Fear the Drowning Deep(50)
I turned as a hulking black horse lumbered out of the waves, shaking white foam off its sleek coat. Blinking, I pinched my arm.
The horse was still there, half-submerged in the waves and staring at me with luminous, dark blue eyes. This ghastly creature looked nothing like the chestnut horses I’d met on my aunt’s farm. Its ears were twice the length of a normal horse’s, thinner and pointed. The creature’s forelegs ended not in hooves, but in webbed flippers. More webbing covered the bends of its legs, and gills lined its neck. White scars shone on the creature’s belly, and a large, round fin rose from its back.
The glashtyn from Morag’s book and Mam’s paintings.
I tried to scream, but only a croak came from my throat. The beast tossed its curly, black mane and slapped a flipper against the sand, displeased by my broken sound. The waves receded, revealing the creature’s dolphin-like tail.
Even though I knew it couldn’t rush to attack me, I staggered back and nearly fell again as the creature gave a strangled cry, more like a man’s gasp than a horse’s whinny. It appeared to be shrinking, muscles rippling and twisting into another form. Flippers became fingers, the giant tail divided to form legs, and the mane became a mess of familiar dark curls.
I shut my eyes, took a deep breath, and slowly exhaled. I’d finally done what the good folk of Port Coire assumed I had so long ago: lost my mind. When I dared to glance at the beast again, it was no longer standing there. Shivering in its place was Fynn, naked as the day I found him, wide-eyed and dripping.
“Monster,” I stammered.
He shook the water out of his hair. Da’s bathing suit must have been ruined during his transformation. He started toward me, worry creasing his forehead.
But for every step he took, I scrambled back. He’d been lying to me this whole time. I didn’t want him anywhere near me.
“Bridey,” he said quietly. “I’m still the same person you—”
“You lied to me! You’re not who I thought you were at all!” Fynn winced, but the hurt look on his face was nothing compared to the agony he was causing me now. “You’re no better than the fossegrim.” I bit my chapped lip, suppressing a sob.
“I’m a glashtyn, but I’m no monster.” He stopped advancing. Sea-dweller or not, at least he had enough sense to leave me be. Blood leaked sluggishly from his deepest wound, and to my dismay, seeing his pain still caused my stomach to clench in sympathy. “The serpent your mother keeps painting—it tried to kill me the day I washed up on this beach.”
Glashtyn. Ms. Elena had told Cat’s mam that the glashtyn liked to drown girls. And Fynn had pretended he didn’t know the word when I’d asked about it.
My head spun. “You drowned that poor girl who washed up on the beach, didn’t you? And Nessa? Eveleen? Alis? Lugh’s mam? You were just blaming the fossegrim for your murders! Where are their bodies? Why didn’t you take me, too? Oh, God.” Tears spattered the front of my blouse as I thought back to our day at sea. How swiftly and surely he’d picked me up and carried me into the waves.
He could have been planning to steal me then, like the others.
Fynn clutched at his chest. “I didn’t drown anyone! I don’t know why the fossegrim came here when I did. I’d never even seen one before it attacked us. But the serpent fought me, and I nearly died. It was fair fortune that I landed here with you, and not on some other shore.” He swallowed, then reached out an imploring hand. “You saved my life. Truly. And my heart is yours, if you want—”
“Don’t you dare say you love me.” A shrill laugh escaped my lips. “It seems we know nothing of each other.” The voice echoing in my ears didn’t sound like my own. “And don’t come near my family. Go back where you belong! I never want to see you again.”
“Bridey, I only showed you because I didn’t want to keep any secrets … You asked to know! You wanted the truth!” Fynn’s words were lost to the wind as I raced up the path between the cliffs, glancing over my shoulder only to make sure he wasn’t following.
I sprinted through town by way of my neighbors’ yards, dodging the vague shapes of chickens, cats, and washtubs. I paused once, by a stone blur that vaguely resembled the Gills’ house, to grab a yellowed garment hanging from a line. After dabbing my streaming eyes and nose with someone’s nightgown, I hurried across a field into the sheltering shade of the forest’s silver birch and rowans.
The climb seemed to take twice as long as usual, perhaps because I kept turning to peer down the hill. Fynn had trailed me here before; he could find it again. But not even a rabbit stirred in the brush.
My shoulders slumped. There were so many things I wanted to ask him, once my anger had faded. Why the serpent attacked him, and was he was even capable of loving a human? His falsehoods stung worse than the dreadful moment of watching him surface from the waves as a beast from a book of monsters.
I emerged from the trees with my stomach rumbling. I skirted the edge of the woods and began to search for anything edible among the bracken. A sweet perfume tickled my nose, and I chased the scent to dark raspberries dangling from thorny canes, begging to be picked.
Something rustled the leaves. I froze, looking toward the path, but it was only a bird taking flight.
As my sobs slowed, I rested at the crown of the hill. The short, scrubby grass was warm from roasting under the sun, a wonderful contrast to the icy sea water.