by Janis Mackay
“What’s that, son?” Ragnor asked, still shuffling carefully over seaweed-strewn rocks. Magnus had been speaking his thoughts and his doubts. “Do they what?” Magnus Fin couldn’t speak. The story he had heard in the cave shook him to his depths. Nothing was certain any more. His parents were freaks. And what did that make him – with one green eye and one brown eye, blue pupils, webbed feet and a father from under the sea? An alien!
“Aye, son,” came his father’s voice, “they do.”
For some reason these definite words spoken by his father gave Magnus Fin some feeling of comfort. They stopped his world from breaking. “They do, they do,” he repeated to himself, trying to still his thumping heart. Selkies exist, mermaids exist, magic exists!
They reached the water line and Ragnor stopped at a black and jagged rock. Magnus Fin knew the shore like he knew his own hands and this large black rock that jutted far out to sea was only visible at low tide. Where they stood now was mostly underwater.
“Look, Fin,” said Ragnor, bending over and gesturing towards a cluster of shells in the shape of a crescent moon on the side of the black rock, half submerged in water. “This is the handle of a door. Without my seal skin I can’t go through the door to the world under the sea but you can, son. At the age of eleven a child born of land and sea is granted the ability to live in both worlds. It’s granted to few, Fin – very few.”
Magnus Fin swallowed hard. He didn’t know what to say. If he was supposed to feel brave and strong, now that he was eleven, he didn’t. In fact it was all he could do to stop his knees shaking. His father looked at him then looked again at the shell handle at the side of the black rock.
“At low tide when the moon is full, return here, Fin, and it will open for you. They will be waiting for you, Fin. Your grandmother will guide you. It’s time for you to meet your people and get your hansels. I failed to take you when you were three. Now you are eleven, you must make the journey under the sea alone.”
While his father was speaking Magnus Fin stared down through the water. When the wavy seaweed fronds swayed to one side he could see the handle of shells. It didn’t look like a door, though the crescent of shells did look like a handle. His heart thumped. He imagined himself coming to this place, diving into the water and opening this door. Where would it take him? He had heard of doors to other worlds. Was there another world behind this simple cluster of shells?
“Tell them Ragnor sent his son. Say you’ve come for the hansels at last.” With those words Ragnor limped over the rocks and made his way back to the beach, leaving Magnus Fin staring at the handle at the place where the land meets the sea. Then, as though someone had suddenly snapped their fingers in front of his face, the boy jerked his head up. For a moment he felt alone, utterly alone. Then he turned and saw the figure of his father bending down in the distance. The old man was lifting something from the beach. “Fin!” he called, waving his son over.
Magnus Fin leapt over the rocks to where his father now stood on the sand. Ragnor held a stone up, its white and orange veins flashing in the sunlight. He handed the stone to his son.
“For you, Fin,” he said. “It’s a moon-stone. We say it gives protection and courage. It might help you. Happy birthday, son.” Fin took the round stone. The sea had worn a hole in the middle of it. It felt warm and good in the palm of his hand. “I’ll find a leather lace and you can wear it round your neck,” Ragnor said, tired now and resting on a rock. “Run off and play now, lad, while I get my breath.”
Magnus Fin ran off along the shore. The sea was flat, good for skimming. He found flat stones and skimmed them eight, nine then ten times over the still water. “Hey, I’ve broken my record,” he yelled, suddenly happy now. Despite what his father had just asked him to do, an excitement and happiness bubbled inside him. He clutched his birthday stone. He wouldn’t skim that. He kept that in his pocket, like gold.
That night, in the dark comfort of his own Neptune’s Cave, Magnus Fin decided he would go on this strange journey. He would wait seven days until the moon was full then he would find that shell handle again and pull it. And probably nothing would happen.
Tarkin said there were loads of crazy people in the world. Magnus didn’t want to believe it, but it seemed his old father was going mad. Magnus Fin fell asleep that birthday night, wondering if he would tell Tarkin about this or not.
And what if it was true? What if he really did have a grandmother with a tail waiting for him behind the door to the sea?
Chapter Ten
Those seven days before full moon were shot through with an arrow of trembling anticipation. When Magnus Fin thought about the door to the world under the sea at low tide, a shiver ran up his spine. His father, after the great deal of talking on Magnus Fin’s birthday, was now even more silent than usual. He went slowly about his business: catching fish, mending his net, helping his wife gut and cook the fish, banking up the fire, then bringing Barbara cups of tea in bed and nodding off in front of the fire.
Barbara kept the cottage noisy with the constant buzz of her television or radio programmes. Sometimes she chuckled to herself and sometimes she moaned. On several occasions Magnus Fin wondered if his parents were going mad and then realised, here was he, about to try and open a door to the world under the sea. He was as mad as they!
Two days before full moon, Magnus Fin sat in the familiar comfort of his room, surrounded by his treasures from the sea. He examined everything carefully lest he should never see it again. “Help me, fishing nets, Titanic ballroom sign, anchor from the pirate ship, conch shell, killer-whale bone, cormorant skull, coloured stones, prehistoric pottery, horseshoe from Norway, life ring from Poland, plastic boat from Shetland, blue glass, penny from 1957, silver wedding ring, and mermaid picture, help me.” The house was quiet now, apart from the clock in the kitchen tick-tocking and the scratching sound of Barbara’s radio, barely audible.
Magnus Fin was on his way to the kitchen to make himself a hot chocolate. His father was in his chair by the fire but not asleep. Ragnor looked up at him, those shining emerald-green eyes still young despite the wizened face surrounding them. Magnus met his gaze and could tell his father was thinking about the door at the black rock, counting down the days till full moon.
“And how is it to be eleven?” his father asked him, looking up and smiling.
“It’s fine,” said Magnus Fin, “and I think my last baby tooth is wobbly.” Father and son grinned at each other and the nervousness Magnus felt melted away. He was looking forward to his adventure now. If he was half selkie, he might find great treasures from sunken ships! And his dad had said he wouldn’t need a snorkel to breathe underwater. He’d find far greater treasures than any he gathered at the seashore.
The day before full moon, Tarkin came round to Magnus Fin’s house after school. He had noticed the shining stone his friend wore round his neck and he wanted one too.
“Let’s go along the shore and look for one,” Magnus suggested. So they did. They searched for ages, and though there were many round stones, white stones, marble stones, orange stones and shining stones, they couldn’t find one with a perfect hole in the middle of it. Tarkin grew bored.
“Hey, Fin, let’s find crabs instead,” he suggested. Magnus Fin loved crabs, especially tiny velvet crabs. He took Tarkin to the rock pool where his favourite crabs lived and for ages the boys stared at the small scuttling creatures in amongst the red and purple seaweed. Then Tarkin ran off, shouting for Magnus Fin to come and see who was the best stone skimmer. Magnus had a quick action with his wrist and, from years of practice, he was by far the champion stone skimmer.
“My mum is not really a singer in a band; I mean, she never was,” Tarkin suddenly blurted out, throwing a stone over the flat sea and managing three skims. “She sells candles. I think, like, when she was eighteen, she once sang a few songs in some smutty dive in Las Vegas. And my dad isn’t a sculptor. He works in a factory somewhere and hasn’t written to me for two years. So, now y
ou know the truth. I’m glad I told you,” he said, looking relieved.
Magnus Fin knew that this was his moment – if they were coming clean about parents. But how could he say it? He hadn’t thought twice about Tarkin’s mum and had forgotten she was supposed to have been a singer in a band anyway.
“So, don’t you want to tell me anything, Fin?” Tarkin asked, smiling encouragement at his friend. The villagers must have told him, word must have got round. It was bound to sooner or later. It was always going to be a matter of time before the new family learnt the truth about the weird ones down by the shore. Magnus Fin felt caught in a web of lies. He blurted out, “I know a secret door.”
He hadn’t meant to say anything about the door, but he felt so bad about pretending he was an orphan, he needed to change the subject. Tarkin’s eyes lit up. “Wow! Like where, Fin? Where?”
The tide was coming in. The black rock was hidden under the water. The door would be inaccessible. “Come to the cave and I’ll tell you,” said Magnus Fin, running now along the beach with Tarkin following him.
The two boys sat in the place where, not a week before, Magnus Fin and his father had sat. Magnus made a fire, just as his father had done.
“This place is so cool,” said Tarkin, gazing around the cave, thinking he had landed up on some film set where pirates would appear any moment and he’d finally get to meet Johnny Depp. “Hey, why did you never bring me here before, Fin? It is seriously cool.”
Magnus Fin took a deep breath and peered at his friend through the smoke. “Because this is my father’s cave,” he said. Tarkin immediately glanced round, expecting to see a skeleton in the corner, or a ghost. “Yes,” Magnus went on, “I mean, he’s still alive and he’s different from most people and – um – well … I suppose I am too.” Magnus Fin stopped. His friend was staring at him through the grey smoke. “Um, Tarkin, look … do you believe in selkies?”
Chapter Eleven
The smoke from the fire in the cave swirled around so thickly that the boys had to peer to see each other and the smoke stung their eyes.
“Sure I believe in selkies,” Tarkin said, rubbing his eyes and vigorously nodding his head, “sure I do. Man, I believe in everything. Mom says my imagination is highly developed. I believe in dragons too. You ever seen a dragon, Fin?” Magnus Fin shook his head.
“Well, you ever seen the Loch Ness monster then?” Again Magnus Fin shook his head.
Tarkin carried on, his eyes growing wide and shiny as he spoke. “I know three boys in New York who have seen the Loch Ness Monster. They says they were really spooked out and she had bumps on her back. That’s partly why we came here, to see it. I don’t think it’ll be the same as when I saw the mermaid. I think when I see the Loch Ness Monster it’ll feel different. I might be frightened a bit but I don’t care. Mom says it was the cold getting to my brain when I saw that mermaid, but Dad believes me. Fin, I know it was a real mermaid in Alaska and I’ll never forget her. I fell in love with her.”
Magnus Fin didn’t want to wait unless he lost his courage. He blurted out as fast as he could, “My dad is a selkie, you know, a seal man, or he says so, or he was once, and he says I’ve got a grandmother at the other side of the door, and he says he comes from a valley under the sea called Sule Skerrie and he wants me to go there. And maybe he’s crazy.” The words hung in the smoky air, ashamed.
“Maybe he was a seal,” said Tarkin, as though they were talking about school dinners or crabs or something ordinary. “Cool! So what about this door thing?” he asked, and Magnus immediately felt a rush of gratitude for this friend, who took all Magnus Fin’s weirdness in his stride. He must have heard the strange stories in the village but he didn’t seem to care.
“Maybe that mermaid you saw in Alaska, you know, the one you love, maybe she was a selkie,” Magnus Fin said, his voice trembling with excitement.
“No, she was a mermaid.”
“But how do you know, Tarkin? You didn’t see her tail.”
“I know, Fin. Some things you just know. Come on, man – I wanna know about the magic door!”
So, in the smoky cave, Magnus Fin told Tarkin everything his father had told him six days before. Tarkin listened, every now and then whistling or saying, “Cool!” When finally Magnus came to the end of his strange tale, Tarkin whistled again, extra long, and said, “I’ll say a special chant I got from the Native Americans for you, Fin. How long do you think you’ll be gone?”
Magnus Fin shrugged his shoulders then laughed. It all sounded so ridiculous. “About a minute, I think,” he said, laughing. Then he kicked sand into the fire and ran out of the cave. “Hey, Tarkin! Want to race back along the shore?”
“OK, first to the sand is Superman,” Tarkin said, speeding off with his ponytail bobbing up and down and his long, thin arms and legs pumping back and forth. Magnus was smaller than Tarkin and his legs had to go twice the speed to keep up. When they got to the sand they both fell down, panting and laughing.
“Want another skimming competition?” said Tarkin, scrambling to his feet and scooping up the flattest stones he could find. Magnus Fin was about to agree then changed his mind. If they threw stones out to sea they might hit a seal. They might hit his grandmother, or the seal that had saved Tarkin from drowning. Tarkin seemed to read his mind.
“Well, OK. How about we try to hit that plastic bottle over there?” he suggested instead.
So they gathered stones, made a marker and started to throw. “And if you step over the marker you’re out,” said Magnus Fin, watching Tarkin’s toes edge over the line. Tarkin stepped back, took aim and threw. He missed. Magnus Fin focused on the bottle, stretched back his arm and threw with all his might. He missed.
“Tarkin? Do you think this, um, looking ancient thing – is it my fault?” Magnus Fin asked suddenly, in between shots.
“Man, no way. Let’s face it, Fin, you would have really dug it – being three and going under the sea. How cool is that!”
Magnus Fin took aim and hit the plastic bottle. “Hey, Tarkin! I hit it! I hit it!”
“Good shot, Fin, good action. Just watch me.” Tarkin aimed, threw, and missed. “Drat! Do you think Mom and Dad splitting up’s my fault?”
“No way, Tarkin. You are the best ever. He probably misses you like mad.” Magnus Fin smiled at his friend but Tarkin didn’t smile back. Tarkin picked up another stone and Magnus wished Tarkin would hit the target.
He did. They both threw their arms in the air and yelled.
That night Magnus Fin studied the tide tables. Full moon was the next night at 10.25 pm. Low tide was between nine and midnight. His mother would be asleep. His father, he hoped, would be down at the cave, waiting.
With the bright moon shining in his window, it took Magnus Fin a very long time to fall asleep. When he did, he dreamt he had found the pearly handle in the rock, opened it – and there was nothing there.
Chapter Twelve
“Magnus Fin, if you can’t stop staring out of the window you’ll sit here and stare after the bell’s gone. And what, may I ask, is so very interesting about the sky, hmm?”
Magnus Fin jolted his head down and fixed his eyes on the school book that lay open on his desk. For a second he couldn’t remember what this lesson was supposed to be about. Was this maths? Was he expected to answer a sum? His school jotter told him nothing – the pages he was so intently staring at were blank.
“Seventeen, Miss,” he blurted out, thinking it was better to say something than nothing at all. Mrs McLeod was always telling them how important it was to make an effort. It seemed, though, that this effort was not the kind she meant.
“Seventeen what? Sheep?” she asked. Now the whole class were staring at Magnus Fin and the girls at the back giggled behind their hands. “Seventeen baseball bats perhaps? Or, wait a minute, let me guess, is it seventeen clouds in the sky?”
“The Inuit people have at least seventeen words for snow, Miss.” It was Tarkin, jumping in. He carried on, seeing th
at he had now caught Mrs McLeod’s interest. She was staring at him, with his ponytail, tattoos and earrings, and now Inuit friends. “Yeah, and do you know, they play baseball too. You know I went to school in Whitehorse in the Yukon with real Inuit kids. They were so cool, Miss. One guy had a tattoo of a real cool polar bear across his back.”
Mrs McLeod forgot about Magnus Fin and busied herself telling Tarkin that in Scotland it really was not the done thing to say “cool” all the time. “You need to expand your vocabulary,” she said, her hands on her hips and her face turning pink. “How about wonderful, fantastic, amazing, braw, incredible, astounding, phenomenal, majestic, far-out even?” Tarkin told her “far-out” was a very uncool thing to say. Mrs McLeod gave up, by which time the school bell rang.
It was ten past three. Magnus Fin made a dash for the gate. Tarkin grabbed him by the sleeve as he whizzed past. “Hey, I’m with you all the way, Fin,” he said, then let him go.
“Thanks, Tarkin, thanks, that’s great,” Magnus said, panting and looking flushed. His dark hair stood up like a brush and his eyes blazed: his green eye shone like emerald and his brown eye glistened like earth after rain.
Magnus Fin ran home, ate a bowl of hearty tomato soup that his mother had made then disappeared into his room. He took out each piece of treasure from sunken ships and lined them up around his bed. Then he wrote Tarkin a letter, saying if he, Magnus Fin, was never to return to the land, then Tarkin could have his treasures from the Titanic and thank you for being a great friend and he hoped very much that Tarkin would one day see his mermaid again and his dad.
