Chapter Two
Bay
It's still dark when I wake up. Sean is still asleep and the world is silent. I feel like I've only been asleep for a few minutes but when I glance at my watch the glowing hands show four-thirty a.m. A thrill of excitement races through me, robbing me of the last shreds of sleep. Through the single small window over Sean's bed I see gray clouds scudding across a starry, inky blue-black sky. It's perfect capaill uisce hunting weather. I roll off of the loveseat and pull on my sweatshirt, stumbling into Sean's tiny bathroom. I pull the door closed and am lost in temporary darkness before my groping fingers find the light switch. My eyes water and I squint as light floods the little room. I don't know who was kidding themselves when they built this bathroom. I think it's actually an old closet because it barely fits the shower, toilet, and sink that are shoved into it. I splash water on my face and look at myself in the mirror. Light brown eyes shaded under strands of straight sandy hair stare back at me. They're determined and serious and, if I'm honest with myself, just a little afraid. I pull my lips into a small frown and let my hair out of yesterday's braid. It falls past my shoulders in tangled knots. I don't have a brush so I comb it out with my fingers as best I can. Then I re-braid it, putting a twist into every third and seventh crossover. When I secure it with the twine again, I tie it into a complicated bow with twists and loops that are supposed to help protect me from the capaill uisce. Sometimes I think these little rituals are more superstition than anything else, but I still do them. When facing the water horses anything that will ward off their magic is a good thing.
When I walk out of the bathroom, Sean is awake and fully dressed, even down to his jacket and boots. He doesn't say anything, just gives me this little nod. I'm impressed; I didn't think I'd made enough noise to wake him and I know he didn't set an alarm.
Before we leave I load my pockets with all kinds of charms and counter curses—iron, ribbon, salt, a stone with a hole in the center, and any other odd scraps I find around Sean's house. In the very bottom of my pocket are a few holly berries. Just in case. I know Sean is similarly loaded down.
We leave Sean's apartment without speaking. As we pass through the stables below I grab a halter and lead from the tack room. "I'll return them," I say to Sean's somewhat accusatory gaze. The halter and lead I've chosen are old and nothing fancy. It is likely no one will even notice they are missing. With that, we leave the Malvern stables and head to the beach. Skarmouth is still locked in silent slumber at this hour. There's hardly a light anywhere besides the flashlight in Sean's hand. The cold October air robs the breath from my lungs as we reach the cliffs. Below me the wide strip of sandy beach stretches out, pale and white in the faint moonlight. Safe. Beyond that the sea seethes like a hungry predator. I wouldn't call it rough, not yet, but it rolls this morning. Clouds shy across the moon, leaving odd patches of shadow to dart down the beach and leap into the sea as if devoured. The breakers become a long tongue greedily licking and snatching for more. For me. I suddenly realize that I've stopped walking and am staring down at the sea. Sean is a few feet ahead of me, waiting patient and still, the flashlight beam pooling at my feet. I can't see his face well enough to tell what he's thinking. With a toss of my head I catch up to him.
It takes us a little while to wind our way down the cliffs in the dark, but we've done it so many times before that finding footholds on the rocky path is nearly second nature. We cross the beach, leaving two sets of neat footprints, side by side. When we leave, there will be a third set of footprints. The hoof prints of my capall uisce.
"Thanks for coming," I say, my voice just above a whisper. It seems wrong somehow to disturb the peace that surrounds us. I know Sean can barely hear me over the shush, shush of the waves, but he understands anyway. He nods then turns his attention out to sea. He'll be my extra eyes as I focus on catching Tempest. In this uncertain dark it is just as easy to hunt a capall uisce as it is to be hunted by one.
With Sean at my back, I walk out into the waves. The cold immediately soaks into my skin, sending a shiver up my spine and soaking my boots for the second time. My clothes are damp with sea spray in an instant. When the water reaches my calves I stop. The ocean tugs at me, shifting the sand under my feet, but I refuse to budge. Reaching into my pocket I grip one of my iron rods and a little packet of salt. Then I take a deep breath and, throwing my head back, I mimic the call of the capaill uisce. It is the plaintive, haunting scream of a foal seeking its mother, or the broken song of a stallion calling his mare. Behind me Sean starts. I don't see his movement as much as sense it, but I know why it startles him. This is probably the most dangerous way to hunt a capall uisce because you risk calling whatever capaill uisce happen to be in earshot. But I'm not too concerned. Over the weeks that I've been coming to the beach, I've altered my call in a manner that Tempest has become familiar with. My call is just different enough from an actual capall uisce's that I'm pretty confident it won't attract all of them. At least not too quickly. I've used the call before so I'm pretty prepared for the results.
My cry dies out on the sea breeze and I don't repeat it. That would just be asking for trouble. Now all that's left to do is wait. I shiver as the wind picks up, whipping strands of hair from my braid. For a long while, nothing happens. It is just me and Sean and the sky and the sea. It's dead still around us, like the calm before a storm - all except the restless sea. Sean shifts his weight from one foot to the other and the small beam from his flashlight wavers. It's his version of asking, So, what now?
I don't answer the unspoken question. Instead I scan the waves for a sign of the capaill uisce. Any sign, any horse. Just as I begin to doubt the success of this little venture, a dark head bursts from the water in front of me, pealing in triumph and flinging salt spray from its thick mane. For a moment I tense, but as the sea-gray body rises from the water, I relax. It's Tempest. I whistle, low and steady, a sound I've trained Tempest to. Tempest swims toward me then walks as his feet touch the sandy bottom. He comes straight up to me and stops, standing quietly. He eyes Sean curiously but with no hint of malice. It helps that Sean is calm and familiar with capaill uisce already.
"Good boy, Tempest," I croon and he draws himself up to his full height, a haughty air about his stance. He's a deep gray, the color of the sea in a storm or the sky when it dumps buckets of rain on Thisby. He's small for a capall uisce, but still big for a horse. Every line of his body speaks speed—the length of his legs, the slope of his back, the tilt of his neck, even the curious prick of his ears. His eyes are immeasurably black, his mane a shade darker than the rest of him. He's proud and wild and strong and mine.
I reach my right hand out slowly. Though I hold nothing in it, my left is buried deep in my pocket, ready to pull any number of charms on Tempest if I have to. I touch Tempest's nose, rubbing little circles across it with my fingers. Slowly I work my way up his nose to his forehead until I'm scratching the little indentation behind his ear. Tempest lets out a thrum of pleasure, a deep vibrating sound peculiar to the capaill uisce. It's something like a cat's purr, only deeper. A sound you feel more than hear.
Tempest lowers his head against my chest and snorts a breath between his lips. I feel it tickle against my stomach. Sean takes a deep breath through his nose and leans forward, the equivalent of anyone else jumping in fright. I know it's dangerous to let a capall uisce get this close, but I trust Tempest. Some small part of me also wants to show off to Sean Kendrick, horse-trainer extraordinaire. I want to prove that I'm not just good at being Sean's sidekick, but I can also be his equal.
I shrug the halter off my shoulder where I'd slung it earlier to free my hands, still whispering in Tempest's ear. When I'm with Tempest, I feel like I can speak a different language. A language only he and I know. I begin to understand how Sean feels with Corr, how they talk without saying anything. Keeping my voice and movements steady, I slip the halter over Tempest's head. My fingers tremble and I tell myself that it's the cold, but I know it's really because I'm a little nervous. I've haltered Tempest once before, but there's still a chance he might reject it. He takes it quietly though and I don't even have to use the iron bar that I've tucked into my left hand. Taking his lead in a firm grip I turn to face Sean. It's a move of trust and a little bravado on my part because it puts my back toward Tempest. I gauge Sean's face carefully, because I know his eyes are on Tempest, but he remains quiet and impassive. Sean's simple action, or lack thereof, is what finalizes my choice in Tempest. I splash back to the beach with Tempest in tow. When I get level with Sean I stop and raise an eyebrow at him. That's his cue to assess my capall. Sean casts an eye over the water horse with a somewhat critical air.
"He's still not faster than Corr," he finally says. I grin. I know it's a compliment.
Sean and I walk back to Skarmouth on either side of Tempest's head. We crest the cliffs just as the sun begins to rise. I keep a tight hold on Tempest's halter, in case he tries to return to the sea. The red ribbon I tied to his halter flutters in the breeze, brushing across my forehead as I walk beside him. Tempest shies once when we get to the road to Skarmouth. He throws his head back, pulling me off balance, and screams for the sea. As soon as I find my feet, I trace circles on his shoulder with an iron rod. Tempest whirls back towards the sea and strains against me. I dig my heels in, but I know I can't stop two thousand pounds of capaill uisce from dragging me down to the beach. Sean jumps to Tempest's other side and hooks the fingers of his left hand under the halter. His right hand is buried deep in his pocket and I know what he's holding. I just hope he doesn't have to use it. It takes both of us and a good amount of salt and iron to get Tempest under control again. When we finally do, the ground beneath us is a mass of foot and hoof prints gouged and scuffed into the dirt. Sean looks at me levelly, but I can see his chest rise and fall with the force of his breathing. I'm panting, but I keep a firm grasp on Tempest who prances in place. I whisper to my horse and give his halter a sharp tug to get him walking again. Just before we reach Skarmouth Sean turns to me and says over Tempest's nose, "Where are you going to keep him?"
I take a deep breath. It's a question that I've wrestled with myself. In my mind I know where I want to keep him. Saying it aloud might make it sound foolish. "At home. There's an extra stall in the old stable."
"What about your dad?" Sean asks quietly. I know his question is not to spite me, but it still stings.
My mother was killed by a capaill uisce when I was barely two. I don't remember it happening so much as I remember being told about it. But my father remembers and he has never forgiven the horses. He hates them, hates the races, hates the sea. He'll be anything but pleased when he discovers what I'm bringing home, so I'm hoping he won't be home yet. He didn't come home the night before last, which means he probably spent all his money drinking in town. I have no idea if he'll be home or what kind of mood he'll be in. I clear my throat. "My dad is scared of the capaill uisce," I finally answer. "He won't touch Tempest." I sound a lot more confident than I feel.
Sean nods solemnly as we reach the Malvern Yards. It's almost six now and he will have to hurry to show up to work on time. "If you need any help…" he trails off. I know his offer stands now and later.
"I'm fine, thanks," I say with more confidence than I feel.
Sean opens the gate to the Malvern Yards and walks through. Just before he closes it, he stops and turns back to me. For a second he looks like he's going to say something then he just nods and latches the gate, striding into the Yards like he owns them.
I turn back towards town and coax Tempest into a walk again. The fact that Sean Kendrick believes I can handle a capaill uisce all by myself means that he trusts me. It helps to shore up my confidence which is slipping like the sand in the tide. But I needn't have worried. After taking a roundabout route in order to avoid taking Tempest straight through town I arrive at home. It's just like I left it yesterday morning. Dark, still, and empty. In some ways I'm glad because it means I won't have to face my dad yet, but it also prolongs the conversation I know I will have to have with him. I have no idea where my father is right now, but I know better than to go looking for him, so I take Tempest to the barn.
Actually, barn isn't the right word. It's just a two-stall shed with a tiny tack room and a loft for some hay. It is full of old tools and a broken wheel-barrow and a rusty saw or two. I think the only reason it's still standing is because we still have Selkie. Selkie was my mom's horse and about the only thing that dad held onto after she died. Maybe because I begged him to. Maybe for the memories. I'm not sure. A few years ago, I realized I could make some extra cash making deliveries on Selkie for Gratton and some of the other stores in town. It's not that the farmers can't come in and get things for themselves, but time's a precious commodity on Thisby. I found many of the outlying farms and families were willing to give me a few coins for taking the time to run into town for them. Especially come race time.
Selkie stands in his stall, dozing and looking about as opposite Tempest as possible. He's a little black thing, sleek once, but rounder now that he's nearly twenty. Selkie watches curiously as I turn Tempest out into the pasture beside the barn so I can clean out the second stall for him. While I prepare it I keep a wary eye on Tempest, half-expecting him to run the whole time, but he doesn't. He investigates the pasture then stands perfectly still in the center of the circular enclosure. His head is up and his ears pricked but he is calm—I think. It takes me several hours to get the stall ready. First I have to clean it out and spread fresh straw across it. Then I have to line it with bits of iron and salt. I tack red ribbon to the doorposts and secure the door with a sprig of holly tucked into the latch. By this time, Selkie realizes he's about to get a companion and he eyes Tempest distrustfully through the window on his stall. I try to talk Selkie into being ok with his new barn mate, but I'm not sure it's successful.
When I've done everything I can think of to safeguard the stall, I bring Tempest into it. When Tempest's hooves cross the threshold of the barn, Selkie throws his head up and lets out a high-pitched whinny. Tempest hears it and his ears prick. He swings his great head toward Selkie and Selkie backs up as far as his stall will allow. There's a thrum in Tempest's chest, but he seems more curious than hungry. I twist my fingers in Tempest's mane, tying it in knots, and turn him in three small counterclockwise circles before pushing him into his stall.
Selkie watches warily, ears settled halfway back, eyes wide, but he steps forward and peers into Tempest's stall as I settle Tempest. When I back out of the stall, I spit on the threshold before I close the door. It's something I've seen Sean do with Corr. With a smile, I lean back against the stall door. I've got my ticket to ride.