…
FROM THE ASHES, I SUMMON THEE!
AWAKEN! ARISE! CAST OFF THE VEIL OF SLEEP!
DEFY AND PROSPER, AND bugger it all, I'm tired to the bone.
Happy Turkey Day everyone! More A/N at the bottom!
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Selkie
Thinking Magical Being
Official Individual Threat Rating: XXX
CLASS 1 PROTECTED SPECIES- ICW DIPLOMATIC RESPONSES ONLY
Protected Status Details
All Selkies are listed as a Class 1 Protected Species under the ICW Charter of 1699; the stance of the international magical community regarding this thinking magical species has not changed at any point in time.
Any evidence of a being or government, magical or mundane, found to have poached, harmed, stolen from, or otherwise impinged on the liberty and/or free will of any Selkie, or group of Selkies, no matter the reason, will be arrested and prosecuted by the ICW Council of Mugwumps, assuming they are still alive. They may be subject to Obliviation, imprisonment on Azkaban Isle, and/or Damnatio Memoriae, depending on the severity of their crime.
Additionally, Selkies are classed as Twice Sacred by the Edict of the Great Coalition (440 BCE); any harm which befalls a Selkie Clan will invite measured Spiritual retribution, regardless of Mortal Law.
Furthermore, if one is so foolish as to slaughter a settlement of Selkies, no matter the reason, the Edict allows for the execution of the antagonist be carried out by High Dragon Persephone, the Fangs of Winter.
Only the Dark Lord Franz the Malcontent, creator of the Cruciatus Curse, has ever broken this article of the Edict (1422, Amsterdam), killing 87 Selkies and driving another 12 to insanity with his infamous curse, including one 8-year-old.
In reply, The Fangs of Winter broke his wand and staff after a brief engagement, removed his arms, legs, eyes, and tongue, then hung the Dark Lord from a gibbet in his hometown of Budapest, ensuring the suffering was long and dolorous, before a captive audience of Franz's supporters, who were executed by the Emperor shortly afterward; finally, Persephone vitrified the corpses with flame and buried the remains in a mound of dragon dung fertilizer, stating "At least now they shall be of some utility". This fertilizer is famous for being the soil from which Hungarian Whomping Willows grow best and most quickly.
None have intentionally sought to break the laws regarding Selkies since.
Species Details:
A Selkie is a type of Merrow. Unlike their more visually known cousins, the Mermaid, Selkies construct small above-water settlements, usually out of driftwood, and spend much of their time out of the water. What underwater settlements exist, and their appearance, is a mystery hidden from humanity.
Selkies are one of the few thinking magical races that can naturally shapeshift. Like Werewolves, their physical changes seem to coincide with the phases of the Moon. Unlike Werewolves, Selkies do not become mindless killing machines on the full moon; rather, during the period between the first and last quarter Moon, Selkies are, for all intents and purposes, prodigiously intelligent and magically-capable seals.
While in this form, their attunement to water becomes extremely potent; a single Selkie may be able to create whirlpools, undertows, and choppy water in a given area (record is 4 square nautical miles), while large groups of Selkies can create heavy storms, up to and including small hurricanes, even in areas where such weather is stupendously rare (see: ICW Report on the 1987 European Great Storm [1989], or 745 Things You Should Never Say To A Selkie, by Prenelle Flamel [1990]).
When they are not in their seal forms, a Selkie strongly resembles a human being, with few differences; hair color is, generally, brown, black or white, regardless of age. Skin color seems to be generally pale shades of white or gray, regardless of exposure to the Sun; interestingly, Selkies appear incapable of developing a tan. It should be noted that Selkies are not in the habit of wearing clothes; any covering comes from a magical totem taking the form of a seal hide, which becomes a part of their being during their monthly transformations. The reason for this requirement remains unclear.
Selkies are known for their artwork and skill with fishing, as well as their aptitude with certain magical crafts; magically-expanded chests, Mokeskin pouches, and potions ingredients are their most common exports.
Population centers are mostly located in various parts of the British Isles (including the Isles of Wight and Man), the fjords of Norway, the Faroe Islands, and Iceland. The exact locations are deemed classified by the International Department of Magical Creature Law Enforcement (IDMCLE).
Despite widespread knowledge of their presence, both in the Magical and Muggle tales, Selkies rarely trade or interact with human beings in either society, mainly due to Muggle poaching and Magical miseducation on their species' behavior.
Poachers believing they have come upon a pod of seals are usually slain if they attempt or succeed in killing a Selkie, no matter the time of the month. Rabble-rousers are usually beaten senseless and left dangling from a tree somewhere.
Due to their apparently insular and slightly xenophobic society, there is little to no knowledge of how Selkies interact with one another, how their society is structured, whether they have their own language (though rumors of musical sophistication raise the possibility that they do), or their species' history.
The only record of a Selkie taking part in any major event of human history is a note from the Greek Admiral Kratos l of Thebes, who led the fleet that broke the Siege of Cyprus during the Black Decade; it is noted by the Admiral:
'…a Selkie scout that followed us offered to sink the daemonships. At the cost of his own life, he created a great storm and sent the fiends to the bottom, allowing our forces to come upon the invader's unprotected camps on the land; Nike praise him…'
All other notations or tales on the doings of Selkies, most of which have been submitted by those who are not magical creature researchers, have, so far, been unfounded in fact. Collected writings that survived the Dissolution of the Monasteries suggest that most stories relating Selkies were produced as fictitious or cautionary tales by Dark and Middle Age peasantry, presumably as tavern entertainment or Christian propaganda.
For instance: stealing and hiding a Selkie's skin will only invite the ire of said Selkie's clan, with gruesome results. There are six reports of someone trying this (see: IDMCLE Incident Reports, sub: SLK/1 through 6), with the perpetrator seeking to take a young Selkie female as a wife or slave. All the reports ended the same way: the perpetrator was tortured by the Selkie clan into giving up the skin's location before being beheaded.
Otherwise, the Selkie species seems to wish to live apart from humanity, and will insist on being left to their culture and devices; as they have never been known to lash out at humanity without provocation, they are tolerated by all Magical governments. Prosecution of incidents is generally treated on an individual basis; traditionally, Selkie and Magical will try perpetrators in a bipartisan court, outside, with the sea and mainland in clear view from the place of hearing.
Notation: most trade with Selkies has fallen off after the implementation of the Statute of Secrecy. Barring the cordial yet cool relations exhibited by Icelandic populations, most Selkie settlements now avoid human contact; trade continues, but now appears to be limited to gifts of gratefulness. Due to various human laws regarding their race, owning Selkie artifacts requires Veritiserum questioning by the IDMCLE regarding the artifact's origin, and how it came into human hands.
-Summary page from ICW Archive File on Selkies
First filing: November 1699 CE
Most recent update: February 1993 CE
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Selkies
by James Stormcaller
and Vera
and Wyne
The books are wrong. Selkies aren't Merrow, and while Merrow don't really care about this mistake, Selkies get offended if you mix them up.
Selkies are a type of Fae Folk; like Faeries, House Elves, and, yeah, Merrow, Selkies fulfil a part of Gaia's dream of the world. Faeries take care of the land, House Elves make sure everything stays tidy, Merrow make sure none of the predators in the deep water come up higher…
And Selkies are Water's Artisans! They take all the stuff that comes from water, like fishbone, sand dollars, seashells and other stuff
Like fishscales
And they make artwork out it all. They can make pretty much everything, so long as there's no metal involved. They don't like metal much.
Selkies are good at making tools, jewelry, clothing, hats, and, unsurprisingly, boats
But they enchant their boats so they don't move on the water, but under it, wich is SO COOL!
A Selkie doesn't need to shapeshift with the Moon's phases. They can resist it, but their eyes will darken into a full black during this time, if they don't want to change. They can slip into their skin at any time to become seals.
Doesn't matter what time of the month it is, either. Selkies like swimming
And so do we!
So, if they need to dive deep to hunt or gather up some stuff for crafting, they put their skins on and, with a little magic, become a seal so they can go right down!
Selkies are also pretty shy, at first. In order to become a Selkie's friend, you gotta be respectful of their space; so long's you respect them and just go about your business, they'll do the same, but won't be hostile if you approach them after a while.
Most Selkies don't much like humans for whatever reason, but they're willing to try if you're serious about knowing them.
Once you have their trust, keep being their friend; don't try to extort them. Like trying to trick a Faerie, it just won't work.
Yep. Selkies are real, real clever, and they can tell if someone's lying to them, or just want them for some kind of gain, like money, or something yucky.
Give gifts to show affection, or just to be nice to them; Selkies are really affectionate once you've established a friendship with them, so make sure you let them know where the boundaries are with physical contact.
Bit late for you, huh James?
Shut up, Vera…
Do understand that a Selkie, once they have established a friendship with another, no matter the race, will seek to enjoy physical contact with their friend. It is in our nature to express ourselves in a physical rather than philosophical sense; this comes from families sleeping in piles during cold weather. We are also of the habit of giving gifts of affection and thankfulness, primarily in the form of some necklace or bangle.
My people also practice piercing of the ears, are adept at crafting clothing from seafaring plants, and we are all well-versed in water magics. I think this is why James and I became close so swiftly, his aptitude with water that is, beyond his obvious amazingness of course.
I do hope my report has been informative. I would not have known of this report's existence were it not for finding it after spending the night in your rooms. But, James, do you not like our cuddling times? I do not understand your exchange with Vera. Is this the ribbing Snapper spoke of?
HAHAHAHAHA! お二人はとてもかわいいです。ハーマイオニーがあなたに加わったらどうなるのだろうか、へへ！
Yes, Wyne, that was very informative, thank you, and yes, that was a little bit of ribbing.
Having said that, VERA! WHEN I FIND YOU, SO HELP ME GAIA I'M GONNA [remaining text is illegible due to a splotch of water damage]
(the margins of these notes are littered with inky pawprints, tic-tac-toe games, and a crudely drawn tree with stick figures representing a fox, three faeries, and two humanoids cheering from the branches. A detailed charcoal drawing on the back depicts James sleeping against a tree with a book on his lap, a three-tailed Vera curled against his right arm, and a young female Selkie [presumably Wyne] cuddling up to his left; part of her leg is muddled by the aforementioned water damage. The picture is subtitled '"So cute!" by Breech, Louie and Snapper, the best Faeries ever!')
-From Shaman James Stormcaller's notebooks
Taken at Walnut Manor, 1989-91
Donated to Hogwarts School, 2003
Japanese:
"You two are so cute. I wonder what might happen if Hermione joins you, hehe!"
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Chapter 11
Wyne
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October was fast-approaching. Shepherd could feel it in his bones.
For the past month-and-a-half, near as he could figure (as Selkie clans didn't use calendars), Shepherd had enjoyed the departing Summer and the stirrings of Autumn amongst his own people… though this meant he'd also dealt with the stares and murmurs of his clan and family, situated in a hidden cove on the Isle of Man.
Adjusting his oar to avoid a sunken boat in the River Wye, Shepherd suppressed a sigh of weariness; his decision to remain at Walnut Manor, ten years past, hadn't endeared him to his people, to say nothing of his parents. They'd expected him to remain with the clan, take a wife and have children, all while providing food and supplies from the deep waters, as was his profession as a Gatherer of the People. Nevermind his own desire to aid the other races, to explore and journey to areas the People hadn't ventured.
And the People had ventured far, in the distant past. But those ancient glories were long gone, half forgotten, and the world was grey.
The time of the High Dragons was all but gone, Persephone having not moved from her roost since the defeat of Grindelwald. The populations of the Fae Folk's various factions were lessening. Fewer Spirits walked the Mundane world.
The world was grey, but there was hope.
Still there were, in Shepherd's mind, places where the People hadn't gone, hadn't explored; maybe Shepherd would, he'd argued at the time, discover a redoubt where the People wouldn't need fear poachers or seal hunters. Mayhap he'd find somewhere where all the clans could live in harmony and peace, away from the Mundane folk who polluted and drove off the fish with their engines.
None of his People listened, and few cared, even after he'd brought news of Walnut Manor and the Fae Folk who'd settled there. In their minds, the revenant which there resided was more than enough proof of the rightness of the People's self-imposed isolation. Why move to another danger when the dangers, where they lived, were known and expected?
Shepherd paid them no heed; the revenant would be destroyed, eventually. Such was the way of the stories: old darkness was eliminated by new light. The revenant would fall, someday.
All the same, Shepherd mused while scowling at another foil wrapper of some Mundane confection drift past the bubble surrounding his boat, he wished the Last High Dragon would do something about the Muggles and their polluting ways. This was the first time he'd brought one of his fellow Selkies on the journey to the Manor, and the briny waters of the Wye weren't exactly making good impressions on his passenger.
Not that she noticed, as the young Selkie in question was fast asleep.
White haired with pale skin that showed a touch of pink, her back bandaged with bloodmoss salve and kelp, Wyne, a ten-summers-old child of his clan, was curled up in the bow of Shepherd's rowboat with her skin wrapped about her for warmth, two Mokeskin sacks acting as pillows, the streaks of her most recent tears just visible on her pained yet lovely face.
She was not here by choice, a fact which caused Shepherd's pale mustached features to twist in bitterness, and row faster. The sooner they arrived at the Manor, the sooner Wyne's healing could be completed, for Shepherd was no healer. Cookie and Melfina, on the other hand, were; he just hoped the Scribes would take no offense to his bringing one of the People to the Manor without advance warning.
They would likely not have many complaints for his ears, however. Wyne was one of the People's most promising youngsters; having selected her Path at the age of four, the Path of the Artisan, she was now the youngest Adept in the clan. Her ability with fish-scale, coral, kelp and flower would, in the fullness of time, be unmatched by all on the Isle of Man.
Indeed, Shepherd thought as the hidden path, which would take him to the Merrow Pond, appeared on the starboard side, those People of Norway and Shetland would no doubt be amazed at young Wyne's ability with artistic expression, her mosaics and jewelry especially, when the decennial meeting of the clans took place next summer.
Or, they would, if the clan heads had not just exiled her.
For all their honor when it came to family, Shepherd knew there were some traditions which should have been abandoned with the onset of the Statute.
Arranged marriages and the patriarchal structure of some clans (Shetland and Norway were more progressive), in particular, were two things that'd never sat well upon his heart.
From what Shepherd had been told by his sister (reluctantly, as he was a sort of pariah amongst his kin), Wyne was arranged this past Spring to wed one of the strongest Guardians in the clan. It was seen as a good match by many: once Wyne was a few years older and able to bear them, her children would no doubt be both dexterous and powerful in their magic and arm. The People would be enriched by such a union. Nothing could go wrong.
Except Wyne disagreed. She didn't want to be wed, least of all to someone nearly twenty years her senior.
Her protests were seen as the naïve rebellion of youth, however, and her parents, in their infinite wisdom, pushed the marriage through.
The ceremony had been a week ago, and, in Shepherd's eyes, was a rather nice and calm event, especially after all the hubbub regarding the boy that'd crossed Landlady Melfina's boundary with a kitsune, just when he'd been preparing to leave.
It'd been a beautiful wedding. Everything had seemingly gone off without a hitch, and the newlyweds made for their wedding bed in seemingly good spirits.
'Hindsight is 20/20,' as Lisanna the Librarian would say.
Shepherd felt he should've noticed the tense set of Wyne's shoulders during the ceremony, the well-practiced false smiles and laughs that'd fooled so many well-wishers… and her betrothed.
If it was any consolation, no other of the People had noticed or suspected anything… until the masculine cry of pain, swiftly cut off in the night, followed by Wyne attempting to flee into the sea, leaving her now one-eyed and unconscious husband behind.
Her defense before the People was that she prized, above all else, her freedom of choice; she wished to choose who she shared her bed with, who she shared her life with, and they, the chieftains and her family, took that choice from her. Wyne wanted freedom.
They gave her twenty lashes across the back with a wierwood rope, for striking another of the People, and exiled her.
Worse than this, she was forbidden from communing with any of the clans ever again. Her tools were burned and, were it not for Shepherd and his father's intervention, Wyne would've had the Mark of Abhorrence tattooed onto her forehead.
It'd been a close thing; the Guardian she'd wounded demanded the Mark even when it was clear he'd not likely see the poor girl again, going so far as to challenge Shepherd for the right to drag her to the mainland. As Shepherd doubted Wyne would survive the journey with her life or honor intact, he refused.
The Guardian challenged Shepherd to a duel for it instead, but the clan heads overruled him. Good for the Guardian. Shepherd had learned a thing or two from the Court Scribes, and wouldn't have shed more than a tear over crippling one of his more idiotic kin.
As it was, Wyne was to never show her face on the Isle of Man ever again, or anywhere else the People had their redoubts. It was a fate the poor girl never thought would happen to her, and yet, here she was: beaten, friendless, orphaned, and cast out, being taken to a place where a Dark undead was pinned.
Yet, as Shepherd let out a soft sigh of relief at feeling the wards of the Faerie wash over him, the water clearing of trash and oil, giving way to the river that would bring him to his chosen home…
Wyne, he felt, would overcome this, eventually. Gregory's Gardens and their Merrow cousins would help her heal, and one day, perhaps, feel at home…
'What is this?' he thought, then, looking about in surprise; every time he'd made the journey in the past, there'd been the bitter tang of the revenant omnipresent on his senses, but now…
It was gone!
More than this: the waters about him were a gleaming blue sapphire, fish and crab and other life that'd been depleted over the years were thriving amongst the tumbled stones of the riverbed, in the forests of kelp that were growing nearly to the water's surface! Not a grindylow or kelpie in sight (though this was less surprising, given the Merrow for hunting the former, and Lisanna exterminating the latter)!
What had happened in his absence?
"Wyne," he ceased rowing for a moment to press the rounded pommel of his oar into the younger Selkie's ankle, calling to her softly, "Wyne, wake up."
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"Wyne, wake up."
Her uncle's voice brought a tired and grieving Wyne back to consciousness.
The ordeals of the past week weighed heavy on her body and mind. Outcast. Pariah. Shamed. She'd been sent away, no doubt to be brought before the Fae Folk and sold into slavery, as many of her cousins amongst the clan thought happened to Shepherd, her own personal Ferryman. Why could her clan not see? She'd only wished to have her choice of husband. Other clans allowed this. It was the done thing in Shetland, why could the Isle of Man not agree on this?
'Because they are the Isle of Man, of course. Fie!' she told herself, trying not to break down crying once again. Wyne had already cried enough, and if they were close to her future prison, she would not go to her fate with tears in her eyes, but with the same bravery she'd held herself with when she explained why she'd gouged her unwanted betrothed's eye and tried to flee.
At least… until they'd flogged her… her own family…
Sniffling, she kicked the offending object poking her leg, murmuring bitterly, "Away. Leave me in peace."
"Wyne," Shepherd's softly wondering voice broke through her melancholy thoughts, "Look about you."
Opening her dark eyes, Wyne did as her uncle asked…
Her misery was replaced by awe.
All about were sapphire waters, like in the old tales of the West Tropics! Fish flitted around the boat, crab scurried atop the rocks, and a kelp forest rippled and swayed all around them, the gleaming green leaves brighter than any little Wyne had seen in the shallows of the Isle! It looked nothing like a river polluted by the Mundane world; rather, it was an aqueous wonderland that put the Isle's kelp farms to shame!
Her back still stung as she sat up more to drink these sights in with bark-brown eyes, but those very sights allowed Wyne to ignore the pain and grief; never before had she thought a sight such as this was possible, in the North anyway!
Were they indeed approaching her prison? "You said… there was a darkness here. Where is it?" whispered Wyne, watching an eel, of all things, flit out of its den to snag a carp, a few grindylows scattering and giggling at the action! There was none of the bitter tang the Elders and Teachers spoke of, when they whispered their warnings of the Dark; what was this place?
"There was," carefully, so as not to agitate her back, Wyne turned to Shepherd when he quietly spoke; the older Selkie was looking about with suspicious awe himself, moustache twitching as he chewed his lip, "I feel none of it now. Nowhere… it is gone; I can't think of a reason."
"What does this mean?" asked Wyne, beginning to become fearful once more; had the darkness hidden its presence? Had the humans cleansed it, drove out the Faeries? What would they find, on arriving at this… Walnut Manor?
"I don't know," Shepherd's moustached face set itself in determination, and he rowed harder, "But we will find out soon, come what may. The dock approaches."
Wyne looked ahead, becoming morose once more; she only wished for freedom. Instead, the People banished her to a place where she'd probably be chained. She hoped whoever bought her would allow her to paint, or create new tools to craft with… or swim into those dark waters Shepherd was steering them around, but she didn't hold much hope.
Too soon, the boat rose from the waters next to a short walkway of wood, and… and…
Wyne could not believe her eyes!
The trees! They were shining!
It was afternoon, but the trees shone with a soft, subtle yellow light that was reminiscent of the Sun, from every leaf and branch! The grass glimmered with silver, and fireflies blinked in the shade of the groves ahead! Even the old wooden dock, a simple jut of boards and logs, seemed to be gripped in the light that embraced everything. Butterflies and other insects fluttered and darted, and birdsong filled the air.
Wyne took all this in with wide eyes, and felt her fingers itch for a brush and some paints, or even a simple graving tool and a panel of driftwood; she'd never seen or heard of such a place!
"Gaia's breath," Shepherd whispered in abject shock, Wyne's eyes flying over the scenery, trying to take in all the colors, all the flowers scattered through the rippling grasses, the mushrooms growing in the dank shade of the trees, and the flicker of the Faerie, the small creatures flitting amongst the branches and toadstools, deeper into the forest; they paid the Selkies no thought, and Wyne didn't blame them.
All was embraced in warmth that complimented the cool of Autumn, and the last revels of Summer. Wyne was certain, now: the sight before her could not be a prison! There was too much life and color and light!
…had the People, her parents, lied to her? Was Shepherd truly Banished, if this was where he made his home? But… but he told her this place was charming, yet dreary; this was so far from that as to be ridiculous!
Out of the trees came a light humming, then, like that of a bug's wings yet magnified; the sound heralded a Faerie, one larger than Wyne's young eyes had yet seen.
Dressed in a gold-bordered black dress, her short hair decorated with a few daises and dandelions, the tattooed, dark-skinned Fae was possessed of a sharp, angular body that was, regardless, martially feminine. The wasp wings jutting from her back hummed loudly, reminding the young Selkie of the only time she'd been stung by a hornet, and Wyne was afraid at first; the kind smile the Fae's face held didn't do much for the little Selkie's confidence, especially when the Fae's piercing yellow eyes found Wyne's, but Shepherd greeted them warmly nonetheless, as though the sharpness of the Faerie meant nothing to him.
"Librarian Lisanna, well met! I take it things are going well around here?" called her uncle cheerfully while he moored the boat. Wyne simply tried to make herself as small as possible amongst the baggage; any Faerie that large was not to be trifled with.
The Faerie chuckled, her voice somewhat rugged, but replied kindly back as she landed at the edge of the small dock, "Shepherd, I'm glad to see you safe, and my fellows will doubtless be too; we were worried you lost your way. I trust the entrance was better than past years?" and the tall Faerie, Lisanna, landed and walked over to help Shepherd unload his cargo, glancing Wyne's way with friendliness and warmth while picking up a sack of salted fish, "And who is this? Another wayward soul come to…" Lisanna's gaze hardened, and her warm voice vanished with a blast of wintry cold, "Whatever has happened to her back, Shepherd?"
Wyne cringed away and clutched at her Selkie skin, trying to hide from those bright yellow eyes so full of wrath
Her uncle sighed and reported with grief in his own voice, "She is my niece, Wyne. She struck her betrothed, and pleaded with the People for freedom to choose her own spouse and life. They flogged her, banished her, and gave her the title of Pariah; were it not for my intervention, the People would have delivered her to the shore of Britain and left her there. Wyne, this is Lisanna, the Librarian of the Walnut Court of Exiled Fae; she is one of the caretakers of this place."
This was it, then; Wyne curled in on herself and waited for the Faerie's judgement. She would no doubt be placed for sale before its kin, and they would-
Lisanna hissed through her teeth, "Of all the… such an act would never fly in Shetland," Wyne peeked through an eye as Shepherd gave an empathic hum; the Faerie was crouched next to the boat, their long wings jittering, but the woman's face was solemn as it smiled kindly upon Wyne, "Hello, Wyne the Selkie. As your Uncle said, I am Lisanna the Librarian, one of the three Scribes of the Walnut Court, a group of Exiled Fae who manage these grounds. Can you stand?"
Hesitantly, Wyne nodded and shakily rose to her feet, keeping her head lowered and trying to preserve her modesty as much as she could before the Faerie's piercing gaze. However, it seemed the self-titled Librarian was more interested in Wyne's back than her front, as the tall Fae leaned over and examined Shepherd's work.
"The bloodmoss went off a bit, Lisa," Wyne's uncle admitted when the Faerie clucked her tongue disapprovingly, "I did what I could, but… well, they used a wierwood switch," Wyne shivered, remembering the awful pain of her lashes, though the temperature around her also dropped drastically as the Librarian stiffened.
"By the… oooh," the Faerie leaned away from Wyne and placed her claws on young Selkie's chin; gently, far more gently than the young Selkie thought possible, the older Fae lifted her face until Wyne was looking at their compassionate gaze, "I take it you also have no tools, or any belongings beyond the necessary?"
"… yes, ah…" how was she supposed to address the Faerie?
"Call me Librarian, or Lady Lisa," smiled the Fae, before gently leading Wyne out of Shepherd's boat, saying to her uncle, "Shep, grab her things. I know just the young one to put her up with."
"Oh? Is that little human boy with the fox still here?" Human? Fox? Wyne didn't understand, and the Faerie's answering grin did not help at all. "He must've made an impression on you, if I may be so bold. You're quite chipper."
"You'll have to speak with Melfina for the details, Shep – she is the owner of the property, dear; you will meet with her eventually," Lisanna added to Wyne, who carefully accepted the single, pitifully small sack that was the entirety of her worldly belongings, containing the crafting materials she'd gathered herself over the years, the only things she'd been allowed to keep, "Make sure you go see her after you've unloaded everything; Cookie and Rafiq should be down in a moment.
"Now, young Wyne, let us go and introduce you to James and Vera. They are likely in the Willow Room, putting the finishing touches on their little treehouse laboratory. Step lively, now," Lisa the Librarian began to walk away; after one more glance at her uncle Shepherd, who shooed her with a smile, Wyne followed the Faerie away into the gleaming forest.
With every step on the soft, dewy grass, she felt a small piece of her heartache falling away into the wonder that gripped everything; occasionally, a smaller Faerie would call out a greeting to the Librarian, or even Wyne. Contrary to what she'd been taught, not one insult was flung at the young Selkie Pariah; rather, all who they came across – including a beauteous white Griffon dam, who held a short conversation with the Librarian before flying away, after giving Wyne a polite nod of greeting – were so… welcoming.
It unnerved Wyne, who tensed when the grand stonework of a towering vine-gripped castle came into view, its east-facing entrance the place Lisanna was leading her; Wyne made sure not to fall behind, even though her anxiety was rising by the second.
Was this where the illusion would be broken? Would poor Wyne be forbidden from crafting, unless she performed the duties of a simple servant, and cleaned the floors of this Faerie-infested ruin? Who was this "James" human, and what manner of human befriended foxes? Weren't they annoyances, much like the common skunk?
"You needn't be so tense, young one," the Librarian tried to soothe, as she led Wyne through a door, surmounted by an archway with a stained glass window depicting a walnut tree, revealing a pair of partially-ruined staircases to the second floor; vines and flowering plants were everywhere, and all was just as touched with light as everything else in the forest, if more subtle and ordered, "James and Vera are both selfless and kind."
"He is a human. Selkie don't deal with humans, except those who've earned our trust," murmured Wyne, not trusting the Fae's assurances as she was, nonetheless, led down another corridor; open doors revealed the magnitude of the Faerie infestation: there were small doors and balconies built into the walls, both in the halls and in the rooms, and parklands in miniature were scattered across every floor. Small towers and hanging lamps of liquid light were everywhere.
Despite herself, Wyne felt a small hope; the Faerie here liked artistic expression. As one of their kind, maybe they'd understand her need? Oh, sure, she didn't quite feel worthy to add to the masterpiece of light surrounding her, but maybe someday…
And… there was no feeling of encroaching menace, despite the din so many Fae living together brought, as they approached a tattered curtain draped across a room's entrance; rather, it felt as though the light of the manor – Walnut Manor, as Lisanna called it while they walked through the forest – was increasing, a soothing radiance that made Wyne feel comforted, like her mother or grandmother were embracing her.
She tried to tell herself that it was wrong, that she shouldn't feel comforted, but it was difficult to resist; Wyne was having difficulty likening it to any Selkie story, save the ones about Greater Spirits of Compassion, but such a thing couldn't be! Why would a Spirit of Compassion aid the Faerie, who were known far and wide for their callous cruelty?
"Yes, but James is unlike any human I have ever met," assured Lisanna, her voice brokering no argument, but it didn't sound forbidding…
And then they passed through the drapery, entering what was doubtless the Willow Room, where…
Wyne's jaw dropped in shock, while Lisanna laughed softly at the sight before them: the tree, a gargantuan weeping willow with dark, glimmering leaves and a wide trunk of healthy brown bark, had a door and a window in the side of it, and a small pipe in the side was puffing smoke, yet it lived!
Roots spilled out from the trunk to cover the ancient and broken marble floors with mossy wood, flowering vines crawled over them and snaking over the walls, and a whole section of the room was depressed into the floor, revealing a pool of dark water…
Where a human boy was sitting, his legs in the water and a book open on his lap; Wyne stepped closer to the Faerie – as, while they were a Fae, she wasn't human – and took the human in. He was the first she'd ever seen, and she was surprised at the sleeveless vest, revealing thin but muscled arms, skin tanned as humans who spent time in the sun did.
"James," the Librarian called, and the boy looked up, brushing some of his wild black hair out of his… emerald green eyes, "This is Wyne, a Selkie from the Isle of Man. She'll be staying here, for now."
"Oh! Hello, it's nice to meet you Wyne," his lips curled into a toothless smile, and he closed the book so he could stand, setting the tome on a root…
And a white-furred vulpine head popped up from behind said root, big blue eyes suddenly filled with mirth, "Wow! A Water Artisan; hi, hi, hi, it's so great to meet you!"
The kitsune jumped up to stand next to the book, three blue tipped tails waving behind her as she gave a toothy grin and waved a paw at Wyne… who looked between the two in surprise.
She could feel it on the air, see it in the way they stood and breathed. There was a powerful Bond between them, which left Wyne stunned; this… this human boy, not even an adolescent of his kind, had accomplished something even the People's Elders struggled with: forming a completely pure bond with a Spirit.
"Are you trying to catch a fly?" asked the kitsune, tilting her head to one side, "Is that why your mouth is open like that?"
"Vera, be nice," James chided the fox, then turned back to Wyne with that same soft smile, "Sorry about her; she and the Faeries like their jokes," he blinked, face shifting from warmth to worry, "Are you okay?"
She frowned at him, scowling, and tried to hide further behind the Librarian, who unhelpfully moved; she didn't know why the human boy was concerned for her-
"Uh, James?" the kitsune's nose was twitching, "I smell blood coming from her."
"I'm fine!" Wyne snapped, not wanting the human to touch her; she looked back the way she came, wondering if she could run back to Shepherd before the human caught her.
The Faerie tsk'ed, "Don't be silly, girl; you need healing, and James is quite skilled with that."
"Oh, you're hurt?" he stepped closer; he was barefoot, unlike many of his kind Wyne's family had described in the past, and… his faced showed nothing but honest concern. The Spirit at his knee mirrored it, though it, or her, given the voice, trotted closer when Wyne hesitated.
"It's okay; I was a little scared, too, when I got here," the kitsune, Vera, bubbled… water rippling over her tails; the water-aligned fox spun in a circle while Wyne watched, and beckoned again, "Nothing bad will happen. Just come sit on a root, so James and I can look at you."
Wyne glanced at him suspiciously and, trying to keep her body hidden with her Selkie hide, asked, "But you're young. What do you know of healing?"
He shrugged with that same smile, "Vera taught me a little, and I've picked up more stuff here and there, as I've walked my path," then he stiffened, glancing at the mossy roots, and asked Wyne, "Would you like a blanket or pillow to sit on?"
She blinked at the show of courtesy; all humans were shrewd hunters who only thought of food and trophies, Wyne was always told this. But here was one that didn't act such a way; she was still suspicious, of course, but… she'd trust him, for the moment. He was a youngster, after all; which begged another question.
"Where are the other humans, then?" she asked quietly, shuffling a little closer, holding her pack tightly to her body.
"Other humans?" Vera asked with a head tilt, while James dashed nimbly up to the house in the tree and returned, a bare second later, with a thick blanket of dark blue fabric.
"Yes. I was taught little humans stayed with their parents, until they were grown…" she trailed off, noticing a wince from both James and Vera. Looking to the Librarian, Wyne didn't see any expression on the Fae's face-
"They're, ah, gone." James said softly while draping the blanket over a root; he still smiled at Wyne, inviting with a hand, "Please, sit. I'll take a look at your back."
She was horrified stiff by her rudeness; human though he was, that alone was no reason to assume things! Wyne bowed, quickly, "I-I-I ah, forgive me. Please, accept my condolences-"
"Wyne." James was still smiling; feeling a brush of warm water about her shins, Wyne felt herself moved a little closer to the root. Taking the hint, she stepped closer, while James sat off the blanket, the boy saying, "It's okay, Wyne; it was a long time ago, and I know they loved me. So I'll do my best to make their spirits proud. What happened to your back?"
The pain of her exile returned, just like that; she sat heavily on the blanket, each burning cut of the lash playing over her skin- Vera's paws pressed against her knees; looking up, Wyne found a pair of big blue eyes looking at her, sniffing her. Could the Spirit smell the shame on her-?
Vera hopped up and, swirling warm, water-like fur around Wyne's lap; a stream of water took the Selkie's pack and set it beside the pool, while the kitsune flopped on Wyne lap with a huff, "You arriving interrupted my sleep, so I would like you to pet me," a mischievous eye met Wyne's, "Do well, and I might allow you to rub my belly."
"…very well," who was she to argue with a Spirit? While running her fingers over the fox's ears, Wyne heard a rattling that reminded her of a mortar and pestle, and warmth was gliding over her back; she turned her head…
And found James holding a Shaman's rattle, shaking it this way and that; she felt her heart shudder as motes of light flickered in the owl skull's eye sockets, the feathers rippling and swaying in an invisible wind.
His eyes met hers, "Could you keep looking forward please?"
"Can't do it while she's watching, my Shaman?" Vera quipped on Wyne's lap; Wyne, who was feeling stunned.
"Shaman?" she breathed, cutting off James' retort; she absently ran her hands through a Spirit, manifest in the world, and wondered aloud, "You… you are a Shaman?"
"Uh-huh," James replied; at the same time, his fingers took the corner of the bloodmoss bandage. With the sound and smell of a warm freshwater stream, he peeled it slowly away. Wyne sighed at the feeling of relief that slowly followed, James' voice seeming to come from far off to her ears:
Flesh, knit and sew, by my voice you remember to be whole.
Pain, fleeting and brief, leave this body, it is not your keep.
Blood, invigorate and flow, beneath the skin, you are at home.
Scars, tarry not, leave only a faded reminder, of how this wound was bought.
"Oh yeah, riiight there, Wyne," purred Vera, pushing her ears into Wyne's scratching fingers; for the first time since arriving, the young Selkie felt at peace, not even the slightest sting… of… pain. She blinked.
"Hey, why'd ya stop scratch- ahhhh, thanks James."
"Once you start scratching, you shouldn't stop, or she'll bother you all night for more (would not!)." His fingers were almost entwined with hers; this close to his face, Wyne could smell wood shavings, clay, and the smells of both water and land.
His smile was kind, and his eyes were full of warmth and curiosity, "And yeah, I'm the Shaman."
"How?" she didn't understand; the tales said all Shamans of Gaia were older, came into their mantles over time.
"I, ah, was raised in the Muggle world," a pain flashed over his face, so brief and fleeting, "I didn't even know what magic was, until they abandoned me outside the forest for trying to figure it out; turns out I was studying Shamanism without realizing what it really was, and my relatives didn't much appreciate magic at all."
"So you are an exile too…" Wyne became crestfallen, but still stroked Vera's back; she didn't mind James' proximity too much, mainly because he'd healed her, and was Shaman, "But, I don't understand. If you are human, and Shaman, why not find the Magicals? They are your kind, aren't they?"
Shrugging, James moved to sit on the root across from Wyne, smiling brightly as he looked at his surroundings and explained, "I don't want to, mostly because I like it here. Sure, it's kinda weird being around the Faerie-"
"Love ya too, hero! Who's the fine lady with you?" called a small female Faerie from up high, the little tree sprite beating a small rug against a stone. That was all Wyne saw before she processed the Faerie's words and ducked her head, glancing at James in worry.
His smile didn't diminish, "Hey Breech. This is Wyne, a new arrival from the Isle of Man."
"Ah, welcome!" the Faerie waved and walked away without waiting for a response.
"See? Weird," chuckled James, kicking his legs and continuing his train of thought, "but there's always something to do here, whether it's clearing blocked areas of the Manor, or telling a story at the great tree in the middle, or wandering the Gardens- you'll like it there, I'm sure; it's as beautiful as you are."
Vera twitched on Wyne's lap, while the Selkie herself spluttered, cheeks flaring red, "I, wha, you-"
"What?" he asked, tilting his head to one side, looking genuinely confused, "You're beautiful; not the same way as Vera or Landlady, but in your own way," he squinted, "Are you sick? Is that why your face is so red?"
"James, as much as I love you, sometimes you can be so clueless," Vera droned, while Wyne tried to hide her face in her hair; none of the Bards ever sang of her beauty, in particular, but there were a few short poems about her works… though those would probably be forgotten, before long.
"What d'ya mean, Vera? I was just complimenting Wyne, so she'd feel better."
"I do not feel better," Wyne squeaked, equal parts embarrassed at being referred to as beautiful, and ashamed by her clanlessness. "You are making me uncomfortable, Shaman."
"O-Oh, I'm sorry!" he stood, slowly, and bowed, "If there's anything I can do to help you feel more at home, let me know."
She was at wit's end, "Why are you acting so… so servile?" he blinked foolishly at her, so Wyne elaborated, "You are Shaman!"
"Because a Shaman is a servant, not a conqueror or ruler," James explained patiently.
Wyne didn't know how to deal with him; all she'd been told were that humans were rude, and enjoyed killing and polluting. To meet one, a Shaman no less, and find them so cordial and kind...
"Forgive me," she said quietly, feeling tears coming on, "I… You are the first human I've actually met. You must think so ill of me."
"Wyne," Vera flipped over, exposing her belly and looking right at the Selkie, "James doesn't have a mean bone in his body; he doesn't think ill of you at all. He just wants to help, and so do I."
Glancing at James' nodding head, Wyne curled into herself. She'd been expecting a prison…
"I can go wherever I wish?"
"Eh, I'd say ask the Merrow where you can swim; there's flooded parts of the Manor that aren't real safe, yet." James said, to Vera's nod, and Wyne felt her dams breaking.
'Am I safe?'
"C-Can I… remake my tools?"
"Oh, are you a crafts… uh, Selkie?" James perked up with interest, tapping his rattle with one finger, "I made my own tools, you know, and Librarian Lisanna's gonna teach me wandmaking someday… hey, where'd she go?" One of the Faeries above said something, but…
Wyne didn't bother looking up, as tears filled her eyes and a sob left her lips. She wasn't a prisoner, wasn't going to be sold to the Faerie, wasn't a slave; she was free… exactly as she wished, before her exile.
She said as much, after Vera flowed up and hugged her with paws and tails, and asked the air, "W-Why does it hurt s-s-so much?"
James gulped, and stepped closer to put a warm, lightly calloused hand on her shoulder, "I… don't rightly know, but I can tell you what I think."
Wyne, to her shame, nodded and leaned into the Shaman's touch; what would her mother- what was she thinking? Her mother would probably try to slap Shaman James with a bass!
"I think it's because you think you're alone," James said quietly, rubbing Wyne's shoulder with a thumb, "The people you trusted to keep you safe just… kicked you out, in the worst way, like you never mattered to them; but you do matter, Wyne. If I've learned anything since becoming a Shaman, it's that everyone has a place in the world. So, yeah, they kicked you out."
Another hand touched Wyne's face, and wiped a silvery tear away; she jerked back, and took in the silent apology on James' face. Then Vera pulled back, looked into Wyne's eyes, and spoke, brightly and certainly.
"Well, you're still alive! Just keep swimming, Wyne, and, if you listen to your friends, sooner or later, you'll find somewhere to be happy again!" James passed Wyne a square of cloth, and gestured at his eyes.
Wyne wiped the tears away, and whispered, "I have no friends. I have nothing."
"You do so have friends," James promised, sitting next to her and patting her shoulder, "Even if no one else will, we will, right Vera?" his kitsune familiar yip-ed and nodded, and the boy Shaman said, "So, y'know, don't feel like everything's already ended, Wyne. Your story just hit a snag, and it's just getting started. D'you want help finding someplace to stay? There's a lot of rooms in this place that aren't taken."
She nodded, and looked around the room, before asking James, "C… could I stay in the tree, just for tonight?"
"Course! I just put in a cot, too, and Mr. Willow loves having company," he held out a hand for her and, after Vera flowed to the floor, Wyne took it with a smile, allowing the human boy to lead her into the small tree cabin; it was a spacious room with shelves playing host to jars containing all sorts of things, there was a trio of Faeries – one of whom she'd met earlier, Breech – nattering to each other in a cubby up near the ceiling, and a bench large enough for two Selkies was situated on the second floor, along with a large number of old books.
She was introduced to all of this by James, while Vera carried her things and boasted about the pool's strong Water attunement, which all three of them talked about while unpacking Wyne's things.
Yes, James was correct, Wyne felt as night fell and the Shaman and his kitsune stayed with her, pointing up at stars that were both similar and different, and later, being tucked in and read a story by the – as she found – younger being of magic, James Stormcaller.
'I am alive. My story will go on,' Wyne mused sleepily, while James read about an African lion that not only talked, but learned to defend himself against poachers; it was a terribly funny tale, even though she didn't know what half the things were. But she could find out! 'And I can grow, make art, without the clan telling me how to do everything… and I don't have to go it alone.'
Eventually, both James and Vera ended up falling asleep on the blanket Wyne sat on to be healed; quietly, she pulled her hide close about her, and joined her friends on the floor. She kept a respectful distance, though; it would be shameful to be so forward, so soon after meeting her friends. And, Wyne thought with a smile, falling asleep while watching James and Vera breathe, she had plenty of time to get to know them.
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A/N:
IT LIIIIIIIIIVES!
lol. Hiya, everyone! Itsya boi, Baked the Author, back at it again with his Harry Potter tale!
It has been a LONG time, since this was updated; the explanation: I was sucked into the Worm fandom and it refused to let me go.
BUT NOW THAT HAS ENDED, AND I WILL ENDEAVOR TO GIVE YOU ALL MORE CHAPTERS OF THIS POST HASTE!
That's right, the spark for this beautiful tale has finally returned! Sadly, I have to head off and deal with family dinner, so let's get to the reviewer responses! Only those with questions that spoil nothing will be answered; ready? Here we go!
CMVrued: Thanks for the marathon reviews! About the Fae Folk and iron: that's cold iron you're thinking of. It can be used as a stabilizer in certain magical structures, too.
Eljin1: Nope! Nobody can sense James' scar. And for good reason, but that doesn't get revealed right now.
1Batman4u: No, it had to do with the types of books Grindelwald's people were reading and utilizing; a lot of fear was gripping the world following that period of history. As a result, a lot of knowledge that was once seen as essential was redacted, banned, or restricted to certain people; also, this is after more than one historic redaction and laying of restrictions, in the Magical world, since the Statute of Secrecy. It helped exactly no one but the Darkness, and those who spoke against it were ignored; Riddle was only part of the reason why, but that's late-story stuff and won't be covered for a long time yet.
To everyone that cried over the last chapter: I still get choked up rereading that scene. It's so… raw, emotional, freeing, that just thinking about it is almost enough to move me to tears. It was, at once, easy and difficult to write, and I love how everyone liked it so much. Thank you all!
Before I depart – and get started on the next chapter, where Remus enters the story – I'd just like to say thanks, again, to everyone who's read and reviewed this, MY FAVORITE STORY TO WRITE.
Even if I leave it alone for a long period, I will always come back here, to my most beloved work. Until the story is finished.
See you in the next chapter, everyone!
~Baked