The Crying Child

By Becca Lusher

Once there was an island, and on that island there lived three cousins...

Britain 142 BC

The Sisters of Icarus may all be gone, but the next generation remains. Bitter, half-selkie and broken, the three women are different in many ways, yet one thing connects them: the island and its quest for a new Icarus.

Ghosts and family, selkies and betrayal, love and loss, these cousins are on a journey that will change all of their lives. And when the stars fall nothing will ever be the same again.

For there will be a new Icarus – the island will accept nothing less.
No matter what the cost.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Becca Lusher
• Release date: Nov 17, 2015
• ISBN: 9781310061301

Becca Lusher

Having an overactive imagination hasn’t always been a good thing: I spent much of my childhood scared of the dark and terrified by the stories my older sister told me (mostly to stop her being the only one afraid of the dark). These days I find it useful. I love stories, I love fantasy, I love things with wings, stars and the world around me, and I have great fun combining them all into my stories.Born in the UK, I live in the wild south-west where I run around with my dogs and get bossed about by cats, while taking photos of gorgeous landscapes, reading lots of books and climbing rocks.I’ve also been known to write stories.

Book preview

The Sisters

ONCE THERE WAS an island, strange and small, only a short way from shore. Yet somehow that dull-seeming slice of rock grew stories as abundantly as a tended field bore wheat. Tales of demons and ghosts and restless spirits woven deftly with madness, strange rituals and a coven of females that cursed any man who looked upon them.

Three, there had to be three, and they were called the Sisters.

Yet they weren’t sisters at all, as the folk on the mainland knew. For they remembered Crazy Icarus and his three sisters, who really had all been born to the same mother. Away from those facts, though, the stories took over. Crazy Icarus had succumbed to the curse of the island and thrown himself to his death on the rocks. No, no, he had been driven mad by the powers of his sisters. Still, no, it was his sisters’ black curses that caused him to cast himself from the rocks. Or had turned him into a bird. Or had frozen him into stone. Or had transformed him into the restless wind that endlessly cried his name.

Stories, rumours, lies, myths, legends, the island threw them out over the mainland like sea spray after a storm.

What was stranger still was that one of the original sisters remained alive. But not on the island. No, the last of sister of Icarus lived on the mainland, while three young women inhabited the island. Cousins, not sisters, for all that they were called that anyway.

Few on the mainland had ever seen them, for they kept largely to themselves, but that didn’t stop folk from speculating, imagining, dreaming up strange ways and fates for them all. The oldest, they said, was tall and blonde and beautiful but cold, so cold. As her mother had been. Mainlanders remembered the time when Michra had lived amongst them, how proud and silent she had been, so much better than the folk around her. Her hair had been dark, but her daughter was fair.

They called her Winter.

Then there was the second child, the one whose mother had never been seen by the people in the trading settlements. Yet this child they had met, or rather glimpsed, swimming to shore. Small and dark and secretive, they claimed she could steal a man’s soul with only one glance from her sea-shade eyes. And when she sang, honest life-mates were lost to her spell.

They called her Selkie and both feared and longed for her presence.

The third child was a mystery. Her mother lived on the mainland along with her wandering soul of a life-mate. They had other children – three more daughters born on the island, and a final, surprise son who appeared once they settled on the mainland shore. But one child had remained behind. Some said she was dark like her mother, others claimed her red-haired like her father. Some said she was bright and capricious like a woodland sprite, others claimed her as deep and fathomless as the sea.

No one really knew, so they filled the gaps with imagination and envy.

They called her Ghost, since she was known to exist but never, ever seen.

Until the day she came to shore with Winter by her side, and two of the Sisters left the island to travel on the mainland. None knew what they were searching for, though some suspected and plenty claimed that they alone knew the truth.

Yet it hardly mattered what their true intent was, because what they found was something no amount of tales, rumours, lies or imagination could dream up.

One

Spring 142 BC

RACCANTA STOOD ALONE on the red sand, staring out to sea, watching and waiting for the bobbing little craft to appear. A cold wind bit at the exposed skin on her face, the restless gusts tangling her hair and tugging at the edge of her cloak.

Faint voices cried on the air, trying to catch her attention, to control her, but she ignored them. She’d been ignoring them for years. Time and practise had made her good at it. Now that she no longer lived on the island she no longer allowed them space inside her head to ruin her life.

The island still had her daughter, though, which was why Raccanta stood now on the dark sand, gazing into the squalling heart of the storm, waiting for a coracle to appear. It was late in spring for such wild weather, but Raccanta knew better than to think this storm was born of any natural causes.

Ours. Ours. Ours, moaned the wind, growing louder and more insistent as it covered Raccanta’s face with her hair. Although not quickly enough to stop her from spotting the tiny craft bobbling about on the heaving grey waves.

They were out there. They were coming. Just as the selkie had promised.

And the island was trying to stop them. Just as she had feared.

Ours! Our Cari. Our Rye. Our sisters. Ours! Ours!

Raccanta gripped her cloak against her throat, clenching the wool inside her fist. Most mothers would fear for the life of their child struggling against such unruly elements, but Raccanta willed the boat on, further and further away from the nearest land. Where others might fear the hungry sea and long for the protection of rock and soil, Raccanta knew better. Pushing her hair from her eyes, she squinted against the first splatters of rain and sighed with relief when she spotted the dark shapes in the water around the coracle.

Selkies. The girls were safe with such guides.

Ours! Ours! roared the angry sky, the voices on the wind growing stronger with every surging wave that brought the coracle closer to the mainland.

Raccanta smiled, knowing thwarted frustration when she heard it.

Stay! Ours! Ours sisters. Ours!

Not this time, she whispered to the wind. Not anymore.

DIDN’T I SAY this was a terrible idea?

Callirye rolled her eyes at her cousin. Most certain, but you think all my ideas are terrible, she retorted, too excited to be really cross. Besides, ever since Callirye had learnt enough words to be able to break into her older, more gregarious cousin’s chatter, Icaria had scoffed at her plans and promises.

Not harshly and never in a cruel way, it was just that Callirye was a dreamer and Icaria was absolutely not. There was as much confusion between them as affection, but it was fun to try and see the world through the other’s eyes from time to time. Which was why Icaria was here with her now.

One of the reasons.

And why is it that I’m doing all the work? Icaria continued to grumble. She grumbled a lot these days, far more than she laughed. Once she had been life and laughter and sunshine, but the last four years had been a hard battle against Aunt Michra’s long and hopeless illness.

Extra trouble with the sheep and failing crops had also made it difficult for any of them to laugh most days. Just the thought of recent years, the struggles and all the pain, made Callirye shiver. There had been so much trouble, so much darkness, trapped as they had been together in a small house on a small island in the midst of a wide, pitiless sea.

Which was why Callirye’s plan had been born – and likely why Icaria hadn’t refused her. She rarely refused Callirye anything; not when it really mattered. Though she most certain sure did grumble about it.

The selkies are coming, Callirye soothed her cousin. They’re having a little trouble with the swell.

They’re having trouble? Icaria echoed with a humourless laugh, giving the oar a firm twist.

Rye, Rye, Callirye. Come home. Do not go. Never go. Stay. Must stay. Ours, ours.

Callirye shivered as the wind curled around her, tugging on her cloak. She cradled her right hand against her chest and flexed the fingers of her left, wishing she wasn’t so helpless, so useless, so pathetic. Even with the help of the selkies she couldn’t have made it to the mainland alone. Useless.

Careful! Icaria’s scold shook Callirye out of her thoughts in time to catch a wink from the sleek seal head bobbing up alongside them.

A second seal popped up and barked a laugh as the coracle jolted sharply. Icaria released a flurry of rebukes from the front of the boat as they crashed back into the water again. Having been unbalanced by the first movement, the second sent Callirye tumbling forwards in the small craft.

She cried out as her stomach caught on the edge of the coracle, her left hand clinging to the side, nails digging into the pitch-covered reeds. Sea spray spat into her eyes and panic kicked at her heart as she stared at the waves that rose up to kiss her face.

The coracle lurched over another swell and her head plunged beneath the cold surface.

A dark shape rushed past her, filling her world with bubbles. Until a strong hand seized hold of her hood and hauled her back into the safety of the boat.

Callirye emerged from the sea coughing and gasping, bitterly cold water streaming from her face.

Be more careful, fools! Icaria shouted at the bobbing gang of seals now clustered around them. The sea rocked their tiny craft on jagged grey waves, but the selkies just chuckled and twitched their whiskers before vanishing beneath the froth-dappled surface.

Another bump to the bottom of the boat, but this time Callirye was tucked securely beneath Icaria’s arm.

Come on, her cousin sighed, pulling her to sit in the middle of the coracle and brushing the wet hair away from her face. Best we hold on tight to each other. These fools will most like play here all night, and gods and ancestors know what they’d do if one of us fell in. Drag us around like a prize catch, no doubt.

Come home, Rye. Come home.

Callirye clung shivering to Icaria’s slender waist and tucked her head beneath her cousin’s chin. She felt safe here, warm and protected. Nothing and no one could harm her while Icaria was watching over her.

She felt her cousin sigh against as the coracle lurched forwards again. Callirye could only hang on tighter, but Icaria was quick and smart enough to lift the oar into the boat with them before it was lost in the squall. Then it was up to the selkies, using the ropes specially woven for them, to guide them through the storm and into shore.

It’s all right, my Rye, Icaria murmured, stroking Callirye’s back and tucking her more firmly against her. Our sea cousins might be foolish, but they’ll bring us in safe. I promise.

Since there was no one Callirye trusted more to keep her word, Callirye closed her eyes and relaxed. The storm continued to rage around them, while the sea rocked their boat between playfully tossing waves, but she was safe. Icaria was here.

THE STORM HAD almost blown itself out by the time the selkies brought the coracle ashore. Raccanta clenched her hands together at her waist, wanting to rush into the waves and grab the boat herself, but she didn’t. She knew better. Once she could have done it easily, but her strength was sadly lessened these days and her joints ached whenever she got too cold. Nor was it worth the scolding Fox would most certain give her if she returned home soaked to the skin.

So she waited, hands tangled tightly together, while the selkies towed the boat into the shallows. There they lined up on the dark sand, heaving the rope between them, until a tall, slender woman stepped out and took over the task.

A wheezing grunt drew Raccanta’s attention downwards and she smiled at the selkie that had hauled itself furthest up the beach.

Thank you, Simmien, she said, bending down to accept the rope he held and planting a kiss on her nephew’s brine-scented head.

It was strange how she always knew which selkie he was. They all looked the same to her, yet there was something about this one that stood out. A feeling, a warmth, or perhaps it was just his greeting and the way he always sought her out. Whatever it was, she would know her nephew anywhere. She smiled down into his dark eyes. Thank you for bringing them in safe.

Mammik!

Loud splashing made Raccanta look up, just in time to catch the figure that launched towards her. Rye, she half-laughed, half-sighed, closing her arms around her oldest daughter. Oh, it is good to see you!

Four years. Four years since she and Fox had finally said enough and left the island for good. Four long years in which her daughter had not left the island and Raccanta had been unable to go back for fear that the spirits would never let her go again.

Callirye had grown a little in that time, so that she was now taller than her mother. The damp hair that tumbled over them both was the same shade of dark, but Callirye’s also contained the occasional hint of her father’s red. When Raccanta pulled back and stared into her daughter’s eyes, though, they were all Fox. Grey, laughing, knowing, beloved.

I’ve missed you, Mammik, Callirye said, smiling as she kissed her on the cheek.

"And I you, keresik, Raccanta replied. So very much."

They shared a sad smile, before Callirye threw off their melancholy with a laugh. Look who I’ve brought you. Do I not give wonderful gifts?

Raccanta also laughed as she turned to her oldest niece. Most certain wonderful indeed, she agreed, stepping forward with her arms outstretched. How are you, Cari?

The tall, beautiful woman she best remembered as a chattering girl, avoided the embrace by catching Raccanta’s hands in hers instead. Her smile was a strained and a touch embarrassed. I am well, Aunt Cana, thank you. I trust you are too.

Feeling embarrassed herself at having her welcome rejected, Raccanta smiled brightly in an attempt to smooth over the awkwardness. We are all well. Her smile faded and she squeezed Icaria’s fingers before adding, I am sorry about your mother.

Icaria dropped her hands, all emotion freezing on her face. It is for the best. She could not cling to life forever, hard though she tried.

Raccanta swallowed the knot in her throat, not just at the grief that her last sister had finally joined with their ancestors, but also against the thought that Michra had always been stubborn. It didn’t surprise her in the least that her sister had refused to give in to age or illness. Most in her position would have surrendered five years back after a nasty slip on wet rocks had shattered her hip, but Michra had never been weak. Nor particularly kind. Raccanta looked at the cold, aloof features of the girl she’d once called Sunshine, and knew Michra had given no thought to her daughter when she’d clung so tenaciously to her broken life.

You always were a good daughter.

Icaria stared at her with dark eyes that were somehow cold. I merely followed my mother’s example.

Yes, Raccanta could see that. Michra had always been strong, but life had turned her stern and the years had nurtured her bitterness. It saddened Raccanta to see her niece succumbing to her mother’s fate, yet she was as equally powerless to help Icaria as she had been to save Michra. The island was neither her life nor her concern these days.

Sighing, she turned back to the one thing that truly mattered and smiled at Callirye once more. Come, she urged her daughter. Your sisters are longing to see you and your father is waiting.

Then we’ll have to hurry. Callirye grinned and turned to thank to selkies. Then she accepted her bag from Icaria and took her cousin’s hand. Lead on, Mammik. It’s long past time we were all warm and dry again.

ICARIA COULD FEEL her aunt’s eyes on her as the three of them walked along the dark beach. Night was drawing in, bringing with it a cold breeze that blew away the storm clouds to leave an empty dusk behind. Icaria stared at the sand beneath her feet; rusty red and so different from the pale grains she knew on the island.

Cari, Cari, a distant voice called on the breeze. Come home, Cari. Come back.

Tossing up her head, she glanced out to sea as she brushed her hair away from her eyes. The island crouched on the horizon, a dark, low shadow. Home. It was her home. She felt safe there. Protected. She knew where she belonged.

Come home, Cari. Ours. Our sisters.

Callirye shivered beside her and Icaria looked away from the island, down at her smaller cousin, feeling the warm, sure hand resting in hers. So much trust. So much sweetness. Icaria squeezed their palms together and was rewarded with a smile.

Is all well? Callirye asked.

Cari, come home. Our Cari. Ours.

Icaria shivered against the voices and was warmed by the way her cousin squeezed her hand in return. All is well, she replied, summoning up a small smile.

Good. Callirye nodded in satisfaction, further warming Icaria. Because Callirye cared about her, Callirye noticed; as Icaria cared and noticed Callirye in return. It had always been her job to care for her younger cousin, always, but it was nice to know it was appreciated.

Are you – ?

Rye! Rye! You’re here! You’ve come!

Icaria’s question went unfinished and ignored as a flood of voices filled the dusk, shortly followed by a flock of young women. They clustered around Callirye, asking her questions, hugging her close, pulling her away. Icaria felt her cousin’s fingers slip free from hers and she stepped back, pulling her cloak more tightly around herself as if that could protect her from such a warm, loving welcome.

Well met, Icaria.

The quiet greeting made her jump and she turned to face the man who’d appeared behind her, his footsteps as soft as shadows. It was a strange feeling to look up at someone for once, but she felt reassured when she met his grey eyes. So familiar. Just like Callirye’s.

She swallowed the lump in her throat. Good evening, Fox, she murmured, grateful that he made no attempt to hug her. He didn’t even offer his hand. He just nodded in a friendly, understanding way.

Thank you for bringing my daughter over.

It was Icaria’s turn to nod, her eyes drifting down to stare at her feet with a slight hint of guilt. She hadn’t brought Callirye here out of the goodness of her heart. In fact, if she’d had her way, they would never have seen Raccanta or Fox at all.

But whatever thoughts had been running through her head vanished as she realised Fox wasn’t alone. A child clung to his leg, a boy no more than three years old. His hair was the same russet red as his father’s and his eyes were brown like his mother’s. Just as Icaria’s own mother’s had been, like her own were.

A boy. A male child.

Our son. Our new Icarus, the distant voices whispered.

Icaria reached out without even realising it, only for the boy to shuffle away behind Fox’s leg, peering at her suspiciously from beneath his red curls.

Sorry. Fox laughed. He can be a little shy at first.

Though his own hair had faded to a more sandy shade, Fox showed no sign of his increasing age as he bent down and gathered the child into his arms. Sturdy, strong, well-fed, the child carried no hint of the skinny fragility of those brought up on the island.

Yet even in his father’s arms the child remained shy, arms clinging around Fox’s neck, head pressed against his shoulder. Dark eyes peeped out between red curls and Icaria felt a strange sense of longing uncurl in her gut.

Mine, she thought.

Ours, the island echoed.

Ah, I see you’ve already met. Raccanta’s happy voice broke through Icaria’s thoughts and she blinked, startled to find that she had become the centre of attention. Her aunt had hold of Callirye’s hand, apparently eager to introduce the siblings for the first time.

Fox was watching Icaria closely too, his grey eyes for once fathomless. She had no idea what he was thinking, especially when he turned away to hug his oldest daughter.

"It does my heart good to see you looking so well, keresik, he murmured, pulling Callirye close with one arm, while the other supported his son on his hip. And here at last to meet your brother."

The siblings stared at each other for a long, solemn moment, before the boy held out his arms to his sister.

Callirye laughed in delight and accepted the child. Her left arm was strong, Icaria knew that, but she still stepped in close anyway, ready to offer help if needed.

Except Fox was already there, helping Callirye to rest the boy on her left hip, resting a hand on the child’s back so that he didn’t fall. Icaria could only watch as Raccanta thoughtfully tucked the cloak around her daughter’s withered right arm, keeping it warm and protected from young eyes and curious questions.

Callirye smiled at her parents, at her brother and sisters, as they all huddled around her, welcoming her back into the family, into their hearts. Loved, wanted, protected. Icaria stood outside it all and watched, envy twisting in her gut. There was no place for her there, no need for her, no wish.

Until Callirye looked up and around, searching until her eyes landed on Icaria. Adjusting her brother’s weight on her hip, she stepped forward, smiling. Come and meet your Cousin Cari, Taran. She is the best cousin in the world.

Taran. Thunder. Like the storms that protected the island.

Ours, ours.

Icaria stared at the boy once more, catching a brief glimpse of his dark eyes before he ducked shyly away again. A prickle ran over her skin, the hairs along her arms standing up as though a storm was coming.

Ours. Ours. Our new Icarus. Ours.

Icaria looked at the boy again and smiled. Greetings, Taran. I am very happy to meet you.

Two

CALLIRYE HAD NEVER felt so happy as when she found herself in the middle of her family again. Her three sisters – Elowen, Tekka and Meraud – had grown so much since last she’d seen them. Elowen was handfast to be life-bound! And then there was little Taran, the brother she’d never met. He looked so much like their father; Callirye loved him already.

They were all so welcoming, all so warm. She had always loved her family, but on the island things had been quieter, more restrained, as though they had all lived under a heavy cloud. Callirye thought of her Aunt Michra, the way she had hated her father, and shivered.

Are you well?

She looked up and smiled at Icaria’s enquiry. Her cousin was uncomfortable here; Callirye could tell in the way Icaria held herself apart, keeping her hands clasped close and saying very little. Even though they were inside her family’s roundhouse now, warmed by the roaring fire, Icaria still wore her cloak as if she was about to leave at any moment. It reminded Callirye