The Selkie Sorceress (Seal Island Trilogy, Book 3) by Sophie Moss Page B
Authors: Sophie Moss
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out the window.
Brigid nodded, her gaze following the path of a robin into the forest.
“We might see daffodils for the first time in January.”
Brigid shook her head, the grasses rustling around her bare shoulders like tiny bones in the wind. “It’s not time.”
“It’s only a heat wave,” Sister Evelyn said gently.
Brigid’s pale eyes—the color of storm clouds gathering over the sea—shifted to Sister Evelyn. “It’s not time.” Her cold fingers wrapped around Sister Evelyn’s wrist. “It’s not right.”
O wen glanced over his shoulder, as he did every night when he wandered down to the beach at sunset. Hardly anyone came here. It was mostly rocks and they could get slippery at high tide. But the coastline was bone dry. Even the lichens crackled under his feet as he picked his way over them.
He paused when he spotted a starfish washed up on the shore. He knelt, scooping it up and carrying it back to the water. Strips of dried seaweed broke off and crumbled under his shoes. His eyes widened when he saw the dozens of pale sea stars stranded on the thin sliver of white sand. He dropped the book he was carrying and scrambled over to them, picking them up and tossing them back into the water.
A lone seal swam into the shallow waters and circled the starfish, swishing her tail fins to help them back into the deeper waters. When Owen and the seal had returned all the starfish back to the sea, Owen glanced up at the horizon. The sun, a copper coin in the distance, was almost touching the hazy edge of the sea.
“I have to get back,” he whispered. But the seal swam closer. She lifted her sleek head out of the water and crooned out a sad song. Owen bit his lip. His parents expected him home before dark. He looked at the road leading back to the village. Maybe he could stay a little longer if he ran home.
Picking up the book, he climbed onto the long flat rock that hung over the water and sat with his feet dangling over the edge. He opened to the page where he’d left off last night and started to read.
“‘Don’t you love me best of all?’ the little mermaid’s eyes seemed to question him, when he took her in his arms and kissed her lovely forehead.
‘Yes, you are most dear to me,’ said the Prince, ‘for you have the kindest heart. You love me more than anyone else does, and you look so much like a young girl I once saw but never shall find again. I was on a ship that was wrecked, and the waves cast me ashore near a holy temple…’”
He trailed off as Nuala dipped and spun in frantic circles under the surface of the water. She flipped, somersaulting, and then hopped up onto the ledge of the rock, her pale eyes pleading at him to go on. Owen read a few more paragraphs, stumbling over some of the bigger words. He paused when Nuala nudged his fingers with her wet nose.
“What is it?” he whispered. She let out a low whimper and he ran his hand tentatively over her head. He knew she couldn’t answer. But she scooted closer, rubbing her nose on the pages of the book. He flipped back a few pages until she stopped nudging the book and he squinted to make out the words through the fading light.
“She saw dry land rise before her in the high blue mountains, topped with snow as glistening white as if a flock of swans were resting there. Down by the shore were splendid green woods, and in the foreground stood a church, or perhaps a convent…”
Nuala splashed back into the water, swimming in frantic half-circles around the rock. Owen paused, his finger on the word as he sounded out the syllables again. “Con-vent?”
She nodded, splashing warm water onto the rock.
“Con-vent,” he said again, not entirely sure if he was pronouncing it right. He didn’t know what a convent was. But it must be important. He slipped the gold ribbon back between the pages as the sun dipped into the ocean. He stood, waving goodbye to Nuala. “I have to go,” he called over his
Brigid nodded, her gaze following the path of a robin into the forest.
“We might see daffodils for the first time in January.”
Brigid shook her head, the grasses rustling around her bare shoulders like tiny bones in the wind. “It’s not time.”
“It’s only a heat wave,” Sister Evelyn said gently.
Brigid’s pale eyes—the color of storm clouds gathering over the sea—shifted to Sister Evelyn. “It’s not time.” Her cold fingers wrapped around Sister Evelyn’s wrist. “It’s not right.”
O wen glanced over his shoulder, as he did every night when he wandered down to the beach at sunset. Hardly anyone came here. It was mostly rocks and they could get slippery at high tide. But the coastline was bone dry. Even the lichens crackled under his feet as he picked his way over them.
He paused when he spotted a starfish washed up on the shore. He knelt, scooping it up and carrying it back to the water. Strips of dried seaweed broke off and crumbled under his shoes. His eyes widened when he saw the dozens of pale sea stars stranded on the thin sliver of white sand. He dropped the book he was carrying and scrambled over to them, picking them up and tossing them back into the water.
A lone seal swam into the shallow waters and circled the starfish, swishing her tail fins to help them back into the deeper waters. When Owen and the seal had returned all the starfish back to the sea, Owen glanced up at the horizon. The sun, a copper coin in the distance, was almost touching the hazy edge of the sea.
“I have to get back,” he whispered. But the seal swam closer. She lifted her sleek head out of the water and crooned out a sad song. Owen bit his lip. His parents expected him home before dark. He looked at the road leading back to the village. Maybe he could stay a little longer if he ran home.
Picking up the book, he climbed onto the long flat rock that hung over the water and sat with his feet dangling over the edge. He opened to the page where he’d left off last night and started to read.
“‘Don’t you love me best of all?’ the little mermaid’s eyes seemed to question him, when he took her in his arms and kissed her lovely forehead.
‘Yes, you are most dear to me,’ said the Prince, ‘for you have the kindest heart. You love me more than anyone else does, and you look so much like a young girl I once saw but never shall find again. I was on a ship that was wrecked, and the waves cast me ashore near a holy temple…’”
He trailed off as Nuala dipped and spun in frantic circles under the surface of the water. She flipped, somersaulting, and then hopped up onto the ledge of the rock, her pale eyes pleading at him to go on. Owen read a few more paragraphs, stumbling over some of the bigger words. He paused when Nuala nudged his fingers with her wet nose.
“What is it?” he whispered. She let out a low whimper and he ran his hand tentatively over her head. He knew she couldn’t answer. But she scooted closer, rubbing her nose on the pages of the book. He flipped back a few pages until she stopped nudging the book and he squinted to make out the words through the fading light.
“She saw dry land rise before her in the high blue mountains, topped with snow as glistening white as if a flock of swans were resting there. Down by the shore were splendid green woods, and in the foreground stood a church, or perhaps a convent…”
Nuala splashed back into the water, swimming in frantic half-circles around the rock. Owen paused, his finger on the word as he sounded out the syllables again. “Con-vent?”
She nodded, splashing warm water onto the rock.
“Con-vent,” he said again, not entirely sure if he was pronouncing it right. He didn’t know what a convent was. But it must be important. He slipped the gold ribbon back between the pages as the sun dipped into the ocean. He stood, waving goodbye to Nuala. “I have to go,” he called over his
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