A Hero's throne

She followed him up the rock and pulled the seal skin around her very cold and very wet body. It was soft, thick, and warm but no drier than her or anything else on the desolate and windy rock. But it was another layer between her and the elements, and it kept the wind off of her, and she was grateful for it.

She hunched her bulky, awkward frame even further inside the skin as she came nearer to the dancing selkies. They were beautiful-the most beautiful people Gretchen had ever seen. All were tall and lithe and perfectly formed. A large fire pit burned in the centre, and the flames and embers lit their skin with a warm red and yellow glow, making them luminescent and otherworldly. The girls were willowy and soft-skinned with wide hips and long, dexterous hands and feet that they twisted inward and out in time to the rhythm; their long hair, alternately straight and curly, swinging. The men were built similarly to Ron, but some were fair, some were dark, and one or two were red, all with fine, firm, and occasionally sharp, Celtic features. They were uniformly smooth and unadorned by any hair except that which grew on their heads.

They all wove around one another, frenetically spinning and twisting. They did not ever knock into another or trip one another up, but when someone crossed their path, they would reach out and grab that person, sometimes quite intimately, and swing them around and then let them go, and both would continue their whirling jig. Their dance mimicked the path and motion of the sparks that the fire threw up into the night sky.

No one took much of a notice of Gretchen. They were too busy dancing and singing their song.

Up and Dance, for light is dawning,

Night will turn to day;

Dance because the world is turning,

And we cannot stay.

Hear the sounds of stars revolving,

Sweeping night away-

Sing a song of dark resounding,

For we cannot stay.

See, the sky at last is lightening,

The sea will soon be grey;

Weep my friends, for dawn is breaking,

And we cannot stay.

The burning orb of fire is rising,

laugh, and music play;

The cover for our fun is fading,

And we cannot stay.

Why this cruelty, Brightness shining,

Why this price we pay?

Why should unclothed flesh need shaming?

Why, I cannot say.

Curse the sun and keep on dancing,

Grab my hand and say,

“Dance the night, and dance in darkness,

Come, I cannot stay.

“Life is short and pleasure fleeting,

Grab what sin you may.

Morning brings our deeds’ discovering,

Thus we cannot stay.”

Someday perhaps, we’ll need not hiding,

Light and law decay;

The day the sun his house not biding

Will be the day we stay.

Until that hour we must keep moving,

Blow the pipes and play!

Dance with me and dance to morning,

For we cannot stay.

Gretchen stood, watching, and somehow the orbit of the dancers grew, and the cold blackness of the night shrunk so that the orange dancers were the only created thing in the universe, and she was standing on the outside edge. They spun before her, those who passed closest would hold their arms out to her when they saw her. A few of them even grabbed her briefly, but she never let herself be drawn in. Even so, she found herself jostling awkwardly in the path of the dancers, drawn into their orbit. There seemed to be more of them now. Perhaps more of the seals had slipped their skins off and joined in. She felt doubly out of place now-even more unattractive and clumsy in the context of such beauty and grace of movement.

There was a strange elation to being here, with them and among them, and it was with a warm flush of embarrassed excitement when she realised it was because they all seemed to want her here. It was such a profoundly unfamiliar feeling, and it felt so achingly good. .

Was she under a spell? She knew she should feel more anxiety than she did. She knew she should try to escape, but only in a vague and abstract way that brought no compelling emotion or immediacy.

Ron was suddenly at her side. “Drink this,” he said, and placed a shell containing a clear liquid in her hands. She took a sip and felt her mouth burning.

“What is it?”

“We found a few casks of whiskey bobbing in the ocean and brought them here.”

Gretchen didn’t need her great grandmother to tell her of the stories of seals playfully leading sailors and fishermen astray and causing general havoc. Those were told by almost everyone. “Found?”

“Aye, found. The ship had landed upon rocks somehow. Drink up. Slainte.”

Gretchen tipped her shell up and drank. The contents did help to warm her, but she didn’t think that she should have any more. However, another shell was placed in her hands almost immediately.

“Go ahead, drink it. Slainte.” He tipped his back again.

Gretchen didn’t drink hers, but tipped her shell and let it pour out while his head was tipped back. “It’s good,” she said.

“Isn’t it? Let’s dance.”

“No, thank you.”

“It’ll warm you up better than the drink.”

“I’m too tired. Let me rest. Maybe later. When are you going to take me back?”

“Back where?”

“To where you found me.”

“You don’t want to go back there.”

“Yes, I do.”

“Why?”

“Because I live there.”

“You live on the beach? Why not stay here with us?”

“I’m a human. I don’t belong here.”

“I’m not taking you back.”

“I’ll swim.”