Flesh and Feathers by L.S. Engler

The fog was descending, creeping in from the mountains and cloaking the lake in a heavy mist.  Pulling the blanket tighter around her shoulders, Birgitte looked up to the darkening sky and smiled.  “We should probably be heading in soon,” she said, though her voice held no hint of actually believing it.  “It will be night before we know it, and there’s sure to be some talk or trouble if we’re too late.”

Sitting across from her in their little boat, Ian leaned forward with a grin, using the movement to help him give the oars another smooth push in the water.  “I’m not worried about a little bit of talk,” he said, “are you?”

“I suppose that all depends on what they’re saying,” Birgitte smiled, fluttering her eyes, though she doubted much that Ian could see them very well in this gloaming.  “I can’t imagine it would be anything my father would like for anyone to be hearing, though.”

As smooth as a hot knife through butter, the long boat cut through the water, and Ian’s hearty laugh all but echoed on the low mountains and the thickening fog.  “There’s a fair point,” he allowed, “but I’m afraid I can’t go in yet, Birgitte.  I’ve yet to see my selkie.”

“Your selkie?” Birgitte asked, her eyebrows lifting with sharp indignation, but, again, her voice did not reflect the expression.  “I was not aware that selkies were being ones could claim as their own.  Quite the opposite as a matter of fact.  I can bet a seal who turns into a woman is a thing quite uninterested in mere humans claiming them.”

As she spoke, a long, lonesome cry drifted through the air; the fog made the sound seem close and terribly intimate.  A black bird burst through the mist, flapping its wings and letting out the call again, coarse and rough from his yellow beak.  After spiraling slightly in the air, it landed on bow of the boat, fluffing its wings.  It affixed its beady black gaze on the two of them, and let out a noise that almost sounded accusing.  “Look,” said Birgitte, quietly.  “A crow.”

“Go on,” Ian said, frowning.  “Get.”

“Ian, don’t.  It’s just a wee birdy.”

“A wee birdy? Birgitte, that’s a crow.”

“What of it?”

“Crows are harbingers of bad news or, even worse, death.  Get! Go on!”

With a loud objection, the crow seemed to glare at Ian before beating its wings and taking to flight.  It mournful song carried him away, eventually swallowed up by the fog.  Birgitte turned her head to watch, her shoulders sagging with sadness.  “Selkies,” she said, turning back to Ian, “crows as bad omens.  When did you become so superstitious, Ian O’Connell?”

He didn’t answer at first, almost as if letting the steady pace of his continued paddling answer for him in code.  If there was a storm approaching in the mists, it was now mirrored on his face, studying Birgitte carefully.  When he did speak, his voice was quiet.  “If I tell you,” he said, “will you kiss me?”

Birgitte’s tongue brushed lightly over her lower lip, before she bit it with uncertainty.  “What if I was planning on kissing you anyway?” she asked.

His grin was crooked and uncontrollable.  “Then all the more bonus for me.”

“Alright, then, tell me.”

“Kiss me first.”

“Ian O’Connell!”

“Kiss me, and I’ll tell you whatever you like, anything at all, just grant me that one pleasure before I lay my soul open and vulnerable to you, Birgitte Aubersohn.”

She knew to hesitate, to not be too eager, and she had the decency to blush and duck her head before giving her quiet agreement and leaning forward, closing her eyes.  Her lips found his easily, as if they were drawn to each other, and a happy sigh escaped them both in unison.  He brought a hand to her cheek; her fingers brushed through the rust-colored curls on his head.

Somewhere, the crow cried out again, but they didn’t even notice it.  They pulled away only when they realized they were losing their breath and, once they separated, they could only stare in wonder at each other while trying to catch that breath again.

“Well?” asked Birgitte once she felt the heat cool from her face and her head wasn’t swimming as it was.

It was Ian’s turn to hesitate, his turn to bite his lip with nervousness.  “I saw one’s skin,” he said, finally, lifting his chin in resolution.  “A selkie’s skin, on the shores of this very lake.  I thought it might be something else at first; it made no sense, but it looked like a wet wool blanket, all abandoned and crumpled up, discarded and unwanted.  But when I got closer, when I actually got to touch the thing, there was no denying it.  That was seal’s skin there on the shore, tough and brown, and there were no cuts or anything, like it had just been shucked right off and that was the end of it.  Pity, that the selkie clearly wasn’t hanging around.  But there’s got to be selkies in this lake, I’m sure of it.  How else would you explain away something like that?  You just can’t.”

Birgitte sat as though a steel rod had been forced into her back; she stared at Ian with eyes wide and round as the very moon hiding behind the mists off the lake.  Ian regarded this expression with regret and worry, his brow furrowed with concern.

“I think you should take me  back now, Ian,” she said quietly.  “Drop me off the shore now, if you please, I should like to go home.”

“You think I’m right mad, don’t you?” he despaired.

But she shook her head, golden curls bouncing.  “No,” she said, making it firm.  “I would just like to go home now.  It’s late, Ian, my father will worry, you know he will.  But, well…perhaps you’re right, about the crow.  It’s a bad omen to be seeing crows on a night like this, Ian, and…”

She paused, looking down at her hands in her lap, at the knots being made with her fingers.  “I’ve seen them, too.”

“You have?”

“I have.  But, please, talk of such things on this sort of night only stirs up mischief and trouble, Ian.  Drop me off.  We can talk about this in the morning.”

Though it clearly pained him to do so, Ian nodded and agreed to take her back.  He started to row the boat again, moving in silence toward the still bright and sandy shore.  When the boat stopped, Birgitte carefully extracted herself, with the aid of Ian’s hand, and she leaned forward to kiss him again, something long and gentle to last him on his trip back across to the other side of the lake.

Ian made his parting words with a smile, looking up fondly at the pale figure in front of him on the shore, as he pushed off and headed back into the water.  “I believe I’m going to marry you one day, Birgitte Aubersohn.”

She gave him a soft, wan smile back.  “I’ve no doubt you will, Ian O’Connell.”

Birgitte watched him as he paddled away from her, the rhythm steady, until he disappeared into the fog.  Then, she waited a moment more and started to breathe again, the tension slipping out of her like a fish slipping under the surface of the water.  She carefully made her way off the white sandy shore and across the shiny black stones, around the corner of a tall outcropping, and she nearly sobbed to see that the skin, like a wet wool blanket that someone had just left behind, was still there.  She rushed to it, scooping it up into her arms and holding it close, drawing in the familiar scent of herself and, now, of Ian.  She stepped out of her clothes, of her white dress and her soft shoes, folding them carefully and tucking them into a crevasse created by wind and time. 

She stepped in water with the skin and ducked underneath the surface, where it would be much easier to slip into the skin.  She did a dance with herself, with the water, smooth and graceful as her human limbs and her human features merged and morphed and the seal dove down quickly, into the depths and out toward the sea.  At least until morning.  At least until the crows were at rest.

L.S. Engler

This story was previously published in (published in Bowlful of Bunnies, 2012  and The Maine Review, Winter 2015)

Image by PublicDomainPictures from Pixabay – the head of a seal emerging from dark water.