a second, biting and tearing at it, pulling it apart with frothy fingers.
I watched the sea gradually merging with the
Windcuffer,
and the
Windcuffer
gradually merging with the sea. The boat I’d helped bring to life fell to bits about me, and then I hardly cared that I also merged with the water, now pounded beneath as a wave crested, now tossed to the surface by some boiling power beneath.
Pictures flitted through my head like dreams. White water swallowing a bit of planking, dense silver needles of rain. A hand lying against silvered fur. My hand, and my arms, too, wrapped about a round neck, my chest pressed close to a sleek back. These were no common seals ringed round me, with their great silver heads and deep human eyes.
I closed my own eyes. “May our boat be blessed.” Smashing water is nothing to the Sealfolk. We ran effortlessly with the waves, riding them easily as foam.
Boom
and
Hiss,
went the waves.
Boom
and
Hiss.
I was all but one with the sea. And Finian, how he would love this. Where was he?
Boom
and
Hiss.
Was he alive?
As we entered the cove, the song of the waves turned into a steady crashing, and there were human voices, too, calling my name. The storm had lost heart, content just to spit the waves about. I could stand alone; the water came to my chest.
Behind me, the Sealfolk were already racing out to sea. “Come back!” But it was too late.
“Corin!”
My head snapped forward. It was Finian — Finian! — hurrying over the scatter of low-tide rocks, now plunging through the water toward me.
“You idiot!” he cried. “Taking the
Windcuffer
into that storm!”
“You’re alive!” I did not shout as he had, but he heard me nonetheless.
“Imagine that!” he said. “Unlike you, I came back the moment the storm began. And now the
Windcuffer’s
gone.”
“The Sealfolk brought me back.” I could not stop thinking of it.
“I must have called them,” said Finian. “
Seven tears to call the Sealfolk.
I wept enough tears to call dozens.”
“You can’t call the Sealfolk at low tide.”
Then Sir Edward stood beside us, and I had to gulp back the words that were clamoring to leap from my mouth.
Why did you leave me behind?
“You must hurry, Corin,” said Sir Edward. “One of the calves has taken ill, and some of the cheeses have melted into pools of whey. The Folk are angry, and I fear for my crops.”
“Give Corin a chance to draw his breath!” said Finian.
But for once, I agreed with Sir Edward. The Folk Keeper must hurry
“It was just a game,” I cried to the sea. “I take it back!” But the rain came anyway, great hard drops that stung my face and pounded fragile butterfly wings.
Throughout it all, Sir Edward stood motionless on the pier, just watching, black satin drenched by cold rain. He said not a word of warning or encouragement as I pushed past him for the second time and almost fell into the
Windcuffer,
cursing the random, erratic winds. The
Windcuffer
shot away from the pier, rearing back to leap the waves, pitching so hard into troughs it seemed she must tear a hole in the fabric of the sea.
The waves snatched the amber bead from my palm. “For smooth sailing!” I screamed, but the sea had forgotten the rules, or else it was too late. My fingertip wept blood. Salt wind stung my eyes, a lone gull flew past.
I made for the Seal Rock in the mysterious way a pigeon heads for home. But I wasn’t even halfway there before the giant palm of one of those waves slapped at the
Windcuffer.
I slammed into the mast, and precious seconds passed before I could breathe again, before I realized that the water lapping about my ankles hadn’t come from the sea and crashing waves.
I pressed my hand to the floor. My finger fit comfortably into a crack between the boards. How did the flooring come to be damaged? The sea below was filling up the
Windcuffer
faster than the sky from above.
The flooring gave way. The waves were on it in a second, biting and tearing at it, pulling it apart with frothy fingers.
I watched the sea gradually merging with the
Windcuffer,
and the
Windcuffer
gradually merging with the sea. The boat I’d helped bring to life fell to bits about me, and then I hardly cared that I also merged with the water, now pounded beneath as a wave crested, now tossed to the surface by some boiling power beneath.
Pictures flitted through my head like dreams. White water swallowing a bit of planking, dense silver needles of rain. A hand lying against silvered fur. My hand, and my arms, too, wrapped about a round neck, my chest pressed close to a sleek back. These were no common seals ringed round me, with their great silver heads and deep human eyes.
I closed my own eyes. “May our boat be blessed.” Smashing water is nothing to the Sealfolk. We ran effortlessly with the waves, riding them easily as foam.
Boom
and
Hiss,
went the waves.
Boom
and
Hiss.
I was all but one with the sea. And Finian, how he would love this. Where was he?
Boom
and
Hiss.
Was he alive?
As we entered the cove, the song of the waves turned into a steady crashing, and there were human voices, too, calling my name. The storm had lost heart, content just to spit the waves about. I could stand alone; the water came to my chest.
Behind me, the Sealfolk were already racing out to sea. “Come back!” But it was too late.
“Corin!”
My head snapped forward. It was Finian — Finian! — hurrying over the scatter of low-tide rocks, now plunging through the water toward me.
“You idiot!” he cried. “Taking the
Windcuffer
into that storm!”
“You’re alive!” I did not shout as he had, but he heard me nonetheless.
“Imagine that!” he said. “Unlike you, I came back the moment the storm began. And now the
Windcuffer’s
gone.”
“The Sealfolk brought me back.” I could not stop thinking of it.
“I must have called them,” said Finian. “
Seven tears to call the Sealfolk.
I wept enough tears to call dozens.”
“You can’t call the Sealfolk at low tide.”
Then Sir Edward stood beside us, and I had to gulp back the words that were clamoring to leap from my mouth.
Why did you leave me behind?
“You must hurry, Corin,” said Sir Edward. “One of the calves has taken ill, and some of the cheeses have melted into pools of whey. The Folk are angry, and I fear for my crops.”
“Give Corin a chance to draw his breath!” said Finian.
But for once, I agreed with Sir Edward. The Folk Keeper must hurry
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