The Deep (8 page)

“So tell me,” says Conor.

“Tell you what?”

“Everything you haven’t told me. What really happened when you were in Ingo?”

And so I tell him. It’s easier to talk when we’re side by side, walking in the dark. For a long while after I’ve finished, Conor is silent. We walk onto a patch of waste ground and wait while Sadie does her business. When she’s finished, we walk on again. Sadie doesn’t care how far we go; she’s delighted to be out, and she keeps glancing up at me as if to say,
Good, you’re showing sense for once and not dragging me home after twenty minutes. Maybe I’m getting you trained at last.

Conor doesn’t suggest going back to Rainbow and Patrick’s yet, and neither do I. We keep walking, through the dark, quiet town. St. Pirans feels as empty as the drowned village Faro once showed me. At last Conor sighs deeply, as if he’s come to a decision, and then he says, “You’re not going to do this alone, Saph.”

“But I’ve got to. I’m the only one who can go into the Deep.”

“We don’t know that for sure.”

“Faro got hurt just trying. The current threw the two of you aside.”

Sadie’s walking close now, rubbing against my legs as if the night is suddenly too big for her. She knows when we talk about Ingo, and she doesn’t like it. I reach down and pat the back of her neck.

“I’m going to see Saldowr,” says Conor. “If there’s a reason you can enter the Deep and I can’t, then I want to hear it from him. Even if there’s a real reason, we still might be able to find a way. You know what the Mer are like, Saph. They think everything’s fixed and it can’t change. They’re so…so rigid. You went into the Deep; therefore you’re the only one who can ever go into the Deep. They need you, and so you’ve got to do what they want. Why should they care what happens to you as long as they get what they want?”

“They do care about me, Conor! Faro does.”

“Maybe. But you’ve got to remember, Saph, Faro’s not human. He’s not a boy with a tail. He’s Mer. And we still don’t really understand what being Mer means.”

“We should.”

“You mean because of our Mer blood? All right, I’m not arguing with that: We’ve got Mer blood. But what does that mean? Think about it, Saph. We were born human. Mum hasn’t got a drop of Mer blood in her; anyone can tell that. It comes through Dad from our ancestors, and that’s way back. We’ve lived in the human world all our lives.
It’s like someone whose great-great-grandfather came from Russia to Britain about a hundred years ago. Okay, their descendants have got Russian blood, but they probably wouldn’t speak a word of Russian, and they’d be lost if they ever went to Russia.”

“We’ve been to Ingo.”

“Yes, but this is our home.”

I’m not going to quarrel with Conor. Deep down I’m sure he knows that what he says is only half the truth. If we’re so human, how come our father has chosen Ingo and become one of the Mer? Conor can argue logically, but the pull of Ingo overpowers logic.

“But Saldowr’s easy to talk to,” Conor goes on thoughtfully. “And he really listens too. You know how some people only listen because they want to hear what they already know? Saldowr’s not like that.”

“Mmm…”

“
You’re
not listening, are you, Saph?”

“I am! You were talking about Russia and Saldowr and—”

But what matters to me is what Conor said at the beginning.
You’re not going to do this alone, Saph.
Is it really possible? If Conor could come with me, everything would be different.

Conor’s going to talk to Saldowr. Maybe they’ll agree that I can’t make that terrifying journey to the Deep alone. Whatever happens, I’ll have Saldowr’s wisdom and Conor’s
courage and loyalty on my side. I know I should be strong, but it’s so much harder than you think when you’re reading about someone else’s dangers and adventures. I want desperately to believe that Conor can come with me.

“I think that’s why Elvira gave me the talisman,” says Conor unexpectedly.

Elvira gave you that talisman because she likes you. Haven’t you worked that out yet?
I want to say, but Conor goes on: “A talisman is for protection. People used to give them to soldiers going into war. Why would I need protection unless I was going into danger?”

I
’
M SITTING ON THE DOORSTEP
with a mug of tea. The sun hasn’t come round yet, but I’ve got Sadie to keep me warm. Everyone else is still asleep.

I didn’t sleep well, and I woke early. My head is still crowded with dreams about the Kraken. In the dreams I was swimming down, down, down through the waters of Ingo. I couldn’t see the Kraken, but all the time I knew he was there like a huge shadow, waiting for me. The water grew cold and dark, and I was alone, still swimming down, down into the jaws of the Kraken—

I woke up with a jerk. My heart was pounding. I thought I could hear a roaring sound, like the noise of a bull. But it was the sea. I was in Rainbow and Patrick’s cottage; that was why the sea was so loud. After that I
didn’t want to go back to sleep again.

I’m still cold. Sadie knows it, and she pushes closer until her head is on my knees, warm and heavy.

“It was just a dream, wasn’t it, Sadie?”

Sadie lifts her head and considers me intelligently.
You want me to tell you the truth?

“Yes, Sadie, tell me what you think.”

Sadie whines, deep in her throat. The short hairs on the back of her neck rise, as if she’s seen inside my dream and seen the Kraken lurking there, waiting to get me.

“No, you don’t like it, do you, girl? You’d bite that nasty old Kraken if you saw him, wouldn’t you?”

Suddenly I get a picture of Sadie diving down with furious devotion, seizing a shadowy corner of the Kraken with her teeth, and looking at me for approval. I can’t help laughing. Sadie looks outraged.

“I’m not laughing at you, Sadie darling. You’re the best dog in the whole universe. Come here.”

I hug Sadie, and she wriggles forgivingly in my arms. I push my dream away firmly. The tide is out, and the surf is breaking in a tumble of white beyond the Island. Sadie and I have already been for a walk, but she can’t go on the beach because it’s after Easter now. no dogs on the beach after easter sunday. What gave humans the right to decide that?

Sadie is so warm and comfortable, I think she’s going to sleep. I might just shut my eyes for a minute. Conor and
I didn’t get back until past one, and I was awake again at half past five…

“Sapphire?”

I jump violently, and Sadie springs up, barking.

“Roger!”

“Sorry I scared you. I didn’t realize you were asleep. Hey now, Sadie, where’s the fire?”

Sadie loves Roger. I think she realizes that it was Roger who persuaded Mum about me having a dog. She knows he doesn’t let her jump up at him, so she stands still, quivering with pleasure, while he strokes her.

“I wasn’t asleep. I was just—”

“Resting with your eyes shut. I know. I came down to check on you kids because your mother got worried in the night. She couldn’t sleep.”

“We’re fine, Roger; we just had a bit of a late night, that’s all.”

Roger’s shrewd, penetrating eyes stare down at me.

“I guess you did,” he says at last. “Conor still sleeping?”

“Yes. They’re all asleep.”

“All except you, hey? You know what they say, Sapphy. A bad conscience keeps you wide-awake.”

I look up at Roger as innocently as I dare. “What do you mean?”

His gaze sharpens. “You may fool your mother, but you don’t fool me. You’ve been up to something, Sapphire.”

“What do you mean?” If I don’t admit anything, he’s
got no evidence. He’s just guessing. He can’t know where I’ve been. As far as Roger’s concerned, I was in St. Pirans all the time, with Conor.

“I saw Gloria this morning,” Roger goes on. “She was up early too. Her leg was paining her. She reckons she’s going to have to have that hip operation soon, whether she wants to or not. She asked after you, said she’d seen you coming up that path from the cove yesterday evening, but you didn’t hear her call. She said you looked as if you were in a hurry. She asked me if everything was okay.”

“Um, did she say anything else?”
Anything about soaking wet jeans and dripping hair, for example, on a cold April evening?

Roger shakes his head, still looking at me hard. “Nothing else.”

So Gloria didn’t betray me. She didn’t tell Roger that I looked as if I’d been in the sea.

“Fact is, young lady, you couldn’t have been on that path, could you? Conor told us you were here with him. So was Gloria seeing things? Or is there some other girl who looks like you and can’t keep away from that cove any more than you can?”

I wish I could see inside Roger’s head and find out what he really knows. Or what he suspects.

“You’re up to something,” Roger repeats quietly. “I’m sorry to think that you’ve got Conor lying to cover up for
you, Sapphy. I’d have believed better of him.”

“Conor’s not lying to cover up for me!” It’s true. Conor’s lying to protect Mum, not me. If she knew about the Kraken and the Deep, she’d be terrified. Why can’t Roger realize that it’s better not to know too much, better not to ask questions, better just to leave us alone? He can’t help us. He’s too—much too human. All he’ll do is get in the way.

“You know, Sapphy, I thought you and I were getting to be friends. I wish you’d see your way to trusting me,” says Roger. His voice is flat and disappointed. He thinks Conor and I are shutting him out of our lives. Maybe that’s true, but he doesn’t understand that it’s for a good reason.

“I’ll be on my way. I can tell your mother I’ve seen you and you’re safe and well, so maybe she’ll get some sleep now.”

This makes me feel sad, guilty, and angry all at the same time. Why does Roger say things like that? I don’t want to think about Mum lying awake and worrying over us. I don’t want to think about Roger being disappointed in me.

“We’ll be back as soon as Conor wakes up.”

“Make sure you are.”

The early-morning brightness is fading. The line of the horizon is sharp; probably it’s going to rain. With a pang of regret I watch Roger walk away up the beach.

Roger thinks I am a liar who doesn’t care about Mum’s
feelings or about making Conor lie to cover up for me.

Mum thinks she believes that we’ve been in St. Pirans for two nights, safe together. But in the night she doesn’t believe it. She’s afraid. She feels we’re in danger. Mum knows things that she doesn’t know with her conscious mind, just as Conor could read the writing on the Tide Rock.

Conor thinks—What does Conor think? He believes that the talisman is a message from Elvira, telling him that he has to go into the Deep and into danger. Conor believes that he’s got to look after me.

Rainbow thinks I am her friend. But I hold so much back from her. I have a lot of secrets that I never share with Rainbow or anyone else in the human world. Can it be a real friendship when half of me is hidden from her?

Gloria Fortune knows I was in the sea, but she didn’t say anything. Why not? Usually adults tell each other things like that. Maybe, without knowing it, she’s loyal to Ingo.

Faro…Faro’s thoughts slip away from me like bright tropical fish flickering in and out of rock crevices. My mind aches with trying to catch them. Sometimes Faro is so close to me that it’s as if we share the same thoughts and dreams. So close that we don’t need words. He calls me his little sister, and it’s true that sometimes I feel as if I’ve known Faro forever, and we grew up together. And then suddenly he’s a stranger, completely at home in a
world where I don’t know if I truly belong or not. Faro is unswervingly loyal to Ingo. He won’t stop me from going to the Deep if it will help the Mer. Would Faro risk my life to save his people?

Granny Carne knew instantly that the talisman wasn’t made by human hands. Her senses are as sharp and quick as Sadie’s. You can’t deceive Granny Carne, even if you want to. I can’t get her story out of my head. All those people lining up to choose a stone out of the basket. Reaching under the cloth and praying that their fingers would light on a white stone. But someone had to get the red stone. When Granny Carne talked about those people, it didn’t seem like distant history, safely over, with all the suffering dissolved into time.

I could see them so clearly. Their faces were creased with fear. Their fingers trembled. The children stood watching, some of them too little to understand what was happening, some of them old enough to be as frightened as their parents. The bull under the earth was roaring for sacrifice. Imagine if you were one of the possible victims waiting to be chosen.

Someone has to get the red stone. Someone has to get the red stone.

The words drum in my head, louder and louder. But just as they are becoming unbearable, Sadie intervenes. She growls softly, deep in her throat. Not an angry growl, but a warning. It’s the growl she makes when someone she
doesn’t know comes down the track past our cottage. It says,
I’m here. I’ll protect you. I’m not going to let anything hurt you.

I put my arms around her and hug her soft, warm neck. The growl is still rumbling in her throat. I rub my face against her muzzle. You don’t ever have to worry about what Sadie thinks. Sadie would never betray anyone she loved. Her kind of love doesn’t have any doubts or complications in it. It’s as solid as sunlight.

“I’m so glad I’ve got you, Sadie girl.”

H
AVE YOU EVER NOTICED
that the things you worry about most beforehand often turn out easily? Going to see Saldowr is like that. Saturday morning is beautiful. “More like June than April,” says Mum as she hangs out the laundry. I help her with the duvet covers. A blackbird is singing in the rowan tree. Mum’s singing too, through a mouthful of pegs. She sounds more like a bumblebee than ever. The laundry flaps as Mum hoists the line up high with her clothespole.

“There, that’s done,” says Mum, dropping the spare pegs in the basket. “What a perfect day. You wouldn’t think people would choose to spend it in a dark old pub, would you? But I suppose it’s lucky for us that they do, or I wouldn’t have a job. I’ll be back by six, Sapphy.”

Mum works so hard. Roger says she doesn’t need to. He earns good money, and he’d like her to take it easy. But Mum won’t agree. She confided in me one evening: “Roger’s very generous, Sapphy, but you and Conor aren’t his responsibility. I don’t want him to think he’s got to support you. Anyway, I like earning my own money. It’s good to have your independence, Sapphy. I hope that you’ll always have it. Girls these days can do anything they want to. Don’t let anything stand in your way.”

Mum’s eyes shone with fervor. Any moment now she’d start telling me about how I could pass all my exams if I really tried and go to uni. And then I could get any job I wanted, with proper training. Sometimes Mum gets angry with herself because she didn’t do any of these things, and so she’s determined I’m not going to “throw away my chances,” as she calls it.

But Mum surprised me that evening. I was waiting for her to go on to the familiar “Do your homework, Sapphy; your teachers keep saying you’ve got potential, but you won’t pass your exams unless you concentrate” routine, but she didn’t. She was quiet for a while, and then she said, “I depended too much on your father, Sapphy. I didn’t realize it at the time, but I do now. It wasn’t fair on him.”

It was a long, long time since I’d heard Mum talk about Dad like that, in a voice that was thoughtful instead of harsh with grief and anger. As if Dad were a real person in our lives again, instead of someone she couldn’t
even mention without getting upset about the way he’d disappeared and left us. I waited, but although Mum gave me a quick little smile, she didn’t say any more. But it was good. It made me feel that I was allowed to talk about Dad again.

Mum’s longing to go to college one day. She’s the opposite of me; she can’t wait to study hard and do exams. Maybe she’ll be able to fulfill her dream of becoming a nurse. She sent away for some booklets about nursing training, and she spent the whole of an evening reading them. She even read bits aloud to me and asked what I thought. I could imagine Mum doing it. She isn’t that old, and I think she’d be good at it. But for now we need the money, and so she works in the pub.

It was good talking to Mum like that. When she hugged me good night, she said, “It’s nice now you’re growing up, Sapphy. I can talk to you.”

“There,” says Mum, looking with satisfaction at the laundry as it flies high in the air and begins to flap in the breeze, “that lot will be dry in a couple of hours.”

This is when Conor comes out into the garden and says we’re going down to the cove. We’ll make some sandwiches and take our swimming stuff. The sea is at its coldest in February, and it hasn’t warmed up much by April, so for Mum’s sake we take our wet suits. (We’ll dump them in the garden shed on the way out. You don’t need wet suits
when you’re going to Ingo.)

Mum is more relaxed about the cove these days. Since the flood in St. Pirans, she’s stopped believing that she can keep us out of danger if she can just keep us away from the sea. St. Pirans turned out to be no safer than the cove, after all. She asks about the tides, just as she always does, and we reassure her that we know exactly when high tide is. We’ll be safely up on the rocks long before that. We won’t get caught out by the rising tide.

“Oh, well then,” says Mum, “I’ll see you after my shift. Roger should be back by six too. If it keeps on as fine as this, why don’t we have a barbie in the garden tonight?”

Have a barbie? Mum is sounding more like Roger every day, and she’s never even been to Australia. Roger lived there when he was a child, and even though he’s been in Britain for years, you can still hear the Australian twang in his voice.

There’s a touch of Australian in his character too; at least it’s how most Australians who come over here seem to be. Really levelheaded and easygoing and good with everything practical. (Maybe if I went to Australia, I’d get a shock; there must be some bad-tempered ones who can’t even change a lightbulb.)

Last month Roger bought a gleaming steel “barbie”: a barbecue on which you could cook Christmas dinner for ten. Conor and I are used to building driftwood fires on the beach inside a circle of stones. I like our fires best, but
I have to admit that the Super Antipodean (this is what Conor calls it) is pretty good too.

“A barbie would be good, Mum,” says Conor.

“Will you take Sadie with you?” Mum asks.

“I don’t think so,” answers Conor easily. “It’s a tough scramble down for her, and that paw isn’t right yet. She’ll be better off staying up here.”

Sadie had a thorn in her paw yesterday. I took it out and dressed her paw with antiseptic, but she’s still making a big fuss about it, limping around and wallowing in our sympathy.

“All right then,” says Mum. “Look after yourselves. I’ll ask Roger to bring back some burgers.”

She smiles at us. Suddenly I realize why she looks different. Mum isn’t so thin anymore. She’s lost that pinched look. Her face is rounder…happier….

The cove glitters with morning sunshine. The sand’s flat and hard where the tide has gone out. We leave our shoes and the bag with towels and spare clothes up on the rocks, above the tide line, and walk in bare feet over the cold sand. I follow Conor’s Man Friday footprints. We’re the only people here, and it feels as if we’re the only people in the world. Neat little waders walk along the sand, looking at us curiously but without fear. There are frills of seaweed, pearly little shells, and then a tangle of oarweed and plastic twine. Above us the cliffs loom, as old and hoary
as dinosaurs. There’s a smell of salt and weed and coconut blowing from the gorse on the cliffs.

The whole beautiful morning belongs to us. For a moment I wish we could go back in time, two years back, before we even knew that Ingo existed. We’d play cricket on the hard sand, with a piece of driftwood for a bat and a ball that Conor brought down in his pocket. We’d swim and explore the caves, and I could make a mermaid in the sand, with seaweed hair and shells for eyes. Life was so easy then, or at least it seems easy when you look back. Maybe it wasn’t at the time. I used to hate it when Mum and Dad argued. I used to pull the duvet right over my head and sing to myself so I didn’t have to hear them.

But time has moved on. My last sand mermaid was washed away two years ago. I wouldn’t make another now that I know the Mer are real.

I am sure that Faro will be out there somewhere in the bright sea, waiting for us, and he is. As soon as I call his name, Ingo seems to race to meet me. Faro’s dark head gleams above the waves at the mouth of the cove. He swims in quickly, his tail driving him faster than any human could swim. His face shines with salt water and laughter. It doesn’t seem to have hurt him much to come through the skin to meet us.

“Faro!”

He lifts a hand in welcome, cuts through the crest of a wave, and swirls to a stop where we stand waist deep in
water. The sea doesn’t feel cold today. The waves are fresh and alive, pushing against us, wanting us to play. Faro swims round us, lifts his tail, thwacks it down flat on the water, and soaks us in spray.

“Good morning, little sister. Good morning, Conor.” He smiles, showing teeth that are just a little whiter and more regular than human teeth ever could be.

“Give me five,” says Conor. Faro doesn’t know what this means, so Conor shows him, and Faro’s delighted. He keeps on going, “Give me five,” and slapping hands. You can tell he can’t wait to try it on the other Mer. Maybe it’ll become the new cool Mer thing to do.

And then it’s the best moment of all. We look at one another and decide without words that it’s time. Time for Ingo.

I watch the waves. That’s the one. I gauge its height as it rises to meet me, and I dive into the cool green hollow beneath its crest.

The wave never breaks. I am in Ingo, and the waves go on forever. I follow the wave down, plunging through its green and turquoise curves, close to the white sand. I swim out, and the water above me grows deeper as the sand shelves, and then the seabed drops away. I’m at the entrance of the cove. I follow the distant gleam on the sand, down into the deep water.

We are in Ingo. Conor and Faro are behind me, side by side. I glance back over my shoulder. Conor doesn’t look as
if he’s struggling. Maybe he’s been able to let go of the Air more easily this time. His color is good. He hasn’t got the tinge of blue around his mouth that frightens me so much because it means he’s not getting enough oxygen from the water. Faro’s helping him, of course.

Ingo. Ingo. I reach out my arms, and the sea rushes into them. Ingo welcomes us.
Myrgh kerenza.
I don’t hear the words, but I feel them. Dad called me his
myrgh kerenza
, his dear daughter, and I was angry with him. If I’m so dear, then why did you leave me? Why did you abandon us without a word? But I’m Ingo’s daughter for sure.

Yes, Conor’s strong in Ingo today, flying through the water side by side with Faro. The water feels so fresh and alive, teeming with bubbles, as if spring has come in Ingo too.

“Close your eyes, Sapphire,” says Faro.

“Why?”

“It’s a surprise.”

I close my eyes. Now I can feel how fast we’re really traveling, in the westward current Faro has found for us.

“Hold tight.”

And then it begins. The current starts to spin us over and over, like leaves in a waterfall. Whirling onward, downward, so fast that even my thoughts fly out of me and I’m free of everything but the rush of water. But it’s not frightening. It’s like being lifted beyond everything you’ve ever believed you can do.

And then we’re there. The current spills us onto the sand. I recognize this place. The Groves of Aleph, still devastated by the breaking of the Tide Knot.

The Groves are littered with boulders, debris, and dead things. But look, there are shoots of green growing out of the torn stumps. These underwater trees still have life in them. They’re growing back. The destruction doesn’t look quite so brutal now that a little time has softened it. Ingo can heal itself; I know it can, if it’s given time.

But that’s not going to happen. The feeling of spring is a delusion. Winter is coming, not summer. Those green shoots will shrivel. A long winter of pain and suffering and darkness will cover Ingo like a rolling tide. The Kraken is awake, and he’s hungry. Ervys said that all the destruction we’ve already seen is just a shadow of what the Kraken is capable of doing.

Ingo has never seemed so beautiful to me as it does today, and it has never seemed so vulnerable.

“How did we get here without passing through the sharks?” asks Conor.

“They haven’t returned yet,” says Faro, as if this is bad news. “Saldowr is not yet strong enough to call them back to him.”

Faro speaks with absolute confidence that Saldowr will grow strong again. But I remember the dismissive way Ervys spoke of Saldowr, as if he was already finished. Even to think of it makes me hot and angry. Who does
Ervys think he is, to speak of Saldowr like that? I want to see Saldowr so much, even though I’m afraid that he’ll be changed and weakened.

“Is he going to come out to us?” asks Conor. That’s what Saldowr did before.

“Saldowr is in his cave,” says Faro.

“But the cave was all filled with sand after the Tide Knot broke.”

“I cleared it,” says Faro.

“You cleared it! On your own?” asks Conor. He looks at Faro with respect. We both remember what Saldowr’s cave looked like after the tides ripped through the Groves. The cave mouth was completely blocked with sand. Faro must have worked for hours—days….

“Yes, I cleared it alone,” says Faro proudly. “Who else should serve Saldowr? I am Saldowr’s
scolhyk
and his
holyer
. Who else should take care of him and restore to him what is his? If everyone abandons him, I will not abandon him. And soon the sharks will return, and everything will be as it was.”

“Do they have to?” I say.

“Of course,” says Faro severely. “You must understand, Sapphire, that there have always been sharks to guard the Groves of Aleph.”

“They weren’t a great success as guardians, though, were they?” asks Conor. “It might be time to try something else.”

Faro ignores this. “We must not keep Saldowr waiting,” he says.

“But I thought we couldn’t go into the cave. Last time we were here, Saldowr said—”

“He cannot move. There is no other way.”

I think of Faro’s words as we swim to the cave entrance.
Everything will be as it was.
But I don’t believe them. It’s like thinking that if Dad came home to us, everything would be the same again.

The weed that used to sway gently over the mouth of Saldowr’s cave, hiding it, has all been stripped away by the tides. It hasn’t had time to grow back yet. There’s enough light to see by as Faro swims ahead of us toward the back of the cave.

I expected Saldowr’s cave to be magnificent, with glittering sea jewels set into the walls and a high vaulted roof and maybe a carpet of mother-of-pearl. But it’s not like that at all. It’s completely plain. The walls are granite; the floor is sand. It reminds me of somewhere else, but I can’t remember where.

On a shelf of smooth rock at the back of the cave, Saldowr lies. His hair flows out in the water. It has grown longer and grayer since we last saw him. His cloak is wrapped tightly around his body, as if he’s cold. Deep in their sockets, his eyes glow through the gloom.