by Andrew Symon
“Cold feet will be the least of your worries soon,” cautioned Daid, as he moved up beside Jack. “This trip will beat even your flight to Dunvik last year. I hope you’ve been practising your swordplay.”
Jack thought back to the repetitive lessons with Finbogie. They’d been fun for a while, but the need to practise so often had lost its appeal.
I wish she’d hurry up and find the start of this bridge, he thought, as the waves splashed his thighs.
Without warning, Morrigan gave a cry of triumph. Taking the sceptre from her cloak, she struck the rock face three times, each time calling, “Papa Legba!”
There was a moment of stillness after the third strike; even the waves seemed to stop. And in that period of tranquillity, Jack saw a frail old man appear, standing thigh-deep ahead of them. He limped up to Morrigan, and enquired in a thin reedy voice, “Are ye ready?”
“We are.”
Dishevelled and grimy, he didn’t look like he could achieve much; but there was something earthy about him – almost primal. He held up his hands, then brought them down together with a resounding clap. Numb as his freezing feet were, Jack felt the stones underneath him shift; and then he sank, quickly and wordlessly, beneath the waves.
Falling into the pit at the end of the giant’s bridge had been weird: cold, slimy, and silent. This was different: it was cold, yes; but this time there were screams and yells all around him, as the crew members tumbled down an icy chute. Furiously trying to keep a hold of his sword, Jack felt his satchel almost torn from him.
I’m not losing that! That’s food for three weeks!
Jack came to rest in a heap, with bodies strewn around him.
“’Scuse me,” said Enda apologetically, as he disentangled himself from Ossian and Daid.
There were groans and mutterings now, as those who had landed badly examined themselves for breakages.
“Come along!” the old man snapped.
Jack looked around. They were in some sort of cave. It wasn’t dark, more … gloomy. Jack could make out side walls, and a high roof. He was glad of the warm clothing Gilmore had provided.
The old man had set off, limping, on what looked like a rock path. Then, reaching two boulders a few paces on, he stopped, and turned.
“Line up!” The sharp order came in the same reedy voice.
“Right! By crews!” Enda shouted the order down the line at the thirty would-be travellers.
“Who’s leading Dermot’s crew?” Ossian challenged Enda.
“You take it. Kedge maybe isn’t ready for that, and Arvin’s not what you’d call a captain.”
“I’ll keep you dancing, though,” laughed Arvin, shouldering his squeeze box.
“I thought Armina said only dark magycks could open the bridge,” whispered Jack to his father. “That wasn’t dark; the old man just clapped his hands.”
“This is not the bridge,” snapped Papa Legba, whose hearing seemed remarkable. “You’ll know when we break the seal what dark means.”
Jack shuffled his feet awkwardly.
“The Bridge of Impossibilities can only be crossed by those true of spirit.” Morrigan walked along the line of travellers, eyeing each carefully. “You,” she snapped at one of the HebShian crewmen. “What is your name?”
“T … Tonald.”
“Your spirit is weak. You shall lead the first group. Take two of your comrades.”
Why? thought Jack. Why put someone you think is weak in front? Unless …
“We are about to break the seal and start on the bridge,” drawled Morrigan in an imperious voice. “And not all of us will see Tula. Crossing the bridge entails certain … expenses.”
She sounds just like her father. Jack’s mind flitted back to his first sight of Briannan at the midsummer festival.
“Right! In threes!”
The old man stood on one of the two boulders, and indicated for the first group to come along. Taking a sceptre from his belt, he waved it over Tonald and his two HebShian friends. Jack was astonished to see a bubble encase the three of them: a flexible, clear bubble that moved as they did.
It’s like … what’s that stuff you see in the High Street all the time? The humans wrap things in it … Plastic.
Papa Legba now reached into the bubble with a fistful of weeds. His arm passed into and out of the bubble without breaking it.
“They’ll replenish the air. You may be in there for a long time.”
Jack heard Morrigan giggle, and turned to see her sneer at Armina. The enchantress, for her part, seemed powerless.
“Keep coming!” barked the old man. “Quickly now! You need to get into these pustulas.”
Armina now stepped forward.
“This is foolishness! This girl cares for no one’s interests but her own!”
“But we have no choice,” urged Iain Dubh. “We must go this way.”
“I will have no part of it,” said Armina determinedly. “Let us return to the boats. Come, Jack!”
“Too late for that!” sneered Morrigan. “The gate above is closed; if you stay here, you will drown!”
There was an uncertain milling of bodies, as some pressed forward, and others joined Armina as she sought to find her way back. Morrigan’s warning, however, proved to be accurate: a gush of sea water from the chute changed the minds of those who had decided to retreat.
Jack shuffled forward, but in the gloom and confusion he found he had been separated from his father. Worse, he was next to Fenrig. Papa Legba grabbed the two of them and shoved them next to one of the HebShians. In an instant they were encased in the bubble, and within a minute all the other travellers had been enclosed in threes in the pustulas.
The pustula was clear; and he could breathe all right; but the inner surface was greasy, and it smelt rank. It reminded Jack of when he’d had to clean Murkle’s grimy stove. The HebShian clutched the weeds Papa Legba had thrust in.
“The pustulas will allow you to move and breathe on the bridge!” snapped Papa Legba. “You’ll walk for six hours, and rest for one. Speak little; conserve the air within. Now one of you must open the bridge. Whose blood will pay the price?”
Morrigan stepped out of her bubble, drew her sword, and thrust it through Papa Legba’s heart.
18
The Bridge of Impossibilities
As the old man’s body crumpled to the ground, Morrigan stepped forward and snatched his sceptre.
“Papa Legba is dead! I control the entrance to the bridge! Does anyone dare challenge me?”
Though in his pustula, Jack could hear perfectly what Morrigan was saying. And it chilled him to his bones.
She killed him! He’d helped us, and she just killed him!
Armina manoeuvred her pustula over to Jack’s, and said, “Keep a close watch. Remember the Mapa; and the ring. Be on your guard.”
Jack looked furtively at Fenrig. Was he really going to have to share this bubble with Morrigan’s brother?
“There’s no time to lose!” shouted Morrigan, revelling in her power. “Everyone up to the boulders now!”
When the nine bubbles were packed in close together, Morrigan pointed Papa Legba’s sceptre at the rock floor and shouted, “Brigadoom!”
There was a soundless explosion, and the rock floor gave way. Suddenly, Jack felt his pustula drop; then float down for several seconds in increasingly cold water until they came to rest on what looked like a bridge – an old rickety wooden bridge, with rope sides. An old rickety underwater wooden bridge. Startled fish swam away as the pustulas floated down.
Shivering, Jack peered ahead. He could still breathe – the pustula sealed him off from the water; but the bridge led into darkness. Every now and then there was a glow ahead to one side of the rope handrails.
Seeing that all nine pustulas had landed safely, Morrigan indicated the way forward, shouting to Tonald and his comrades to take the lead. Clearly nervous, Tonald advanced cautiously forward. The sea made a strange glooping noise as the pustulas proc
eeded.
Jack’s pustula was fourth in line. His father was just ahead of him, with Iain Dubh and Ishona; and Morrigan was in charge of the second pustula, with Fergus and Archie. Jack elbowed his way to the front of his pustula.
“Watch what you’re doing!” snarled Fenrig. “It’s foul enough in here without you shoving.”
“Your sister says we’ve got to go this way. Are you going to argue with her?”
Caught in a dilemma, Fenrig opted not to reply, but fell into step behind Jack. Though adult, Cal the HebShian seemed reluctant to take the lead.
Jack could see past the pustulas in front: it was almost pitch dark, but the line was moving.
“What are those glowing things up ahead?” he asked.
“Ye’ll see soon enough.”
It was the first time Cal had spoken. His voice was soft, like a gently flowing stream. And he was right: within half a minute they were approaching the first glowing object. With a lurching feeling in his stomach, Jack saw that it was a skull. A human skull, lit from inside.
Jack’s surprise was quickly followed by astonishment: he distinctly heard Morrigan cheer as she passed the skull, while Fenrig made retching noises behind him.
He’s not joking: he’s really feeling sick. And his sister’s loving this!
“They’re the drowned,” said Cal quietly. “There’s many that neffer reach their destination.”
“What’s your sister so happy about?” demanded Jack indignantly as they passed the skull.
Fenrig didn’t reply. He looked unhappily at the glowing skull, then averted his gaze.
“Bit tough, your sister, isn’t she?” Jack couldn’t help twisting the knife in Fenrig’s unhappiness.
Fenrig’s silence was broken by Cal.
“We’ve some time in here; let’s not argue.”
“Have you done this before, then?” demanded Jack.
“Thiss? Neffer!”
“Then how’d you know about it?”
“Tales are told up and down the length of these islands. I know off your fisit to Ireland.”
“But what d’you know about this bridge? Why’s it take so long to cross it?”
“Time iss different down here, they say. It’s ass long ass it needs to be. We must keep moving. And there are creatures who don’t like anyone using this pridge.”
“How can we get lost if the bridge is going to Tula?” Fenrig butted in.
“The pridge can go anywhere. Did you not think it strange that it happened to be chust where we were? The start and end can be anyplace – safe or dangerous: that’s why you need spirit. Your sister wass right apout that.”
“So why’d she send your mate in the first bubble then? She said he didn’t have it.”
In the gloom, Jack was almost sure he could hear Cal blush.
“Ass ye said; she’s tough. And she’s no fool.”
By the time they had walked for … how long? Let’s see, we were to walk for six hours and rest for one; we’ve done that a few times … oh, a long time, I guess.
Jack found his mind was surprisingly at ease, despite the intense cold. Cal was right: time felt different down here. He was well used to the swaying of the bridge, and the darkness around them.
It’s sort of trance-like: just keep plodding on. He hummed to himself, one of Arvin’s tunes. The glowing skulls didn’t bother him now. Every now and then one would be attached to part or even all of a skeleton. But after you’ve seen a few … well …
Jack was almost in a trance. The three of them had adopted a steady coordinated pace that meant they were close enough behind his father’s pustula, and far enough ahead of the three HebShian behind them that they weren’t in danger of getting their heels clipped.
Just keep plodding on … step-two-three-four … Just keep plodding on … step-two-three-four …
Jack’s mind began to wander. They’d been going for ages, but he wasn’t hungry, or even particularly tired. He’d got used to his satchel and sword as they swayed with his movements; it was all going swimmingly.
Jack laughed to himself. Swimmingly. Fish had got used to the nine pustulas proceeding along the bridge, and swam up close for a look every now and then. Some had even swum alongside for a while. Even in the gloom, Jack had learnt to tell different fish apart. Emerging from his daydream, Jack looked round.
No fish.
None?! It’s almost as if …
Without warning, a flash of navy light struck the bridge, and it swayed alarmingly. Jack was aware of dark shapes moving swiftly around the bridge, but their speed was so great that he had no idea what they were.
Then he saw the lead pustula pierced by three harpoons, and its inhabitants flailing madly as the seawater gushed in.
“Mer-attack!” Iain Dubh’s voice carried along the line.
Jack could see them now. Hideous mutants, there were too many of them to count, and they surrounded the pustulas which halted as one on the bridge.
“Close up!” shouted Iain Dubh, but the pustula inhabitants needed no encouragement.
“Don’t let them pierce the pustulas!” Morrigan’s voice now carried a hint of concern. “Use your sceptres!”
What sceptres? thought Jack, then looked on with relief as Cal drew an emerald-tipped sceptre from his cloak, and brandished it against the pustula’s inner wall. The emerald glowed, and the nearby merfolk seemed repulsed. The gruesome creatures waved harpoons mockingly, as if inviting the travellers out to fight.
Jack’s relief was temporary, however: the merfolk seemed to be multiplying in number, and Cal could only face one way at a time. The attackers quickly realised that the pustula was vulnerable to its rear, and they swarmed around, keeping Cal guessing. As their boldness grew, so they started to stab their harpoons at the bubble wall … Closer … Cal frantically tried to fend them off … Harpoon ends prodded the pustula wall, but didn’t break it.
That’s a relief.
Then a gush of seawater: one stab had got through.
“Prush the wall!” shouted Cal. “The grease will seal it ofer!”
Jack did as he was instructed, and was thankful to see the hole repair itself. But it was a losing battle. The harpoon thrusts were coming in from several different sides now.
We can’t fend this lot off for ever.
Jack was right. A determined harpoon plunge cut clean though the wall, stabbing Cal through his thigh. He fell, blood gushing from the wound.
“Fix the wall!” shouted Fenrig, handing Cal’s sceptre up to Jack.
The young Brashat dropped to his knees, and scrabbled in his satchel for a moment. Then, removing a strip of cloth, he wound it round Cal’s leg.
“Haemostat,” he said simply, as Jack frantically smeared the inside wall, while moving the sceptre round so that the merfolk were kept at bay.
“There’s too many of them!” shouted Jack. “We can’t keep them away for much longer!”
“Well, what are you supposed to be good at?” demanded Fenrig. “Do that!”
Jack’s mind raced. No time to use the Mapa Mundi now; we know our true path anyway. Tamlina’s ring’s no use, I’ve used my three goes on that.
True path. That’s to get the Kildashie out, before they bring a permanent winter; and to do that we must get the Raglan, and get to Novehowe. Marco said it was the right thing.
Then his mind cleared.
Gosol!
He didn’t even have to say the word, although it echoed in his head like a sharp cry. The stunned merfolk looked at one another, unsure what was happening.
But nothing was happening.
Then a blur, as a new shape appeared out of the gloom. Lots of shapes, in fact.
“It’s the selkies!” Fenrig’s voice almost broke with emotion. He looked down at Cal, who smiled weakly back.
The selkies now engaged in combat. Twice the size of the merfolk, they swam powerfully through the attacking force, snapping and biting, brushing aside the harpoons as if they were twigs. Though greate
r in number, the merfolk soon realised that they were no match for the selkies’ speed and strength, and they beat a hasty retreat.
As the mutant forms disappeared into the gloom, the selkies surrounded the pustulas, examining the inhabitants with interest. In various states of disarray, they were sealing the holes where harpoon thrusts had found their way through, and examining themselves and each other for injuries.
Finding he could stand, Cal got to his feet. The bandage around his thigh looked clean.
“Ye did a grand chob there,” he said to Fenrig. “I’d say ye were well taught.”
“They’re not hard to make,” replied Fenrig.
If Jack hadn’t known him better, he would have said Fenrig was blushing.
“Are you all right?” Phineas’ frantic voice came from the next pustula.
“We’re fine, Dad. The selkies came when I thought of Gosol. That’s amazing! Even underwater!”
“How many are lost?” Iain Dubh’s urgent call came from beside Phineas.
“Tonald iss gone,” said Cal sadly. “They were hit sefferal times – they neffer got a chance to use their sceptres.”
There was no sign of the lead pustula, which had slipped off the bridge and floated down to … wherever.
“And Murdo’s killed: a harpoon got his heart. There was no time to treat him.” Ossian spoke softly.
“I said there were dangers on the bridge!” snapped Morrigan. “Get rid of Murdo’s body; it’ll only slow you down.”
“You mean we can’t even bury him?”
“Don’t be stupid. How can you move the pustula with a dead body in it?”
“Ask the selkies.” Fenrig spoke calmly.
Indeed, the selkies were watching this debrief with fascination. One swam up to Fenrig, and stared at him. Fenrig and Jack stared back in astonishment as the selkie leant forward to show her left shoulder.
“She’s been shot!” shouted Fenrig. “It’s the one we treated back on Soabost!”
The creature inclined her head.
“Can you take our friend?” asked Fenrig. “We don’t want to tip him over the side of the bridge for the fish to eat.”
Two selkies swam to the last pustula, and waited while Ossian and Kedge pushed Murdo’s body through the wall. Cradling the body between them, the two selkies swam away into the darkness.
