The Fires Beneath the Sea ebook - Lydia Millet (primary phonics .txt) 📗

water. Their dad had gone to sleep in his own bed, instead of on the couch in his office, for once, so he was two floors up, and—they hoped—wouldn’t be able to hear them.

“Once we make the salt lines and cast the charm, each of us stands in position. You have the positions, right? Everyone’s clear on that?”

As soon as it was midnight they had to draw three lines in salt, one from the back door and two from the back corners of the house, all the way down to the water. Then they had to walk along those lines and sprinkle herbs they carried in china bowls—part of an herbal charm, Jax called it, that included dried seasonings from their mother’s spice cabinet, things like thyme and fennel. It was part of a “tenth-century Anglo-Saxon charm,” according to Jax, passed along to the selkie by someone else, and that was all Cara had taken in.

The selkie was a messenger, Jax said.

Cara felt nervous. Her palms were sweating.

“Jax,” she whispered when Max stepped back into the kitchen for a second to glug down some water. “You can ping me, during this, OK? But only till the minute it’s over. If you need to.”

“OK,” whispered Jax solemnly. “Thanks.”

“Each of us holds their talisman,” said Max, back again. “In the right hand and tied with a white string around the right wrist. Check?”

“Check,” whispered Cara.

She had one of her mother’s lipsticks, Max had a small jeweled comb, and Jax had a bracelet with their mother’s name spelled out on it, from when she was younger.

“Check,” said Max.

“So after we draw the lines and sprinkle the herbs, we take up our positions. At the door and corners. And we wait there for nine minutes with our eyes closed, then open them and wait for another three. Closed for nine, open for three, got it? Nine and three are significant numbers in the charm, for some reason. And no talking during any of this. Silence is as important to the ritual as any words would be. Got that? A single word could wreck it.”

“We got it, J,” said Max.

“Watches all say 11:57:24?”

“Yes,” said Cara.

She didn’t have a digital watch. She thought they were hideous and always checked the time on her cell, but she’d borrowed an old one of her dad’s.

“Here, too,” said Max.

“How did they time this whole ritual thing before there were watches?” wondered Cara.

“Probably counting, and I bet it took a lot of practice and discipline,” said Jax. “So we have it easy. And Max, your watch is set so you can punch in the alarm for nine minutes, right? So we know when to open our eyes?”

“Done deal.”

“At that point, when the whole twelve minutes are up, the warding charm is finished. The protection part of the rite. The rest is to make her welcome, or something. So we walk from our stations down to the water again, along those same lines of power where the salt is. And we all meet at the point where the salt lines converge. Right down there at the shore. We kneel and dip our foreheads in the water. We touch our right hands to our heart, with the talismans in them. And we say her name. Can you guys remember all that?”

“We’ll manage,” said Max.

“Then it’s back to the house, but this time face away from the sea. Stand still. Heads bowed. Don’t move. Just wait. If we’ve done it right, after a while we’ll get a sign.”

“Oh,” said Cara, “and we can’t forget to put this near the waterline.”

She’d brought one of her mother’s light, cotton sundresses, flung over a shoulder, because the selkie had said: her clothes. The instructions had said to place her clothes near the water and hold the talismans.

“OK,” said Jax.

“We all have our salt,” said Cara.

“We have to start walking and sprinkling the salt exactly at the stroke of midnight, remember,” said Jax.

“On my mark,” said Max. “I’ll say go.”

The moon was still hidden, so the only lights they had to walk by were the lights of their headlamps. With all the things they had to have in their hands for the ritual, there was no way they could also carry flashlights. Which made the headlamps necessary. Max had said that wearing his made him feel like a coal miner. Or a spelunker, Jax had added, and then had to explain to them that that meant explorer of caves.

Cara looked down and checked: salt and herbs in her left hand, lipstick in her right palm and tied around that same wrist with string. She still had to hold it, since there was no surefire way to secure the shiny metal cylinder by tying it.

“Go,” hissed Max, and Cara pushed the back door open. They went through single-file, shifted their salt shakers into the hands holding the talismans while their left hands held the herb bowls, and started walking and sprinkling the salt on the ground.

As they had planned, each of them struck out in a precise direction—Cara straight down toward the water, Max to the right corner of the house, Jax to the left.

Cara bent her head and aimed her headlamp at her feet, because if she tripped on the dark grass the salt or the herbs could go flying—one misstep could ruin the whole ceremony, Jax had warned. She held her breath. Her fingers shook as she tipped the salt shaker back and forth. The trees loomed up in front of her, and she was making her way through them—walking as straight as she could, slow and deliberate so as not to drop anything.… Slowly the waterline drew near.

A few feet away from it she bent and let the sundress fall into a heap, then kept walking. Just as she began sinking into the mud, the water lapping at her toes, she stopped and let the last of her salt drift down into the mud.

“Oh no!” came Jax’s voice plaintively from close by, somewhere in the