I move forward. Conor grabs me back. “Saph! They’ll see you.”
“Wait!” says Faro.
“But I have to go. The conch is calling me.”
Conor lets go of me. Faro says, “They say there is no music like the conch when it calls you down to the Speaking Stone. Go, Sapphire.”
I slip out of our hiding place and swim along the wall until I’m well away from the niche. I don’t want Ervys and his supporters to see where I’ve come from. I draw up my knees and brace my feet against the wall of rock. With all the force in my body I thrust off, diving down and down until I reach the place above the Speaking Stone.
There is uproar even before I reach it. Ervys and his supporters have seen me and recognised me. They are baying for my blood. The Mer are standing up from their seats, some of them shouting, some of them clapping in welcome. I glance over my shoulder. A supporter is talking rapidly into Ervys’s ear. Any moment now they will come over and seize me and everything will dissolve in chaos. Saldowr has turned to me. He is watching me calmly, with a faint smile on his face. In his eyes I read a message: Go on, my child.
I jackknife into a dive. Water streams past me, voices blare in my ears and then everything fades as I come to the stone. It glows with calm radiance. Its heart flashes crimson as the wave of my dive throws green reflections over it. I take a last stroke, and touch the stone.
Nothing happens. No tingle or sudden feeling of warmth in my fingers. It is stone, smooth and hard and unyielding. I touch it, and that is all. But for the first time I understand the purpose of the stone. It doesn’t speak, or give any secret messages. That would be cheap magic, and what it really does is even more powerful. The Speaking Stone allows us to speak for ourselves. It reveals our own purposes to us, however deep they are locked in our hearts.
I will make the Crossing of Ingo, I say, but not aloud.
The stone does not answer. I turn and swim up to where the Mer wait. Ervys’s supporters are slamming their fists into their palms. The water churns with anger. I hear Ervys yell above the tumult: “Are we going to let a human creature take part in the most sacred mystery of our race? Are the Mer so degenerate?”
I am not going to say anything. I scull myself into position directly above the Speaking Stone and face the Mer. I look around the whole circle of faces, as Elvira did. To my right, to my left, ahead and behind. Let them dare to call me a half-and-half now. Let them dare deny what the Speaking Stone has recognised. I know what is written on my face. I know that I will make the Crossing.
Ervys knows too. Out of the corner of my eye I see him struggling against the protection with which Saldowr is shielding everyone who comes forward to be chosen. Saldowr has turned back to face Ervys. From the tension of his body and his upraised arm I can see how hard he is fighting to keep Ervys from me.
I push back my hair. Let the Mer answer me now. I look up at the top rank where my father sits, and find him. He is leaning forward, his eyes fixed on me. He gives no sign of recognition. His face is heavy with anguish.
The voices roll through the water towards me as if they are one voice: “Chosen … chosen … chosen …”
I keep my eyes fixed on Dad’s face. Not a muscle moves. His lips do not open. He says nothing.
Chosen … say the water echoes. Chosen … chosen … But not by my own father. I look away from him. I will not let my eyes return to his face. I let the voices of the other Mer sink into my heart. Chosen … chosen … chosen …
It is done, and Dad can’t undo it. The Mer have chosen me. Let Ervys fight as hard as he likes. Even if he kills me he will never be able to take away this moment.
CHAPTER NINE
I want to wait for the others, but I must swim away and join the stream of young Mer who have already presented themselves as candidates and been chosen, or not chosen. How terrible not to be chosen: to learn that the Crossing does not lie in your heart. But the stone can only reveal what’s already true.
We pass through the entrance easily. It is much wider than it looked from our niche, and Ervys’s followers are massed at one side where the candidates enter. I’m afraid they’ll try and block my way, but they don’t even glance at me.
It seemed to take so long to dive to the stone and to come up and wait to hear the verdict, but it can only have been seconds. There’s Elvira, swimming ahead of me. Even though my time in front of the stone was short, I realise that we have been in our hiding place much longer than I thought. Moonlight has gone, and grey dawn is seeping down through the water.
“Elvira!” I call softly. I still don’t want to attract attention to myself. She looks over her shoulder, beckons me on, and keeps swimming upwards. When we are some way from the chamber’s entrance, she slows and waits for me. Around us, all the young Mer who have already been into the chamber are dispersing. Others are still streaming towards the entrance. I wonder how long the choosing goes on. It all seems a lot less organised than I’d expected. Well, what did I expect? Maybe that it would be a bit like the beginning of a marathon, with a starting line and numbers being handed out, and officials walking up and down looking at clipboards and stopwatches, and people swinging their arms and jogging on the spot to warm up …
You idiot, Sapphire Trewhella. Jogging. On their tails perhaps?
“Sapphire!” Elvira’s beautiful face is lit up by her smile. “You were chosen. I knew you would be.”
Somehow it is faintly irritating to have it taken for granted. I shrug. “The others should be along in a minute,” I say.
But now it’s Elvira who seems anxious. “Did they come forward? I saw nothing. I am a bit afraid, Sapphire. Not so much for Conor, but for Faro.”
“Faro? Why for Faro?” How can she think Faro might be refused? He is far more Mer than I am. No one could be braver or more ready to risk adventure than Faro. He has already visited the Deep, which no Mer had ever done before. He is Saldowr’s scolhyk and his holyer.
Even as I pile up the reasons in my mind some of Elvira’s uncertainty starts to infect me. She is twisting the fringe of her bodice nervously as she stares down at the wide entrance to the chamber. “I wish they’d hurry,” she whispers.
“Do you think Conor will be all right?”
She considers. “Yes. It is the two of you whom Saldowr most needs to complete the Crossing of Ingo.”
“We are making the Crossing for ourselves, like all the other young Mer.”
Elvira looks surprised. “Oh no, Sapphire, it’s not like that. You’ll understand – but look! There’s Conor! Quick, Sapphire, he hasn’t seen us!” She plunges down towards him, waving. I swim after her, but not too fast. Let them have time for their reunion, I think sourly. Now that she’s succeeded in panicking me about Faro, Elvira seems to have forgotten all about him in her joy at seeing Conor again.
When I reach them Conor is smiling too, but there’s tension in his face. “I don’t know what’s happening with Faro,” he says. “I’m afraid they’ve spotted our hiding place. Even though you and I swam along the wall a way, they must have seen the direction we came from. Ervys has only got to send some men around the outside of the chamber. They’d find the gap soon enough.”
“They’d be too big to get through.”
“There are plenty of young Mer among his followers.”
“I can feel Faro in my mind,” says Elvira slowly. “He is like this.” She spreads out her hands, fingers rigid. “He is waiting. Oh no, Conor! He has closed his thoughts! Even to me he has closed them!”
“Why?” I ask.
“Someone else may be trying to invade them.” More and more young Mer emerge from the chamber and swim away.
“Conor,” I ask very quietly so that Elvira won’t hear, “did you see Dad?”
“Yes,” says Conor in a voice that’s like the closing of a door. But I’ve got to persist.
“Did he – did you see his face when they were choosing?”
“He didn’t speak for me. He kept quiet.” The bittern
ess and contempt in Conor’s voice makes me wince.
“Nor for me.”
Conor says a word I’ve never heard him use about anyone. “Conor, don’t!”
“Why not? It’s what he deserves. I keep giving him another chance, and another and another, and so do you. We’ve made enough excuses for him. You keep hoping against all the odds that he’s going to come home to us. It’s never going to happen. He doesn’t want to be free to choose. We’re pathetic, Saph, and I’m not going to do this any more. I’m going to close my mind to him, like we closed our minds to Ervys.”
“I can’t do that to Dad.”
“So you’d rather keep on hoping for things which are never going to happen?”
I don’t know what to answer. Sorrow for Conor, anger with my father and fear for Faro load down my mind. I watch the young Mer coming out of the chamber. Some of them have that familiar look of sureness and calm purpose. Others are blank. One boy passes close to us without even seeing us. I understand why when I see the numb disappointment on his face. He’s come all this way, and not been chosen. He’s got to go back home and face everyone’s pity. What if Faro comes out with that look on his face? It would be unbearable.
That’s what Dad chose for us: rejection. Maybe he thought it didn’t matter so much because we weren’t Mer. A bitter taste fills my mouth. No. I mustn’t think of Dad. I must close my mind against him, as Conor said.
“There he is,” says Elvira. There’s no relief in her voice, only tight fear. As Faro swims towards us I see why. Faro’s mouth is set in a line. He is moving slowly and there is no sign of joy.
“Faro!” I had never even thought of making the Crossing without him. Now I touch the depths of disappointment. If Faro isn’t with us, the journey will be as grey as this dawn light.
No one wants to question Faro. His grim face forbids it. At last Elvira touches his arm gently. “My brother,” she murmurs, as if he’s been in a terrible accident. Faro clears his throat and gives us a defiant smile that does not reach his eyes.
“Don’t be afraid. I have been chosen.”
“Then what …?” asks Conor.
“I had to dive to the stone twice,” goes on Faro in a harsh, level voice that makes him sound much older suddenly. “You can imagine what pleasure that gave to Ervys’s men.”
“But no one ever dives twice,” blurts out Elvira, completely forgetting her usual tact.
“Exactly,” says Faro. “But I had to do so.”
“Well, we’re here now, all four of us. That’s all that matters,” I say quickly, willing the others to stop asking questions. Faro’s face softens.
“You are right, little sister. But since you haven’t asked me, I will tell you anyway. There should be no secrets between us. I heard the Call. You know how it is.” We nod in agreement.
“I dived down and then suddenly I knew that everything was wrong. This was not my time. I rose immediately.” He swallows. The agony of that moment is clear in his face.
“Ervys’s men shoved forward. They were baying with triumph and even Saldowr could hardly hold them. You should have seen their faces. There were plenty of Mer in the ranks who also rejoiced. I was afraid – not of them,” and Faro throws out a hand dismissively, as if Ervys and all his spears are nothing “but of the hatred that was in them. And then I knew that the hatred was not outside me, but inside me too.
“Saldowr looked at me over his shoulder for a second – he could not look longer, because it took all his power to restrain Ervys’s followers from rushing forward and taking control of the water above the stone. That was exactly what they were looking for: a chance to control it. And in Saldowr’s face I saw that I had almost given it to them. When I dived, my mind was not clear. I was thinking of Ervys, not of the Call, not of the Crossing. I had done what my enemies wanted. My heart was full of hatred and the stone could not see my choice.”
“And so you dived again.”
“I dived again, and this time it was right. I was chosen. Even those who were howling for my blood could not deny the truth when I faced them after the second dive.”
“You are so brave, Faro,” I say.
“So brave! So stupid. I fell into their trap. I risked all our chances. You could not have made the Crossing without me.”
“We’d have tried,” says Conor.
“Of course I know that. But you would have left your bones in the oceans of the south, my friend.”
“You were so brave, Faro.” I tell him, “I’d never have had the courage to dive a second time.”
“Well, we are here, as you said, little sister. The four of us. Nothing stands in our way. Let’s go!”
“Go?” What, now? I want to say. Without any preparation? Don’t we have to gather supplies, bring medicines for healing, food? You can’t just set out across the world saying “Let’s go!” – Conor and I in our old cut-offs, Elvira in her little bodice – although now I look at her more closely I see she has a bag attached to her belt, which is about half the size of my hand. Well, that’s fine then. A bag the size of my purse at home must be big enough to hold everything we need for the longest and most dangerous journey we’re ever likely to make.
“What’s wrong, Saph?” asks Conor.
“Oh, nothing.”
“You have a very expressive face, little sister,” says Faro with a trace of his usual teasing.
“I was just wondering – aren’t there things we need to bring?”
Faro laughs. “You humans! When you cross the world you take a ship loaded down with food and water and metal and weapons. You take a cow to give you milk to drink and sheep to slaughter.”
“I’m sure we don’t take sheep, Faro.”
“Our ancestors tell us that you do. But we Mer are different.” Conor and I exchange glances. How often have we heard this? “Whatever food we need, we will find on our way. No cows will be necessary. Come, little sister, we have wasted enough time. Let’s go!”
“But which way are we going?” Faro is already swimming away.
“South, of course,” he cries. “What other way could there be?”
“It’ll be the route the Mer have always taken since time began,” Conor murmurs. “They’ve not much desire for innovation, have they?”
South. I summon up my school atlas and its double-page spread showing the map of the world. How strange: usually the human world grows dim in my mind once Ingo surrounds me. But I can see the atlas almost as clearly as if it were in front of me. The flat map is no good. I need a globe. Dad’s globe. The faded blue of the oceans, the brown of the land.
South, past the Scillies, bearing east across the Bay of Biscay and down the coast of Spain. Out into the Atlantic, where Africa bulges into the ocean as if it wants to join up with South America again. On and on until we reach the Cape, then eastwards again through the vast Indian Ocean which stretches all the way to Australia. That must be the way that the Mer go to cross Ingo, never touching the land. I say nothing aloud. Faro is always so scornful when I use human words for the oceans. He must know the way.
At that moment I feel a presence knocking at the door of my mind – insistent, urgent – asking me if I will let him in. I’ve shared thoughts with Faro for so long now that it doesn’t feel strange, but this is different. A mind far more powerful than anything I’ve ever imagined is trying to communicate with me.
Saldowr.
Yes. I must speak to you but I cannot leave the chamber. There are many young ones who need my protection. Don’t be afraid.
I sense Saldowr’s huge mental power, but he’s holding back so as not to overwhelm me.
You have been chosen. Faro and Elvira have told you how important it is to Ingo. You carry something within you that is stronger than the divisions between our two worlds. Mer and human can become one, reconciled. The wounds that tear the Mer can be healed. The Crossing will make you wholly Mer, but your human blood will not weaken. There will be many dangers, and not where you expect them. I cannot p
redict them for you. Be strong …
My mind floods with Saldowr’s warmth and encouragement, and then as suddenly as he came, he’s gone. I grasp for his thoughts and find nothing.
“Conor.”
Conor’s staring at me, looking as shaken as I feel. “It was Saldowr.”
“I know.”
“Many dangers …” quotes Conor wryly. “I suppose it’s too late to convince you that you ought to go home, Saph.”
“Definitely.”
We swim on, following Faro and Elvira. The pace of our strokes is steady. We have a long journey ahead of us, and we need stamina, not speed. Faro will find the currents for us. Maybe they’ll bring us to the Great Current that he told me about long ago. The currents will sweep us almost to the bottom of the world …
We’ve got into a weak current which doubles our swimming speed while barely disturbing the clarity of the water. Faro glances back over his shoulder from time to time to check that we are within sight of one another. This is how it will be for thousands of miles, I think dreamily. Sometimes Faro and Elvira leading, sometimes Faro and me, or Conor and Elvira, or Conor and me …
The dawn light has changed to blue-green. The sun must be shining up in the Air, lighting up the human world. Its light filters richly through Ingo. We are swimming about thirty metres below the surface, and the sea bed has already fallen far away below us. The water beneath us shades from purple to black. I think of the Deep, then pull my mind away. I wish I could have seen the whale before we left. Maybe she would have given me a message for her daughter who lives at the bottom of the world. I’m determined to find the whale’s daughter. The whale has done so much for me; I want to do something in return.
A shoal of mackerel shimmers around us, parting to make way and then closing up behind us. Faro and Elvira, up ahead, vanish in a cloud of black and green and blue and silver. The mackerel flicker past us, almost touching our skin, but not quite. They are friendly, inquisitive and unafraid.
The Crossing of Ingo Page 9
