Lights glow through curtains from the scattered cottages where our neighbours live. In the morning they’ll see that no lights are on in our cottage. They’ll think we’ve left early to catch the train up to Plymouth. Granny Carne has told our neighbour Mary Thomas about Mum’s cousin, and the news will be around the village by now.
Down the track, down the path. The dew has already fallen and it’s cold. The air smells of autumn, of mushrooms, bracken and the sea. We don’t talk. The power that is taking us into Ingo now is too strong for words.
We’re almost at the place where the little hidden path curves away off this one, to the lip of the cliff where we’ll scramble down to our cove. Faro will be waiting–
Conor stops dead. I almost fall on top of him. “What’s wrong?”
“Listen.”
I listen, expecting to hear the sound of the sea or maybe the Call again, or maybe my own name carried on the wind from the sea, as I heard it once before:
Ssssapphiiire … Ssssapphiiire …
But there’s nothing.
“Conor, come on, we’ve got to hurry.”
“No. Listen, Saph. I’m sure I heard something.”
The night breeze lifts my hair. Prickles of fear run up my neck. Ervys can’t leave Ingo. But what if the gulls attack now, out of the night sky? They will be able to see better than us. There are hundreds of gulls roosting in the cliffs.
“Listen.”
This time I hear it too. A muffled groan. It could be an animal but I’m immediately sure that it’s not. It’s a human sound.
“Is anyone there? Are you hurt?” calls Conor. His voice is much too loud.
“Conor, don’t!”
“Answer if you can!” calls Conor, ignoring me. Again, a faint moan carries towards us. “It’s close. I’m going to shine the torch.”
We weren’t going to shine the torch until we needed it for climbing down to the cove in case its light gave us away. Conor flicks on the beam of light and passes it slowly and thoroughly over the dense mass of brambles, bracken and furze. The sound comes again.
“It’s down here!” Conor pushes forward, down the little hidden path that goes to the cove. I’m close behind. “Stop, Saph! Here! There’s someone here.”
He shines the torch down. A figure huddles on the path. There’s something else – two long pieces of metal reflecting in the torchlight. Conor kneels down. “It’s Gloria Fortune,” he says over his shoulder. “Hold the torch, Saph.”
I take the torch. “Don’t move her if she’s injured, Con.”
“I’m not stupid.”
I recognise Gloria Fortune now. The metal things are her crutches. She must have slipped and fallen. “She’s soaking wet,” says Conor.
“Oh my God.” She has done it. Somehow she has crawled down over the lip of the cliff, down the rocks to the sand. She has got to the sea.
“Don’t shine the torch in my eyes,” says Gloria. Her voice is faint but steady.
“Are you all right? What happened?” asks Conor.
“I’m not hurt. Just – tired. Had to lie down a minute.”
“You were groaning. Are you sure you’re not hurt?”
“Cold, that’s all. Got to get home – Richard’ll be back soon. He’ll think s-s-something’s – happened to me.”
“Something
has
happened to you,” says Conor grimly.
“I should never have gone down there,” mutters Gloria.
“Can you get up if Saph and I help you? Your crutches are here. We’ll get you back home, it’s not far.”
“But, Conor!” I burst out. I can’t go back again. We’re more than halfway to Ingo. The pull has become so strong my whole body is possessed by it.
“We’ve got to, Saph.”
Gloria is moving. Slowly, painfully, she rolls over and struggles up on to her knees. She waits, gathering strength.
“Maybe we should get Richard. If you’ve damaged your leg any more you’ll need a stretcher,” says Con.
“No!” says Gloria. “He mustn’t see me like this. Help me up.” One on each side, we support Gloria under her arms and help her up. Her clothes are soaked with water. She smells of the sea.
“What happened?” asks Conor.
“I thought – thought someone was calling me. Into the water. Don’t know how I got down there … found the way somehow. I think I was on the rocks … A wave came over me and then I was afraid.” Her voice drops to a whisper. I lean close. “There was something in the water that hated me,” I hear her say.
I feel both horror and relief. Gloria hasn’t been to Ingo. Her Mer blood must be strong enough to take her to the gateway, but not to allow her to enter Ingo alone. There was no Faro there to guide her. What if she had gone into the water and found Mortarow there – or Ervys?
I thought Granny Carne was protecting Gloria and keeping her safe on the Earth. It must be the Call that is making Ingo so powerful tonight. No one would have seen Gloria go. No one would have missed her, until Richard came home. Gloria might have been found days later, washed up miles down the coast. No one would ever guess what really happened. They’d say it was a terrible accident.
“You must never do that again,” I say protectively. I can help Conor take her back to her cottage. It will only delay us for a few
minutes, and what does time mean tonight anyway? Soon we’ll be in Ingo time, and human clocks will mean nothing.
“Got to get home – Richard …” mutters Gloria, sounding like an exhausted child rather than the strong woman I know she is.
Slowly, step by step, we get Gloria home. She is shivering with shock and cold, but it’s not far. The air is still but I feel as if I’m pushing into a strong wind with the effort of turning my back on Ingo. Their rented cottage is only a couple of hundred metres from ours. I don’t even glance at our cottage. I don’t want to see if the gulls are on the roof, or if one of them is flying off to deliver the message to Ervys that Gloria has survived. I remember Faro’s words.
They don’t want peace, they want war, and victory.
Gloria’s cottage is dark. “Thank God, he’s not back yet.”
We push open the unlocked door. A wave of warmth enfolds us. Conor switches on the light, while Gloria slumps into a chair by the stove. “You need a hot shower,” I tell her.
“In a minute.” She opens her eyes, reviving. For the first time she cracks a faint smile.
“We’ll stay with you until Richard comes home,” says Conor.
“No! He’ll know something’s wrong if he sees you.”
To be here in Gloria’s cottage is torture. Faro is waiting for us. The Call is dragging at me. The time is now. But Gloria is cold, wet, weak. People die of hypothermia.
“We’re not going until you’ve had a hot shower and got into warm clothes,” I say decisively.
Their shower is downstairs. Gloria moves slowly but she seems stronger now she’s in her own place. I wait outside the door, listening to be sure that she’s all right. I hear the shower running, and after a few minutes Gloria comes out wrapped in a blue dressing gown. Conor brings her tea and she settles herself by the stove again, in the opposite chair because the first one she sat in is damp with sea-water.
“I’ll be all right now.” Gloria is an adult again, competent and calm.
“Promise me you won’t ever—” I begin, then stop. I don’t think I have any right to ask Gloria for promises. But she looks straight back as if she understands exactly what I mean.
“Never again,” she says. “Never, ever again.”
It’s safe to leave her now. As we close the cottage door and turn away down the track we see headlights bumping down off the main road. Richard is on his way home.
“He’ll look after her,” says Conor.
“Yes.”
“They should move,” Conor goes on angrily. “He should get her right away from here.”
I have nothing to say. I want Gloria to be safe. But denying her Mer blood isn’t going to make her safe, not for ever. There has got to be another way. Not Ervys’s way, with Mer and human battling and Ingo and Earth deadly enemies.
T
he cove is brimful of tide. No jumping down from the rocks on to clean pale sand tonight. “We’ll have to climb right out over the rocks until we’re sure we’re above deep water,” whispers Conor. I don’t know why we’re whispering, but we are, and we don’t call for Faro either. He may not be the only one of the Mer who is watching and waiting for us tonight.
The rocks are sharp and slippery. The starlight is strong enough to guide us as we lower ourselves into gullies then climb the steep rocky sides of the cove. We need to go right out, almost to the cove’s mouth. I follow Conor, reaching for handholds, and fitting my feet into the rock’s crevices. He hasn’t switched on the torch since we left Gloria Fortune’s cottage.
“Face the rock and let yourself go down backwards,” he whispers. “I’ll go first.” I glance down. In the starlight I can see Conor’s outline pressed against the rock. He lowers himself carefully, and then lets go and slides to the next foothold. The rock slopes at about forty degrees here. It looks dangerous. It
is
dangerous. If Conor slips too far he won’t fall in the water, he’ll
fall on rock. But once he’s down, there’s a ledge above a sheer drop. It’ll be safe to dive from there.
“I’m down. Come on,” he calls softly.
I turn to face the rock, and press against it as Conor did. My fingers dig into a narrow crevice. I let go of my safe finger-hold and let myself slide. There’s no foothold or handhold. I scrabble desperately, my jaw cracks against the rock, I bite my tongue. But my foot jars against a spur of rock. I’m not sliding any more.
Foothold, slide. Handhold, slide. Suddenly, with a jolt, both my feet hit rock and Conor’s hand is behind my back, steadying me. “You’ve made it, Saph. You’re on the ledge. Turn round slowly.”
I shuffle my feet around cautiously, and turn to face outwards. At that moment the moon rises behind the curve of the cliff. First the rim, then the broad curve, then the whole moon floats free, lighting up the cove so brilliantly that it seems as if day has come. Below us the sea bulges, black and oily looking. There is hardly any wind, but a big swell. The water breaks as it enters the cove, slapping against the rocks with a hollow boom.
For the first time in my life I’m afraid of the sea. Even when the Tide Knot broke, the fear was different. Then, the sea came out of its bed, out of its element, and tried to take over the land. It was natural to be afraid. But this is different. It feels as if the sea is prowling below our ledge, waiting for us.
How I wish Faro would come. The fingers of my right hand
have gone to my bracelet. I touch the
deublek
made of our woven hair. Of course Faro will come. We have to go to the Assembly chamber together.
The water is empty. No Faro.
In two nights I shall be here for you.
Faro has never broken his word to me. Something must have prevented him. Maybe the wound on his tail was more serious than he thought.
“It looks as if we’re going to have to find the way to the Assembly chamber ourselves. Do you think you can remember the way, Saph?”
I think of the narrow passages Faro took me through. “I’m not sure, but if we follow the Call it’s bound to take us there.”
“Can you feel the Call now?”
“Ye-yes, I think so.” But the truth is that I can’t. It has faded abruptly, as if the mass of rock that surrounds us is blocking out its signal.
“I can’t,” says Conor. “I’ll have to rely on you.”
What if something bad has happened to Faro? “We’ve got to get to Ingo quickly, Conor.” The water heaves beneath us. There is a path of moon on its surface. Tonight even the moonlight looks sinister.
“We’ll have to dive right out,” I say.
“Let’s dive together. I’ll count.”
I can’t get into a proper diving position because of the rock face behind me. The drop is about four metres. I’ve dived from higher points than this. My toes curl over the edge, gripping it. Diving in moonlight isn’t the same as diving in daylight. You can’t
judge distance so well. If I push off as hard as I can, I’ll be all right.
“Ready, Saph? One – two – three –
GO!”
We dive in the same second. I enter the water at a steep angle, down, down, down through the blackness. As soon as the sea touches me I know I’m not in Ingo. The sea is cold and hostile. I can’t breathe in it. I kick hard, swim up until I break the surface, and push my hair out of my face. I tread water, looking around. “Conor?”
“I’m here.”
We are both whispering. Rocks loom above us, the cold sea drags at us. Behind us the cliffs bulk high against the moonlight.
“Saph, swim out! Swim to the entrance of the cove! The tide is dragging us to the caves.”
He is right. I’m not swimming but the rock face is moving, gliding past me. It’s like being in a rip, but there aren’t any rips here inside the cove. I turn seawards and swim as hard as I can for the channel between the rocks.
Conor is a few metres to my left. I’m swimming with all my strength but I’m barely moving. Cold, strong water has got me in its grip. It hates me. It wants to destroy me. It will carry me to the back of the cove, smash me against the cliff, drag me into the underwater caves where no one will ever find me …
Dark despair crawls over my skin. Where is Ingo? Why wasn’t Faro here to greet us as he promised? A wave surges over my face.
“Why struggle?” says a voice which is so close that it seems
to be inside my head. “Why not let go? There’s no hope of escape. If you stop fighting, it will only hurt for a little while and then it will all be over.” The words seem to echo around the cliffs and the rocks. They are waiting for me to give in. Our cove has become an enemy.
There was something in the water that hated me.
Gloria said that. She felt it too. The wave tried to get her but she escaped. She fought her way up the cliff on her crutches. Crawling up the steep, rough rock, dragging herself, dragging her crutches. Doing what no one would ever believe could be done by a woman with a shattered thigh-bone who is waiting for a hip replacement operation.
The gap between Conor and me has widened. He’s being pulled back too, but in a different direction. I kick my way as hard as I can through the hostile water. I’m not going to look at the sheer sides of the rock, bearing down on me, or at the cliffs behind. Only at my arms sweeping the water aside, and Conor’s head on my left. He’s fighting too, beating his way forward.