A Phouka’s Narrative

The Selkie War, you say? Are you sure you want to hear about it? I warn you, it’s not very pleasant.

You’re sure? Alright then, if you insist.

It all started when the queen of the selkies was kidnapped by Lord Campbell of Argyll. He was an educated man, rare in those days, and didn’t believe it when his retainers told him that the mysterious dark-haired woman he’d found on the beach wasn’t human. It’s always a bad thing when education tries to wipe out good common sense. Anyway, he was a widower, and decided that the selkie would make a good second wife for him. A bit loony, if you ask me. Sure, selkies make good mates and parents, but they’ll always be trying to find their skins and escape back to the sea. They really just aren’t made to live on land. Of course, Campbell didn’t know this.

I’m getting sidetracked, aren’t I? Yah, I tend to do that.

Well, anyhow, the selkies naturally wanted their queen back, so they petitioned to the High Queen of Faery. Their plan was to get one of Her Majesty’s underlings to infiltrate the castle at Inverary and then open the gates so the selkies could storm the castle and find their queen’s skin that had been hidden by one of Campbell’s wiser retainers. I turned out to be the underling.

I was in disgrace at the time, accused of aiding the Unseelie Court (enemies of the Seelie Court and the High Queen) during a border dispute a few centuries before. There was a lock on my magic (which took the form of a silver spell amulet around my neck) and everything, and my rank, not terribly high under the best of circumstances, had been reduced to that of the lowest kitchen brownie. Kitchen brownies at least can do chores and cook and clean, but disgraced phoukas are fairly useless for anything other than fixing things and sneaking around, two things that most faeries can do anyway. So, being unpopular with the High Queen, it was me that She chose to do the selkies’ dirty work.

And dirty work it was. I was still quite young (for a phouka, at least), and had only a few vague ideas about the human world, mostly outdated. For instance, the last time I’d been there (or here rather, since that’s where we are now) had been about three hundred years earlier, and in Norseland (present day Scandinavia) and parts of what is now Greenland at that, so this was my first time dealing with Christianity.

Many people think that faeries are allergic to iron, salt, crosses, and St. Johnswort. It’s partly true. The smell of iron and rust gives me the creeps, and I do have some difficulty with the obscene amounts of salt that humans put in their food. The biggest problem is with St. Johnswort. It’s a plant, grows in sort of marshy places, and it has bright yellow flowers. Humans use it as an anti-depressant sometimes. I dunno about other faeries, but if I even go near it, I break out in a rash. Poison ivy doesn’t bother me at all, but St. Johnswort? Ugh. Crosses, of course, do absolutely nothing.

What? You say I’m avoiding the subject? Well, maybe I am. You would too if you’d lived through it.

I had no idea where I was going, so I spent the night in the home of an exiled faery mage who called himself Jeremy Garen. He gave me the use of some of my magic (enough that I could cast minor illusions, like the one I use to hide my ears), some food, some directions, some good advice on dealing with humans, and a name. Up till then, I’d been called either Phouka, or Ruy, which means “red” in the faery tongue (which is related to Gaelic) and refers to the color of my hair. Jeremy informed me that humans used it as a name for a dog or a cow, and let me borrow his second name, Garen. I ended up keeping it, since it seemed to fit.

Jeremy’s directions led me directly to Inverary town, where I first met Margaret Elanor Campbell. Maggie for short, she was Lord Campbell’s daughter by his dead first wife, and she was essentially the lady of the keep. I’ll admit, I fell in love with her. She must have loved me back, because she made me a clay pendant in return for the now useless spell amulet that I had kept. I’m sure you’ve seen the pendant, it’s the one I always wear. I usually keep it tucked into my shirt, but it falls out sometimes.

We spent May Day Eve together. In those days, people still celebrated it in the traditional manner, with fires on hilltops and couples pairing off and enjoying themselves and each other under the trees. I believe I'll leave it at that.

What did you say? When will I get to the unpleasant part? All too soon, my friend. All too soon.

The very next day, the selkies got tired of waiting. I had been so enthralled with Maggie’s company that I had forgotten all about my mission. Or if I remembered it, I quickly cast it out of my mind. After all, who knows what the selkies might have done to the inhabitants of the castle when they attacked? I couldn’t let them hurt Maggie, so I ignored them, hoping that they’d forget about me, my mission, and their queen.

They didn’t, naturally. They attacked at dusk, storming the gates with magic and weaponry borrowed from Her Majesty’s extensive armory. Maggie and I were—uh, indisposed—at the time of the attack, so we didn’t know about it until one of the servants came up the stairs, announcing that Lord Campbell had been wounded and begging that I take his place in defending the keep. Maggie found weapons for the two of us (believe it or not, I’m fairly competent with a sword and a dagger), and we fought, side by side. I loved her all the more, knowing she could use a sword, but it was short lived.

A selkie managed to get past my guard, and was about to skewer me with her pike when Maggie stepped in front, taking the blow in my place. I remember everything going red, and the feeling of blood dripping down my sword and onto my hand as I drove the sharp steel into the selkie who had tried to kill my love. Maggie was still alive when I rushed her away from the fighting, but I could see that she didn’t have much time. I can still hear her words. “The skin’s in my father’s chamber,” she said. “Don’t you dare even think about killing yourself after I’m gone.”

What do you mean, why am I crying? I may not be human, but I still have emotions, dammit. Just sit tight and let me finish the story, since you were so anxious to hear it.

The rest of the evening is all fuzzy, as if remembered from a dream. The selkies were winning until I got myself together enough to run up to Lord Campbell’s chamber, where I found the queen’s skin just as Maggie said I would. I threw the damn thing out the window, not caring where it landed. The selkies gave a mighty whoop and retreated, queen and skin in tow.

The final count was twelve humans and two selkies dead. Campbell survived. Offered to adopt me as his heir, but I refused. I ran, still covered with Maggie’s blood, until I came to Jeremy’s little cottage out on the moors. He was surprised to see me, I recall. Can’t say I blame him, since I sort of collapsed on his doorstep. I remember almost nothing of the nine months that followed, only that Jeremy took care of me, making sure I ate and that I didn’t get my hands on any sharp objects. I doubt that I would have killed myself anyway, with Maggie’s dying words forbidding it.

After nine months of hating myself and wanting to die, I pulled myself together and set out. I wasn’t sure where I wanted to go, only that I had to get away from Argyll, and my memories of Maggie. So I started traveling, and the rest, they say, is history.

And that’s my version of the events surrounding the Selkie War. That’s the story of Maggie and how she died. I told you I didn’t want to tell it.