The Lowing

Twenty-one years ago, Matt had laid in this very basket, with a cheek tucked against the Sister’s collarbone, thinking for once that maybe things were going to work out.

Twenty-one years ago, they hadn’t.

But today, by god, they were going to.

He just had to get out of this basket.

He fell into water, which was cool. Kind of liberating actually, since there was no one around him to panic about the whole thing like they usually did.

Foggy said that the lake was round, which meant that Matt could just pick a direction and swim. So he did. It was raining lightly and the sound of the drops chattering off the grass on the side of the lake was helpful. It sounded strange though. Like it sloped up? Like there were layers?

Matt expected a sloshing sound; the noise of the lake water rolling around against the eroded wall of dirt that ran all the way around it. He was prepared to reached up onto the grass and push down with his arms to pull himself out of the water.

It didn’t come.

His hands sunk into sand.

Clay and sand with twisted reeds all in it.

His knees sunk in and he found that he could kneel. But that was strange.

The lake hadn’t sloped down from the sides before. Matt had fallen in from around every inch of it by this point. He would have known if there had been a beach of sorts. He lifted his head and listened.

The rain chattered. Frogs croaked.

Twenty-one years ago, he’d been more or less carried out of the forest, so he hadn’t had to contend with the hellish shit show that was hiking through it without a stick. It sucked. God it sucked.

He almost laughed when he shoved up from a bad fall and realized that the knee of his pants had torn.

Man.

Just like old times.

Aha.

Fuck this, though. No.

Way back when, Baby Matt hadn’t had the sense to stop what he was doing and breathe and think rationally.

Matt, however, had like 20% more sense these days. What he needed here was a walking stick. He just had to make sure he didn’t get bitten by any feisty insects who didn’t want their refuge from the rain to be taken from them.

To find a walking stick to begin with, however, he needed to step off the path. To be completely honest, he wasn’t positive that he was on a path at all, but he did know that to the left and right of him, the rain fell on lots of wide leaves. They sounded like drums. Tiny snares all rattling their rhythms away.

He turned left and thought that the snares sounded different there; less excited. Perhaps there was a tree? Something shielding them from the worst of the drops?

He took a step towards it and his foot caught onto the ropey stems of a low, knee-height plant.

Ah.

Good. Ivy probably grew alongside the trail.

He took another few steps. Fat water dropped down onto his cheek and he knew for sure that he was under a big tree now.

He felt for the trunk.

“Well, now. Would you look at this.”

He almost leapt out of his skin and then dropped into a crouch without thinking about it. He spun around and got his back to the tree; got low.

There was a shape in front of him. Huge.

Huge, huge, huge. It made the leaves overhead shiver with its movements. The fat drops from the higher branches cracked against the shape’s broad shoulders. Matt didn’t know where its face was, only that it was hot—pulsing heat above and around its chest. Making the air around it humid.

He could smell the water evaporating. He could hear…something. He didn’t know what it was, it sounded like scraping, creaking, stretching.

“What are you doing in my forest, selkie-child?” the thing’s deep voice demanded.

Smugly, almost.

As though he already knew what Matt was there for.

As though this was some kind of script and he was waiting for Matt to flub his lines.

“I’m trying to find my way out,” Matt said.

The thing—a giant. It had to be a giant—laughed.

“Well, follow your feet then, you’re headed the right way,” it said.

…right.

“I’ve hurt my leg,” Matt lied. “I need a walking stick.”

“A walking stick?” the giant said.

It took a step forward and that strange creaking exploded around its feet. It felt warmer than ever. Like sunlight through trees in spring.

Matt took a step back.

“Well, now, those legs seem fine to me,” the giant rumbled.

Matt’s back scraped the trunk of the tree.

“Are you frightened, selkie-child?” the giant asked after a long beat.

Matt’s heart pounded in his chest.

“No, sir,” he said.

This giant’s heart was enormous and it throbbed like a slow bass. One. Two. One. Two.

“Are you lost?” it asked.

Matt forced himself to breathe and stay calm.

“I think I might be, sir,” he said.

The giant pulled back and that creaking and skittering sound went with him.

“You’ve been wounded,” he said.

Matt pressed his lips together.

“Who are you?” he asked.

The giant’s heart stopped for a long time between beats. He was surprised.

“They call me Fionn,” the giant said. “Fionn mac—”

“Cumhail,” Matt whispered in realization.

The giant’s heat seemed to spread upwards into his face. Pleased.

Oh, God. Oh, Jesus. Oh, Lord.

Matt didn’t know what to do. He was frozen in place. He didn’t—should he make himself small? Should he keep his chin up? Where was the thing’s face? He—oh, God.

That was Fionn mac Cumhail.

The hunter himself.

The hunter.

The Sister had never taught him how to address a hero like this.

He decided to cut his losses and slowly edged down onto his knees. He pressed his lips together and, against every instinct in him, bowed his head to expose the back of his neck.

“Hon--honor to you, Hunter,” he said, more shakily than he’d hoped.

The Hunter’s form straightened and the creaking and rustling around him flickered again before dying off.

What was that?

“What is your name, selkie-child?” the Hunter asked.

Please don’t kill me, I don’t even have a pelt, all I have is a horrendous attitude, Matt wanted to say desperately.

“Maidiú, son of Margaret,” Matt said.

The Hunter considered him.

“And who injured you, Maidiú?” he asked.

“Mannanán, god of the sea,” Matt admitted, but hurriedly qualified “It was an accident, though, he didn’t mean to—”

The giant shifted. Matt could feel his anger blossom out around his giant heart in waves of heat. It was as though he was kneeling in a wet meadow in summer with the sun beating down upon him.

“How old are you, selkie?” the Hunter rumbled.

…uh…like…fifty?

The Hunter waited.

Right.

“Thirty-three?” Matt tried.

The Hunter said nothing. Still waiting.

“I’m 29,” Matt admitted.

The Hunter sniffed and his heat seemed to recede back towards him.

“Useless man,” he huffed. “Absolutely useless. Beating children now, is he? Disgraceful.”

Matt decided that clarifying that stabbing was a more accurate descriptor for what had happened would be unhelpful for his cause.

He elected to look very pitiful instead.

“I just—I’ve lost my coat,” he told the forest floor. “I’m trying to get it back. So I need to get out of the forest.”

“Lost your coat?” the Hunter said, baffled. “Lost your coat? Well, where’d you have it last, boy? Did you look there?”

Eh.

Uh.

Well.

Slight problem.

“I tried,” Matt said. “But didn’t have any success. So I spoke to Manannán and he’s given me a Task so—”

“A task? For you?” The Hunter said, flabbergasted. “Why, you’re just a pup. Where is your mother? Did she speak to the useless bastard?”

UM.

“Yes?” Matt said.

A pause.

“Oh. Well, I see then,” the Hunter said.

Right. Cool. So Matt was just gonna go now. He’d deal with the whole stick issue once he’d fallen out of this forest. Or rolled. Or climbed. Whatever it took to get the fuck away from this situation right here.

“May I have leave, Hunter?” he tried.

The giant shifted around and seemed to get even taller.

“Of course not, son,” he rumbled. “Unlike some men, I’m not satisfied to leave a pup floundering around my forest on his own.”

Wow. Ageist much.

Matt was just fine, thanks. He’d done this before.

“Come, child. Give me your hand. I’ll take you home.”

Oh, hell no. Nice try, old guy. But Matt had learned his lesson about trusting hunting-types, sea gods, and the whole lot of them, honestly.

“I’ll be alright on my own,” Matt said, getting up to his feet. “Thank you for your kindness and passage. I’ll just uh, be on my way.”

He spun around hurriedly and crashed right into the tree.

“You are blind,” the Hunter deadpanned once Matt had dragged himself up out of the ivy, only to eat shit again.

“I’m perfectly sighted,” Matt snapped back at him, before going frozen in horror.

You do not shout at a forest guardian, Matthew. That is asking for an ass-beating and there are only so many hours left in the night.

“You are blind,” the Hunter repeated.

He didn’t sound violent. Matt relaxed his shoulders a bit and lifted his chin.

“I’m slightly blind,” he argued.

The Hunter’s silence was judgmental.

“Are you sure you’re Margaret’s son?” he asked.

WOW.

You know what?

Fuck this forest.

Matt was burning it down as soon as he got out of it.

“If you’ll excuse me,” he sniffed. He found the trail this time. Because he was capable. Perfectly capable. He just needed to go slow, that was all. One foot carefully in front of the—oh shit.

He didn’t fall. The fabric of his jacket stretched taut around his arms.

The rage of indignity took over before Matt could stop it.

“Let GO of me,” Matt snarled, struggling to get out of the jacket.

“You smell like her,” the Hunter observed over his head, “But this? I’m not sure what to make of this.”

“Let go, you asshole,” Matt threatened.

Man, what he could really use right now was a billy club. Or about three more feet of height to nail this fucker in the face.

“Perhaps it is the human in you? Are you human, selkie-child?”

“Are you a troll now?” Matt snapped. “Do I gotta answer your riddles three? No, I didn’t think so. Lay off.”

The Hunter was making a highly upsetting noise. It sounded like a chuckle. Matt hated it. And him. And this whole forest.

“Maidiú, eh? You really are something,” the Hunter said. “Settle down, son. There you go. Breathe easy.”

Matt didn’t want to.

The Hunter wasn’t his dad.

Only Dad could tell him what to do.

“I’ve heard whispers of Margaret’s child returning to this land,” the Hunter said. “But I must say, I didn’t expect you to be so…”

So what?

The Hunter was smiling. He was definitely smiling.

“You make life so difficult for yourself, son,” the Hunter said, “This forest wants you badly, and it does love a challenge. The more you struggle, the harder it will be for you to leave. So truly, you must settle your anger.”

UGH.

“I’m on a tight timeline,” Matt said.

“I can see that,” the Hunter said.

“Great. I’m glad, since I can’t. Now, since we’re on the same page, let go and I’ll be on my way,” Matt said.

The Hunter laughed and the sound sent Matt’s heart into a flurry. The trees around them threw down their water and their residents went dashing for safety.

“I’ll do you one better,” the Hunter said. “Why don’t you tell me where you need to go from here? You clearly don’t wish to go home.”

Oh.

Well.

That would be helpful.

The forest bent to the will of the great Fionn Mac Cumhail.

The trail seemed to become smoother and less lined with roots and rocks and puddles. The rain grew ever lighter. No fae or animals skittered across their path.

The Hunter plodded along like he was out for a leisurely stroll. His hand was enormous. Bigger than Dad’s, for sure, maybe even bigger than the one the giant so long ago had placed on Matt’s shoulders on the plains. It was rough with callouses and warm all the way through.

And that was all fine, but Matt had a question burning a hole in his tongue.

“Hunter?” he asked after a while.

The giant made a noise of acknowledgement.

“Apologies for losing my temper,” Matt said.

The Hunter huffed a laugh.

“I remember the days of hot emotions,” he said. “I am old now and they do not come on so quickly. Don’t fret about it, selkie-child.”

Matt dipped his head and chewed his lip for another several yards.

“What did you mean when you said that this forest wants me?” he asked.

The giant took a long time to answer.

“A long time ago, the lake which you climbed out of was home to a family of selkies,” he said. “But a fire came and burned the summit of this mountain. It burned everything in it—the trees, the homes built between them, and the fae living there. Only one of the selkies from the lake survived, but it was too young, Maidiú, to live without its mother. I found it covered in ash and took as far as I could go. Another cow took the child and raised it as her own, but the lake has since remained vacant—except for a short time when another young selkie came to us here in the forest and played songs for us and sang to us. We hoped she would stay. We prayed she would stay. But her people ostracized her and so she left this land for kinder shores.”

Ah.

“I don’t think I can stay here,” Matt said.

“Not now,” the Hunter said. “No, you have too much work ahead of you. But perhaps your mother will return one day, when she has finished her work on the other shores. And then perhaps you will want to return when you are older and ready to retire from the heat in your heart.”

Never.

Matt would never retire from the rage.

He’d known this for years.

He would die in his own flames.

But it was a nice thought. A nice idea.

It was comforting to imagine himself and Foggy living on the island one day, when their humans in New York were long dead and safely shepherded to wherever they wanted to go. Or maybe, in another timeline, every few years, he and Fogs could close the office for a few months or maybe a year and come here to re-center themselves.

Foggy would never live in the forest or on the mountain. Never.

But perhaps there was a chance that Matt could? For just a few days here and there? Or maybe he could build a little cabin on the edge of the lake to come up to sometimes, and, if Mum and Dad ever did want to come back, they could live there at the lake and find peace and quiet between themselves.

The Sister did love that basket. She’d brought Matt there as a pup and Matt knew now that she’d done it to show him off to the others and to teach him what she had learned in her time in the forest. It was a rare moment where she’d let herself relax and she’d let Matt be her son for once. Not just her pup. Not just this unwanted responsibility she was saddled with as a consequence of falling in love with a particularly anxious human.

He swallowed.

“Maybe you’re right,” he said quietly to the Hunter.

“Take your time, selkie-child,” the Hunter told him. “You have more of it than you think.”

Fionn Mac Cumhail took him to a place where a brook ran downhill and the sound of shuffling leaves overhead came only from behind them.

“I cannot leave the forests of this island,” the Hunter told Matt. “But the plains are ahead of you. And the nest that you seek is two miles straight that way. Don’t waver. Don’t dawdle. And don’t stop, do you hear?”

Yes.

He heard.

“Best of luck, selkie-child. Come back to us when you’ve found your coat,” the Hunter said.

And then he was gone.

Matt turned around, but it was cold where the giant had been. Empty. There was only soft birdsong and the sound of dripping water.

He turned back towards the plains.

Well, that was the lake, the mountain, and the giant down.

The plains were just as confusing as they’d been when Matt was small and the lack of rain made the journey even more aggravating, but Matt could smell just the lightest bit of smoke off in the distance and so he put a mental pin in it and honed everything in, in that direction.

He had to look like the most motivated bog rambler in human history.

There was not a single bog on this moor that he had not fallen into, he decided, and by god, he would hit every one of them before sunrise .

He started counting them at some point without realizing he was doing it and at some point, he stopped because on top of the faint smell of smoke was another one. A familiar smell.

He turned his face all around him.

Peter.

He could smell Peter. The kid always smelled like basil for reasons that Matt had never been able to work out. It was enough that even Wade had noticed it and asked Pete what he was bathing in these days.

Peter thought they were both insane. He declared them ancient, unknowable beings and plodded happily along with his life, deaf to their pleading for answers.

Peter smelled like basil some days and chamomile the rest of them and that was that.

The urge to follow the floral smell was strong, but Matt’s confusion was even stronger.

What was Peter doing out on the moors? He was supposed to be hunting down Manannán’s hound. Was the hound out this way? If yes, then Matt needed to get a move on.

He didn’t want to have to stare down a hunting dog at night. He was only one seal, and not even that at the moment.

He relocated the smoke and pressed on at double time.

The owl witch lived fairly far out on the moors. It must have taken Matt somewhere between a thirty minutes to an hour to fall in a very familiar river.

He burst out of it in accomplishment.

Stick or no stick, he, Matthew Michael Murdock, the man without fear, the devil of Hell’s Kitchen, had made it.

He stood tall in the river in triumph.

He sort of knew where he was now. The owl witch would be to the northwest, the waterman would be to the east. All he needed now was a way to get up to the owl witch’s nest. And, well. To find it.

“Here, nesty-nesty,” he murmured, hunting around with his face. “I’ve got bones for you to pick. You hate them—do you remember that window I sma—AGH.”

“RED. The FUCK, man. The hell kinda welcome is that?”

Matt’s knuckles throbbed a bit and blinked ahead of him in shock.

“Wade?” he asked, still searching.

“Jesus.”

Wade’s familiar broad shoulders pulled themselves up out of the river. “What’s the matter with you, kid?”

Matt was speechless.

“How—when—How long have you been there?” he asked.

Wade sniffed and seemed to rub at his face, grumbling.

“Enough to hear you loving on Miss Nesty-nesty,” he huffed. “And here I was, thinkin’ that my l’il boo-boo Red was out here, ‘bout to drown himself in a fuckin’ river. See if I help you again, eh?”

Matt realized he was still holding his fist up and slowly dropped it.

“You’ve been here for a while?” he asked.

“Not really,” Wade said. “I was tryin’ to surprise y’all tomorrow morning. Got you souvenirs and shit from that great English city Pembroke, you know? I got corgis of every color. I got your blue corgi, your green corgi, your purple people eatin’ corgi--”

Pem…broke?

“Wade, you caught a ferry here?” Matt asked.

Wade scoffed.

“A ferry? A ferry? Listen to you, ‘Wade you caught a ferry?’ Fishing boat, babe. You may call me Captain,” Wade said. “After you’re done callin’ me your savior that is. What’s the deal, Redthew? You trying to rekindle an old flame out here with a bog body?”

Ew.

No.

“Owl witch,” Matt said.

“You’re trying to fuck an owl witch?” Wade demanded.

Wait, no.

“Fucking nasty boy you are, I knew it.”

Wait, no.

“Well, alright. If that’s your dream, I guess I’m here to help.”

“Wade, I’m not trying to fuck the owl witch,” Matt said. “I’m trying to meet her and thank her for kidnapping me or something.”

Wade went still.

“Come here, hon,” he said sympathetically.

“I’m not concussed,” Matt said.

“Come here, you sweet l’il thing. Let papa see that poor head of yours—”

“Wade.”

Matt fended off the incoming hands. He could feel his blood pressure crawling higher with each passing second.

“I’m serious,” he said. “The sea god gave me this task. I’ve got to honor people who helped me back when I was a kid.”

“Helped you?” Wade repeated, pulling back. “How’d this broad help you?”

Matt didn’t know. But that wasn’t his problem. He just had to honor her.

“You’re gonna honor some child abuser?” Wade said.

And like.

When he put it like that it did sound pretty stupid.

“Maybe she’s changed,” Matt said. “Maybe she regrets doing it or she had a reason or—”

Wade’s silence was, as it always seemed to be, judgmental as hell.

“Or maybe we skip the owl witch?” Matt said a little helplessly.

“Oh no, I’m just here for the ride,” Wade said. “If you wanna go roll around in the hay with some pedophile, that’s your bag, boo. Just lemme know when you’re ready to come down.”

Yick.

“That’s disgusting,” Matt scowled.

“I’m not the one fantasizing,” Wade said.

“I’m not fantasizing,” Matt said. Then froze.

“Wait, Wade can you see her nest?” he asked.

Wade’s silence told Matt everything he needed to know.

Everything.

“Is she watching us?” He asked a little nervously.

Wade lifted his head upwards and hummed.

“Not happy,” he observed.

Shit.

“Go away,” Matt said flapping at the guy. Wade leaned back but didn’t move. Matt gave him a push. He planted himself. “Wade. Go away. If she’s watching, she’s gonna think I’m plottin’, but I’m not plottin’, I’m just trying to talk.”

Wade tipped himself towards the owl witch who was, no doubt, glaring back down at him. He gave her a one-finger salute.

“WADE,” Matt said, shoving him as hard as he could.

“’Sup?” Wade asked casually.

“MOVE.”

“Sure thing, toots. Where?”

“ANYWHERE. NOT HERE. GO.”

Wade considered this with many unnecessary sound effects. Matt groaned.

“You’re ruining this for me,” he said. “I’m just—I trying to get my coat back, Wade. I need her to help me get my coat back. Either clear out or help me, already.”

The plea seemed to snap Wade out of his bad mood. His stiff muscles loosened up.

“Fine, fine. I’ll help you talk to the bird lady,” he said.

Matt lit up.

“You will?” he asked.

Wade groaned.

“I will,” he said.

The witch lived in a nest that was dozens of yards above the ground. Wade gave her the finger the whole way up the gnarled, ancient trees that Wade claimed braided together into an enormous cage at the top, which cradled the home. He called the whole thing a ‘bad look’ and explained by saying that it looked like a ‘land lighthouse but with an angry canary’ at the top.

Matt almost made him wait outside the door. But instead, he thought of this witch carrying him, struggling like hell at eight-years-old, over treetops before dumping him down in her living room and tying him up there.

Wade was a great back up plan, now that Matt thought about it.

He found the door with his knuckles and knocked twice.

Wade reached forward and pulled him back a step by his collar.

The door swung outwards for some reason.

“Well, well, well,” the owl witch’s high, breathy voice said. “What rude visitors I have.”

Matt didn’t know what to say.

‘You kidnapped me and tried to kill my mom’ probably was not the right thing to say here. He was trying to get even with these people, not start feuds.

He dropped his head instead. It always seemed to work with older fae, they liked to feel respected, even when they clearly were not. Matt thought that some of them liked it even more then.

“Hm,” the witch said. Matt kept his head down. “You’ve grown selkie-child. Are you here for the trainee? You can’t have him, if so. He’s too talented for the likes of you sea folk.”

The…what?

“Matt!”

The what.

“WADE!!!”

Matt could just barely hear Wade’s heartbeat over his own.

The witch moved aside just in time for Peter—Peter, as in, Peter Benjamin Spiderman Parker—to come flying out of the home to tackle Wade and bury himself in his chest.

Time seemed to stop.

“Are you guys here to help us with the hound?” Peter asked Matt brightly, hands still wrapped around Wade. Johnny poked his head out of the door and got excited and went to go plaster himself around Peter’s back.

Wade turned his face towards Matt, but even if Matt could have read his expression, nothing would have changed.

“I think,” Matt told the owl witch weakly, “That there has been a misunderstanding.”