Page 9 of The Last Kelpie

Population: One

Status: Critical

Assignment: Preservation and Conservation

I read it twice. Three times. “There are still kelpies?”

Julian's expression lost its humor. The warmth in his eyes dimmed, replaced by something that looked like grief. “Yes, one. But we don't know how much longer he has.”

Chapter Four

I stared at the file. The words didn't change. Population: One. Status: Critical. My throat felt tight. “Is this it?”

“That's the assignment folder. It has the basic information. You will add to it during your assignment, and then it will go in the Archive as documentation.”

“I see.”

“His name is Áedán.” Julian moved to the window, hands in his pockets. Outside, the oak's branches swayed in the wind. “He's been alive for nearly six hundred years. We've recently discovered that his clan has faded. He's the only one left.”

“How many were there?”

“In his clan—hundreds. Even more all over Scotland.” Julian turned back to me. His face was calm, but something in his voice had changed. Gone quiet. “They faded faster than others. Less than a century and they vanished.”

“How does fading work exactly? I mean, do they just pop out of existence?”

“Usually, it's gradual. First, they lose small things. A memory here and there. The ability to hold their true form for long periods. Then larger pieces. Names and faces, even of those they love. Eventually, they go transparent and then disappear.”

I thought of the mermaid at breakfast, complaining about dry air. The man who'd set someone's toast on fire. Zephyr, who'd climbed into my lap like I was an old friend. All of them real, solid, laughing. Living. That they could simply stop existing felt impossible.

“Has he started to forget things?”

“We don't know.” Julian sat on the edge of his desk. “That's part of why we need you. Áedán cut off contact with the Velasca years ago. We've tried reaching out. Letters, visits, intermediaries. He refuses to respond. We know he's still at Loch Lomond because our people have gotten glimpses of him, but that's all we know.”

I looked down at the file again. There were several photocopied pages of the kelpie myth and a map of Loch Lomond, which was enormous, with marks indicating places Áedán frequented.

“What do you want me to do?” I held up the file. “I know the Velasca uses the term preservation to mean documenting a myth and conservation to mean saving the myth from fading, but how am I supposed to do either of those things if he won't talk to me?”

“That's the biggest hurdle, and the reason I'm sending you. He won't know you. You'll have a better chance of finding and approaching him. Proceed carefully. Don't tell him you're with us right away. Talk to him first. Then work on getting his permission to help. You'll need to document him first. His history, his memories, what he was before the world forgot. Once you have that, we can work on saving him.”

“Why do I need to document him first?”

“Because stories often change over the years. A lot of times, those minor changes can make things difficult for us. Some stories get so far removed from their myths that it leads to fading. We need to see what has gone wrong with the kelpie myth. Then we can work to bring the original story back, remind people of it, and, hopefully, save Áedán.” Julian's voice was steady, but his hands weren't. They shook until he gripped the edge of his desk. “It's integral that you connect with him on a personal level, Ethan. As I told you, we don't force myths to accept our help. If Áedán won't let us help him, we have to step back. So, please, convince him.”

The weight of it settled on me. This wasn't an academic exercise. This wasn't cataloging folklore or translating old manuscripts. This was stopping someone from disappearing, or, if I failed at that, holding onto whatever pieces of him I could save.

“This is a lot. Maybe you should give this to a more experienced Velascan.”

“As I said, he knows us. Ethan, you're good at listening. You don't impose your opinions on others. And, as a new Velascan, you don't have preconceptions about how to interact with myths. That's what Áedán needs. Not someone merely trying to save him. Someone willing to hear him.”

I wanted to argue. I'd spent my academic career in libraries and universities, not out in the world trying to convince ancient beings to trust me. But Julian was watching me with that same patient expression he'd worn all morning, as if he already knew what I'd decide.

“There's something else you need to understand.” He met my gaze and held it. “Myths nearing extinction can become unpredictable. Áedán was a guardian once. I'm hoping he is still that man. But you need to be careful, Ethan. He may have forgotten who he is.”

“All right, I'll be careful.”

“This will not be easy, but try your best. Because if we lose him, we lose a part of ourselves.”

The file felt heavier in my hands. I opened it again, looking for more information. There was a packet clipped to the back cover that I'd missed. Inside were old, faded photographs. There was one of the loch, one of a dark horse with a pale mane emerging from the water, and one of a man. He stood on the loch's shore, dark hair whipping in the wind, and a powerful body held at the ready. Dressed in a knitted sweater and dark pants, he seemed timeless. There was something in his bearing and face that screamed danger. But he was also handsome enough to make my knees wobble.