The Deep

by Helen Dunmore

  Faro’s face flashes into a smile; then he says urgently, “Sapphire, promise me that you’ll listen to them. Even if—even if what they ask sounds impossible.”

  “I promise, Faro.”

  We swim slowly forward, out of our concealment. First one head turns, and then another. A wave of sound flows through the chamber.

  So many pairs of eyes, fixed on me and Faro. So many faces scanning us, taking in every detail. It’s like being onstage, except that I don’t know the play or what my part is.

  Now everything’s still. The water in the chamber is as clear as glass. There’s nowhere to hide, even if I wanted to hide. But I don’t. I swim forward. At long last I’m here, in the company of the Mer.

  They stare at us, waiting. The atmosphere is tense with expectation. What are we supposed to do?

  “Come farther forward, Sapphire. They want us to go into the middle of the chamber. There, above the Speaking Stone.”

  He points to a stone set in the floor of the cave. It’s pearl colored, with veins of green and blue and crimson, like the veins in an opal. But it can’t be an opal. No precious stone could ever be that big.

  “Follow me, Sapphire.”

  We swim to the center. It feels as if our bodies barely disturb the water. We’re part of its stillness. When we reach the Speaking Stone, Faro dives and touches it with his hand, as if he’s touching it for luck. As he rises again, he says to me, “Dive down, Sapphire, and touch the stone.”

  “Why?”

  “It makes us speak more clearly.”

  I dive down and touch the stone lightly. I’m expecting to feel some charge of power in it, like the power that surged in the Tide Knot, but it’s just a stone.

  A tall Mer man with a strong, hawklike face uncoils his body from the front rank of seats, swims forward, and holds his hands out to us, palms up.

  “Greet him, Sapphire,” whispers Faro, and I hold my own hands out in imitation. Faro does the same. With a quick, easy flick of his body, the man dives to touch the Speaking Stone, then swims back up to where we are. His hair swirls around his shoulders.

  “I am Ervys. Morlader is my nephew,” he tells me. “We are sea rovers. We gather news from all the oceans and bring it to our people wherever they are. You are welcome here. I have come to share with you the thoughts that I have and the thoughts of our people. These are painful thoughts, dark and violent. You would not want them in your head or in your dreams, and so I will not pass them into your mind. We will speak our thoughts aloud at this Assembly.”

  His eyes are fixed on me. They are very clear. I’ve never seen human eyes with that silvery light in them. He looks more—more Mer, somehow, than either Faro or Elvira. More Mer than Saldowr even. I push the thought down, to consider it later. I need to concentrate. All those faces, all those eyes. But somehow the fact that we are floating above the Speaking Stone makes the hundreds of watching Mer a little less intimidating.

  “These are dangerous times for us all,” says Ervys, “since the tides turned and the Deep awoke. Or since the Deep awoke and the tides turned.”

  Suddenly I’m impatient. After such a journey I don’t want to hear clichés. I know that these are dangerous times. I know all about the aftereffects of the flood. They are like the aftershocks of an earthquake, and no one could fail to notice them. The tides turned and the Deep awoke. What’s that really supposed to mean?

  My impatience must show on my face, because Ervys says sharply, “Do you expect me to deliver all my thoughts in a moment?”

  “No,” I say meekly, but I don’t feel very meek inside. Faro shoots me a warning glance, and I remember my promise. “I’m a friend of the Mer. I’m ready to listen,” I say, and this time Ervys’s face relaxes.

  “You are very young,” he says, looking at me with a certain doubt in his expression. “But we have been told that you have a gift. Saldowr tells us that you have visited the Deep.”

  I feel the hush in the chamber, the tension stretched out so tight it might snap at any moment.

  “Yes,” I answer, “I visited the Deep, before the tides broke.”

  A gasp runs around the chamber, followed by a murmur of voices. Ervys turns and raises his hand. Silence falls.

  CHAPTER FOUR

  I WISH I HAD CONOR BY MY side. Ervys is looking at me so intently. What does he want? His face is hungry.

  The eyes of all the assembled Mer are fixed on me. It’s like standing on a stage with all the lights on you. The silence is eager. If only I knew what they wanted from me. I glance sideways at Faro for support, but he’s gazing down at the Speaking Stone, his head bowed as if in respect for the Assembly.

  Maybe Ervys is waiting for me to speak first. If Conor were here, he’d know what to say.

  “You visited the Deep,” says Ervys at last. “I was told that this had happened, but now I hear it from your own mouth. It seems…beyond our beliefs. Saldowr himself cannot enter the Deep. And yet it opened to you. Tell me how you did this. Tell me what force you used.”

  “I—I don’t know.”

  Ervys throws back his head. His hair eddies around him. “You don’t know!” His voice is full of disbelief.

  “It just—it just happened. I was in a rogue current. It threw me off. It threw us all off. I couldn’t see Faro or Conor. They were dragged away from me…. I don’t remember all of it,” I say slowly. “Maybe I was knocked out. When I woke, I was in the Deep. It was so dark…”

  My voice trails off. I should never have started talking about it. The memories claw at me. Everything is coming back. The crushing darkness and silence of the Deep. The weight of my hand when I tried to move it, as if my hand was made of lead. I was trapped, a prisoner of the Deep. If I hadn’t met the whale who rescued me…

  “But you lived,” Ervys goes on sternly, like a teacher trying to find out what you’ve really been doing when he’s out of the classroom. “If Saldowr had not told us it was true, how could we believe it? How could a human do what none of the Mer can do?”

  Suddenly my fear is swept away by anger. How dare he doubt me? How dare he think I owe him anything? The Mer want something from me. That’s why Ervys sent his nephew to fetch us. But Morlader didn’t even guide us safely here. He went ahead and abandoned us. We had to struggle through that tunnel on our own. What if Faro hadn’t found the way? I’d never have guessed that the tunnel entrance was hidden behind that curtain of weed. Those Claw Creatures could have got us.

  Why do the Mer have to make everything so difficult and complicated? And now, after all that, they still refuse to trust me. The way Ervys is interrogating me, you’d think I’d committed a crime and was lying about it.

  I clench my hands into fists and dig my nails into the palms of my hands. I try to guess what Conor would say if he were here. Conor would keep his head and think clearly to the heart of what was happening. Conor doesn’t lose his temper and lash out like me. People listen to him.

  I must be like Conor now. I can’t blurt out my anger. I must make it speak clearly, so that the Mer have to respect what I say.

  Wait, Sapphire, wait. Let the silence stretch. Ervys needs something from you. All these Mer are here for a reason. Take control. You don’t have to let Ervys question you as if you’re on trial.

  “It’s true that I’m human,” I say at last. My voice is reedy, but at least it doesn’t tremble. “It’s true that I’m not in my own world here. You knew I’d need a guide to find my way to this Assembly.”

  “I sent my nephew to guide you.”

  “But Morlader went ahead of us, out of sight. We had no guide.”

  “Faro knew the way.”

  “Not well enough for our safety. Was it a test, Ervys?”

  I look straight into his eyes. He frowns, and for a moment I’m afraid I’ve gone too far and his anger is going to flare out. I don’t look around, but I sense that Faro’s watching me closely now. He’s on my side—I know it for sure. Faro is Mer, but he is no friend of Ervys. The tension betwe
en me and Ervys stretches as taut as a guitar string. Then slowly Ervys’s face cracks into a smile.

  “Saldowr gave us a true picture,” he says slowly. A ripple of relief goes around the chamber. They were worried too. Does that mean the other Mer are afraid of Ervys? “Saldowr told us, ‘These human children look as helpless as seal pups on a rock. Don’t be deceived.’”

  “Where is Saldowr?” I ask eagerly. “Is he all right? Has he recovered?” Surely the wound Saldowr took on the night the Tide Knot broke must have healed by now. Saldowr is so powerful. His magic is as deep as the ocean, just as Granny Carne’s is as strong as a rock. Even if no one else can heal him, Saldowr must be able to heal himself.

  Ervys doesn’t reply. Instead he nods at Faro, asking him to speak. To my surprise Faro dives down and touches the Speaking Stone a second time, as if he needs more strength, and then turns to face the Assembly.

  “You all know that Saldowr is my teacher,” he says proudly. I suppress the thought that the Mer seem to spend a lot of time telling one another things that they already know. Faro is deadly serious.

  There’s a murmur of agreement. Suddenly a broad-shouldered man leaves the front rank of seats and swims down to the Speaking Stone. As he rises up to face Ervys, challenge flashes between the two Mer men. Then he turns to Faro.

  “You are Saldowr’s scolhyk,” he says, “his student and more than that. You are his follower. You are not his son in the flesh, but in all other things you are Saldowr’s heir.” His gaze travels over the ranks of the Mer. “Am I speaking the truth?”

  The ranks of Mer sway as if a strong current has swept into the chamber. Many clench their hands together and hold them out toward the speaker as if they’re offering support to his words. But I can see some who look sullen and angry and sit back with their arms folded. Ervys’s followers, I think.

  “You are speaking the truth, Karrek,” says Faro calmly. “I am Saldowr’s holyer and his scolhyk. You all know how Saldowr is now. He cannot leave his cave. His wound refuses to heal.”

  “I have not visited Saldowr, but I have been told this,” says Ervys as Karrek swims back to his place. “Tell us, Faro,” he goes on smoothly but with an underlying eagerness in his voice, “is there more we should know? Is Saldowr’s condition worsening? I hear rumors that he may be readying himself for the journey to Limina—”

  “No!” cries Faro. “Never! Never, Ervys!”

  Ervys waits again, as Faro’s cry dies away in the huge space of the chamber. Limina…that’s where the Mer go when they’re ready to die. Faro took me there once, and I remember how the old and the sick waited on the white sand patrolled by guardian seals. Faro told me that they were waiting for death. Limina is very peaceful—even beautiful in a way—but it’s on the other side of life. Once the Mer cross that threshold, they can’t come back.

  Saldowr mustn’t go there! Saldowr holds the secrets of the past and the future. What would happen to Ingo without Saldowr? How can Ervys even think of suggesting that Saldowr might be ready to go to Limina?

  “Everyone goes to Limina one day,” says Ervys, as if he’s read my thoughts. His voice is calm, but the words are like a clash of weapons. What does he mean? Is he trying to suggest that Saldowr is not so special, that he is just one of the Mer like any other? But that’s not true. I know in my bones that it isn’t true. Saldowr has power; he has magic that Ingo needs.

  “Saldowr is the keeper of the Tide Knot,” says Faro boldly, as if that answers all arguments. But even I know that it doesn’t, not now that the Tide Knot has broken.

  Sure enough, Ervys continues smoothly, “But the Tide Knot did not hold. Can Saldowr help us now, when we have to face the…consequences?”

  Faro’s face is dark with fury. “Who is there to take his place, Ervys?” he demands. The question flashes through the chamber like the blade of a sword. The Mer begin to mutter. Ervys holds up his hand.

  “We are not here to discuss Saldowr,” he says. There’s nothing wrong with the words, but the meaning behind them is another weapon thrust. Ervys is hinting that Saldowr can be put aside. He has lost his power, and decisions can be made without him now.

  “Then what are we here for?” I ask. Both Ervys and Faro stare at me in surprise, as if they’ve forgotten I’m here. “What are we here for?”

  Ervys folds his arms.

  “We are here because the Kraken is awake,” he says.

  Again the ranks of Mer lift their hands. This time they cross them as Faro did in the face of the Claw Creature. Their crossed hands touch their foreheads, hiding their faces. Their index and second fingers are crossed too.

  “Raise your hands, Sapphire,” says Faro urgently. “Ward off the evil.”

  I begin to raise my arms, but it doesn’t feel right. Why am I doing this? I look at Ervys and Faro, who have crossed their own hands. I shake my head, although they can’t see me. “The Kraken,” I say, tasting the ugliness of the word. “Who is the Kraken?”

  For a long moment no one answers. Very slowly the hands uncross, and the Mer settle back as they were before.

  “The Kraken lives in the Deep,” says Ervys. “He sleeps, and while he sleeps, the Deep does not trouble Ingo. As you know, none of us visits the Deep. But we know that the Kraken has woken before, in the time of our far ancestors.”

  “How long ago?”

  “About ten life spans.”

  Ten life spans…how long would that be? Six hundred years, or maybe seven hundred. But suddenly I realize that I don’t even know how long the Mer live. I’ve been assuming that they live as long as humans, but maybe that’s a mistake. They might live a hundred and fifty years—or fifty.

  “What does the Kraken do when he wakes?”

  “Don’t you know?” asks Ervys, in a voice that says, Can you really be as stupid and ignorant as that?

  “Nuclear warhead,” I say. Ervys stares at me in bewilderment. “Chemical weapons,” I go on.

  “Sapphire, what are you saying?” asks Faro.

  “Don’t you know?”

  There’s a silence, and then Ervys gets the point. Again his face stretches unwillingly into a smile. “The Kraken is a creature of the Deep,” he says.

  “A monster?”

  “We Mer have never seen the Kraken,” says Ervys carefully, as if even to put the Kraken into words is dangerous.

  “But then what—what kind of thing is he?”

  And why is he so frightening? I want to ask, but I don’t dare. The atmosphere bristles with terror. The Mer sit as still as if they’ve been carved into their seats.

  Faro says, “Some say that the Kraken is like us. That he has Mer blood. But he belongs to the Deep, and the Deep has taken his Mer nature and made a monster of him. No one can look on him, Sapphire. The sight of the Kraken would freeze your blood and make your body as cold as the dead.”

  “But if none of the Mer has ever seen the Kraken, how do you know that he’s a monster?”

  Ervys puts up his hand to silence Faro and takes control. “The Kraken was seen once, in the time of our ancestors, when he came up to the borders of the Deep to claim what was his. Our Guardian saw him in a mirror, and since then the Kraken has never even been glimpsed. He cannot endure to be seen. He struck our Guardian with a cold curse that took a hundred moons to heal.”

  “Guardian…do you mean Saldowr?”

  “Saldowr!” says Ervys, and this time he can’t hide his jealousy and contempt. “I am talking of what happened ten life spans ago. What was Saldowr then?”

  A mutter of protest rises in the back of the chamber. Faro clenches his fists. I know Saldowr could have been there. Ten life spans might be nothing to Saldowr, just as hundreds of years seem to be nothing to Granny Carne. But Ervys doesn’t want to believe that Saldowr has such power.

  How much support has Saldowr got here? No one stands up to challenge Ervys openly. I wish they would. I wish I could. I’m hot with anger inside, but I daren’t let Ervys see it. Not yet. I’m not strong enoug
h, and this is Ervys’s territory. Even Faro says nothing, although his head is thrown back and his eyes blaze through the water.

  “But if the Kraken stays in the Deep, and the Mer don’t go there…,” I say hesitantly. I can sense the fear, but I still don’t understand why it’s so strong.

  “You speak from ignorance,” says Ervys.

  This is too much. I don’t care if he’s in his own territory. I don’t even care that his arms ripple with muscle and one blow from his tail could kill me. I’m not letting him get away with this.

  “So would the Mer speak from ignorance if they came into the human world,” I answer him. “Even you, Ervys. You asked me to come here. I’ve visited the Deep, which none of you has. If you want my help, why not explain things to me instead of telling me how ignorant I am?”

  I’m out of breath by the time I’ve finished and scared of what I’ve said but still glad that I said it. I wait for Ervys to explode, but he doesn’t. He looks at me measuringly.

  “I see how you were bold enough to go into the Deep,” he says at last. “Listen. There are things we prefer never to speak about, but we must put them into open words now. The Kraken has the power to destroy our world. The thunder of his voice can split the seabed, release the tides, destroy Ingo, and send flood and terror even into your world. When the Kraken broke the Tide Knot, he was barely whispering. We cannot wait for him to roar. He must be calmed. He must be put back to sleep. And there is only one way to do it.”

  “What—what way?”

  There is silence in the chamber. Even Ervys doesn’t seem to want to answer. A tense silence, crawling with dread.

  “Only one thing can send the Kraken back to sleep,” says Faro in a low, toneless voice. “A boy and a girl must be sacrificed to him. This is what happened in the time of our ancestors.”

  A low moan ripples around the ranks of the Mer. I don’t want to believe it. Surely it can’t be true. The Kraken hasn’t woken for hundreds of years; Ervys said so. Stories get distorted. Maybe there was an epidemic of a sickness that killed children, and the Mer believed that they were sacrificed to the Kraken. Dad used to say that’s how all legends start. They have a seed of truth in them, Sapphy, and the seed grows as the story gets passed from mouth to mouth.