As usual, she read my unspoken thoughts. “Which is how you’d like to get us to the Forgotten Island.”
I nodded, staring into the mist, as a swelling breeze flapped the sleeves of my tunic. I wondered what sort of spells Dagda had placed around the island. And whether I could possibly unravel them without knowing why he had put them there.
“The truth is,” I said with a sigh, “I really know so little.”
“You have great powers, Merlin. I’ve seen them in you from the very start.” Pensively, she observed me. “As did your father.”
I bristled at the mention of him.
She touched my cheek, turning my face toward hers. “You don’t know everything, but you needn’t torment yourself about that. Neither did Tuatha. Not even the healer from Galilee, someone you’ve heard me tell many stories about, knew everything.”
“But do I know enough? That’s the real question.” I forced back the lump in my throat. “Enough to do all I need to do? For all those children down there, and for everyone else besides?”
She drew a slow breath. “Do you know what Tuatha said to me once about you?”
Halfheartedly, I replied, “That I would be a wizard one day.”
“Not just a wizard.” Gently, she lowered her hand, placing it flat against my back, behind my heart. “A wizard whose powers would spring from the very deepest sources, so deep you could change the course of the world forever.”
Hesitantly, I nodded. “Maybe so, but which world did he mean? Mortal Earth, where I’m supposed to go one day to deliver this sword?” My fingers wrapped around the scabbard. “Or our Fincayra, the world I long to save right here and now?”
She gazed at me, with that look that seemed to see under my skin. “That I don’t know. What I can tell you, though, is this. Your grandfather said that one day your powers will have grown so strong that you will stir the very depths of the sea.”
We sat together a while longer, feeling the cold wind off the waves. When she spoke again, it was to bid me good night. “I’m going down to check on the children now. Then I’d like a little sleep myself.” With a thin smile, she “added, “I hope you’ll be doing the same, Merlin.”
I merely nodded.
After watching her go, I stretched my second sight outward. I followed the folds of mist, which thinned only rarely to reveal a hint of coastline or an edge of rounded moon. Now and then I gazed at the mesh of woven branches, streaked with silver, beneath me. My thoughts lapped, like the waves, against the memories of my dearest friends. Rhia . . . How had she fared with the trees, and the others? And Shim—was he heading into Urnalda’s trap? I wondered about Cairpré, probably searching for some way to rejoin Elen. Nothing would stop him, I knew, not even a wall of deadly spells. And I understood his feelings all the more since I felt that way about someone else. If only I could be with her again soon . . .
Despite my vow to stay alert, my head sagged lower. When at last I awoke, it was already too late.
25:
T
HE
N
EW
D
AY
I awoke to the crash of an enormous wave against the vessel’s side. Water splashed the brim of the hat, soaking me completely and rolling me over with its force. Much of the wave sloshed down into the bowl, causing loud commotion from those below. Grasping my staff, I managed to stand.
A pale, golden light was filtering through the parting shreds of mist, sparkling on the churning crests. The light of dawn. In that first instant, I saw two things at once, both lit by the new morning light: a line of waves just ahead, rising strangely high—and beyond, a rugged little island with sheer cliffs of dark rock. Atop the island sat a jagged hill, glowing like a sunlit crown.
Glancing to the rear, I could see, through the haze, the outline of Fincayra’s western shore. Its own sheer cliffs rose steeply out of the frothing surf. I turned back to the crown of land ahead. So we were, indeed, approaching the Forgotten Island!
But first—the waves. Less like a wall than like a jagged row of teeth, the line of waves rose vertically out of the sea. Between the tall spires of water, parallel rays of light lifted into the sky, arching high over the island, shielding it on all sides as well as from above. The bars of light shimmered ominously, quaking in the air. All the while they hummed a single, eerie tone. Wherever they touched the ocean itself, wild waves crashed furiously. Some of those waves, like the one that had struck us, rushed outward, colliding with anything that happened to stray into their path.
At that moment, another wave hit. Even larger than the first one, it slammed into our vessel like a gigantic hand. Children screamed as bodies rammed against one another inside the bowl. I tumbled over backward, crashing on the mesh of branches. My staff flew out of my hand and plunged into the sea.
The hat tilted at a crazy angle, hurling me to the edge of the brim. Somehow I caught myself on a protruding knot of vines. Struggling to pull myself up again, I heard sharp creaking from the timbers nearby. Hastily, I crawled over to investigate. I could see that several layers of branches had snapped completely, while others were rapidly working loose. All at once, my section of the brim shuddered violently. Great seasons, it was breaking! Before I could do anything, the whole section sheared off and collapsed into the sea.
I spun down into the whipping waves. Seconds later I surfaced, gagging from all the water I’d swallowed. Right before me rose one of the shimmering bars of light, humming like a colossal swarm of bees. At its base, the water boiled violently. The great hat, I could see, had veered toward the spot. Already, it was pitching in the froth of the maelstrom.
Turn back!
I willed the vessel.
Turn back before—
A wrenching groan arose from the hat as two powerful waves smashed it from opposite sides. A gaping hole opened just above the base, spewing twisted branches. Water started flooding in. I heard the children’s shrieks above the din.
With all my strength, I swam toward the collapsing craft. Another wave toppled over on me, thrusting me downward. Frigid water poured into my lungs. Gasping, I regained the surface—just in time to witness the final destruction of our vessel. Vines unraveled, waving in the air like angry snakes. Branches tore apart, sending countless shards into the air.
One whole section slammed into a column of light and instantly burst into flames, showering the churning waters with sparks and fiery embers. Blazing resins, glowing orange, bubbled out of the joints and dribbled down into the sea. Great columns of steam rose upward, hissing noisily, wherever fire and water met.
All around me, little heads bobbed and limbs flailed, grasping for floating bits of wood. “Elen!” I shouted. “Lleu! Cuwenna!” But I couldn’t find them. Beyond the roaring and crashing of waves, and the ominous hum in the background, the sound that pierced me most deeply were the terrified screams—screams I knew I’d caused myself.
Spotting a boy sinking nearby, I reached out to help him. His sand-colored curls floated on the water like a mesh of yellowing kelp. Grabbing hold of his locks, I lifted his head. It was Lleu! Sputtering, he hugged my neck in panic, squeezing like a noose—so tight I couldn’t breathe.
As I twisted to break free, both of us sank beneath the surface. The boy released me, flailing wildly. I grabbed the shoulder of his tunic and hauled him upward, kicking furiously. But the surface seemed so far away, my arms so much heavier than before. My lungs ached for air! I struggled to swim, but felt myself sinking rather than rising. I couldn’t lift Lleu’s body, nor even my own.
My mind started darkening. From somewhere, I dimly heard my mother’s words:
One day you will stir the very depths of the sea.
What bitter irony! The words rang in my memory, laughing raucously.
Stir the very depths . . .
From somewhere else, somewhere deeper, another memory arose. It was not a memory of thought, nor of the mind at all. Rather, this was a memory of the blood.
“Mer!” I heard myself crying aloud, emptying my last shreds of breath into the surging sea.
Vaguely, I felt something brush my chin. Then my hands, chest, and thighs. Bubbles! All around me, by the thousands, so tiny I couldn’t see them but only feel them. The bubbles surrounded me like a net, pressing against my body, supporting my weight. Gently, they caressed me, held me, then guided me upward. At last, I broke through the surface.
The sea had answered my call.
Beside me, Lleu bobbed in the water, held by his own net of bubbles. He gasped for air, coughing, as did I. Yet I felt no more terror, only an uncanny sense of well-being. Reaching for his outstretched arm, I drew him close, holding him as securely as the surrounding waters held us both. Despite the churning currents, we floated on the surface, along with everyone else from our vessel.
Suddenly, I caught sight of a sleek, glistening form rising above the water. Not far away, an enormous fish tail broke the surface with a shimmering veil of spray. Then another tail appeared, and beside it, a silver-scaled torso. More shapes, glowing pink and green, purple and yellow, burst into view.
All at once, a new wave lifted out of the sea. Higher it rose, streaming water off its colorful crest. In a flash I realized that it wasn’t a wave at all, but a bridge. A luminous, living bridge.
Merfolk—dozens and dozens of them—had interlocked their tails and fins, arms and heads, to form an enormous, radiant archway. Vaulting out of the depths, the bridge of bodies swelled higher. Finally it reached completely over the wall of waves, all the way to the shore of the Forgotten Island. Like a rainbow rising out of the ocean, whose colors came from sea instead of sky, the archway gleamed in the light of the rising sun.
Voices, deep and fluid, poured forth as the mer people started to sing. Some sounded as ancient as the ocean, others as new and fragile as a single drop of spray. Their voices combined in a complex, interwoven chant, with sounds that reminded me of whales breaching, seabirds wailing, waves colliding, and so much more. Beneath it all ran a great, rolling rhythm, echoing like an undertone of time.
Carrying Lleu in my arms, I started to climb. My sopping boots stepped first upon a purple fin; then a long, muscular back; then a pair of linked arms. With every step, I spoke words of thanks, for my gratitude ran as deep as the sea. After me followed the children, one by one. They looked thoroughly bedraggled, but amazed and relieved to be alive. Despite their wet shivers, their arms swayed playfully. Last of all came my mother, her face shining with awe, holding my staff in her hand.
And so I led them all, at last, out of the waves and into a new day.
26:
A
G
OLDEN
C
ROWN
The mer people continued chanting as we stepped off the glistening bridge and onto a cove of black sand that ran beneath the island’s rugged cliffs. As soon as I came ashore, I set down Lleu, who smiled up at me, his face aglow. Together, his small hand within mine, we turned around to view the awesome spectacle.
The mer people’s bridge, luminous in the morning light, arched high over the terrible barrier of waves that ringed the island. Across the bridge, in single file, strode our companions—more than eighty boys and girls, followed by my mother. As they stepped ashore, one by one, they joined us on the beach, gazing back at the swelling waves threaded with mist and spray. Cuwenna, wearing my vest as if it were a great yellow cloak, plopped down by my feet, shaking her small head in wonder.
Tasting the salt on my lips, I studied the channel that separated the Forgotten Island from the western shore of Fincayra. Through the middle of the channel ran the churning wall of waves, studded with bars of light, that had kept anyone from setting foot on this spot for countless ages. Suddenly, as I watched, the entire barrier collapsed in on itself. The wall of waves tumbled into the surface of the sea, sending up great towers of spray, as the glowing bars of light melted into the waters. They had only receded, I felt sure, waiting for the next voyager who dared to try this passage. Moments later, the sunlit sea, rippled with golden-tipped waves, looked deceptively calm.
Then, as my mother finally set foot on the sand, the mer people’s bridge also collapsed. A thunderous splash echoed across the channel, punctuated by the din of hundreds of tails and arms slapping the water. In a few brief seconds, the merfolk vanished beneath the surface. For a while, after the other sounds had faded away, the soulful notes of their chant hung in the air. Finally that, too, disappeared.
We stood, dripping seawater in the warming rays of the rising sun, looking out to sea in silence. Even the smallest of the children seemed transfixed. We knew that we had been saved by a miracle. A miracle from the deepest heart of the sea.
I glanced down again at Lleu. He watched me with his thoughtful eyes, then slowly curled his mouth into a grin. “You saved me,” he said, brushing a trickle of brine off his cheek.
“No,” I gently replied. “The sea saved us both.”
He tilted his head, thinking. “So the sea’s magic is stronger than yers?”
“Much stronger, lad.”
My mother strode over, her countenance serene. She glanced again out to sea, shook her head, and turned back to me. “They’re gone,” she whispered.
I nodded, feeling the wet locks of hair slap my brow. “Not completely, though.”
She sighed. “Yes, we’ll always hear their voices.” After a long pause, she added, “I counted all the children. They’re here, every last one.” She winked at the boy by my side. “Including you.”
“An’ you, too, Mama Elen.” Angling his face upward, he looked at her probingly. “Is it . . . all right I calls ye that?”
She smiled down at him. “Yes, Lleu, quite all right.”
He brightened, then bent to retrieve a speckled brown conch shell. My mother watched him for a moment, then handed me my staff. “I found this, or perhaps it found me. It kept me afloat until the bridge appeared.”