The Spotted Seal Tavern

I didn't know what to expect when I had to stoop low into the bar.

But what I got, was a lot of eyes staring at me.

The eyes were odd. Like, they looked normal, till you glanced away, and the eyes would have a yellow sheen to them, not white.

Not like a human.

Well, that was more than a bit unnerving.

A bard is usualy welcomed with jolly laughter and a free half-pint or so. This... was very unwelcoming.

I hunched, and slunk down the stairs. Well, limped.

The cowled figure at the bar watched me approach silently, till I leaned against the rail. He sniffed. “You are far from home, little songster. Tunic only, no hose or pouch, and just your vielle and bow. Run out of town?” He sniff-snorted. “Wrong bed? I hope there was nothing of importance in what you were forced to leave behind.”

A stool had appeared behind me, and I took it. “No, I have my instrument. Just some new strings, and horsehair for bow repair. And money. I can usually sing for my supper, so not much in the way of possessions or trinkets. I live simply. Have to.”

“Mmm.” A mug slid across, with a decent herbed smell wafting from it. “Rhea, can you take a look at our gangly? I think he had a run-in with a knife whilst leaving in a hurry.”

“I'm here, luv.” I jumped and almost fell, but strong arms caught me. “I guess it's been a while since someone's been able to sneak up behind you, eh? Well, get used to it, we're all the silent types here.” She pulled up my sleeve and tsk-ed at the shallow wound, but some parts were deeper. Much deeper. “Stitches, luv. No help for it. Garth, budge over, we'll need some room here.” And I was at a booth, she on my stool, and something that burned on the cut followed by soothing numbness. Fine thread, finer than I'd ever seen, and tiny stitching and sluggish bleeding. “I'll be careful to avoid scarring you, luv, so that your hands can still play. Which hand plays the chords?”

“Sinister, mistress.”

“All right, pretend you're playing, so I can see if there's tendon damage.” I flexed, my fingers moving over an invisible fingerboard. She made satisfied noises as I played the only thing that came to mind – the very song that got me in this predicament, into a married woman's bed, and brought down the wrath of her angry knife-wielding husband.

The one named Garth didn't move, trapped as he was in the booth, but watched with slight interest. At one point he leaned over the back of the booth and spoke something in a language I didn't recognize, and there were a few replies. He nodded. “All right, bard, a few things to think about. We can replace most of your lost gear, but we've got not much need of plunking here. Those of us who donate, we can take your coin in work. Not hard work, but enough to equal the cost of what we give. It'll take better that way.” He pointed at his chin to the woman still sewing up my arm. “You can start with Rhea there, mixing up some potions at her direction. You've got the hands for it, and can learn the measures to do a decent job. If you can cook, you can help us make meals here, that sort of thing. Fulling for the shepherd, to get hosen. Stamping for the leather worker. It'll keep your hands going, but flexible enough to stay in practice. Don't make no trouble, and we'll help you. Deal?”

I nodded. It was more than I could hope for, really. “But... you have no use for music? That is strange.”

“Not your type of music. You've probably never heard of throat singing.” He caught me nodding, but not in agreement. “Ah, later. Brenn, is there a place for this one to sleep?”

“It's ready, in the hay loft.” The mug returned with some slightly foul-smelling liquid in it – when did I finish the ale? “Food later, plunker. For now, a healing potion. Swish the taste out with some of this mint drink, and we'll deal with the rest tomorrow.”

I don't remember anything else from that first day. I still don't know if I was carried, or took myself to the loft. But when I woke, there was a shape nearby, with his cowl down. He flipped it up quickly, but I saw before it flicked into place.

He sniffed. “You're quicker than I thought, bard. You saw.”

“Hard to miss.” And I could see his hands clearly in the morning light. “I think I took a strange turn in the night, to end up here.”

“It isn't just the equinoxes when the walls go soft, lad. Care to hazard a guess?”

“The edge of the Seelie lands, I pray.”

He sniff-chuckled. “Aye, Queen Mab rules us, but it could have been a close thing. You were actually lucky to be cut with a steel knife. We are close enough to the Unseelie lands that if you'd been scratched by one of them, things would have taken a dark turn for your fate. You left a blood trace a baby could follow.”

“I didn't know. How?”

“Many of the old stone circles are covered in your lands. I think you may have stumbled into one when you fled. Blood, fear, sacrifice, discipline, music, dark night. Powerful enough to waken the sleeping magic, and transport you here.” He held up a hand, with very stubby fingers. “You can help much here, I think, in return for replacing lost items. It is good to keep the balance.”

I nodded. I had seen enough of his face and shoulders, and the horrible scars at his wrist were confirmation of what I suspected. But I kept silent.

“So. Some food, and then Rhea has first claim on you. She will show you how to measure herbs, and blend them, and make enough potions for us to use and trade for long and long. Then the cook here at the tavern would like your assistance. It is difficult to do some things, when there's no steel knives or wrought iron implements to ease the work.”

“I'm not the best cook, but I can do decent soups. My mum taught me a few things about herbs.”

“Then we will trade knowledge, and you will still have time to practice your playing. We're not heartless, just not into music with instrumens.” He again held up a hand, with stubby fingers wiggling.

He helped me down the stairs, and my bladder was fit to burst before I could relieve myself in the garderobe. A porridge breakfast, and a bit of tooth cleaning; they were a touch fastidious creatures, so I had a bit of wash as well. My tunic had been cleaned as I slept. From there, Rhea collected me, and whisked me off to her thatched home to concoct.

After a week, she released me from my duty to her. I had blended, ground, measured, mixed, and can still to this day recite some of the remedies I made for them. And believe me, some have come in quite handy over the years, though our herbs are not as strong as theirs.

From there, I learned their cooking style, and made plenty of chowder for the town. Many of the men would come in, come morning, hair still sleek and dripping ocean water, and hand over their bounty from the sea. And we would shell, or husk, or crack open, or winkle, or fillet, and chop and mix and stir. Simple fare, really, but fresh from the sea that I could hear pounding on the surf many furlongs past the trees and marsh. I was given to understand they kept the trees there for protection during storms. When I asked about keeping watch for dangerous ships, they laughed silently.

I met Declan, the shepherd. And his sheep.

And that's when I learned what it is to live in the magic of the Seelie lands.

You think great magics, yes? Spectacular, ostentatious, grand? And that may be the way of things, where Mab holds court. But here, in their countryside, it is the little magics that are wondrous in their quiet way.

And this is why humans who stumble into their lands never really talk about their time. Oh, yes, so wonderful, so many wonders, can't really talk about it, but yes, wondrous.

Imagine sheep that grow their wool any color they like. All you do is ask for a color, and it comes off, long tufts that are clean and strong and ready for felting. No, we were in the country, spinning and weaving was for the city magics. Rhea did some, and mentioned others who spun for embroidery when the mood struck them. But the fulling process was plenty of country work. And I needed trews, or hosen, or both.

I chose a neutral color, and heaps of shimmering light gray wool were placed in front of me, like a pile of silver. I was wrapped in it, and doused with warm soapy water, vigorously rubbed, with the fulling songs hummed loud enough to vibrate in my bones. Other strips of color were applied, seemingly at random, and worked in to the rhythm of the tune. I watched as the color faded, but I was winked at while the fulling continued with no break in their pattern.

And afterwards, I learned why. That clothing made with such lovely wool was molded to my shape, and ever would be. And just by thinking, I could change its color to any of the many shades that were added, or blends, or patterns. I could sleep in them, work in them, and they stayed clean and unbroken. A cloak was added, and a snowy white woolen shirt. The cloak was also my blanket and pillow. It stays cool in the summer, warm in the winter, and keeps water and wind and snow away. And, best of all, they told me, if I ever stripped for other activities, and was forced to flee again, they would follow. They could not be stolen or abandoned.

Little magics? Useful magics. Very, very useful.

I gladly served Declan and his charges for what abundance they gave me, and I spent months gathering special herbs for them and Rhea for her herbary. My fingers could work the bone shears they gave me, and I snipped what I was told to with great care and concern. Some of the plants were aware, I was told, and were quite picky about what was taken and when.

Ah, bone. There were many bones, cattle I think. Aurochs, most likely. They wandered in from the Unseelie lands, and were killed before they did much damage. There were traps and nets I was warned to avoid, and we feasted on their meat when we could. I also spent much time tanning hides and sharpening bones on a stone grinding wheel, for their knives and other tools. It earned me a leather belt, pouch, and satchel, well-tooled, with a simple brass buckle. And those things would also follow me, should I need to leave them behind.

I met their smith, and to earn the buckle and cloak clasp, I worked the bellows and helped in the casting preparation. Steel and iron would hurt them, but brass, bronze, pewter, and silver were quite workable. Not so much silver out here; precious metals were for the smiths closer to Mab. I learned of them, and saw a bit of work, but brass became my friend, and I learned to love its gold-sheen and workablilty for necessary things.

I carved my own bowl, and spoon, and fork. I ground my own bone knife, and set it in a sturdy handle I fitted to the shaft myself.

And with all these new skills, I set to the great work – a fitted case for my beloved vielle, and a place for the bow, and places for the strings and bits to repair her. I'd had a recorder, and I was sure to gain another, so room for that as well. And places for the reeds, which Rhea helped me find.

It is so strange, to walk into the woods and ask if one would be willing to part with a piece of so-and-so dimensions, and to wait, and listen, only to hear a rustling and a CRACK and when you follow the sound, there lays a perfect piece of seasoned wood, ready to carve.

I wondered about carving my own instrument from such wood, but that is far beyond my skill. And my vielle may be plain, but I keep her in sweet tune. She is an old friend that I would not like to part with.

I played her in the evenings, to keep my skill. As much as I'd been using my hands, my teachers had been very careful not to put me in a position where my own ineptitude could harm me. I suspected them of putting spells on knives and such, but I am truly not sure. I very much appreciated their care, is all. And I wondered why they did it.

I didn't practice at the tavern. There were many houses there, but not many were used. This one was nearby, and I asked, and they said I could use it till the owner came back.

And then the storm season began.

The wind brought snatches of tunes I'd never heard before, and I would scribble hastily on leaves collected from the ground, fine as any paper. Ink was easy to make from walnut husks I gathered, as I helped collect the nuts for winter stocks. Nibs from dry sea grass reeds. I was discouraged from going to the shore without an escort, but they would accompany me the few times I asked. I didn't ask why, and perhaps I should have.

I was deep in some tricky fingering when there was a knock at the door. I was startled, because I had never been disturbed after dinner and dishwashing. The barkeeper was there, cowl in place, his face a shadowed enigma. “Sorry to disturb you, but the townsfolk have returned, and we need to move you back to the barn,” he sniff-coughed. “We didn't expect them back so early.”

I'd kept the place very tidy, so it took little time to gather my few things and sweep one last time. My small candle in its pottery dish had not gotten any smaller though I used it daily, and even now we were in a small circle of light as we stepped into the blustery winds. A wobbly circle, for certain, but it didn't snuff out.

Small magics. Incredibly useful magics.

I could hear strange noises in the air – yelping, or barking. I worried that it may be the Wild Hunt, but the barkeeper sniff-grunted. “When they ride, the sound is more like a high keening shriek, made to freeze your blood. Easier to hunt what can't move. These are the calls of our kin, coming home from traveling, with their families.”

And they continued, throughout the night, coming closer and turning into speech, though again it was that tongue I could not decipher. I sat in the hayloft, candle firmly set in the windowsill, and picked out silent chords on stilled strings. I had been assured that the candle would not light anything that it shouldn't, like the hay or barn itself. Even if I tried, which I would not.

The next day, the village was transformed.

Robust men, merry women, and fat jolly children were everywhere.

“We keep the village for a safe return,” was the answer when I asked Declan. “Our home is quite dangerous, and some just don't want to be bothered with the challenge any more. So we keep the hearth fires burning, and our self-appointed tasks, and doing so also keeps the Unseelie court from taking our lands away. Mere presence, sometimes, is enough. It keeps the peace, quite literally. A word of caution, youngling – do not touch the pretty coats you'll see on display. It will not go well if you do.”

I didn't have much chance, even if I wished, because I was the one on display instead.

I cooked – and bright dark eyes peeped at me from every corner and rafter. I filled mugs and bowls, and hands came from nowhere and whisked them away. In their defense, hands also helped wash dishes and cook and brought in supplies and helped as they could with preparation. Legs followed me everywhere, except to my loft, as if someone had warned them away. I could practice in peace, though there were quiet whispers in the darkness below. And ears listening in the velvet silence.

Even for me, used to attention, it was quite overwhelming. Young yellow-flash eyes had unerring detection whenever I was in sight.

So I tried to stay away. I did my work, then I retired to my loft and practice.

But that wasn't so easy as it sounds. Most of the new townspeople looked to have muscle and some good fat under their clothing. They glided, and they looked quite capable of starting trouble, while wanting none, but also of finishing it if needed.

Not so, that one.

He was fat. He was loud. He was brash, and he gave his opinion whether or not it was wanted. Many a time Brenn, the hooded barkeep, would warn him, but the brash one would only pipe down less than half the time, and be at it again mere minutes after.

And then it all came apart.

The brash one came in with a cloud of anger, and you could tell he was itching to start something. The mood was tense – and my bard senses were tingling, like a thunderstorm was coming. If I could have left, I would have, it was that dangerous. The ones with children ate quickly and left, dragging the older boys, who were wailing to stay. They could feel it too, and wanted to watch the evening's entertainment.

Was I ever that young and foolish, and excited by the threat of violence?

Brenn growled low in his throat a few times, but the brash one completely ignored all warnings – which by now were coming from a lot of strapping young bucks as well. He ate, he drank, he cursed, he swung his arms around, he clapped his meaty hands together and pounded them on the table.

And he crooked a finger at me, slapping his empty bowl on the table. “More, brat. Hurry up!”

The rumbles now came from more throats, but I obediently trundled over and grabbed the bowl – only for the meathead to smack me into the closet where all those nice coats were hanging, furred, neat and sleek, shiny embroidered hems – and his directly in the middle, and me crashing into it first.

He roared.

And every throat returned it full force, and they charged at him. Even the women.

Well, except Rhea, who pulled me out of the closet quickly and brushed me down. Then she whisked me behind her and planted her feet, her walking staff held like the deadly weapon it can be. Maybe I shouldn't have, but I peeked over her shoulder.

It was mayhem. The brawl involved everyone else, and the roars from the brash one quickly turned to cries and moans of pain as the crowd took turns darting in and swiping with their claws like a school of fish. Yes, not nails, because more of their Seelie nature must have come to the surface during the fight. Those stubby fingers turned into clawed paws, and they did quite a lot of damage.

And suddenly, it was over. Brenn had waited, and darted in at just the right moment, and the school – sorry, people – parted, and Brenn was holding up a thoroughly bloodied, now whimpering bully. For being on the thin side, Brenn dangled him in the air easily.

Brenn was quiet, but if I could, I would run from the deadly promise in his voice. “Did you forget? You are no longer at sea, Heafheard, and therefore not the war king. The peace king reigns on land, and last I checked, I hold that title. Do you care to answer for your maliciousness? Plead insanity? Plead Unseelie influence?”

I kept very, very silent, but smiled into Rhea's silky-soft coat, pushing me against the back wall. “Heafheard” is not a proper name in the old language; it means “hard-headed one,” and it is very insulting. For one of their kind to be stripped of their name by another, well, it is a very bad thing. But I smiled all the same, because the bully deserved it.

Brenn shook the thing like a pathetic rag. “Well, you have proven you are no longer fit to rule us on the sea. And you do not rule on land. So, leave. Maybe the Unseelie court will take you. Maybe you can evade our enemies alone, but I doubt it. But get out. You are no longer welcome. Rhea, get his coat.”

Rhea grunted, and reached out with her staff. The brass-shod tip flicked at the collar, and she hooked it expertly, and flipped it onto the floor with all her disdain plain to see. Where she stomped on it.

Heafheard howled.

And one by one, the townspeople lined up, and kicked, spit, hit, or beat on it. And with each blow, Heafheard twiched and screamed, twisting in Brenn's grip.

It was dragged to the door, and kicked outside. There, in torch light, was a double row of the ones who'd left before the fight. They also desecrated the coat, shoving it to their neighbors with heavy-soled boots. Even the kids jumped on it, and babies were held over it, to pee in delight with no confining diapers.

The sounds and light faded into the dark, and the door closed. Those left inside snorted, grumbled, and huffled to the kitchen and courtyard behind, gathering cleaning supplies. They set things to rights.

I couldn't help, I was shaking so bad. Rhea guided me to that same booth, got me situated, and shoved a warm mug of spiced cider in my hands. “Drink, luv, that was bad business for a sensitive human like yourself to see. We are not prone to anger, because now you see what happens when we give in to it. It runs deep in our kind, and leads to Unseelie greed. But we're much better off without the likes of him, it's been long coming to tell him to shape up or leave.”

I couldn't hold the mug, so she held it for me. I got a few gulps in before she lowered the rim. “What will happen to him now?” I whispered.

She shrugged. “Only three choices, each with their own dangers. Go back to sea with a soiled coat, and face the orcas alone. Go to the Unseelie court, and see if they take him in, which is chancy. Or go to the Seelie court with a soiled coat and plead that the entire town except himself was wrong, and face Queen Mab's judgement, which will be swift and final. Personally, I'd face the orcas, they're just hungry.”

Nothing was making sense. “Orcas? Coat?”

“Did you never guess, child? We're the Selkie Folk, and we come to land in winter to raise our children in safety.”

Blink.

“Our coats are our second skin, and what happens to them happens to us. We guard them jealously, and like a golden goose, their silky shine can be irresistible to humans. You have been very disciplined to avoid the temptation, because we'd feel your touch. I felt your smile on my back, child, and I agree with it.”

I took a large slurp of cider. Thought a bit. “Well, I guess that would explain some things, wouldn't it? I was curious, but I didn't want to pry. I knew you could throw me back into a two-bit bard existence, and that would be like killing the golden goose you mentioned.”

“Smart lad. Brenn's doing, really, he truly loved his human mother. Heafheard threw him out into human lands, sold him into chained slavery. You know what cold iron does to us.”

“That's monstrous.”

“Brenn's mother didn't know, and when he escaped and found her, they wreaked some sort of vengeance over in the human lands. We know not all humans are bad, but the ones that hurt Brenn, well, they're in no position to hurt anyone now. He brought his mum over here, and he worked hard to become our peace king. And now we need a new war king, for the open ocean, to lead us from hunting to birthing grounds, past orca pods and dangerous shoals, and back home.”

Well, that explained the name of the tavern, didn't it? The Spotted Seal. That sounded like Brenn's bone-dry humor.

I was drinking a lot of cider, and I could feel the drugs under the spices taking hold. I spoke without thought. “Too bad you can't do what the ancient northerners did, and use harpoons,” I mused.

That brough her up short. “What, lad? Eh?”

It was too much. I passed out.

And I woke to an entire town of people surrounding me as I slept peacefully on hay bales, wrapped snuggly in my own cloak.

Brenn's face hovered above mine, his mottled skin, light-dark, shimmering. The scars left by the iron chains left ugly ridges, but they made him look noble for what he'd endured. And survived. But those yellow eyes, fastened on mine, were intense and unsettling.

And he dove in with no preamble. “What did you say to Rhea last night, bard? Something about a harp-oon? What is that?”

I struggled to sit up I was assisted. And another mug appeared, “with herbs to help memory,” whispered Rhea with a wink. I drank, and the memories swam to the surface.

“Ah. Harpoon. I remember. Do you know of the ancient ones, living on the isles before, here before yours? The northern folk? Coats like yours? Um. Er. Likely killed you for your coats? Sorry, you asked...”

“Aye, I did.” His voice was hard, but he was not angry at me. “We remember the cold ones. They would not listen to our pleadings, so we drove them out.”

“I've wandered much, and ended up on the other side of the ice lands, far up north. There were a few left, and they had these weapons. Like spears, but the heads would come off and bury into flesh of sea creatures, and had floats attached. Um, made from inflated bodies of your kind, he said. I'm sorry! You asked! They were attached with twisted cords to the head of the harpoon, so when the spear was thrown from the bow of the boat, they could retrieve the stick. Fire-hardened straight wood was valuable up there, most trees were very short and twisted. But the floats, the orca would dive, and the floats would resist, and the orca would tire and come back to the surface, over and over, and finally they would follow the floats in their boats when they didn't move, and reel in an exhausted orca, and kill it for food.”

“Hmm.” Brenn looked disturbed. “Bard, I am sorry, but this is too valuable to just take your words for it. This would be the salvation of my people. I would speak the words to enter your memories and see and hear what you did, but that might break your mind. I am willing to risk it, because the life of a human bard of no distinction is nothing compared to the lives of our not immortal, but very long-lived, people. But that's no comfort, since it's your life, and precious for its shortness of length. So I ask, instead of demand. Because you are also my blood, I think I can do this with little or no damage. May I try?”

I could not fault his logic. I nodded.

“Lie down again, bard, and we shall do this thing.” Rhea appeared with yet another potion, and I took it quickly and lay down. Brenn say on a stump and put his fingers on my temples. “Look at my eyes, and tell me what you see.”

I looked-

And I fell into a sea of golden yellow, such eyes, such depth, and I swam in a glory of ocean of gold, I swam, I swam with the power of flippers and fins, and explored a world seen through the lenses of watery blue...

I could feel Brenn rummaging, but gently, teasing the memory into rounded life. I could see parts of his life, as well, his captivity, his captors, his escape, finding his mother, creating a bloody vengeance, fleeing the carnage with his mother, bringing her here to live under Rhea's tutelage and stay safe while he worked hard to establish the inn and keep it, the pain of realizing he could not swim because of a coat slashed to ribbons by a cruel war king, the same one who sent him into slavery as a defenseless child, and how satisfying this his final revenge over Heafheard truly was, and his mother living long and long but having to say goodbye far too soon and the rise and fall of Caesars and kings and even queens in the other world-

My mind became a sponge, and I soaked in Brenn's life. His travels to the Seelie court, the marvels he saw there that I cannot even fathom to explain, the consuming grief that the coat was unfixable because the bastard used a steel knife. The otherness because of his mottling, child of two kindred that mixed uneasily, and how no selkie would look at him as partner or mate or father because of it. Loneliness, neverending, realization, resignation, renewed determination, stubbornness to persevere.

Satisfaction. Finding a purpose, and a reason, and a center of sorts.

Affection, but not love. Acceptance, but not love. Belonging, but not love.

He would not give in to the Unseelie darkness.

I admired him for that. So, so much.

Like a flower / sea anemone, his life folded inward like petals / tentacles, and what was “him” was separated from what was “me,” and I came back to myself to find I was in his strong, wiry arms.

Evenyone else was gone. “I gave them the information they need, to make harpoons,” he whispered into my hair, nuzzled the fine strands. “They are all off to create, or to their lives, or to challenge orcas with their – what is the word? - prototypes. And I am not needed, and I have done a great working, and I can take some time off. With you. I didn't know you feel – you felt-”

“Since the first day.” I stroked his cheek, dared to pet the fine ruff of fur on the edge of his fine wool coat. He'd stitched the shreds of his own coat onto faerie wool. “Since I saw your eyes in the shadow of your hood, since I-”

He kissed me.

He took me home. To his home, his personal rooms at the back of the tavern. Our home.

My clothing jiggled in a corner for days, unneeded while we- Well, while we had what we had. I do not need to go into details.

It was bliss for years. It was bliss for seconds.

I cannot tell you when it ended.

Orcas were vanquished, and banished from the migration streams. A new war king was made, and he led their people strong and well. I helped my peace king in whatever he wished from me, and the village prospered. We even claimed some lands back from the Unseelies, and cleansed those lands of the poisons leached into them. I learned much, about life, and music, and love.

I even learned about their throat singing, and how to do it. I wrote some new songs for them, to their delight.

And then there was an end.

A day when we woke, and knew it was over, but didn't know why. And we cried in each other's arms, not understanding why I had to return.

We celebrated. I said goodbye. We mourned together, as a people should.

And Brenn walked me back, knowing which circle I stumbled through that fateful night.

We walked hand-in-hand through cool snow, making bright tracks with shadowed prints. We were silent, sharing thoughts instead.

The stones appeared all too soon.

We hugged each other tightly, feeling the pain of the incipient rending. “I know you're needed over there, but I don't know why,” he sniff-mumbled. “But come back to me if you can. If not, take me with you always, as I have you in me. Lead your people, as I must lead mine. And may our paths meet again, so we can be together in more than dreams.”

He had taken my name, so long ago, when he came into my mind to find a weapon to defeat his people's enemies. And after a final kiss, as I walked past the stones to return to human lands, his whisper on the wind gave it back to me:

“Be well, my heart, my love, my Taliesin.”