Authors: Betsy Cornwell
Gemm laughed. “All right, well, the ferry leaves Star at nine a.m. tomorrow, remember.”
Noah nodded, walking faster to get out of the cottage and away from any talk about leaving.
But outside, there were other reminders that summer was ending. The grass was brown and stiff, dried out by months of salt spray and heat. The waves broke hurriedly over themselves, foamy and pale. There was a warm, earthy scent over everything, like the smell of dry leaves on the mainland.
And there was Mara, waiting for him on the rocks beyond the lighthouse. He could see her smiling, but she carried the same knowledge Noah did: this was their last day together.
She took his hand. They walked to the very edge of the island, where the granite boulders turned steep, worn vertical with eons of waves. The lighthouse flashed above them, but in the daytime Noah could hardly distinguish its beam from the glare of the sun.
“Let’s stay here.” Mara folded herself onto the ground and dangled her feet over the cliff’s edge.
Noah joined her, looking down at the crashing waves beneath them and thinking of the other times he’d been on this part of the island with Mara. He’d learned she was a selkie here, leaning over the cliffs and watching her shed her sealskin. She’d attacked him on those rocks when she’d thought he’d hurt Lir.
Mara cringed away from him. “I’m sorry about that,” she said.
It took a moment for Noah to remember their link. She could read only his feelings, not his thoughts, he knew—but it was easy for him to forget how much the two overlapped.
“It’s okay.” He slipped his arm around her waist. “I know why you did it.”
He felt something rise inside her—excitement and pride. He waited for her to tell him what it was, but she only chewed her lip and was silent.
“What is it, Mara?”
She smiled. “Maebh told the pod last night. She’s made me Elder.”
Noah’s chest tightened. He had to turn away for a moment, to rearrange the look on his face. “That’s great.”
He didn’t know why it should matter to him. She would never leave the Shoals now—but, he reminded himself, he would never have asked that of her. Of course not.
“Noah.” He felt Mara’s fingers on his hair, gently urging him to turn and look at her. “I’ve wanted this my whole life.”
“I know.” Noah shook his head, ignoring the extra liquid at the corners of his eyes. “Really, Mara, it’s great. I’m just—” He sighed. “I just want too many different things.”
“I know.” She leaned against him. “Me, too.”
They watched the seals slide off Whale Rock, then dive and return to the surface with fat, silvery fish in their jaws.
“Aine needed a full skin, you see,” she said.
Noah nodded, even though he didn’t see at all how that would make Maebh give up the pod to Mara.
“And Maebh and your grandmother, they lost so much time with each other. So Aine is taking Maebh’s skin, and Maebh will live here with Gemm, and I’ll lead the pod. They’ll be together, always.”
So many different feelings glimmered through her link when she said that, Noah couldn’t read any of them.
She straightened her back, still watching the pod. “I really think I can help them,” she went on. “We’ll have the moon ceremonies here, on White, where Maebh and Gemm can help guard them from . . .” She glanced at him. “You know—from people. And Ronan can leave, can try to find other pods and quieter waters, maybe in Ireland. He always said it wasn’t safe here.”
“He’s right.” It wasn’t just Professor Foster. Every human was dangerous to Mara and her pod. Even Noah, with what he knew, could hurt them beyond saving. “If he finds a place for you, for the younglings, you should go.”
Mara leaned harder against him. “That won’t be for years. Ronan won’t leave the younglings until they’re old enough to protect themselves.” She lowered her voice. “I’ll be here next summer, when you come back. I’ll wait for you.”
All at once, he felt able to breathe again. “I’ll wait too,” he said.
He watched the waves crash beneath them, leaving dark pools among the rocks. Before this summer, he’d seen the land and the ocean as so different. He’d loved the ocean for how
other
it was. Here, though, everything mingled—water and rock, land and sea.
Mara tucked her foot under his, linking their dangling legs together. “It’s like Gemm’s stories,” she said. “This can be our inbetween.”
“Gemm says nobody stays in the inbetween forever.”
“No. Not forever. But for now . . . what else can we do?”
They sat together in silence, listening to the steady drum of the waves on the cliffs.
Noah wondered when he’d come to hate the sound of his own breathing so much.
“I think we’ll be fine,” Mara said. “I’ve always wanted to be the Elder. I still want it. And I know there are things you want too, that you couldn’t have if you stayed here.” She pulled away to look at him. She ran a hand along his jaw line and kissed him lightly in the trail of her fingers.
Noah breathed in the scent of her hair, so much like the ocean. One day was so little time together.
He thought of Gemm and Maebh, of all the years they’d been apart, and his resolve strengthened. A school year was nothing compared to Gemm’s forty years of absence—she’d married someone else, even, and they’d still found a way to be together in the end.
Noah kissed Mara again, her soft and salt-sprayed lips against his, and he tried to tell himself the kiss wasn’t their last.
“Hey, big brother.” Lo sidled up beside him at the railing.
Noah nodded slightly, keeping his gaze on the white foam breaking fifteen feet beneath him. The ferry’s engine rumbled up through his bones, shaking his middle and vibrating in his neck and the top of his skull. He stared at the waves, at the almost-solid way they cracked against the sides of the boat. He refused to look back at the islands.
“Hey,” Lo said again. “I get this—I mean, I do, but you’re gonna freak Mom out if you’re this angsty all week. You know the only way she’ll stay sane when you’re at college is if she thinks you’re happy to go.”
Noah glanced up, and the motion twisted his stomach. “Yeah, I know,” he said, then swallowed the thickness in his throat. He’d never felt seasick before today.
“I mean, you’re lucky she isn’t making you live at home. When she heard about the knife, I seriously thought she was going to switch her apron strings for handcuffs.”
Noah managed another brief nod.
“Okay.” Lo frowned. “Shutting up now.”
The waves crashed, one two, and the hull cut through them, one two. The rhythm was good, heartbeat-constant, and Noah thought if he could just fill his mind with it, he might distract himself from the links unraveling within him. Whatever Gemm had told him, he was sure his tie to Mara would be broken by the mainland. Maybe if he could stop thinking about it, though, he could hold on a little longer. One two, one two.
The waves curved into pale shoulders, breasts, lips, and the sound of their breaking was Mara’s breath in his ear.
He winced. Though he was sure he’d be sick, he tore himself from the waves and looked up.
He could see the Shoals clearly behind him, the sun burning and glinting against the whitewashed buildings. They were small now, the hotel and the Center near-identical dots, the lighthouse a white splinter, and he could hardly make out Gemm’s cottage at all. The waves blended into one another in the distance, so that Gosport Harbor looked smooth as sealskin.
He could feel Lo’s worried gaze on him, and he turned away, facing west. The morning sun grew hot on the back of his head. The mainland drew its line on the horizon. Once they reached Portsmouth Harbor, that line would swallow him, and it would be the sea that was small in the distance, when he could see it at all. But for now it was only a line, warmed from the east by the sun, and Noah could not help but lean toward it, waiting to see what it would bring.
Debut author B
ETSY
C
ORNWELL
graduated from Smith College in 2010. She was a columnist and editor at
Teen Ink
before pursuing an MFA in creative writing at Notre Dame, where she also taught fiction writing as well as film and television studies. She is currently living in Galway, Ireland. Visit her website at
www.betsycornwell.com
.