Chapter 1
Dublin, March 1579
The cell door banged open. The noise and sudden torchlight invaded my head, making the pain worse. I squinted as I struggled to get my bearings. I steeled myself for the onslaught, whatever it may be this time. Boots scuffed across the floor.
“Get up, you,” a gruff voice said, kicking me for good measure.
My bones ached to the marrow. I groaned as I tried to sit up.
The man sighed with impatience. “Come on then, we haven’t got all day. Hey, Sam, help me with this one, will you? Don’t know why they keep the old ones alive, the damn stinking creatures. Makes more work for the rest of us. It’s not like they ever make it home.”
Rough hands pulled me up and dragged me to the open door. “Why the rush, boys? You have a lot of other grandmothers to torture today?” I asked.
“You shut up,” grumbled the man, shaking me. “No one said you’re allowed to talk.”
Together, the guards dragged me to the room where the stench of fear and old blood would never be washed away. A worn chopping block stained with old blood stood next to a shallow metal pan. I grimaced as they shoved my head onto the block. I felt the decay against my neck. A gloved hand yanked my hair from the nape of my neck.
“Considering this one’s crime, ‘tis a shame there’s no spectacle for this. Head lopped off down here in the dark. Ready, Sam?” The gloved hand crushed my face into the block. “Stay still, you.”
My teeth clenched as I heard Sam heft the axe and give it a swing, and the rusted blade flew past my eyes and bit the block with a shattering thud. “Missed, you oaf,” said the first guard.
Sam laughed. “I always like to rattle them first. Makes the kill more fun. Ready now? One, two...” He cast aside the axe and pressed a much sharper blade to my scalp. My hair fell in swaths around my face as they had a good laugh at my expense.
As I sought to hold onto my sanity, I let a memory of cutting my hair take me back to my childhood. I did it to prove my courage. When father said little girls couldn’t be sailors, I became indignant, then furious. I persisted. He refused. Then one day he came home with my brother to find Mother despairing. She said I’d gone mad. After some shouting, I emerged wearing my brother’s clothes, my hair cut close to the scalp with Father’s hunting knife. I stormed into the room, telling him I’d be better than any son he could hope for. My brother Dónal flushed with indignation, yet his eyes bore the light of relief. He wasn’t heir to the sea and he knew it. Late at night when we couldn’t sleep, he confessed his hatred for being on the ships. Every day, I yearned to be out there with Father. I abandoned my chores whenever I could to go sit by the sea and watch the waves roll onto the rocky shore for hours and studying the weather like he did.
Father ruffled my short hair. “Little baldie.” He laughed. “You want your chance, I’ll grant it to you.”
He worked me hard, making me scrub every inch of the ship and haul cargo with the men. And thus I came to spend more time on sea than land. I became my father’s dutiful apprentice as he navigated the treacherous waters of the coast, and I never complained as I attended to every task assigned to me. The men sent me over the side of the ship on a line to untangle the fishing nets that were being pulled under the keel. Such tasks were meant to scare me off, but they wouldn’t have me do them unless my safety was assured. The ship sat in still water. No one would risk the life of the chieftain’s daughter. The line was tied tight around me, and two men in control of holding and maneuvering it would never let me go. But they’d laugh and joke. “The girl’s in the drink! Maybe the selkies will come to claim her!” Upon mention of the seals that could change into human form, my focus on untangling the nets diminished as I eyed the water for creatures sneaking up on me. The men laughed all the harder. “You only hear of female selkies who are caught by sailors. What of the male selkies then? What do they get? Not much access to young women, I’d wager. Let’s give them a little princess for their selkie kingdom!” I’d clamber up the line in a panic, sometimes convinced a length of seaweed brushing my ankle was actually a selkie’s touch.
