Chapter 2

    After the men were asleep a girl of about fifteen tiptoed out of her wagon. She padded silently to a small outcrop of rocks on the beach and climbed atop them to look out at the calming waves. She hugged her knees and thought about the old mans story, if there could acctually still be faefolk in this world. This was Magalea, or Maggie for short. She was the old mans youngest granddaughter and she was being pressured to take a husband before the year was out. She was not a homely girl, for she had an hourglass figure, hair as black as any dark irish, honey colored eyes and porcelin skin. She simply had no desire to marry and live vicariously through a husband for the rest of her days like other traveling women.

    The surf glistened beautifully in the moonlight as Magalea contemplated crying into the waves. If she compromised her virtues marriage would no longer be an issue no matter the complications of lying with a selkie man. It may even be fun. As she thought she turned her face to the moon, letting its cool light wash over her. The wind picked up and tousled her hair, bringing with it a deep male voice. "Shed me seven tears, seven tears shed unto the sand." It whispered to her in a husky lilt.

    She jumped off the rocks with a fright. "oh grandda's story's gettin ta me now. Tis a fools chance they're real." She muttered, trying to talk some sense into herself.

    A male chuckle whispered on the breeze. "How cute, your accent gets thicker when you're frightened. Goodeve moonrose."

    Startled she padded back to her wagon, quiet as a mouse. The shadow that had been watching her grinned, his tail swishing mischeviously as he watched her sillouette through the round wagon window. He slugged the rest of his tankard of ale and let it fall to the ground before disappearing with the wind.

    With the morning sun rose Magalea, emerging groggy from her bed and marking her place in the book she was reading with a blue ribbon before going into the kitchen to start breakfast. A traveler wagon is like a horse drawn house complete with kitchen and tiny pantry. From beside the woodstove she picked up some wood and stoked the belly of the castiron beast to life. As the stove was warming she joined the line of other women making the trek to fresh water , making note that there were more wagons and horses today. This was not uncommon, especially with her cousins wedding in a fortenights time. She waited her turn and filled her buckets to brimming, lugging them back to her grandparents wagon.

    Once back she put one pot and one pan on the stove, in the pan she patted some butter and the pot she poured some water and various herbs to help soothe the arthritis ailing her grandparents hands and feet. She set about frying eggs with the remnants of yesterdays bread. It was a routine that she'd set into after her older sister had married, as was tradition. The eldest unmarried girl was to take care of the house of their parents, or in this case grandparents, until she herself wed. By the time breakfast was done her grandparents had emerged from their room. her grandfather greeted her with a smile and a peck on the cheek, her grandmother smiled as well but felt the need to mention that it was time she married.

    "If I married who would take care of you and grandda?" She asked as she took her seat, appearing unslighted by the comment.

    "Oh I'm certain we can manage fine on our own lass." She reassured her.

    Her grandfather cleared his throat. "Oh Molly leave the poor girl be. Ya know she's not ta be findin' a husband as easy as all that. T'will have to be a special sort takes our Maggie for a wife." He chimed in before piling eggs onto his toast.

    The old wman glared daggers across the table at her husband. "Well if you'd of let me raise her propper we'd have no need a all that! Always fillin' her head wit tales and lettin' her learn the devils ways from your queer sister Lenora."

    Magalea quietly ate her breakfast as her grandparents argued, feeling it was best not to fan the flames. When they had made peace, or as close to peace as they were going to get, she felt it was safe to break in. "Will ya be goin' ta town today grandda?"

    He stroked his whiskers thoughtfully. "S'pose I will. Is there somethin' you'll be needin?"

    "Aye. The O'leary's asked me ta send some t'ings when we came 'round next. Just a few t'ings for the missus and the wee ones. They always pay hansomely for my remedies."  Her grandmothers face went into a brooding stare and she stalked from the table to congregate with other old women and talk of times passed and gossip, as old women did universally. Shortly after she took her leave her grandfather followed and it was time for Magalea to finish the morning chores. Travelers are a very cleanly folk and every day their wagons get a top to bottom scrub with good lye soap and orange peels while the menfolk went in search of work or begged for food or money.

    After that was done Magalea decided to take a little break and go for a walk. On her way out of camp she saw a man being litterally thrown from his wagon by his wife. In any other traveling band this would be an unusual sight, but here it was merely Saro throwing her husband Nathaniel around again. As she passed him he was muttering under his breath and then he shouted. "Thank you dear I really needed the help!"

    Magalea giggled and nodded to him as he stalked off, climbing the steps to Saro's wagon and leaing on the doorframe." You wanted to see me?"

    Saro looked up from her dusting with a start. "I hate when you do that Mags."

    Magalea smiled and wrinkled her nose mischeviously. "That's the fun of it. Now what was it you were needin' while I'm about?"

    Saro smiled as she wiped her hands on her tan aporn. "I'll be needin' draughts again, I'm with child."

     Magalea's jaw dropped. "And how long since you've last bled?"

    "Four months past. I wanted ta be certain before sayin' anything. We'll not be jinxin' the poor wee thing" she said, resting her hand on her stomach.

    "Have ya told Nathaniel yet?" Maggie asked.

    "Ach no not yet."

    Maggie shook her head in disbelief. "Saro Tarne, I would never have dreamed you'd be lettin' a man near you and here you stand, two babes and another on the way. Of course Nathaniel does lack a bit a spine."

    Saro scrunched her nose and replied. "It's so fun ta make him squirm. I can't help meself." She crossed herself and muttered a hail mary for the impure thoughts just as a baby began to wail. "ne're a quiet moment with that one." she said with a sigh as she scooped the babe up, rocking with it.

    "Would ya like some help?" Maggie asked.

    "Ah nay, we'll be fine. Thanks for the offer though." Saro smiled and spoke softly to her daughter.

    magalea stroked the babys head with a smile. "She's your fair hair. T'will be the color of summer wheat when she's grown."

    Saro looked at Maggie with a questioning gaze. "When will it be your time to take a husband Mags?"

    The smile dropped from Maggie's face to be replaced by a look of irritation. "What is the sudden concern of everyone if I marry? As I recall the plan was for you, me, and Colleen ta have our own wagon and see all of Ireland and never marry."

    "Oh aye, and after that we were goin' ta find a ship and sail the world. Colleen was ta have a different sailor in her bed every night, I was ta have a room chock full a books, and you were ta learn the green ways the world over. I remember 'tall right well. Times change, people change. I've a husband now, only god knows what Colleen's been about and you my dear are meddlin' with the cause." Saro said with a flourish. "If ya ask me, t'is a fool thing that you are doin'"

    "Yet when I'm in need of help you're only too eagar to help." Maggie shot back.

    "Truth." Saro said with a shrug.

    "If only things were simple." Maggie said with a sigh, looking out at the water.

    "Aye if only." Saro agreed, setting the baby back down.

    "I wonder if Colleen will turn up for the weddin'." Maggie thought aloud.

    "Mags, it's Colleen, she always turns up for a party." Saro said with a chuckle.

    Maggie giggled. "In her most revealing dress and throwing herself at every lad that's ringless."

    "And a few that aren't." Saro chimed in before they burst into laughter.

    Magalea stayed to help Saro with her cleaning but it wasn't long before she found herself reliving the night before and the strange voice on the wind. "I hope that grandda finishes his story tonight." she muttered absentmindedly.

    Saro looked over at  her, noticing that she'd been scrubbing the same spot for quite some time and shook her head, setting aside her scrub brush. "Mags, by chance could ya quit dreamin' an' start cleanin' more than that wee spot. I believe I could see meself in it should i get the notion."

    Magalea looked up with a start and blinked herself out of the stupor she'd been in. "Ach, sorry, I must've drifted off ta thinkin' about this daft dream I had last night."

    Saro perked up and gestured wildly. "Out with it then. Ya can't be leavin' me in the open like that."

    Magalea took a moment to collect her thoughts before she spoke. "T'was not a spectacular thing. I was on the rocks thinking and this voice were singin' ta me, tellin' me ta cry into the sea."

    Saro pondered what she'd said a moment and then shrugged. "Well, there's three options. Option one is that your grandda's tale's gone ta yer head, two is you've a sealkie after your virtues, and option three is you've lost your bloody mind. I vote option one."

    Maggie wrung out her rag and began scrubbing again. "Oh aye, option two would be frightfully exciting . At my age I shouldn't be on about fairy creatures though."

    Saro looked at her dumbfounded. "Magalea Eriage O'Toal, the day you stop prattlin' on about faefolk is the day they have you put away."

    Magalea grinned childishly. "Oh aye, I do love the fae so."

    "I bet your grandda loves that." Saro chimed in.

    "Oh aye," Magalea sighed. "But I believe t'is merely because it drives gram mad."

    "How do you drive someone mad whose already there?" Saro pondered aloud.

    "Very carefully I suppose." Maggie said with a chuckle.

    After a time Maggie took the washwater to the beach humming a merry tune as she went. Before long a soft pipe music seemed to accompany her on the breeze as well as the mingled smells of warm cider and honeyed mead. She breathed in the sweet smell with half closed eyes. Someone must be celebrating. She thought as she walked back. Empty bucket in hand she just enjoyed the crisp air and the rich smells that seemed to follow her. "Such a pretty irish rose." The wind seemed to whisper. Maggie jumped with fright and looked around for who'd said that, finding no one. She furrowed her brow in confusion and shook it off as a figment of her imagination, trudging the rest of the way back to camp.

    After the washing was done she went back to her grandparents wagon. It was a merry little thing with its blue door that could swing half open, yellow body, red roof and green wheels. There was a tiny chimney, a pipe really, that puffed smoke merrily when the woodstove was lit, as it was doing now. That meant that her grandmother had returned. She paused on the steps to untie her boots and set them outside until the mud dried on them. As she stepped in the house in woolen stockings her grandmother smiled, looking up from her sewing. "Magalea, I'd wondered where you'd got off to."

    Maggie tied on an apron and began kneading out the bread dough that she'd left to rise." I was visiting Saro, she's in the family way again."

    Her grandmother beamed at the news. "Oh such a happy thing, a wagon full of wee babes. Drives a soul mad ta be havin' such a quiet wagon."

    Maggie smiled, looking up from her work. "Oh aye, tisna so silent when I give the children their lessons though." She said as she greased the bread pans. She then made three lumps of dough of equal size and lay them in the pans, setting them back on the little wall shelf to rise once more. "I do so enjoy teachin' the wee ones their letters and numbers."

    Her grandmother chuckled and shook her head. "Ah lass, the only book anyone is in need of is the good lord's, those other t'ings ya trade for in town, no good will come a them."

    Magalea shrugged, wiping her hands on her apron. "Think as ya like, I'll not have this arguement once more."

    Her grandmother herumphed and went back to her sewing quietly. After the table was cleaned and dinner was on the stove Magalea worked on making a tea for Saro's condition. It was a recipe she'd learned from her mentor and committed to memory at a young age, one that made babies grow strong and healthy.

    You see Maggie was not of normal sorts. Her soul was as old as the gods she worshipped, for unlike most travelers she kept the old religion, not accepting Christ. Of course, that made finding a husband worth his salt even harder, which was just fine with her.

    There was more room to work on the wagons steps, so that was where she set about her task. There was a rythem to the mortar and pestal and she lost herself in it, her thoughts going to the hansome disembodied voice she'd been hearing. She pictured a man with mischief in his eyes, perhaps they're blue. She thought. Like the clear night sky. A shadow stirred in the corner of her eye and she glanced over at it. It stayed for a moment and she could make out the form of a man. He was a tall man with a body that seemed built like a stone wall. Something was off though, for there was something queer around his brow, and a horses tail swayed in the breeze behind him. She cocked her head in puzzlement before looking around. It was very aparent that she was alone, and the horses were all in the far field grazing. She sniffed what she was working with to be certain that it wasn't the cause of her dilusion and shrugged when she concluded that it was not. A pinch of dried oranges were added to the mix and she ground them in.

    The wind picked up and she shivered, reaching to pull her shawl more tightly around her shoulders and found that it was gone. With furrowed brow she set aside her mortar and pestal, searching the ground for it. A flutter caught her eye under the wagon and she bent down to find her shawl wrapped around one of the wagons axles. "Pesky boys." She muttered.

    As she crawled under the wagon someone pinched her backside, causing her to yelp and bang her head against the bottom of the wagon. The wroth of an irish woman is a dangerous thing and Maggie was no different than any other. Fuming she untied her shawl, letting fly a string of curses in the old tounge that would make the boldest of men blush. Those around her stopped and stared, some appearing frozen in place as she fumbled from beneath the wagon. She wrapped her shawl about herself haughtly and sat back on the steps, red faced and stewing.

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    As the sun faded that evening and the moon took its place the old man emerged from his wagon. He sat by the communal fire and lit his pipe, awaiting his presance to be noted. It didn't take long, for he had a grand teller's ways and could draw people to him in one fluid motion. He puffed his pipe patiently, watching as the innocence of childhood, the sorrows of a young bride, the wild eyes of men in their prime ready to raise all kinds of holy hell, and lastly they fell on Magalea, youngest of his grandchildren and far wiser than her fifteen years. He was thinking of a lesson for this story, trying to find something that all could gain from his tale. This was not an easy task, but once it was done he began. "Now then where were we?"

    "You were tellin' us of the seakin lands grandda." Magalea said as if on que.

    He smiled and tapped out his pipe as he gathered himself. "Ah, so I was. Thank ya lass."

    If there is anything to be said of the seakin lands their beauty would be the subject of great talk. The houses were all groomed coral of every color a the rainbow and every shade in between. It's said that the womenfolk combed the sea floor in search of pretty shells and seaglass and other baubles found in shipwrecks farther out to sea. When the water were clear tis said that the whole place shimmered like the inside of a pretty shell in the sunlight.

    Their streets were lit by magic learned long ago from the whisper fish in the oceans deepest depths. They weren't propper streets mind you, but paths that fish could navigate with ease. A course, we are speakin' o' the safe part o' the seakin lands. The part meant for the womenfolk ta raise their pups. A guise to lure humans for the menfolk as well.

    Delve deeper into the heart of the seakin lands and there you'll find a different place entirely, the lair of the menfolk. The heart is a fierce thing, all brown and green like seaweed and the stench of death could not be escaped even benneath the water. The air there held a constant tension as sharks and eels watched, waitin' fer their next fleshy meal. Always there were remnants o' men lyin about covered in algea and barnacles, or lyin about the ocean floor wit da bottom feeders knawin' on em. T'is is where the seakin men lay waitin' fer the call o' daft lasses cryin' into da sea. Oft times they don know what they're doin; but a few are daft enough ta do it on purpose, lured by an attraction ta da fae.

    O' course, it could also be the allure of lyin' wit' one o' the most hansome creatures in all the mortal realm and the next, but who am I ta be sayin' the wants o' foolish young lasses. A course, the maids are as pretty as the menfolk are hansome, and they use that ta their advantage. They will set the task of lurin' in sailors to the women folk and slowly, painfully, send the poor lads straight ta Jasus. That's just a bit o' warnin' fer ya though." The old man paused at that point, erupting in a fit of coughs that left him teary eyed. He packed down his tobacco and lit his pipe with shaky hands, taking a few puffs and with hooded eyes sighing in relief. He coughed once of his own volition and when he was satisfied he continued as if nothing had happened. "Now then, back to the traveling man and his family."

    As winter had begun to set in they had gone inland in search of work and food. At that tine there was naught ta be had fer the fishing and it was known that there were farmers in need of some extra hands. They hadna stayed very long on the shore and this saddened the seakin lass. Every morn ta every eventide she scoured the beach fer some sign of their return, but it was in vain."

    The girl was not alone in her loss though, for the traveling man's thoughts strayed often to the dark beauty he'd saved on the beach. She even haunted his nights, for he dreamt of her callin' ta him in the queer old irish tounge. She were clad in a sealskin like a siren on the rocks, her dark hair blowin' in an angry wind. The lad were so out o' sorts he'd called off his weddin' ta a buxom young lass, much to her dismay.

    T'weren't long before the family found work. The snows had held off and there was a kind farmer that were in need of some forest clearin' for a new field. He payed them well, allowing the family ta graze their horses in his pastures, and even gave the workers food. T'was a grand time for the family and others soon joined them there, for the farmer wasna  a patient man and the forest vast.

    Their bellies were full, the children clothed with new shoes as well and the parties reigned into the dawn in celebration of their good fortune. Girls were grabbed, weddings agreed upon, old and young all happy. All happy, save for he traveling man. When the pretty lasses came about and the grabbing started the man chose no one, merely drank himself to a sleepy stupor, forlorn ta be from his lady love.

    As the winter grew late and the snows grew high the traveling man got it in his head ta find the girl. He'd earned enough wages for his own horse and wagon and set off with determination. With her dark eyes and wild black hair she had to be traveler born, and if not he would fight all who opposed her bein' his bonnie bride."

    A gasp erupted from those assembled, for to take a nontraveler in holy wedlock was against their ways in a most disgraceful manner. The women tittered at the idea and a few of the men spit with disgust. Magalea simply smiled from her perch, braiding small peices of her hair as she listened. It seemed to her a romantic idea, to abandon everything for a woman he didn't even know. Of course, she knew this tale. It was the tale of her ancestor James O'Toal and the lass was her ancestral grandmother, but she'd never heard the whole of it.

    A sigh escaped her as she thought of the melancholy possibility of him never finding his true lady love. As she frowned at the thought a warm wind brushed her shoulders. "You look cold my rose." The sultry voice whispered as he smoothed the fabric of something over her shoulders and then chaos reigned