Like a cradle in the sea

[gwenchan]

 Fandom: The Iliad

Prompt: AU- Supernatural, Selkie

Achilles was around four when he first asked about his mom and why he hadn’t one like other kids. Dad rubbed his eyes, then patted his knees and Achilles climbed on them.

“She is in heaven,” dad said. 

And so, in the simple way children understand things, Achilles had understood why they went to the graveyard every Sunday, after morning mass. 

It stood at the edge of town, on a hill to climb with the good shoes chafing onto the skin, and stomach rumbling. There dad would walk to a little area most people ignored and remained a long time staring at a simple stone. Achilles’ mom was under it. 

Holding his father’s hand, the child wondered if that was really true. Something was strange. Something didn’t sit right with the story dad had told. 

When he became old enough to go to catechism, he learnt that part of the graveyard was for those who didn’t receive the christening. This time dad had diverted the question. 

"Your mom was just too free."

Sunday was the worst day of the week. The mass was long and dad always became sad and moody afterwards, only adding to the heavy hood of nostalgia that constantly pressed onto the house. 

They ate in silence, onion soup with too much salt, then dad would lock himself in his room and Achilles left to wander around. Mondays were a blessing.  

“What was mom like?” 

Dad slowly put down his coffee cup, the smell filling the little kitchen. 

“Beautiful.” It was a whisper as he stared out the window to the beach. Then, “Finish your breakfast. It’s late.” 

Later dad showed him a grainy photo. Achilles understood without asking. On the shore stood a young woman with long hair flowing in the wind. Her simple dress swelled a little on the stomach. He studied it so long that eventually dad said: “You can keep it.”

Achilles put the photo under his pillow, to look at and hold to his chest before going to sleep. 

***

Achilles had been tossing in bed all night.

The rough sheets plastered onto his skin  outside was a cacophony of crickets and cicadas and the more he tried to catch sleep, the more that slipped through his fingers till he was staring in the dark. 

He froze. The curtains flowed as a shade climbed inside: a woman, moonlit highlighting a little features. With a sad smile, she glided toward the bed and sat at the edge of the mattress, stretching a hand toward him. Achilles shivered at the touch, heart suddenly too heavy.  He wanted to speak but words refused to come out.

“Find your skin,” she said, then bent to kiss the top of his head. Half way between sleep and waking, without knowing why, Achilles burst into tears. 

"Mom," Mom,” he called to the void. 

 He must have screamed too because dad come and cradled him back to sleep, while Achilles sobbed and sobbed. 

In the morning the sheets were cold and smelled of the sea and in Achilles’ mind remained the remnants of a dream. 

The next night he stared at the window in wait till the sleep had the best of him, leaving a bitter taste in his mouth upon his waking. He waited the next day and the day after, uselessly. Maybe it had been nothing but a dream, but he couldn’t believe it, fighting agains the pull of sleep and losing. 

His whole body seemed to sink into the mattress. 

A cold hand brushed onto his forehead, gone before Achilles could grasp it, catching only a glimpse of long fingers. He studied on his own. They were long too and in between was a translucent membrane, like that of some fishes at the market. Dad didn’t have it; neither did the other kids or anyone at the village. It must have been mom, but in all the few photos they had her hands were hidden. 

“It’s only some excessive skin. It happens,” dad said when asked upon and Achilles had known he was lying. 

Dad was a man of many secrets. Above all, his room was constantly locked and of several liberties Achilles was allowed, entering dad’s room alone was absolutely forbidden. 

Only once he had disobeyed. It had been the first and only time dad actually slapped him, shouting like he never had before. 

Achilles had spent the rest of the evening locked in his room, nourishing his resentment, with a plate of soup cooling on the floor. Dad brought him to the fair next Sunday and bought a small bag of sweets, but something had cracked.

Often he stood whole minutes staring at the closed door and the rare occasion dad allowed him in, his eyes darted around in search of secrets. 

But even so, even with curiosity growing to the point of hurting under his skin, he kept away from the room. 

He didn’t want to upset dad again, not when it was all he had left. 

***

“We’ll have guests for a while. Behave.” 

Achilles perked at the news, so quickly the dip pen left a ugly spot of ink under the last one of a neat row of column multiplications. Now he would have to redo it all over. 

“What guests?”

“An old friend of mine and his son. They will arrive in a few days.”

The son would sleep in Achilles’ same room. Dad had him tidy and scrub it squeaky clean, repeating from time to time to be gentle with their guests. Then, he put Achilles in his Sunday best to go to the station. 

Their guests arrived from the other side of the country, they would surely be tired and lost after the long journey. 

At the station the trains came and went. Achilles counted the people getting down and the ones boarding.,trying to divine the strangers from the locals till eventually boredom began to get the best of him.

He didn’t know how much he had slept when dad nudged him awake. A rough-looking man was walking to them, an heavy suitcase in hand, and behind shuffled a scrawny boy, dark hair and dark face. Scabs littered both his knees.

“I was beginning to get worried,” dad said, getting up to hug the man.

“The train stopped midway. Crossing sheep.”

“You must be tired. Achilles, this is my friend Moenetius. And that is Patroclus.”

“Hi.”

It was the only word Achilles heard from him in a whole week, all his attempts met with silence. But when Achilles grabbed Patroclus’ hand, as they walked home from school, Patroclus didn’t snatch it away. 

They did their homework face to face at the kitchen table, and Patroclus tapped at Achilles’ notebook each time he made a mistake. Then, they played football in the street and sometimes Achilles kicked the ball too hard, sending it right against the clothes hanging out to dry, and they had to run from the mess.

“Phew, that old Eurydikes is a terror,” Patroclus panted, hands on his knees and then for the first time he smiled. 

Those were the first words he spoke. 

***

Standing in the kitchen, Achilles had no idea how he got there,  except he was looking for something. His skin. He had to find his skin. 

On the door, Patroclus stared at him dumbfounded and yawned.

"You didn’t tell me you sleepwalk," he murmured, voice rough. "Lucky thing you didn't get hurt. Here." He poured Achilles a glass of water, took his hand and slowly led him back to bed.

“I need to find my skin,” Achilles muttered. Sighing, Patroclus squeezed his hands a bit more. "It's here. Your skin is here. It was only a nightmare."

Patroclus had warm hands, but his words weren't right. He didn't get it. "No, I need to find my skin," Achilles insisted. "Mom told me."

In the soft light of the candle Patroclus' eyes widened. "Your mom? “

“Yes, she visits me sometimes.”
“Like, you see her ghost?”

“No, it’s not  a ghost. My mom is not a ghost.” 

Mon couldn’t be a ghost, her caresses though rare were too solid. He refused to accept he was a ghost. His mother was alive and one day she would return and then they’d be a real family. 

“I’ll show you.” 

“Next time,” Patroclus murmured. Then, he climbed in bed next to Achilles, arms coming to wrap around him so he wouldn’t sleepwalk again for that night. 

From under the cover, Achilles set his eyes onto the window.

Tomorrow. Tomorrow he’d shown Patroclus.

Tomorrow became today and today became yesterday and the days turned into weeks. 

“Achilles, it’s almost dawn. Your mom won’t come. I’m sorry,” Patroclus sighed, eyes falling closed. Achilles gave him a quick pinch.

“I didn’t make it up.”

“Ouch. That’s not what I said. Just maybe it’s not a good period.”

But Achilles stared stubbornly out the window, a light breeze moving the curtains. It was never the right moment. 

He fought to stay awake, a lump settling into his throat. "That’s not fair," he whined, lower lip between teeth to stifle the sobs rising from his chest.

He had been so sure she would appear tonight and he would show her to Patroclus, to prove he wasn’t crazy. 

“I want to see her. I want to see my mom.” 

He let himself snuggle in Patroclus’ hug.

"I know. I know.”

Patroclus had lost his mom too. She wasn’t dead and Patroclus knew exactly where she was, but that didn’t make her any less gone for Philomela was mad. Not the madness that turned people violent, only melancholic and distant. 

“Maybe she comes only when you’re alone,” he suggested. “Maybe she’s afraid to be seen.”

It added up. Mom hadn’t immediately stopped coming to him when Patroclus arrived, but surely since when they had started keeping watch. 

“Then we hide.”

They would pretend to sleep, with covers pulled well over their heads. Shifting a little, Achilles peered from a thin crack in the sheets, knowing Patroclus was doing the same. 

As he slid toward sleep, the mattress dipped. He didn’t dare to move. 

They found wet prints on the floor in the morning.

***

Find your skin

Mom’s voice echoed in Achilles' brain. "What skin?" he asked the wind

Your skin

Laying onto the stomach, Patroclus peered under the bed in the guest bedroom. He sneezed. "Nothing. I told you. Exactly what skin are we looking for?"

"I am not sure"

He'd know when he saw it. He pressed a foot against the wardrobe to pry the shutter open, wrinkling his nose at the whiff of mothproof and the aftershave Patroclus’ dad used. 

One by one coats, shirts, sweaters piled onto the floor, while Patroclus stood guard. "Father won't be happy."

"He won’t discover it. "

After the shirts came the turn of the pants, socks and even underwear till Achilles was sticking his whole body into the wardrobe. But of his skin no trace.

They rummaged through the drawers in the living room, stopping now and then to examine this or that trinket and swearing they weren’t there last time. Old fountain pens, crusted seashells, a box of chess, a set of glass for the ouzo, rough handkerchieves and so on. The drawers creaked and squeaked.

“Maybe in the kitchen?” 

It would be a chance to grab a snack. Then, they perused each single cabinet, dishes and pans clanging together. They took a jar, put it on the counter, and put it back into the pantry. Took another and repeat. 

“Achilles! Patroclus.”

A pan held to his chest, Achilles snapped his head to the door. Arms crossed, dad looked all but pleased. 

“What in heaven is this mess?”

“We were—” Patroclus began to be promptly shushed. 

“I don’t care. Fix things and go to your room. I don’t want to hear a peep till dinner. Understood?”

Eyes downcast, they both nodded. 

Next week they tried to be less noisy but without much more luck, the possible hiding places discarded one after the other. 

In the night mom visited Achilles, a spirit in the wind. 

***

Achilles sat bolt upright, shouting into the darkness.

 “It’s in his room!” 

From his left, Patroclus groaned something vague. “What? What room. Achilles, it’s too late. Go back to sleep.”

But Achilles was already climbing onto Patroclus’ bed, nudging him to make room and slipping under the cover. Patroclus hissed. 

“Ugh, your feet are cold.” Then. “Is it one of those nights?”

One when they would stay awake for hours and in the morning having to struggle to not drop dead onto the desks during Maths hours. 

“Listen. My skin, it’s in dad’s room. It’s the only place where we haven’t searched.”

Patroclus made a dubious sound. “We don’t even know if it is in the house.”
He had a point. But before searching elsewhere, Achilles had to make sure they had searched every corner of the house.

“And anyway, it’s useless,” Patroclus continued. “It’s locked and we cannot enter there.”

“More proof there must be something precious there.”

The more Achilles grew up, the more such secrecy did not sit right with him, especially the excuse dad gave him once, saying he didn’t want Achilles to break or ruin anything by accident. 

“Also, the locked door is not a problem.”

Picking a lock couldn’t be that hard. The problem lay with dad leaving the house for a sufficient time.  And they would have to distract Patroclus’ father as well. 

"Maybe when your father goes to the market?" Patroclus mused, but Achilles didn’t agree. "He never stays there long."

"What about the tavern?"

Achilles shook his head. In those occasion their parents called a woman to watch over there and she had a fine hearting and eyes worse than a hawk. 

“There must be another way.”

They discussed till the walls coloured pink. A month turned into two. Achilles had retrieved a old pad lock and a pin, He spent hours juggling with it, breaking its defenses, over and over, till it could burgle it with his eyes closed.

He and Patroclus would time how long did it take for dad to return from his commissions. 

They turned into two angels, the epitome of best behaviour, in the hope their parents would eventually trust them enough to leave them at home alone. 

A thin ran tapped against the window as dad called Achilles’ attention at the table. “I need to go to Athens for a couple days. For some documents. Don’t drive Moenetius crazy.”

It took every single ounce of Achilles’ self control not to betray himself, but searching Patroclus’ hand under the table and tugging it in celebration.

The day didn’t arrive fast enough. Leaving on Friday evening, dad would be back Monday morning, allowing them two whole days. 

“What if my father discovers us,” Patroclus hissed over the never ending priest’ sermon, even longer than usual. 

“Don’t worry. I got it. I’ll show you when we get home.”

He had it hidden under the mattress for a whole week now, a small bother he wiggled under Patroclus’ wrinkling nose. 

“What’s that?”

“Sleeping aid.”

“Sleeping aid? How did you?"

"I stole it. It wasn’t hard. We slip some drop in your father' soup at lunch and done"

From what proclaimed on the label, a small splash would grant a grown man a solid eight hours of sleep 

“I don't like it. What if it’s dangerous? ” 

“It’s not. A couple drops. Your dad get a good nap and I find my skin.”
Patroclus looked even less convinced. 

“Please.”

“Oh, fine.”

Two drops while Moenetius was not looking, the bottle shining in and out Achilles’ hand, and before they had washed the dished the man was yawning. Patroclus took him by the elbow

“You look tired, father. You should go lay down”

Moenetius grumbled. “No. I just need to close my eye a moment.” 

“At least sit in the armchair. It’s more comfortable,” Patroclus insisted, coaxing him to stand. “You always work so much.”
He had barely returned to the kitchen that they heard the first snores. 

The big clock above the stove struck the new hour. They left the dishes half-washed in the sink, every second too precious to lose.

Heart in his throat, Achilles slipped the hairpin into the lock. It yielded surprisingly fast. He tugged Patroclus inside.

“Well, where do we search first?” 

“The chest.” 
Dad kept most of his clothes there and some documents as well, through which they rummaged without much interest, sneezing for the mothproofing. 

A heavy looking desk sat opposite the bed. Achilles opened and closed every single drawer while Patroclus tapped the wood for hidden compartments.

“Then under the bed.”

Lying on his belly, he stuck his head in the gap between flor and mattress and slipped in one hand to feel around. It slapped against something, a harsh corner, and so he slipped in his other hand too, grabbed and pulled. 

"Think the skin will be here?" Patroclus tapped the just revealed trunk.

"Where else?" Achilles replied, tilting his wrist a bit to the right. He was almost there. Easy, easy ….

The lock snapped open with a loud pop and the kids recoiled, noses wrinkling at the smell of rotten fish. 

"Uh, that's disgusting," Patroclus gagged, turning away while Achilles took a peek.

"It's not so bad," 

Inside was a neatly folded cloak, colour between grey and ochre. The texture had a almost rubbery feeling under Achilles' tentative touch.

"What is it? A strange raincoat?"

"I don't think so…"

But it must be more than what met the eye, or dad wouldn't locked it away. Unfolded, it spread over a good portion of the floor, the inside warm and soft. 

Something vague and strange blossomed in Achilles' chest, the call to a home long forgotten. 

“I think it’s a sealskin" Patroclus was saying. A sealskin. Between his open fingers the extra skin stretched. 
”Well, what now?”

“I’m not sure… “
He lifted the skin again to his face. It did look like a cloak, with a specific fold resembling a hood, and slipping under Achilles’ fingers almost like water as he pulled it over his shoulders. Walking to the window, it trailed behind. 

In the distance a thin line against the horizon: the sea. The sea was calling for him. 

He must answer the call.

“Achilles?”

Patroclus’ words came as from underwater. Achilles snatched his arm free, slipping it further into the cocoon of the pelt. He headed for the door, the sea singing in his mind. 

Stepping outside, the sun burnt his nape, too hot at that hour of the day, and no people around. 
Achilles snuggled a bit more inside the skin, rubbery and fresh. He walked past the church, past the school, the bakery and the pub, down the stairs leading to the beach. 
A few waves rippled the water surface, washing upon the shore in a greyish foam. 
The first contact was pure bliss. It sang to its core, the place where he had always meant to be. He dove and disappeared, the sealskin becoming his true form.
Seals swam at his side with happy grunts, pushing him further into the open sea. He followed them eagerly. 

A group detached. When they reappeared a little later, they circled around a much bigger seal. A dark stripe ran from between its eyes down to its back. 

It propelled itself toward Achilles, shape shifting. 

“Mom!”

She was a bit seal, a bit human. 

“Finally. You found your skin. Good job. Oh, I’ve waited so long.” 

She kissed his cheeks and forehead, then rubbed her nose against his neck. 

It all felt like a dream.

“Come, let's get you home.”

A bit dazed Achilles nodded. 

They swam as sky slowly changing their colour, to a inclosure of searocks and natural puddles and there more seals than Achilles had ever seen in his life; piled in groups on the beach, playing in the water, taking a nap. Some had shed their skin to reveal the human form underneath. 

Snapped head up and rush yo Achilles , with exclamations of delight and celebration,  too many to count. He sunk a little more in his sealskin under the onslaught and they laughed. 
"There's nothing to be afraid," Mom said. "You're safe here.”

“Is this him?” a male-selkie asked, grin spreading from ear to ear. 

“Yes. Your lost brother. Finally home.”

She pushed Achilles forward toward the other selkie. He had the same black hair as her. A little behind him was a girl bearing a certain resemblance to dad-

His other family. His brothers and sisters, the one mom must have entrusted to the sea before their skins were locked away.

He wiggled his shoulders a little and the pelt fell to his elbow like a stronge shawl. There was a new round of laughers. 

They feasted all night and there was music and guttural songs. Toddlers came to Achilles to curiously poke at his wet clothes and giggle at the texture. When the moon was high in the sky, they wrapped themselves in their pelts and dug a bed in the sand. Some adults stood guard. Most went to sleep as well, in group of three, four, five, both in seal and human form. 

Mom too lead Achilles to a secured area of the beach, where she lay down, the lower part of her body a seal-tail, and he curled next to her on instinct.

They went out to swim in the first hours of morning, letting themselves be transported by the current, leaving behind their humanity for a while. 

Only on land, once dry, the pelt completely separated from the skin and Achilles basked in the sun. Another female in the clan brought them fish to share and he ate it gladly while mom groomed his hair. She carefully combed away the knots. 

It felt nice. Since he came to stay with them, it had been Patroclus to do it, his touch much gentler than dad’s.

Dad.

Achilles’ whole body jolted, likes uddenly waking from a deep dream. They must be all worried sick. He stood up abruptly.

"I need to go back,"
In a flash mom grabbed his arm, pulled him back. “You can't “

"But dad will feel sad. I can't leave him alone." 

Mom tightened her grip. "He wanted to keep you prisoner. He hid your skin as he hid mine. Don’t you understand. 
She squeezed his shoulders,  digging her nails into the skin. He tried to squirm away from her grip. 

”You're hurting me. I don't want to to stay here.”
He pulled harder, tears filling his eyes. Violent sobs shook his frame.

"Why did you leave? You left us," he cried, punching her on the chest in anger. "I needed you."
She could have remained with them and instead she had left. She didn't even have the excuse of being dead. 
Mom stood motionless taking in all his anger till it was drained to the last drop and he sunk against her. 

She swap him in a tight embrace.
”I'm sorry. 

He whimpered into her shoulder.

“You’re right. I shouldn’t have left. But when the sea calls one cannot resist and I couldn’t stay in a human home. But you belong to both world”

Gently, she pried Achilles from her chest, so to look him in the eyes. He dried them with a corner of the sealskin, on the edge between two choices. 

“I don’t want to lose you,” he whined, sniffling. She caressed his cheeks with a sad smile. 

“And you won’t. I’ve always kept careful watch over you and I won’t stop now.”

“What about dad? He misses you too.”

A vague grumble rose from mom’s throat. Her face hardened. 

“Even so, I’m still not ready to forgive him. You’ll understand when you’re older.”

Maybe by then the wounds would have healed. Taking Achilles by the hand, she lead him to the water, swimming at his side till the coast was in sight. 

***

On the beach, dad was shouting his name against the waves. 
He didn't even wait for Achilles to reach the shore to run to him and before Achilles knew it he was being swept in the tightest of hugs.
"Thank God. You're safe.” Dad hugged and hugged Achilles. "I thought I lost you. I am sorry. I was so scared.”

Something wet hit Achilles’ cheeks. It took a moment to realise they weren't splashes of water but tears. He sniffled against dad's chest 

“I… I just wanted to see mom.”
”I know. It doesn’t matter. It doesn’t matter. What matters it’s you’re home now.”

Home. He was home. But with the mom and the seals it had felt home as well. He had been safe in mom’s arms. The sealskin was part of him as it was his human flesh. He couldn’t stand to be separated from it now.

"Achilles? What’s wrong?”

“You won't take away my skin again, will you?”

He looked at dad expectantly, biting his lips as dad pondered the question for a long moment, face tensed. He held Achilles’ hands as if the sea could drag him away the moment he let go.

“No,” he said in the end, loosening his grip. “I won’t. I don’t have to.”

Now that Achilles had come back he didn’t have any more reason to worry. 

“Come on. Patroclus was even more worried than me. You gave him quite a scare.”

"I didn't want to."

He would make up for it.

He stopped one last time to look at the waves. Among them he thought to catch a glimpse of a monk seal. He tugged at dad’s shirt. 

Dad stilled, frowned, then slowly lifted his arm in a little and shy greeting. Rolling on its belly, the seal lifted its tail fin in a curt response before disappearing under the surface in a shower of sprinkles. 

"We’ll see her again soon, right?”
”Yes, I guess we will.”