half-believing his words against all common sense.
“And John believes that this is what has happened to his son?” She added in a whisper, “That poor man! No wonder he has gone mad.”
“Aye, this is most likely what he believes. Only he blames the People for it, not the finmen.”
Hexy wondered why he kept saying the people, instead of my people, but she left the question unasked. She knew that she was not ready to hear his answer.
“Then we must find him and somehow explain the situation,” Hexy said resolutely. “It is the first thing we have to do. This—this whole thing must stop before someone is hurt.”
“Aye, lass. But we cannae find him,” he said patiently. “The People have been searching. We’ve sent word all the way south tae our kin in Aberystwyth tae watch for him. But tae no avail.”
He waited a moment and then asked, “Dae ye sense where he is?”
“No,” Hexy denied, not even bothering to look inside her turmoiled brain for an answer to this question. Instead she asked back, “Aberystwyth? Where is that?”
“Ceredigian at Cardigan Bay—at the confluence of Ystwyth and Rheidol.”
Hexy gave up trying to understand Rory’s watery geography. Even that was apparently beyond her. “Well, we’ll have to look eastward, too, on land,” she said resolutely.
“Aye, and we are. But, lass, ye must consider the fact that even if we find him, he willnae necessarily believe us. Even ye dae not believe me.”
She could understand John not believing. Rory was right; she didn’t entirely accept it as true either. No sane person could believe in such things. Even her grandfather and brotherhad not talked so matter-of-factly about their belief in legends.
“But what else can we do?” Hexy pulled her windblown hair back off her face. The sun was shining, but she still felt cold, stranded in some stormy, winter nightmare. She wanted to go to Rory, yet was now somewhat afraid—not of what he might do, for he was always gentle with her, but of what he might say.
“Either we stop John before he hurts one of the People—”
“You mean kill him, don’t you?” she accused. “But he isn’t in his right mind, Rory. He can’t be.”
Rory looked grim but answered straightly. “ ’Tis that, or someone maun gae tae the finfolk and get that soul back for John. If it isnae tae late already.”
“Too late?”
Rory spread his hands in one of his odd gestures, which she did not entirely comprehend.
“They may have taken old John as well,” he said after a long moment. Then he shook his head and let his arms fall. “We maun start the search for the furrier’s body at sea. It’ll be in the north, where the finmen live, if it is anywhere about.”
“No.” Hexy shook her head. It was a contradiction to her stated belief that none of this was real, but she still strove to apply logic. “I knowwhat you are thinking and you can’t even consider going. We don’t have conclusive proof that this is what has happened. There could be a dozen other explanations.”
“Nae, not a dozen. I cannae think of even one. The evidence is highly suggestive, lass, if ye ken what tae look fer. The finfolk never come this far south unless they are after something.”
“But—”
“And I’ve nae choice about this task. ’Tis my duty tae keep the People safe. I am the grandson of King Lachlann. And tae argue against my duty is pointless, a waste of breath,” he warned her.
“If you mean that it is pointless to argue with you, then I disagree. You aren’t stupid. You must see reason. If what you are suggesting is true, if you really are…”
“A selkie,” he said, his tone soft but insistent. “That is what I am, Hexy lass, what the People are. It is what your people—”
Hexy swallowed and clapped her hands to her ears. It didn’t seem possible that she could hold two contradictory beliefs in mind at the same time, but somehow she did.
“If that is true—” she interrupted, not
“And John believes that this is what has happened to his son?” She added in a whisper, “That poor man! No wonder he has gone mad.”
“Aye, this is most likely what he believes. Only he blames the People for it, not the finmen.”
Hexy wondered why he kept saying the people, instead of my people, but she left the question unasked. She knew that she was not ready to hear his answer.
“Then we must find him and somehow explain the situation,” Hexy said resolutely. “It is the first thing we have to do. This—this whole thing must stop before someone is hurt.”
“Aye, lass. But we cannae find him,” he said patiently. “The People have been searching. We’ve sent word all the way south tae our kin in Aberystwyth tae watch for him. But tae no avail.”
He waited a moment and then asked, “Dae ye sense where he is?”
“No,” Hexy denied, not even bothering to look inside her turmoiled brain for an answer to this question. Instead she asked back, “Aberystwyth? Where is that?”
“Ceredigian at Cardigan Bay—at the confluence of Ystwyth and Rheidol.”
Hexy gave up trying to understand Rory’s watery geography. Even that was apparently beyond her. “Well, we’ll have to look eastward, too, on land,” she said resolutely.
“Aye, and we are. But, lass, ye must consider the fact that even if we find him, he willnae necessarily believe us. Even ye dae not believe me.”
She could understand John not believing. Rory was right; she didn’t entirely accept it as true either. No sane person could believe in such things. Even her grandfather and brotherhad not talked so matter-of-factly about their belief in legends.
“But what else can we do?” Hexy pulled her windblown hair back off her face. The sun was shining, but she still felt cold, stranded in some stormy, winter nightmare. She wanted to go to Rory, yet was now somewhat afraid—not of what he might do, for he was always gentle with her, but of what he might say.
“Either we stop John before he hurts one of the People—”
“You mean kill him, don’t you?” she accused. “But he isn’t in his right mind, Rory. He can’t be.”
Rory looked grim but answered straightly. “ ’Tis that, or someone maun gae tae the finfolk and get that soul back for John. If it isnae tae late already.”
“Too late?”
Rory spread his hands in one of his odd gestures, which she did not entirely comprehend.
“They may have taken old John as well,” he said after a long moment. Then he shook his head and let his arms fall. “We maun start the search for the furrier’s body at sea. It’ll be in the north, where the finmen live, if it is anywhere about.”
“No.” Hexy shook her head. It was a contradiction to her stated belief that none of this was real, but she still strove to apply logic. “I knowwhat you are thinking and you can’t even consider going. We don’t have conclusive proof that this is what has happened. There could be a dozen other explanations.”
“Nae, not a dozen. I cannae think of even one. The evidence is highly suggestive, lass, if ye ken what tae look fer. The finfolk never come this far south unless they are after something.”
“But—”
“And I’ve nae choice about this task. ’Tis my duty tae keep the People safe. I am the grandson of King Lachlann. And tae argue against my duty is pointless, a waste of breath,” he warned her.
“If you mean that it is pointless to argue with you, then I disagree. You aren’t stupid. You must see reason. If what you are suggesting is true, if you really are…”
“A selkie,” he said, his tone soft but insistent. “That is what I am, Hexy lass, what the People are. It is what your people—”
Hexy swallowed and clapped her hands to her ears. It didn’t seem possible that she could hold two contradictory beliefs in mind at the same time, but somehow she did.
“If that is true—” she interrupted, not
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