“What’s happening?” Fathom cried.
At that moment, something rumbled in the deep. The ground pulsed and the marsh shifted. Far below its years of layered earth and peat, there fell a single lumpen beat, like the last, dull thump of a dying heart. Beneath the sludge, something ancient broke, sloughing off the years that had silted over it.
Then out of nowhere, the manic shrieks of thousands of seagulls shattered the air. There was a sudden warm downwind, caused by beating wings, and they realised it wasn’t just gulls; the air was full of every kind of bird, darkening the sky like a storm cloud over their heads, all flying in the same direction – away from the ocean.
The estuary was emptying; as the water retreated, the landscape before the last Rising revealed itself, like an old ghost. The first object to materialise was the tethering arm from one of the first Punchlocks, abandoned when the water levels rose too high for the lock to work any more. It lifted out of the sea like an accuser’s blackened finger, pointing towards the hundreds of wrecked boats that had spewed from its jaws and been dragged out to sea. Their masts and the ribs of hulls stuck out from the mud like bones in a graveyard, coated with seaweed and oil spills.
Next came the old town, long lost in the first Rising. The highest and strongest buildings that had survived years of submersion rose up out of the wet: factory chimneys, a church tower with a metal cockerel still fixed to its spire. A pylon that had once brought electricity, its intricate struts ragged as rotten lace. Then a peculiar sound started, like a fluttering of hundreds of moths.
The water receded yet further and more of the town came to light: crumpled cars heaped against the edge of an old sea defence; children’s swings rusted rigid. Houses gurgled and belched as the water was sucked out through their windows and doors. The fluttering reached a crescendo and Fenn saw that the brown ripples in the mud were silvered with thousands of fish, thrashing in the ooze, joined by a clackety rattle as multitudes of crabs scuttled up the banks as they tried to escape. But escape from what?
From deep in the marsh came a keening howl as a wolf called its young to the den. There was a rushing sound from out at sea and a wet, salt-filled wind blasted the gorse. The last leaves clinging to the alders by the canal’s edge were stripped from the branches and a grimy rain scattered over them, quick and hard, gritty on their skin. Fathom looked at Fenn for an answer, but Fenn was white-faced. A short wave was now rolling back in towards them, bunching up in the estuary. Fathom followed Fenn’s gaze.
“What’s the matter?” he asked. The wave wasn’t very high – nothing so serious as to make Fenn pale like that. It was already dissipating as it travelled up the channel.
“RUN!” Fenn yelled, pulling Fathom with him as he careered across the stone-yard. “RUN!”
Fathom looked back. The horizon seemed to have disappeared, as if bright blue winter sky was suddenly exactly the same colour as the grey sea. With a sickening jolt he realised he wasn’t looking at the sky at all, but a colossal wave thundering towards them.
Hundred mile an hour, Halflin once said, when Fenn asked him how come more people hadn’t escaped the great Rising. Think yer’d outrun that? Fenn realised they had no more than a minute before it hit the shore.
The boys hurtled onto the cart tracks and into the mine. Fenn wrenched a lamp from the wall as they raced down into the gloom. They reached the first big cavern where they had worked with Humber and sped across its rocky floor, skidding on loose stones and scraping themselves raw on the rough rocks. Fenn dragged Fathom up the short slope that forked into the two small caves.
“This way!” he shouted. The roaring of the wave was getting louder, amplified in the mine’s dozens of tunnels and caverns.
“On the right!” Fenn just managed to gasp as they crashed past the props, dust and grit showering down on them. They stumbled down into the tiny cave by the tunnel’s entrance. The loose pile of rip-rap Humber had used to disguise the opening had gone and a dark tunnel gaped. Behind them they could hear the rumble of water getting louder and nearer. Ahead they could hear the distant sound of many voices.
“There are still people in there!” Fathom yelled as he skidded down into the tunnel. At that moment there was a terrible crashing from the mine’s entrance as carts, sleepers, tools and stone were swept ahead of the wave. Fenn realised Humber’s tunnel had to slope down to get beneath the Wall; if the wave hit that, hundreds of people could drown. He had to block it off. Fenn grabbed Tikki and stuffed him into Fathom’s arms.
“I’ll catch you up!” he shouted. “Tell them to run!”
He ran back to where the rock picks and huge lump hammers rested against the mine’s wall. He found the biggest hammer he could lift and dragged it to the last stanchion propping up the ceiling. He hoisted it up, nearly toppling over with the weight of it, and swung it with all his might against the oak prop. The post shuddered and Fenn was showered with dust. A tiny crack inched across the ceiling. He lifted the hammer again and lumped it against the stanchion a second time; dust and small pieces of rock scattered down on his head.
The deep grinding sound was getting deafening as the water hurtled through the passages, washing everything forwards in its path as it thundered onwards. Fenn peered into the gloom; the wave was billowing out like an explosion into the cavern below, black as smoke. As the water belched forwards, the lantern blew out and Fenn was plunged into total darkness. A huge whooshing sound filled the tunnel.
“RUN!” he hollered to Fathom, praying he could hear him. He swung the hammer one last time. The stanchion gave way and the ceiling collapsed. Instantly Fenn spun round and hurtled after Fathom. He could hear rocks falling as the water began to dislodge the barrier he’d made, then seconds later he felt a cold spurt of water on his back, as if a dam had sprung a leak. He kept running, his heart pounding, until a massive roar shuddered through the cave and the water caught up with him, smacking him in the back like a huge fist. He just had time to take one huge, final breath, then, before he could think of anything else, he was upside down in the slurry.
Digging deep inside himself, Fenn found his last reserve of strength. He kicked out against the stones stirred up in the water and swam forwards. The force of the water was buffeting him this way and that, smashing him against the tunnel’s walls. There was no way he could control his body. Instead, he put his arms around his head to protect it against the tumbling rocks and stopped swimming, bunching himself up like a baby. He’d let the water take him where it wanted and trusted it not to kill him. The water swirled up and back on itself, but at last threw him into a current which surged down the tunnel.
For some reason Fenn didn’t feel scared any more and he just let himself roll with the water. He lost any sense of time, but eventually – just when he thought he couldn’t hold on for another second – he hit the surface again, spluttering and gasping. The tide of water was still streaming on, but somewhere, far ahead in the distance, he briefly caught a glimpse of a hazy white light. He opened his mouth to yell to Fathom that he was OK, but before his voice had left his throat he was dragged back under by the water’s currents.
Epilogue
Something warm and wet was tickling Fenn’s nose and he tried to sit up, but there was a warm weight on his chest. His eyes blinked open for a second but the light was too bright and he squeezed them shut again. The warm weight on his chest was lifted away.
“Keeps doin’ that! Yer gotta take it! Go play wiv it outside!”
It was his grandad’s voice. Fenn opened his eyes in time to see Halflin pushing Tikki into Comfort’s arms, who happily skipped off before Fenn could call her back. He pushed himself up.
“Grandad!” he cried, throwing his arms around Halflin’s neck. They hugged for a long time. It felt like he’d never let go.
“Yer had me scared good ’n’ proper there,” Halflin mumbled, releasing Fenn at last and helping him sit up properly, propping a pillow behind his head. Halflin’s eyes were red; he’d been crying. Fenn had
never seen that before.
They were at the far end of a huge whitewashed hall, lined on each side with iron beds. At the other end of the room, the huge Scotian who had fought so valiantly on the Brimstone was now teetering dangerously on a chair with a pail in one hand and a brush in the other; half a Terra Firma logo showed beneath the white paint dripping down the wall. Around every bed were scattered bags and clothes; some people slept, others sorted through their bedraggled possessions, a few went from bed to bed, tending wounds or bringing the injured steaming bowls of soup.
Fenn turned to look out of the window, but it was so high he couldn’t see much other than stark trees, with a hard winter sun glaring through the scratches of their bare branches. A movement next to Fenn made him turn and look, and he realised Amber was curled up, fast asleep, in a big armchair next to him. She shivered in her sleep and Halflin pulled her blanket up, tucking it gently around her shoulders.
“This one never left yer side,” he murmured. “Yer two other mates are kickin’ around ’ere some place too. They only jus’ went ter get some nosh. Leek and tater soup,” he said, nodding at the old man in the next bed who was slurping from a bowl.
“And Humber…? Magpie?”
“Both knockin’ about ’ere too. Most of the Seaborn got through. Just ’em Terras stuck out on the marsh. They won’t ’ave made it. But them Sargassons did; the wave shrunk a bit by the time it hit ’em an’ the trees slowed the water. The Wall took a hammerin’ but Humber were wrong. The Seaborns built it good ‘n’ strong.”
“What about Viktor?”
“Him too! The Sastimos was already out at sea when the wave came. Remember I told yer? The sea’s the best place ter be if a big one comes? Shore’s the worst.”
“So where are we?” Fenn asked.
“Inside!” Halflin said. “We’re inside!”
“You mean…”
Halflin nodded happily, hugging his knees like a child. He suddenly looked much younger. “We’re on the other side of the Wall. On land! Real land!” he whispered incredulously, stomping his foot on the floor as if to prove it. “We’re safe boy! Safe!” His eyes widened at the wonder of it; he’d spent his entire life expecting to drown one day.
“But what about the Terra Firma? And the Landborn?”
“Don’t ’spect the Landborn will give up the Mainland too sharp, but the Terras ’ave mutinied. Most of ’em were treated bad by Chilstone, truth be told,” Halflin said. “Dunno what’ll ’appen with the Landborn. We’ll ’ave ter see if they kick up trouble.”
Fenn watched as Halflin fumbled with a tin jug on the crate by the side of his bed, filling a metal beaker with water. As he brought it to Fenn’s lips to drink, his hands were trembling.
“How long have I been asleep?”
“We got yer out tha’ tunnel yesterday mornin’. You must’ve got a whack.” Halflin shook his head. “Ter think I thought yer weren’t ready fer the marsh, an’ yer took on the world!”
He put the beaker back on the crate, then held Fenn’s hand in his own, but he wouldn’t meet his eye. After a few minutes, he mumbled something inaudible into his lap.
“What’s that?” Fenn asked, leaning closer to hear.
Halflin coughed and squinted up at him from under the shaggy mantelpiece of his brows. “I said … d’you hear what I tol’ yer? About you an’ me?” he whispered.
“All of it,” Fenn said, squeezing his hand tightly. Halflin nodded, and managed a half-smile. “Don’t change nothin’ fer me,” he said tentatively, looking down at their two hands clasped together.
“Nor me, Grandad,” Fenn replied quietly.
Then Halflin’s smile broke into a wide, eye-crinkling grin. He clapped his hands together brightly.
“Look at us, boy! In Terra barracks!” he cried. “Never thought we’d get behind the Wall, let alone in the lap of luxury!” He leant close to Fenn’s ear and whispered like it was a secret only he knew. “There’s hot water! Comes out the taps!”
Fenn made his way down the hill towards the depot, a large brick building next to the Terra barracks they’d been staying in for the past few weeks. Two more Hellhulks had just arrived that morning and it was his turn to be on shift to make sure people had enough clothes and knew where they were supposed to go.
The barrow of logs that he and Fathom had spent all afternoon splitting, bounced and spat stones from its wheels as he trundled down the path. Tikki rode on the top, sometimes jumping off to investigate an interesting-looking bush before jumping back on to enjoy the ride and bask in the sunshine. His coat was glossy-brown now, the colour of chesnuts. Fenn swung around a bend in the path, trying to catch up with Fathom, but he was already far ahead. He seemed to have grown a foot in the last few weeks with eating well for the first time in his life. The two of them were taking the wood to the kitchens, a long, low block where all the camp’s cooking was done.
“Hurry up, slowcoach!” Fathom called over his shoulder. “They’ve got the fires lit already!” Fenn glanced to where a grey spiral of smoke was creeping across the sky. The sun was low and the cooks would be hard at work.
Since the first Hellhulks had arrived in East Isle’s southern bays, five more had docked. Now that the Terra Firma had been disbanded, there was no reason that people shouldn’t make their way to West Isle or the Mainland, but East Isle remained the place where Seaborns felt they would be truly welcomed. Inland, huge stores of food had been discovered, but while the Terra Firma built Walls, they’d neglected the land they’d fought so hard to steal. Fruit had rotted in the orchards, crops withered in the fields. A group of Seaborns and Landborns had formed, and Humber was unanimously voted to lead them; they were to work out how best to use the limited land. Seaborns had made so much with so little for so long that the land offered riches beyond their dreams; they knew exactly how to make every scrap of soil work for them.
Fenn whistled to Tikki, who jumped off the barrow, then he tipped the load of wood out around the backs of the kitchens, dusted his hands down and walked quickly towards the clothing depot. As he hurried out of the woodsheds, he met Halflin and Comfort, who was hand in hand with another little girl a little younger than her.
“We jus’ found this one, din’t we Comfort, so we’re takin’ her ter Magpie fer some grub.”
He signed the words as he spoke and Comfort watched him, giggling behind her hand. When he’d found out Comfort had never spoken, Halflin set about teaching her to sign. He also spent an entire evening painstakingly smoothing a round of slate and drilling a hole in it so she could wear it on a length of string, so when she got stuck she could draw or write instead.
“I’ll come and find you later then, after work,” Fenn smiled, ruffling Comfort’s hair. He ran on to the depot; he was already late. Tikki scampered behind.
It was a huge building, where the Swampscrews had once been repaired. Inside, it still stank of diesel and was hot and noisy, with hundreds of people thronging by trestle tables, clothes piled up in their arms, extra blankets being doled out to those with young children and babies.
He quickly began weaving through the crowds, scanning for Amber or Gulper; he’d made sure he’d be working alongside them. The week before, he’d landed up with a man who wouldn’t stop going on about how he’d met Fenn Demari once, and even when Fenn looked him full in the face, he still didn’t stop saying how he was built like an ox and was over six feet tall. At last he spotted Amber in the far corner, crouching down, helping a little boy try on a coat.
He laughed to himself as he watched her spoil a tender moment by stuffing a hat so roughly on his head that she bent his ears down into two right angles. Some things would never change about Amber, but some things had. She looked so different now she’d had enough to eat, but Fenn could still see the sadness in her eyes.
He was pushing forward to reach her when suddenly something out of the corner of his eye distracted him. It was a woman trying to talk to a Scotian couple, but not able to make herself understood.
They were queuing up to get clothes for the squabble of children, who were pinching and thumping each other by their parents feet. The woman must have already been to one of the clothing points because she was wearing one of the wool jackets salvaged from the Terra barracks and had on a huge pair of men’s boots from the same place. The clothes were too big and she looked half-starved, but that wasn’t uncommon to see, so Fenn couldn’t work out why she’d caught his eye. At that moment there was a sudden shriek of joy from the other side of the hall, as a husband was reunited with his wife. Fenn looked away to where the couple were hugging and by the time he looked back the woman had vanished. He shrugged to himself and carried on walking but something made him stop. There was just something about her he couldn’t shake off.
When he turned back again he found her silhouetted against the bright sunlight streaming through the doorway. He was suddenly struck by how lonely she looked but there was something else about her too; she seemed familiar and he wondered if he’d seen her at the Shanties. He watched her first look left, then right, as if unsure which way to go, then she darted off, surprisingly quick for someone who looked so fragile. Some instinct made him follow her. He called Tikki who jumped up into his arms.
By the time he got into the tent where the registrations were made, he had lost her again. It was even busier than the depot. Hundreds of people sat on the floor, some sleeping, but then he spotted her, carefully stepping over the sleeping bodies as she made her way to the door. He was so out of breath that when he caught up with her, all he could do was hang on her arm, panting. She looked at him distrustfully; she didn’t know who he was, just that a strange boy with what looked like an otter dangling around his neck had grabbed her but couldn’t speak. At last he found his voice.
“Are you looking for someone?” he asked. Her wide, grey eyes were filled with a hopeless expression.
Tikki’s nose twitched inquisitively, as if he too recognised her. She was worn out and swayed slightly, her huge new boots acting like ballast for her skinniness. Instead of answering, she hugged her jacket tightly around her shoulders, her watery eyes flashing like chips of glass. But Fenn knew she wasn’t going to cry, at least not in front of him; he’d seen a tiny muscle at her temple, flexing as she gritted her teeth.
Fenn Halflin and the Seaborn Page 18
