The Skin (Black Hind's Wake Book 1) Read online

  The Skin

  Black Hind’s Wake I

  J E Hannaford

  Copyright © J E Hannaford 2021

  Chapter Art Copyright © Carina Roberts 2021

  Cover design by www.trifbookdesign.com

  J E Hannaford asserts the moral right to be identified as the author of this work.

  All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical including photocopying, recording or otherwise, without the prior permission of the publisher.

  PB ISBN: 978-1-7399213-0-9

  EB ISBN: 978-1-7399213-1-6

  Edited by Diana James.

  This book is a work of fiction. All characters, and events portrayed are entirely a work of the author’s imagination and any resemblance to actual events or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

  www.jehannaford.com

  This book is dedicated to both my Nanne and my Dad.

  Anne Hannaford, because you always wanted to write a book, this one is for you.

  Dad, for introducing me to fantasy books, for always believing in me and for being my safe port in a storm. Thank you.

  Contents

  I. Before the Storm

  1. Midsummer

  2. The Art of the Heart

  3. Failed Trade

  4. Fish Prince of Nowhere

  5. The Black Hind

  6. A Window Too High

  7. Death in the Family

  8. Sole Heir

  9. Swept in on the Tide

  10. Recovery

  11. A Bay a Day Keeps the Selkie Away

  12. When Waves Collide

  13. The White Hind

  14. Into the Icy Beyond

  15. Fish's Bar and a Barge of Delights

  16. When the Night is Cold, and the Land is Dark

  17. Of Death and Deceit

  18. A New Dawn

  19. Selkie Exposed

  II. After The Storm

  20. By Royal Decree

  21. Gilded Prison

  22. Locked in to Heaven

  23. A Vulture's End

  24. Unlocked

  25. Cor Blimey

  26. Soul of the Water

  27. Two Wet Fish

  28. Jellyfish Soup

  29. A Child in Need

  30. Hide and Found

  31. Tonight's the Night

  32. Eden's Gift

  33. The Gifted Hind

  34. Irukandji Meets the King

  35. Is There a Doctor in the House?

  36. Freedom

  37. Farewell to a Friend

  38. The Skin

  Acknowledgments

  I am a child of the water; a soul of the sea. I grew up in a flotilla, born to a sea-folk family on a boat, and fully expect to die on a boat. As a child I played with a southern siren, and as an adult, heard fin-folk sing. So, yes I believe in the Old Ones.

  Timothee Maritim

  Part I

  Before the Storm

  Midsummer

  Selkie

  Sun shone through jellyfish clouds, bathing the golden beach with Midsummer’s caress. It offered an invitation from our ancestors – one which Eryn and I eagerly accepted.

  An entire pack’s worth of flattened ledges protruded along the water’s edge, enticing us to haul out and enjoy the warmth of the sun on our pelts. Once, they would have been filled with our kind. Now, they lay empty, their seaweed-covered surfaces a reminder that we were the first to visit for hundreds of years. I glanced towards home, a lump of grey blurring the straightness of the horizon in our blue-hued world.

  I could think of a dozen closer islands I’d rather have visited, but I’d promised Eryn that we’d dance the ancient ritual together here on Midsummer’s Day, and I had no intention of breaking my word.

  My eyes were drawn, as my whole being was, back to the island. The pull of magic was strong, even here, far from the breaking waves on the shore. I glanced at Eryn, certain she could feel it too. She stared up at the crown of the hill, towards the source of the power – the ancient stone.

  Sun warmed the shallow waters as we approached and I tried to push my concerns aside. It was a beautiful day and legends, though often based in truth, are stories of a past long buried; as dead as the humans who once populated this island. It had never been safer to visit. I let out a bark, trying to shout away my fear, to have it carried far away from us by the wind. After all, this was a celebration. I swam towards Eryn and nudged her playfully before speeding off towards the beach. Bubbles streamed from the air-pockets in my fur as I leapt out of the water. Eryn pursued me, her huge brown eyes gazing through the wave as she surfed past, joy emanating from every tail flick and fin slap. She slid onto the sand as a wave broke over her back, water running down her sides to reunite with the sea. She flung a fish into the air and caught it with a snap of her jaws, all the time glancing in my direction, daring me to join her.

  The lure of frolicking in the shallows proved too strong to resist. I barked again and swam after her. We chased each other through winding sea caves and over soft sponge mountains, which flourished now they were recovering from the ravages of mankind at last. I took a deep breath, drinking in the scented coastal air before we dived to play on the starfish-speckled seabed. Eryn passed close to a cluster – teasing their long, brittle legs with a fin. They moved away as a single, writhing mass.

  A flatfish flapped from their path, orange spots catching the light while its fins rippled. The fish tried to bury its body in the sand. I poked it with my muzzle, stirring it back into action, then flicked my tail and pursued it over the seabed. I could catch it easily, but the chase was half the fun. It looked as though it might escape into some rocks, so I snapped it up. Sated and ready to fulfil my promise to Eryn, I returned to where she played, gesturing for her to follow.

  Born after the warming, we knew little of the days before. The grinding, whirring noises of mankind’s ships had faded into history, and the crumpled, twisted towers protruding from the seabed around the coast had long since ceased working. Now, they provided homes for fish and eels or hiding places for playful youngsters.

  When we were pups, our grandparents sat out on the high rocks as we bobbed in the water, eager to listen. They told us ancient tales passed down from their own elders. How once, before the oceans had swallowed the land, islands had risen higher above the tideline, and our coast had been different. How the pack’s sun-bathing rocks had been claimed by the water and never returned to the sun. Yet, as we grew up, the land slowly began to rise again – or the sea fell. We didn’t know which, only that these things were changing. Now, we had begun to recover our lost territories. Today, Eryn and I reclaimed the ancient rite of the Midsummer dance before her mating.

  Eryn was in love. In love with traditions and in love with her handsome selkie. His fur gleamed silver by moonlight, and she shone in his presence. They were made for each other, and at the next full moon, they were to be bonded. Inspired by the changes in our world, she had begged me to accompany her to dance at the stone.

  We surfed onto the beach that day, barking with happiness, hauled ourselves up onto the soft sand, and waited as the sun warmed us until the splits in our skins eased open. The beach stretched back from the water’s edge, rising to a hill above the tide line. Strands of green covered the land beyond the beach, as bright as seaweed in a high tide rock pool. Colour bloomed all around us. I had never seen the land so beautiful.

  I went first. Sliding out of my skin, I rolled it carefully and hid it under the overhang of a rockpool. Eryn leapt free of hers, landing in an ungainly heap of giggles next to me. She shoved her skin under a
rock and half stumbled, half ran up the beach, flinging herself onto the golden sand like a broken starfish. Waves of silver hair flowed down her pale back. Her belegged form was naked and mostly furless. I looked down at my own legs as I wiggled my toes in the warm sand. It felt much as the sand did at home – no terrible curse or tingle of power flowed through it. We were both pale, as most of our kind were. That kind of pale pink you find on the inside of a shell.

  ‘It feels so good,’ she laughed. ‘But, it’s scratchy without fur.’ She rolled over, coating herself entirely in a shimmering layer of sand. She looked like a goddess. It was worth the long swim just to see her this happy. In fact, she glowed. I stared at her more closely. In her belegged form, a swelling in her belly was visible that her fur-skin had hidden.

  ‘Eryn, you’re in pup!’ Selkie births were uncommon. The pack would be ecstatic with her news.

  She blushed. ‘Only a couple of moons. There’s a long way to go yet. Don’t tell anyone, please.’ She pointed upward. ‘The sun reaches its peak in an hour or so. We’ll need to be there by then if we’re to complete the ritual.’

  She grabbed my hand and dragged me up the beach. Fragrance assaulted my sensitive nose, heavy and overwhelming as we walked through increasingly wild vegetation. Pink and purple bells hung silent on stiff, sharp stems and my toes bled from a multitude of tiny scratches by the time we reached the crest of the hill. I barely noticed the pain as the view over the other islands opened up. A larger island dominated the view to the south. Far on the northern horizon was our home.

  ‘It has to be here somewhere,’ Eryn said, running around looking for the standing stone our grandmother had described.

  I collapsed onto a flat rock, my fingers searching through the foliage for its surface. They made contact, and the thrumming of ancient magic poured out of it. The thin hairs on my skin stood up with the sheer volume of power connecting to my selkie magic. I’d never felt anything like it.

  ‘I have it, Eryn!’ I cried. ‘We can do it.’

  She laughed then began to sing and sway, her body undulating in time with the tune. Even belegged, my sister was graceful. Her hair swirled around her face as though under water. She began to take small steps in a circle, creating the pattern we had danced many times at Midsummer in deep waters far beyond the shore. I watched closely. When I recognised where she was in the dance, I joined her, weaving in and out of her patterning. The knotted path we wove glowed brightly with the power of the fallen stone.

  We were so engrossed in our dance that we didn’t see the boat slip into the cove.

  We didn’t see the lone human come ashore.

  We didn’t see him take Eryn’s skin from beneath the rocks.

  We did see him crest the hill, a greedy look in his eye as he realised he had trapped one of us. His sun-browned cheeks mottled red with the exertion, his bulbous nose textured and dripping in the northern breeze.

  I cried out in dismay as I saw the skin hanging from his rough hands, my heart breaking like a sea urchin under a dropped rock. Eryn’s scream tore my spirit to shreds. She had seen it, she knew it was hers. Through the pain, instinct took over. I would die to protect her and that unborn pup.

  I turned and took hold of her shoulders, pulling her close as the man drew near. I whispered in her ear, ‘For the sake of your futures, for the unborn child you carry and the love I bear you, take my skin. I will escape. I will find you.’

  I didn’t believe I’d see her again, and I wasn’t sure it would work.

  ‘Oh, bold sailor!’ I cried out, running at him and falling to my knees. ‘Please, please return my skin.’

  He looked at the silver fur and Eryn’s silver hair for a moment too long.

  I reached for the fur, trying desperately to tug it back from his grasp and his attention switched. Piercing eyes stared at me, greedy and hard. I tried to wrestle the skin from him and failed.

  Eryn took advantage of his distraction to flee. I moved as though to follow, deliberately stumbling. The man charged me, knocking my legs from under me. Then, he hauled me back up the hill by my arm.

  He grinned as Eryn hurried away. ‘I’ve done it! I caught a selkie.’

  My head dropped in defeat. I watched her run. She picked up my dark skin and struggled into it. It didn’t close at first, but then, with a gentle glow of selkie magic, it shut and she flippered her way out of the breakers. I saw her turn and look one last time towards the hill where I was held, and then she was gone.

  Hatred roiled inside me as I spun to face my captor. I would find a way back to the sea.

  He sneered, his roving eyes taking in every part of my naked form.

  I lifted my chin and squared my shoulders. ‘What will you do with me?’ Ancient tales of forced imprisonment stirred in the depths of my memory. I expected to be taken forcefully. I braced for it, ready to fight him to my last breath.

  ‘You are valuable,’ he said simply. ‘So I had best ensure that this,’ he waved my skin, ‘is secure from your clutches. I can’t have you swimming away from me.’ He stepped in close, the bitter stench of human filling my nose. He reeked of what I later learned was stale beer and sweat. Salty – the wrong salt. He gripped my chin in his hand and tilted my face. I wriggled free, but my legs, unsteady with inexperience, were not as agile as I would be in the sea, and I stumbled.

  He laughed and swung his fist at my temple.

  I awoke sometime later near the old harbour, tethered by my ankle to a post. My head throbbed, exacerbated by the buzzing banquet of fly-infested food in front of me. I had very little shelter, and I was alone, shackled and captured. There was no sign of the sailor or his boat.

  ‘Valuable,’ I muttered. ‘So valuable you leave me tied up here with rotten food.’ Maybe Eryn would come and untie me. I could try to escape – swim even – though how I would do that without flippers, I was unsure. Home was a long way.

  The human food turned my stomach, its sickly scent nauseating. I tried to ignore it. There was enough food to sustain me on the foreshore if I could get there. I pushed myself upright and dropped from the dock wall onto barnacle-encrusted rocks. My feet throbbed, the earlier cuts stinging as they dipped into salt water, and new lacerations opened with every step. Near the full extent of the rope, I could reach a number of rock pools. Last tide’s water still drained away, and the seaweed was moist and tempting. I plucked a handful, stuffing the thin, green sheets into my mouth. Small molluscs crawled enticingly across pink fringes of the pools. I smashed their shells on the rocks and sucked out the cool, juicy meat. Food was food, and I was starving.

  A seal bobbed in the bay. He watched me for a moment, and I hoped desperately for a wind shift, for my scent to carry seaward instead of over the hill behind me, for him to realise I was not all I appeared.

  He dived, and my hopes for rescue went with him. It had been a slim chance that he’d notice me. I swallowed hard as I accepted that I might never see my pack again. My parents taught me that hope remains alive until all options are exhausted, so once I had eaten, I dragged the rope back to the jagged rocks further up the shore. If I could find a sharp enough edge, I could cut myself free.

  I know now that my efforts would have been in vain. I could have sawed at the rope for weeks, and it wouldn’t have given way. Even had my pack found me, they could not have set me free. Spider silk rope, abominable treasure that it is, is too strong. The metal clasp around the spliced join would not break for me either. Not that day, or the next.

  Sun heated my naked skin, and rain soaked me with refreshingly cool water. When the tide was in, I sat in what shallow water I could reach, my skin becoming wrinkled and soft. The brisk sea breeze chilled me faster than I dreamed possible. Without my blubber and fur, I was cold at night, and the rocks were impossible to get comfortable on. What should have been a perfect resting spot to relax or doze was a sharp, skin-lacerating surface of tiny barnacles. Daily, the number of cuts increased. I knew enough about this form to know that I wouldn’t last long
exposed to the elements naked and needed to protect myself somehow.

  After two nights, a small boat crossed from the big island to leave water and a heap of foul human food on the rocks for me. The woman who brought it curled her lip in disdain at my naked form.

  ‘Stupid creature. As stupid as the old tales. Letting yourself be trapped by that idiot of a human. You deserve your fate. You and all your filthy kind.’ She spat at me and walked away.

  The next time she came, I asked for clothes and wondered aloud how long I would be here.

  She looked me up and down. My skin was red in patches, cut and damaged from the sun and rocks. I knew I made a sorry sight.

  ‘He’ll be back when he’s back. He won’t pay me so much for a ruined prize. I will get you clothes.’

  When she returned, she dumped a pile of old clothes on the dock. They stank. I thanked her with as much grace as I could muster.

  As soon as she’d gone, I threw the clothes in the sea and let the scent of home wash away the stench of the land, leaving the food, as ever, for the flies and gulls.

  Once the clothes were cleaner and I could stomach their smell, I inspected what the woman had brought. Because of the tether, I would have to unpick the stitching on one leg and sew them back together with a fishbone, much like I’d stitch kelp leaves to make a bed. A rotting fish, dumped by gulls at the strandline had a few large bones left, so I fashioned a hook for the thread and donned the top. Its itchy fabric sat uncomfortably against my skin. How could humans wear this stuff? I set to work unpicking the knot on the trouser leg and carefully pulled the threads from the outer seam.