Free The Selkie Bride by Melanie Jackson Page A

Dhu”
    I ran blindly, my feet guided by panic that did not in the moment seem so unreasonable, and it was some minutes before I realized I was stumbling through surf that had overrun the narrow beach. It took a moment to understand that this meant the tide had turned…and that I might not be able to return the way I had come.
    Shocked back into my senses by a larger and more tangible fear of being trapped by the ocean, I slowed my galloping feet and heart and looked about to see how far the sea had progressed inland. My heart was dismayed by the view. How long had I been at the faerie mound? It had not seemed more than a few minutes, but I saw that the sun had actually swayed farinto the west and was preparing to set. On the horizon, another storm was gathering.
    I squinted into the harsh light and perceived that thirty feet of my beach was gone, already under a foot of water. The sea’s breathless murmurs had become hissed threats from which the birds fled in disorder, all species winging together in panicked flight, which only added to my alarm. I was certain that the fishermen I had seen earlier had already paid heed to the warning and had brought their boat to shore without detouring to sell their catch at the fish market in Glen Ruadh. There would be no help there.
    Could I make it along the shore, if I tied up my skirts and ran? As though to discourage me from any courageous but foolhardy thoughts, a wave washed over my knees, hitting hard enough to unbalance me, and biting my legs with icy teeth and making an effort to ensnare them with seaweed; cold wind, sharp as the flensing knives used by the fishermen, cut over my face and gouged tears from my eyes, which ran down my cheeks and then fell into the surf. Gasping with shock at the physical assault, I looked back toward the mound. The corpse candle was still burning brightly, taller and wider than ever. It might even be visible from the village. More unnerved by this sight than by the turning tide that seemed to be herding me back toward the cliffs, I shuffled carefully in a circle, looking for some option other than the flaming devil or the deep blue sea.
    There was one. I had not noticed the fissure in the cliff face as I journeyed up the beach, but with the sun now casting long fingers of fiery light into its recesses,I could see it clearly. It was some sort of upward sloping though narrow tunnel, and most happily for me, I could see from the bent marron grass that a breeze was blowing down it. That meant it opened somewhere to the air. Not hesitating, since the waves beating at me had reached my thighs and were threatening to drag me by the skirts right out to sea, I reluctantly waded for the opening.
    Once inside, the air grew quite sultry, as though heated by some geyser. Quite oddly I began to feel sleepy, and to have gluttonous fantasies about eating toast with jam as I sat by the fire at the cottage and had a doze. So real was this vision that I almost stopped then and there to sit in the rough shells that had gathered in one of the depressions in the tunnel floor. Only the cries of the terrified birds and the hissing tide kept me moving.
    Megan MacCodrum—come back!
    The eerie voice had me moving again. The sunlight faded with every step, but I had no trouble seeing, because of a strange phosphorescence that covered the walls. I did not touch the luminance, for it smelled of ammonia and sulfur though it was rather pretty and conveniently bright. The floor of the cave rose gradually, promising eventual safety, but I had to walk quickly to outpace the water that rushed in behind me. It was difficult because my limbs were growing wooden and graceless.
    Though feeling increasingly sleepy, I began to notice that there was an odd kind of sterility to the tunnel now that it had passed inland. No crustaceans or barnacles had taken up residence here, perhaps becauseof the strange green slime, or perhaps because of the unpleasantly warm temperature that made my