Samhain Calls

"I blacked out and somehow washed ashore. When I came to, a seal stood over me. Its eyes were your eyes." Kenneth looked at him with an assessing gaze.

"I remember."

"Do ye forgive me for not saving ye?"

"Ye could not save me. Cousin, it was the selkies who saved ye. Ye were still alive when they arrived. I was not."

The gleam flickered out of Kenneth’s green eyes as they widened and seemed to droop with sadness. "Aye. I hoped ye had transformed. Old Fergus told me the seal I saw was a selkie." He looked past Malcolm as if watching someone further back on shore. A feeling of foreboding crept over Malcolm.

Then Kenneth redirected his gaze. "Ye live. ‘Tis all I hoped for." The gleam returned to Kenneth’s eyes as and he grinned and clasped Malcolm on his upper arm.

"Tis good to be back."

"Much has happened since ye left." Kenneth paused as if the next words were difficult for him. "I have bad tidings."

"What say ye?"

"First, I have something for ye. I remembered the legends say selkies transform on Samhain so I was thought ye might be visiting us." He handed him the bundle of clothes. "I brought these."

"My thanks. I knew not how I would explain my lack of attire." Malcolm talked as he pulled on his braise. "Tell me the news, cousin, then let us celebrate." He pulled the tunic over his head. It felt strange to have clothes against his body. He wanted to strip them off.

"Malcolm, both our sires lie dead at the hands of Picts."

"Dead. Ye say?"

"Tis worse. Their heads are hanging from the wall of Scone as we speak. They were killed in battle with the Picts. Our men were outnumbered."

"Nay." Malcolm’s knees went weak with the shock of his father’s death. He spread his legs and braced his feet in the sand to stay upright. "Da, dead. Nay it can not be." Malcolm could hardly breath. It was as if he was drowning again, though he stood on land.

"Aye, 'tis true but there are good tidings with the bad," Kenneth said with a gleam of purpose in his eyes.

Malcolm paused. "The Pict King is dead?"

"Aye. ’Tis time to take my place as King of the Picts. As I dreamed, I will form a united kingdom of Picts and Scots. I’ll be king of them all," Kenneth said with conviction.

"I am sorry I will not be here to see it."

In that instant, a hard pain pierced Malcolm’s heart. He knew the words he just uttered were untrue. The pain was a warning. He had lost his most precious possession.

Malcolm lifted his head and saw the guilt in Kenneth’s eyes. His cousin had betrayed him. A sudden rage raked Malcolm’s brains and shook every muscle in his body.

"Kenneth, ye stole my sealskin."

"I need ye. I cannot win against the Picts, I cannot be king unless you fight at my side."

Malcolm turned to see Donald, Kenneth’s brother, coming up behind him. His gaze fell to the overturned rock. A hole lay where his skin had been.

"You lay in stealth and watched where I hid my skin." Malcolm’s voice was heavy, harsh, without mercy. "Where is it Donald?"

"I cannot tell ye." Donald’s tone was soft, sad.

Malcolm pulled back his arm and rammed a powerful blow into Donald knocking him to the sand. Malcolm swung at Kenneth with one fist then the other. "Where’s my skin? Did ye have your man take it to the castle?"

Between grunts of strain and pain, Kenneth uttered, "It is safe.