Tomnat caught his shoulder before he fell into the water and then grabbed one edge of the net to help him pull it onto the beach.
Never in his entire life had he pulled in such an enormous catch. Scores of silver fish wiggled within his net, struggling to get free of the woven trap. A few broke free, but still, at least a hundred remained caught within. Thankful he didn’t have to haul it up a bank of steps, like his last home, he dragged the haul to his new workspace. Tomnat, despite her round belly, sat to help him clean them all.
In quiet companionship, they worked to skin, clean, and debone the fish. Most of them would need to be dried, or they’d go bad. He asked Tomnat to set up the drying rack, which quickly filled. He worked on creating a new one while she fed Conall, and then they resumed the cleaning.
It became a rhythm. Fingin used the bronze knife the Queen had gifted him to remove the thick skin, peeling back from head to tail. He cut a shallow incision along the bottom. With his fingers, he dug out the innards, dropping them in a pile. Scraped out the inner membrane. Chopped off the head, fins, and tail. Then he filleted the remaining flesh from the bones, cutting it into thin strips to hang over the drying rack.
After the first few fish, he no longer expected Bran to come eat the innards.
The sun had long since set before he had finished the massive catch. Tomnat had retired as twilight embraced them, holding her belly and complaining that her back hurt. Fingin pressed on to finish his task before he slept.
By the dying firelight, he placed the final fillet on the rack and stretched his back, his arms high over his head.
How far had he come, in truth? He still spent his days fishing, cleaning, and selling his catch. He still lived far from any village. While he had a wife and son, neither of which good conversation or compan y. He’d felt more companionship from Bran, despite being hound rather than human. His body tired more easily than it had before. Perhaps he just needed to rest more.
A moan from inside the roundhouse interrupted his musings. He ran inside to find Tomnat bent over double on their sleeping mat, curled up like a baby.
“Tomnat? What’s wrong? Is the b-b-baby c-coming?”
“Of course, the baby’s coming, you idiotic human! Ohh! I wish I’d stayed in Faerie! Your world is horrible.” Her pain radiated through the house, the moan shaking his bones.
He ran to boil some water to make stew, knowing that would help, but he had no other ideas. No midwives or healers lived nearby. When he’d broached the subject of moving closer to a village for such purpose, Tomnat had squashed the idea.
He grabbed Brigit’s charm and held it close, praying for an idea. When it grew cool in his hand, he slipped the cloth over his head and placed it around Tomnat’s neck.
She curled her lips at the charm. “What’s this? It burns! Take it off!”
“Burns? It’s ice c-cold!” He tried to get it back around her neck. “You need t-to wear it. It’s a healing charm. Brigit g-gave it to me.”
She grabbed his forearm, her nails turning into wicked points. “That’s cold iron, you prime idiot! I can’t touch it!” Her eyes grew wide. “Brigit? She gave you a charm?”
“Of c-course. I thought you knew? The Queen knew.”
“Since when has the Queen ever taken me into her confidence? Ohh!” She gripped her belly as a visible tremor spread across it.
Fingin swallowed and put the charm back around his neck, at a loss as to how he should help. “Is it the baby? Is he c-coming? How c-can I help?”
Tomnat waved him away, her nails back to normal. “You can do nothing. Just stop bothering me.”
He wasn’t ready to abandon her in her state, though. “I’ll…I’ll make some stew. Maybe I should sing, t-to distract you? This isn’t your first b-baby, so you should know how, right?”
Her face screwed up in a rictus of pain, making her moan again. She panted after the latest contraction released its grip.
Fingin sent out another prayer to Brigit, anything to help the mother of his child. He didn’t know what to do. While he’d seen animals give birth, he’d never seen humans. He’d been too young to remember his younger brother born.
For a few moments, the contractions eased. Tomnat refused to answer his questions, so he worked on steeping the onions, turnips, and garlic. He added some burdock leaves and fish, then a sprinkle of precious salt. Something warm and savory would be good for a new mother, someone once told him. Maybe it had been his grandmother, back before she’d disappeared. Back before she became the Faerie Queen.
Another moan rattled his nerves.
A female voice outside shouted. “Sorry I’m late! I only just got the call. What in the name of Danú took you so long?”
He turned to see Brigit, looking even younger than when he’d left her hut. She bustled in and knelt next to Tomnat. “Oh dear. Yes, I see. This is your first birth in the mortal realm, is it not? Indeed. I can help, my dear. You should have known better than to use the charm on a Fae, Fingin. Now, out with you. Neither of us needs your help. Shoo!”
“B-b-but the stew…”
“Curse the stew. Leave. I’ll take care of everything.”
Fingin shuffled out, confused,
