I am longing to see Saldowr. We keep a few metres below to the surface in the moonwater until the moment when we have to dive to reach the chamber. Shadowy figures stream past on both sides now. It looks as if the whole of Ingo is gathering. I thought Faro would take us to join the current of young Mer, but he doesn’t.
“We are not going to use that entrance,” he whispers. My heart plummets. Just as I thought we’d missed the tunnel, we’re going to have to go into it.
“But, Faro, we can’t go back now!”
“I don’t mean the tunnel, little sister. Follow me.”
I remember how the main entrance to the chamber lay directly above the Speaking Stone, high in the rocky roof. Faro swims sideways, through the dark water. He can see better than I can. I follow closely, with Conor at my side. Now we can’t see any other Mer.
Faro slows, and swims along the face of the rock, testing it with his right hand, patting, feeling. He goes a little farther and then stops. “It’s here.”
I can’t see anything. The rock looks solid.
“Conor, give me your hand,” says Faro. He guides Conor’s arm. Suddenly Conor’s hand slides behind the rock. He pulls it out quickly.
“You try, Sapphire.”
The rock looks solid but there’s a space behind it about as wide as my two hands held finger-tip to finger-tip.
“Saldowr told me about the gap. None of the Mer know of it.”
“Can we get through?” Conor asks.
“He says so. We’ll have to squeeze in sideways. If we can get our heads and shoulders through, then our tails will be no problem.” It’s the first time Faro has ever forgotten that we are not Mer.
Faro turns and peers at us through the gloom. “Conor, you go first. You’ll have to feel your way. And then you, Sapphire. I’ll keep watch. Once you are through, you’ll find that you are on a ledge above the Assembly chamber, hidden by a veil of rock.”
“How far do we have to go?” asks Conor.
“It’s only a short way.”
“Can I go first?” I ask.
“Let me. It might be dangerous,” says Conor.
“No, Con!”
They move aside for me. I feel my way into the space. It is very dark and very narrow. I turn so that my shoulders are at the narrowest possible angle and push myself forward, head first. My head scrapes rock. I must have got the angle wrong. I try again, moving parallel to the rock, and this time it seems to open up for me. I edge sideways with my hands flat against the rock. It’s very tight. If it’s tight for me, it’ll be even worse for Conor. And then I see space ahead of me, and light – a greenish glow. Sea worms, thousands upon thousands of them, lighting the chamber.
There is the veil of rock, as Faro said. I can hear the vast murmur from the Mer crowds. The ledge is broad enough for three of us. I press my face against the dark passage from which I’ve just emerged, and whisper: “I’m through!”
I count until Conor comes to stop myself thinking of him wedged there, unable to move backwards or forwards. Thirty-one – thirty-two … It’s half a minute already. Surely it didn’t take me that long? Thirty-eight – thirty-nine …
Conor emerges. I can’t see his face properly but I can hear the relief in his voice as he says, “That was a bit tight.”
“Did you get stuck?”
“Just my head for a few seconds.”
“Will Faro be OK?”
“He’s coming now.”
In a moment we are all reunited, pressed close together so that the rock veil hides us. I don’t suppose anyone will look up, but we’ve got to be careful. Conor swims a quarter stroke forward, and sculls himself into a place where he can peer around the edge of the rock. “I can see them!” His voice vibrates with excitement. “They’re coming in past Ervys’s men!”
“Let me look.” I join him.
Faro swims above me so that we can both see. The huge chamber is alive with people. I scan the crowds, trying to pick out Dad’s face. Rows of Mer are seated below us in ranks that rise way up the sides of the chamber. I scan up and down the ranks and then across. I think I see him behind a pillar, and then the figure moves and it’s not him.
“Conor,” I whisper, “can you see Dad?”
“Shut up, Sapphire, I’m looking …” Conor sounds edgy. He’s been as sure as me that Dad would be here. I’ll search for Mellina too. If she’s there, Dad will be close. But there aren’t any babies or small children here. She wouldn’t leave Mordowrgi behind.
“There!” says Conor suddenly, pointing.
“Pull your hand back!” Faro whispers urgently.
I’ve already seen where Conor’s pointing. All the other faces vanish into a blur, and one face shows up as if a spotlight is on it. Dad is high up in the top rank. He’s looking intently towards the chamber entrance. He looks different. Older. His face is drawn. But that’s natural; he’s been injured, I tell myself quickly. You wouldn’t expect him to look the same. His hair flows around his shoulders like the hair of the other Mer. It has grown very long. His chest is bare. Like Faro’s, his upper body melts into a strong seal tail. I can look at nothing and no one else. My father, so close that if I called he would hear me.
The two times that I’ve seen him in the flesh since he disappeared, he has been alone. When he rose out of the pool I didn’t even see his Mer body. I couldn’t bear to. It seemed too monstrous. When he swam in to warn me on the night the Tide Knot broke, he was a distant figure in a wild stormy sea. I saw his face and heard his voice, but no more.
I knew that Dad had become Mer. I even saw his Mer body in Saldowr’s mirror, but I still refused to accept it. It seemed like a nightmare that had swept over us all. I believed that one day we would wake up from it, and Dad would return to himself.
Now that belief fades until I can’t feel it any more. Dad isn’t alone. He isn’t a stranger here. He belongs. He is seated in the ranks of the Mer, as if that’s his rightful place. He looks at home in this Assembly. Another Mer man leans over to speak to him. They confer for a few moments. It’s clear that they know each other well. Dad has a life apart from us of which we know nothing. When I held my baby half-brother Mordowrgi in my arms, I thought I understood that. But it’s only in this moment, when I see Dad turn casually to a friend in the Mer Assembly chamber, that I realise fully what he has become.
I thought everything would be all right, as long as Dad was given his free choice, but I was wrong. A wave of bitterness washes through me, tasting of defeat.
Conor is watching Dad too. We glance quickly at each other, but say nothing. We are probably having the same thoughts.
I feel very tired, as if I’ve run a long, long race and at the finish there is no tape, just an endless track going on into endless distance.
I can’t look at Dad any more. I must hold on to what we came for: the Crossing. Deliberately I focus on the Speaking Stone, set into the floor of the chamber. I will block Dad out of my mind.
The stone flashes opal in the reflected light from the thousands of sea worms that cling in clusters to the rock face. The chamber is like a vast theatre, humming with excitement and expectancy.
Our hiding place is high up, just below the main entrance and looking directly across at it. Ervys’s men are there, clustered around the entrance. They are not blocking the way exactly, but they float in ranks on either side of it. Some of the young Mer pause and shrink back as they enter the chamber and see what’s waiting for them. I am not surprised. These are full-grown Mer, powerful and full of menace. It must take a lot of courage to swim forward if you don’t follow Ervys.
I recognise some of them – Talek – Mortarow … And there, closest of all to the entrance, still and brooding, is Ervys himself. A shiver of dread runs through me. He looks as if nothing could prevent him from being here, where he wants to be, or doing what he wants to do. Why are so many of the Mer still following him? They know he couldn’t save them from the Kraken.
“The Mer hate the fact that it
took humans to save them from the Kraken,” Faro whispers in my ear. “Ervys gives them their pride back.”
“But going to the Deep had nothing to do with pride! We didn’t do it because of Ervys. It was because we didn’t want the children to be … hurt.” I mean “killed” but I don’t want to say it.
“Everything is to do with pride where Ervys is concerned,” says Faro.
I remember what it was like to confront Ervys last time I was in this chamber. When you’re close to him, you see just how strong he is. His arms rippled with muscle; his tail lashed from side to side, like a tiger’s before a kill. One blow from that tail could have killed me. But most frightening of all was the way his eyes measured me so coldly. I was a thing that had got in his way, not a person.
As I watch him, Ervys puts his hand on the shoulder of the man next to him. He turns. Ervys says something and smiles, showing his teeth. A jostling ripple spreads through his followers. There are so many of them now …
“Hagerawl,” murmurs Faro, “Morteweth, Gwandrys …”
“Why are there no Mer women? Doesn’t Ervys want them as followers?” asks Conor.
“Ervys thinks that only men should fight for him. Women can heal and feed and tend the children.”
“So why do any women support him if that’s what he thinks of them?” I ask.
“Those who like being slaves support him,” answers Faro.
I watch the incoming stream of young Mer swimming past Ervys and his threatening supporters. I can’t see any weapons, but perhaps they have them hidden. Spears tipped with razor-sharp coral, or with metal taken from shipwrecks. I shudder, thinking of the gash in Faro’s tail.
But there’s another figure floating between the Speaking Stone and Ervys. He is facing away from us, towards the entrance. His long cloak flows around his body, hiding it, but I would know him anywhere. He is upright, his head flung back commandingly as he faces Ervys’s followers. His right arm is outstretched, his hand held up like a barrier. It’s Saldowr. His eyes are fixed on Ervys’s followers, watching every move they make. They would like to surge forwards from the entrance and block the way to the Speaking Stone, but they don’t.
Saldowr stands alone. Alone, by force of will rather than by weapons, he’s holding back Ervys so that all the young Mer can reach the Speaking Stone.
“Only the Call knows who is chosen,” whispers Faro angrily as if he’s quoting something.
“I thought that the Mer chose, in the Assembly,” says Conor.
“They give the sign of agreement, but the decision is already made, and not by them. It is there in the face of the boy or girl as they swim up from the Speaking Stone.”
Suddenly one of the Mer around Ervys swaggers forward. Deliberately, he looks across at Saldowr as his broad, squat body blocks the way of a Mer boy. The boy stops swimming. Even from here we can all see his fear and confusion. Angry uproar rises from the Mer benches. Some rise in protest, others jeer and beat the heels of their hands together.
Saldowr’s voice cracks out. “Let him pass to the stone.”
Ervys’s follower holds his ground, glancing around for support. No one else comes forward.
“Let him pass to the stone.” Saldowr’s voice is quieter now, but more penetrating. It makes me afraid, even though I’m not Saldowr’s target. Ervys’s follower turns and we see his face. He opens his mouth, and then closes it again. He looks for backing from the ranks around Ervys, but no one stirs. Sullenly, he swims back to his fellows at the entrance.
“Ervys will choose his fight,” comments Faro.
“What do you mean?” I ask.
“That boy wasn’t important enough. Ervys is waiting for something more.
For us, maybe. Perhaps he knows by now that we broke out of his Porth Cas. The gulls could have brought word to a follower close to the surface. Ervys will guess that we’ll come straight here.
The boy swims until he is above the Speaking Stone, then quickly and neatly he dives down in the sheer dive that no human can ever equal, touches the stone, and comes up to face the Mer. Immediately, without looking at one another, the Mer respond. A single word ripples around the chamber.
“Chosen … chosen … chosen … chosen …”
But not all the Mer speak. Many remain silent, arms folded, resisting. Ervys has his supporters on the benches too.
“This breaks our custom,” whispers Faro angrily. “We speak together or keep silent.”
I wonder who will speak for us. Even the Mer who support Saldowr may keep silent when we swim up from the stone. Half-and-halfs, Ervys calls us. We pollute Ingo with our human blood. How many of these Mer believe that? My stomach knots with tension. Before long, we’ll find out.
The boy has already gone. A girl approaches the stone, and then another. Each has their moment, but that moment passes so quickly that the line of waiting Mer never stops moving. But even so, I think, it would take weeks for all the young Mer to come to the stone. Surely every single Mer in our age group can’t make the same journey to the same chamber? How big is Ingo, anyway? Does its power stretch all the way around the world?
“Faro, are there other Assembly chambers?”
Faro looks at me for a long silent moment. At last he asks, “What do you mean?”
“I mean, surely all the Mer in the whole of Ingo can’t come here, into one chamber. The oceans are huge. There must be too many Mer, even in our age group. How big is Ingo?”
“You must speak to Saldowr,” he says haughtily. “Ingo is as it is.”
I almost smile, but stop myself. Conor nudges me.
“I only meant, does Ingo cover the whole world?”
“Of course it does. What else could there be? But perhaps there are other Assembly chambers,” he concedes.
The young Mer are still coming in a stream that appears endless. Saldowr’s cloak billows in the current that they make as they pass him. There is only one of him. I believe in Saldowr, of course I do, but—
“There are many of Ervys’s followers,” says Faro as if he has heard my thoughts.
“What?”
“Among those coming to the stone. Watch carefully as they pass Ervys.”
The next two candidates must be Saldowr’s followers because they make no sign as they pass Ervys. But then a girl in a bodice of dark-red woven weed enters the chamber. She looks to her left, where Ervys stands behind his men. Quickly she raises her left hand to her forehead and touches it with the knuckle of her index finger. Nothing more. Her hand drops and she swims forward. The gesture is so fleeting that I’d have missed it if Faro hadn’t told me to look out for a sign. She dives to touch the Stone, comes up to face the Mer and is greeted with the familiar word: “Chosen…. chosen …”
“Elvira will come soon,” says Faro.
“How do you know?”
“She is in my thoughts. She wants to be with us but I have told her we are hidden. She will be chosen, and then she will wait for us outside the Assembly chamber.”
He sounds so confident.
“How can you be sure that Elvira will be chosen?” asks Conor. “There seem to be a lot of Ervys’s people. Won’t they stop her? They know she’s with us.”
“The blood of our ancestors runs differently in Elvira’s veins. Saldowr has spoken of it to me. She is pure Mer. Ervys still hopes to win her trust.”
Faro looks so proud, and so lonely. I hate it. I take his hand so that our deubleks touch, and for a second his expression lightens. “If Elvira is not chosen,” he continues, “then the Mer are liars and there will be no true Crossing.”
We wait, tense. The next girl is not Elvira, nor the next. Neither of them makes any sign to Ervys, but the two boys who follow both make the brief touch of knuckle to forehead. Faro’s fingers clutch my arm, digging in deep. I stifle a cry.
“Faro, what is it?”
“It is Bannerys. My friend.”
I know so little about Faro’s life. I should have realised that he would have many fr
iends among the Mer of our age who are coming as candidates for the Crossing.
“He came with me to hunt the orca,” says Faro, his face pale as he watches Bannerys dive to the stone. “He was my brother then – when the orca forgot that we Mer are not seals to be taken for his food.” His grip on my arm loosens. Hard anger sets on his face. “Let Bannerys learn what it means to follow Ervys,” he murmurs.
“Perhaps he doesn’t realise what Ervys is like, Faro …”
“Could you look at Ervys and not know what he is like?”
Bannerys has already risen to face the Mer. They choose him and he swims away. Faro remains rigid, fists clenched, until Bannerys has left the chamber.
“Con, what’s an orca?” I whisper.
“A killer whale.”
I look at Faro with respect. “Elvira is coming now,” he says.
Conor pushes forward. And there is Elvira, slight, poised and lovely as ever. She swims gracefully through the entrance, looking neither to right nor left. I notice a stir among Ervys’s men, but no one tries to stop her. In one fluid movement, she dives for the stone. When she comes up level with the ranks of Mer again, she looks around the chamber slowly, as if to take in how many are there. For a moment we see her face, which is calm and sure.
There is a pause, and then the voices come: “Chosen … chosen … chosen …”
Faro relaxes. A smile of pride lightens his face. I’m leaning forward to say how good it is that Elvira’s been chosen when everything that has just happened falls away from my mind. The Call sounds for me. I know it is for me because somewhere in its music I hear my name. The Call reverberates through the chamber, filling it just as the water fills it with salt. It must be an echo. No one is blowing the conch now. But it can’t be an echo because it’s much too real and clear. Enchanting images rise in my mind: a vast ocean, so blue that it is almost black; fish like rainbows, blue whales, schools of porpoises; no land within a thousand miles, only water …
The Crossing of Ingo Page 8
