by Robin Jarvis
For a moment Jennet and Miss Boston were speechless. ‘Tonight?’ the old lady repeated eventually. ‘Gracious, what can we do?’
‘We must claim the wish and lift the Mothers’ Curse. That way Rowena Cooper will never achieve her goal.’ Sister Bridget glanced down at the shore and moved quickly back to the path. ‘Come, we dare not delay any longer, for the moonkelp will not wait. If we miss its flowering tonight then never in our lifetimes shall we see it again!’ With her robes billowing behind her she hurried to the steps, followed by Jennet and Miss Boston.
Jennet tugged at the old lady’s cloak. ‘She can’t go into the town looking like that!’ she said. ‘Why doesn’t she put her veil back on? People will stare.’
‘Do you still not understand?’ Aunt Alice asked. ‘None of that matters now. The moonkelp is the only thing that can stop Rowena from growing more powerful. If she gets her evil claws into it and her wish is granted then I shudder to think what will happen. There are more important things at stake here than I think you realise, and Sister Bridget has sacrificed her secret to help us. I do not think she will ever wear that veil again.’
As they reached the church steps Jennet muttered, ‘I wish I knew where Ben was.’
The churchyard was still, but in the wells of darkness behind the arc lights, two narrow slits gleamed.
‘There’s a tidy bit o’ news,’ croaked a sneering voice. ‘So daft old Hesper were reet all along. I’d better tell ‘er sharpish.’
A dark shape emerged from the shadows. The evil aufwader who had tried to murder Ben shot a poisoned glance at the sky. ‘Gonna be a deadly night,’ he cackled, before darting between the graves to run in the direction of The Hawes.
XII
ONCE IN NINE HUNDRED YEARS
Ben’s feet were soaked, so he sat down on the sand and emptied the water from his shoes. Ever since leaving Jennet fast asleep at Aunt Alice’s house, he had spent hours searching for Nelda and Hesper. At first he had gone directly to the agreed meeting place but found that deserted. There he had waited till long after the light failed. He assumed that they had abandoned all hope of seeing him again and no longer came to check whether he would turn up.
So Ben had decided to go looking for them, but so far he had been unsuccessful. He could not see the little aufwader boat on the water and he had hunted far along the shore of the West Cliff. But all he found was a courting couple who chased him away. Now it was getting very late.
Ben had only wanted to tell Nelda that her father was alive, and had intended to slip back to the cottage without Jennet realising that he had been out at all.
‘She’s bound to have woken up by now, though,’ he mumbled sadly. ‘She’ll be so mad. I bet she tells Aunt Alice on me. Prob’ly won’t see Nelda ever again.’
The boy kicked the sand wretchedly as he walked home. It was no use hurrying as he was already in so much trouble that being late would not matter. His ears were filled by the soft sound of the waves as they washed over the shore and dragged away the sand in their retreat.
It was a beautiful night. When the moon appeared through the clouds, it shone with brilliant silver fire. Long, tapering shadows were cast along the beach and the wet sand glittered about Ben’s feet, mirroring the moon’s rays in a magical way. It was like walking on a carpet of tiny stars and he grinned broadly at the wonder of it.
He turned his head. A great silver road shimmered and sparkled over the sea. The gentle waves absorbed the light and, as they broke against the land, the moonbeams fractured and scattered a million pearls in the air.
Ben was enthralled and stared breathlessly at the moon; the enchanted light glimmered on his face. Then, through the sighing rush of the sea, another sound began. It was the sweetest music he had ever heard and he looked round to see where it was coming from. Abruptly the sound was snatched away and the light was extinguished. Another cloud glided before the moon and the shadows swallowed the glowing sands completely.
Ben was in the dark. It was a shock to his senses and he stumbled forward blindly. The world seemed to have been plunged into black despair and he longed to see that mysterious light once more. He shivered in his damp shoes and wondered if he had dreamt the whole thing.
The shore was grim. Now that it had been deprived of the moonlight it was a dismal place and even the lapping of the waves sounded harsh and cruel.
Slowly the boy began to realise what was happening. The light and the music had been a signal, like a herald’s fanfare of trumpets. The time had come – the moonkelp was in bloom.
With a yell, Ben jumped up and down and danced on the sand. At last, somewhere out there the marvellous treasure was flowering. Once in nine hundred years Hesper had said and that was tonight.
Ben became serious. ‘I’ve got to tell them,’ he said to himself. ‘They have to find the moonkelp before it’s too late.’
He began to run over the sand. There was only one thing to do: the aufwaders must be told and that meant venturing into their caves, ignoring every warning.
Ben was not certain exactly where the caves were, but he knew from what Hesper had said that beneath the East Cliff there was a warren of tunnels and grottos. He had to find the entrance: if he failed then the tribe was doomed to extinction.
Desperately he stormed across the harbour and dashed on to Tate Hill Pier. He felt ready to burst as he scrambled down the old stone wall and dropped on to the flat, slippery rock below.
The sea had not yet flooded the shore beneath the cliff face, but already its creeping outriders were filling the rock pools. It was a treacherous place to be caught by the tide and even the strongest of swimmers had met their end there. But Ben was too inflamed by the importance of his news to think about the danger and he ran into the deep cliff shadow, calling at the top of his voice, ‘Nelda! Hesper! Can you hear me? It’s Ben!’
Behind him the water gurgled up through the channelled rocks and flowed ever closer, while in front the sheer wall of shale reached into the night sky over the boy’s head. It contained many clefts and crags that in the darkness resembled eyes and mouths. They seemed to stare down at him balefully, laughing at the little voice which went unheeded in that lonely spot. It was as if the whole cliff was mocking him and he felt microscopic compared with its black vastness.
Ben tried to push these thoughts to the back of his mind and attempted to explore the large fissures and crannies that were within his reach. It did not take long for him to find out that they were only shallow gouges in the rock and not real caves at all.
‘Nelda, where are you?’ he shouted.
Only the incoming sea answered him. Ben whirled round and, to his horror, saw that the way back to the pier was totally cut off. The path was now flooded – he was trapped.
Orange firelight flickered over the rough cave walls. Bunches of drying weeds were suspended from the fishing nets which were draped from one side to the other, and they gave a sweet, salty tang to the damp air. These were Hesper’s quarters and they suited her admirably. Since the decline of the tribes there was plenty of room for everyone – too much room. The ancient galleries had not been visited for many years and the long halls were bereft of song. Some passages had even been blocked up because they were no longer needed and this saddened the kindly aufwader. Beyond those blockades were the wondrous ammonite caverns where, in days long gone, important festivals were celebrated. The revels had been high then; sometimes there was music and light for a whole three days.
Hesper brought herself back to the present and peered into the flames. Tarr sat cross-legged on the rush-matted floor beside her, his wiry white hair untied and tucked beneath him. He drew on his pipe and watched his daughter thoughtfully. The net which lay across her knee would not be mended tonight, he told himself.
‘Tha’d better put it down if ’n that’s the best ya can do,’ he said. ‘Get thee to bed. Theer’s nowt worth stayin’ awake fer.’ He jabbed the air with his pipe and pointed at Nelda, who was idly pulling the loose
rushes from the mat. ‘Tha too,’ he told her.
Nelda looked across at Hesper. This was the first night they had stayed in the caves. It seemed pointless to go on searching for the moonkelp without the human boy. She had no idea what had happened to Ben or why he had stopped meeting them in the evening. Perhaps she had been wrong about him. Were the elders right after all – could no humans be trusted?
‘Ah’m to kip,’ said her grandfather grumpily. He reached for his staff and pulled himself up. With the briefest of nods, he bade them goodnight and hobbled out.
‘It is over,’ Hesper said miserably. ‘Oona was wrong, there never was any moonkelp. I have fooled myself all this time. We are all to die and our kind will disappear.’
Nelda hung her head and said nothing.
In the passage beyond, Tarr slowly made his way to his own quarters. He could never understand what went on inside the heads of his children. Why, for instance, had they remained in the caves that night? They had been so despondent over the past few days, too. If he lived to be six hundred, which seemed likely, he would never work them out.
The ringing of heavy boots brought him to a halt. Someone was coming down the tunnel.
‘Prawny?’ he called. ‘If ’n tha’s come t’pinch me baccy, Prawny Nusk, tha’ can –’
But it was not the aufwader Tarr had expected. Out of the gloom hurried a squat, busy-looking female. She was a scowling, bad-tempered creature who loved to put others in their place and wore a string of beaded shells on her brow to show her self-importance. Old Parry, the tribe called her – a nasty, small-minded widow with a sharp tongue and ears that flapped at any conversation she was not a party to.
‘Oh,’ muttered Tarr, ‘it’s thee, Parry.’ He quickened his limping pace and spluttered, ‘Ah canna stop, sithee tomorrer.’
But old Parry was determined, and she caught hold of Tarr’s sleeve. ‘Don’t you scaddle off yet, Tarr!’ she told him fiercely. ‘Come listen what I’ve heard – gives me great gladness it do, but I don’t think you’ll like it none.’
Tarr sighed. ‘What be it?’ he groaned, hoping this was not another petty scheme of hers.
She led him down the tunnel to a point where it opened out into a high, echoing chamber. This was the Hall of Whispers, the one place in the aufwader caves where you could hear the outside world. In here the fisher folk would gather at times of storm and listen to the roaring tempest of the sea as it hurled its fury against the cliff. Old Parry, however, was fond of this spot because it was not just the sea you could hear from it. If she stayed very quiet and kept her ears glued to the rock, she could listen to humans walking along the shore. She hated those ugly land animals and blamed them for everything, but her enmity did not prevent her eavesdropping on them.
Tarr looked round huffily. He wanted to go to sleep. ‘Well,’ he said, ‘what be it?’
Old Parry drew him to the rock wall. ‘Do you not hear?’ she asked with a giggle.
He regarded her disdainfully. There was nothing unusual out there, just the noise of the tide coming in. ‘’As tha gone doolally?’ he barked. ‘Theer’s nowt –’
Tarr’s words failed as his large ears caught the sound. It was a human voice crying in panic: someone was trapped by the tide. He turned away, disgusted. Old Parry was a cruel piece of work.
‘Ah dunna want t’hear such,’ he muttered. ‘Tha’s got a heart o’ stone.’
‘Puh!’ she snorted. ‘’Tis only a human boy. Just one less of them – won’t make no difference, there’s so many.’
‘A life, all t’same,’ Tarr spat as he shambled out. ‘Thee’s gone bitter ‘n’ twisted, Parry. Jus’ cos thee canna ’ave bairns, dunna gloat when others perish.’
This struck a nerve and she countered with all her petty spite. ‘You dare preach at me, Tarr Shrimp?’ she squealed. ‘Look to yer own door afore you lord it!’
He glared at her and demanded, ‘What’s thee on about?’
‘Where’s yer son?’ she shouted accusingly. ‘Who killed Silas Gull and where do Hesper and Nelda vanish to at night? Taking vittles to Abe, are they?’
He gnashed his teeth and raised his staff fiercely, but she laughed in his face and dodged to one side. ‘A curse on your line, Tarr!’ she sneered. ‘Childless I may be but it’s folk like you that made me so.’ She lifted her hand and triumphantly declared, ‘There, hear now the voice that condemns your own children!’
From the outside world the cries of the boy were growing fainter but they could still make out the words. ‘Help!’ came the pitiful shouts. ‘Nelda, Hesper, it’s Ben – help me!’
Tarr charged back along the tunnel with Old Parry’s taunts ringing in his ears. ‘Get you gone from this place,’ she called after him. ‘It’s to the elders I’m bound. Consortin’ with the humans! Your folk are a disgrace to the tribe. It’s exile for you till the end of your days – you and your family!’
Ben stood on a tiny island of rock, but it was rapidly shrinking. He had climbed as high as he could to escape the encroaching water and was now truly stuck. He had called for help until it hurt his throat and his voice was weak and croaky. All he could do was watch as the sea rose steadily and lapped ever closer. He screwed up his face and sobbed with despair. One big wave was all that it would take to sweep him off and drag him under. The boy’s fingers gripped the shale tightly as he waited for the inevitable.
Suddenly the cliff trembled. A loud cracking and grinding issued from the darkness above and a shower of small pebbles rattled down.
The doorway to the aufwader caves was opening.
A familiar voice called, ‘Ben, take my hand.’ It was Nelda.
After leaving old Parry, Tarr had stormed back to Hesper’s quarters and demanded to know why a human child was calling for them outside. They did not stop to tell him but jumped up and sped to the entrance.
Ben reached up and clasped the small aufwader’s hand, then, helped by her aunt, she began to haul him up. He scrabbled over the sharp rock, scuffing his shoes and cutting his knees, but at last he was safe. As he lay gasping on the threshold of the aufwader caves, a large wave crashed on to the ledge he had just left. The spray hit their faces and they staggered back.
They were in a damp chamber, dominated by a primitive mechanism overhead that operated the two huge slabs of stone which were the main doors to the fisher folk dwellings. When closed, they fitted so precisely that it was impossible to see them from the outside and they made a perfect seal against the sea. Stacked in rows on the near wall were the little wooden boats the aufwaders used and beside them, the nets and weights needed for fishing. Ben took it all in, then remembered what had driven him here.
‘Close the entrance,’ urged Hesper quickly. ‘The others will be here soon. They will throw the boy into the sea if they can.’
Nelda ran to one of the two rusty chains which dangled from the lofty ceiling and tugged with all her strength. The massive doors began to swing back into position.
Ben staggered to his feet. ‘Stop!’ he said. ‘We haven’t got much time.’
‘We know that, boy,’ sniffed Hesper. ‘Oh, nine times bless me! They will be here all too soon – hurry, Nelda.’ She turned on Ben and said scoldingly, ‘Do you realise the trouble you’ve caused us, child? The penalty for merely talking with you is great enough, but now you have stepped inside our domain, where no human has ever been.’ She buried her face in her oilskin hat and paced about in a circle, nibbling the brim.
‘No, you don’t understand,’ said Ben. ‘It’s the moonkelp! It’s time!’
Nelda released the chain and Hesper ceased her pacing. The cork lifebelt slid down to her ankles but she took no notice. ‘Tonight – are you sure?’
‘Positive!’
Hesper stared at her niece and let loose a terrific hoot of happiness. ‘It’s true after all!’ she cheered. ‘It’s true, it’s true – Oona was right!’
Nelda looked at Ben. ‘I knew you would be the one,’ she said. ‘I fear that when you st
opped meeting us I thought –’ She stopped, seeing the boy’s troubled face. ‘Why do you turn away?’ she asked.
‘It’s your father,’ he said quietly. ‘I’ve seen him.’
‘You have seen my father?’ she cried joyously. ‘Where? Was he well?’
A vivid image of that night flashed into Ben’s mind. He remembered the cruel lines that scored the aufwader’s face and the glint of the knife that he had raised. He shivered and for the umpteenth time wondered how such a wicked creature could possibly be Nelda’s father.
When Ben looked back at Nelda he realised that she was waiting for an answer. He nodded, but before he could tell her any more the tramp of many feet filled the chamber. The tribe was approaching, running down the tunnels to the entrance.
Hesper yanked up her lifebelt, ran to the row of boats and dragged one to the doorway. ‘We have not the time to explain our actions,’ she said. ‘For three hours only does the moonkelp bloom – we must not miss it. Nelda, the gap is not wide enough for me to get the boat out.’
Nelda ran to the other chain and heaved hard. The doors opened a little more and the craft was through.
The sea had risen a great deal. Now it was not far below the doorway and Hesper studied the waves keenly. ‘A calm tide,’ she said. ‘We shall be safe. Fetch me the oars, Nelda.’
Ben watched as the funny little aufwader stepped aboard, took the oars from her niece and gave the signal.
‘Push!’ she shouted.
Ben and Nelda put all their weight behind the small boat. Lurching, it slid along the ledge and flew through the air, landing with a great ‘smack’ on the water. Expertly, Hesper steadied the tiny craft and brought it as close to the threshold as the current permitted. ‘You next, boy,’ she called. ‘All you have to do is step down. Do not be alarmed, it’s perfectly safe.’
Ben was not sure – it didn’t look safe at all. Taking a deep breath in case he fell into the water, he stepped out. With a bump, he found himself sprawled in the boat at Hesper’s feet. He pulled himself up gingerly as the vessel tilted from side to side.
