They held a disjointed conversation. Words floated across the water now and then, but they all spoke at once, and he had difficulty separating their voices. The largest one came forward, balancing in the water on his tail. “Why should we take you?”
“I can call fish, so you have a nice meal. I can talk to them the way I talk to you.”
They consulted again before the largest one answered. “We can take you. Can you hold on to our fins? It won’t take long.”
Fingin smiled and stepped into the water. He gasped at the chill, and hooked his hand over that dolphin’s fin. He held on as it burst forward with speed. He wondered if the fish tried to knock him off, but he held on tight. Faster than he could imagine, faster even than the other Fae fish had hauled the raft, they skipped across the choppy water. He bounced on the dolphin’s back, his stomach pounding on the curved body, but he gripped tight.
The sky grew ominously dark as they traveled, but he had committed to his course. If he fell off now, he’d surely drown.
The water rose next to them in a strange bubble. The dolphins scattered, except the one he rode. Panicked at this new danger, Fingin asked, “What’s that?”
“Oh, that’s Grandfather. He’s not dangerous. He only eats tiny fish.”
The bubble rose higher and higher. The water sluiced from the top, almost loosening his grip on the fin. The form rose from the surface, white and blue, several times as big as the dolphin.
Fingin gasped out his question, “Hello! What are you?”
A deep voice rumbled through the water. “I am me. What are you?”
The form rose and slapped down, causing a wave that once again threatened his hold.
“I am Fingin, and I’m trying to get safe on shore before the rain starts.”
“Oh… I thought you just played with my friends.”
Fingin considered this. “I suppose I am. I will call fish when we’re done. Would you like some fish?”
The creature dove again, disappearing under the waves, but his voice filtered back through the water, distorted. “I don’t like big fish.”
“I can try to call little ones!”
He got no answer from the large creature, his deep voice fading away. Without warning, the bigger fish burst to the surface. This time, Fingin lost his grip and, try as he might to get purchase on the dolphin’s slick body, he slipped into the water.
Fingin dipped below the waves, his arms thrashing in panic. A body bumped against his arm, and he grabbed at it, but his hand slipped. Again, he scrabbled for something, anything to hold onto.
Desperate for something to grasp, he flailed his arms. He connected to the smooth dolphin skin, but not the fin. His fingers slipped across the slick surface until he lost contact. Fingin’s vision grew fuzzy, but he tried again. This time, the panicked swimmer found the fin and pulled himself to the surface.
He spluttered and coughed, vowing never again to embark upon the ocean.
The shore came into close view, and through eyes burning with salt water, he squinted, trying to focus on the details. He searched for Sean or Bran but saw no animals. They might be waiting for him where he left them or might have wandered off. He didn’t think he landed on the same beach he’d embarked from with the monks.
Fingin didn’t care. He just wanted to be on the ground and no longer on the ocean. He should have waited for the monks the next morning. This was what he got for his impatience, and his arrogance for believing his talent gave him an advantage.
The Fae fish deposited him, choking and spitting on the sand. They waited in the shallows, while the larger creature waited further away. With the last measure of his strength, Fingin called out for the smaller fish, making them curious. They came to see who called them, and all the fish feasted.
When the Fae fish and their companion ate their fill, they swam away. However, one lingered.
“You are a strange human.”
He managed a weak smile. “It’s not a bad thing to be strange. Sometimes it’s better to be strange.”
The dolphin chittered. “I’m Nuanni. Why do you swim in the ocean with us? Most humans die when they try that.”
Heavy drops of rain splatted on his head. “I almost died once, too. We do better on land, and swimming is more difficult.”
“I remember a female human swam with us, but not into the deep. She didn’t talk to us, but she’d bring the storms. Storms mean more fish. We fed well. We liked her.”
Despite the growing wind, this piqued Fingin’s interest. “A female human? Did she have black hair with white streaks? Do you know where she lived?”
After a flip in the water, Nuanni replied, “Stripey hair, yes. She sang to us. She lived in a land structure that way.” The Fae fish pointed her nose toward the south.
He peered in that direction, but the rain came from there and obscured any details. “Thank you, Nuanni! I hope we’ll meet again!”
For an answer, she chittered and balanced on her tail, moving away. Then she dove into the water, and Fingin turned inland. He’d best find shelter.
Only a stand of pine trees over a sandy beach stretched before him. He ran for the trees, hoping one had a thick canopy to cut the worst of the rain. Wishing he had a dry change of clothes, he pelted toward it, his boots squelching in the sand.
Even if he hadn’t already been soaked, the storm drenched him within moments. The headwind almost blew him off his feet before he reached the trees. He crawled the last part, hugging the rough bark
