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“Be careful. The rocks are slippery,” warns Conor. “Let me help you, Mum.”
“Do you think I don’t know by now what the sea can do?” asks Mum quietly. “You two go off now, and let me finish this in peace. I’ll see you down there later. Roger’ll be glad to show you the diving equipment, Con. He says there’s a starter diving course you can take, at the dive school in St Pirans. It’s just a week, to give you a taste of what diving’s like. He’s going to fix it up with that friend he told you about.”
As soon as we are out of the cottage, we start to run.
“Conor, they hate divers. Faro told me—”
“I know. Air People with air on their backs—”
“Taking Air into Ingo. Did Elvira tell you that as well?”
“Yeah.”
“And he’s going to the Bawns. He doesn’t know—”
“What about the Bawns? What doesn’t Roger know?”
“I’m not sure. But it’s something serious. Faro said there was something out at the Bawns so important that the whole of Ingo would defend it. He wouldn’t tell me what it was.”
“And Roger’s going to dive there. That’s all we need.”
Down the track, down the path, over the lip of the cliff, and down, down, hearts pounding, hands slippery with sweat, stumbling on loose stones and catching hold of the rock. Down and down, sliding on seaweed, jumping from rock to rock, past limpets and mussels and dead dogfish and dark damp crevices where the sun never goes and there are piles of driftwood and bleached rope and plastic net buoys.
And down on to the firm white sand. Everything is calm and sunny and beautiful. The sea is like a piece of wrinkled silk. The beach is empty. Little waves curl and flop on to the shore. We shield our eyes from the light and squint towards the rocks at the entrance of the cove. Nothing. No sign of a boat.
“They must be out there.”
“How long would it take to come round by boat from St Pirans?”
“I don’t know. Not that long. Roger’s boat has a powerful engine.”
“Maybe it’ll break down,” I say hopefully.
“It’s new. Anyway, dive boats usually carry back-up parts,” says Conor.
You can’t see the Bawns from here. The rocks at the mouth of the cove hide them. Maybe Roger and Gray are out there now, preparing to dive. They don’t know what the Bawns mean to the Mer. They’ll trespass without knowing what they’re doing, and all the force of Ingo will be against them.
“If only we had a boat,” mutters Conor.
“We’ve got to get out there somehow, before they do!”
“We can’t,” says Conor. “We’ll just have to wait. It’ll be OK, Sapphy. Roger knows what he’s doing. He’s a dive leader.”
“What’s that mean?”
“He’s got loads of experience. He’s passed exams and stuff. He’ll be all right.”
But Conor doesn’t sound as if he believes it, and nor do I.
“Conor, we can’t just stand here waiting. We’ve got to do something.”
“Swim?” asks Conor sarcastically. He knows as well as I do why we mustn’t swim out of the cove. We know how dangerous it is. There’s always the rip waiting to take you. The water’s deep and cold and wild, and a swimmer who gets swept away doesn’t last long.
“But I’ve got to do something, Conor. It’s my fault. It was me who told Faro about Roger.”
“You didn’t mean any harm.”
“I did. You don’t understand.” I pause, and think. Maybe, at the same time that I was telling Faro about Roger diving near the Bawns, Roger was telling Mum that she ought to think about letting us have Sadie. “I wanted Roger to get hurt,” I whisper. “Oh, Conor, why have I got so much badness in me?”
As I say these words a gull plunges, screaming, from the cliff. We both turn. It’s coming straight for us, diving, wings sleek against the air currents. Its beak is open. Down it comes, crying out in its fierce gull voice. It swerves above our heads, so close that my hair lifts in the wake of its claws. Up it soars, high into the blue, then it turns and positions itself for a second dive. Again it screams out in its wild language as it balances on the air. And down it comes again, passing my ear with a shriek.
“It’s trying to tell us something.”
“What?”
“If only I could understand it.”
But maybe… maybe… if I really try… I could make out what the gull is saying. It wants me to know, that’s why it’s diving so close. Here it comes again.
“I can’t hear what you’re saying,” I shout above the gull’s shrieks. “Please, please try to say it so that I can understand—”
The gull’s screams batter my ears again, but all I get from it is noise.
“Please try, please. I know you’re trying to tell me something important…”
And then it happens. I am through the skin of English, and into another language. Suddenly the new language is all around me. The jumble of wild shrieks changes to syllables, then words. The gull brakes in the air and hovers just above us. His wings beat furiously and his claws dig into the air for balance. He fixes me with a cold yellow eye.
“Go to Ingo. Go to Ingo NOW.”
And he spreads his wings and swoops low over the water, out to sea.
“He was going crazy about something, wasn’t he?” says Conor. “Wouldn’t it be great if we could understand what birds are saying.”
“He wants us to go into Ingo,” I say.
Conor stares. “You’re making it up.”
“You know I’m not. Look at me. Am I lying?”
Conor scrutinises me. At last he says reluctantly, “No. But you could be crazy too.”
“The gull said, Go to Ingo now.”
“Then it’s definitely mad. We can’t go into Ingo on our own.”
“I think we can. I think it’s the same as understanding what the gulls say. If you want to enough, you can. And as soon as we’re in Ingo we can get out to the Bawns. The rips won’t hurt us. You can’t drown when you’re in Ingo.”
“You could understand the gull, Saph. It just sounded like a gull screeching to me. I’ve only ever been in Ingo with Elvira. Holding her wrist all the time.”
“You mean… Do you mean that maybe I could get into Ingo without help from any of the Mer, but you couldn’t?”
Conor’s eyes flash with anger. “You don’t think I’d let you go into danger on your own, do you? If you go, Saph, I’m going too.”
Everything is turning around. All our lives it’s been Conor who does everything first and best. Riding a bike, riding a horse, swimming, surfing, going out in the boat with Dad, climbing to the top of the cliffs. I’ve always been coming along behind, with Conor turning back to help me. And now, for the first time, there’s something that’s easier for me than it is for Conor.
Granny Carne said that inheritances don’t come down equally, even to brother and sister. Powerful Mer blood, she said. I hope it’s powerful enough for both of us. If Conor comes into Ingo with me, it’s up to me to make sure that he’s safe.
“We’ll go together,” I say. “We’ll hold on to each other’s wrists, like we do with Faro and Elvira. Then we’ll be OK.”
“Sapphire, don’t be stupid,” says Conor. “How do you think we’re going to dive like that? You don’t have to pretend. I’m the one who’ll have to hold on. You could breathe on your own, couldn’t you? You told me.”
“Two are stronger than one,” I say. It’s what Mum always says, when she tells us to stick together. I know how hard it must be for Conor. He’s the older brother, I’m the little sister. But now he’s got to trust me. I’ve got to take us both into Ingo and bring us back safe. I think I can do it. I’m almost sure I can do it. But is “almost sure” good enough, when Conor’s going to be depending on me? I’ve got to. We have no choice.
“Yeah, two are stronger than one,” says Conor. “And if you let me drown, I’m telling Mum.”
We both laugh and it breaks the tension. I take a deep breath.
“I suppose we’d better—”
“Let’s go,” says Conor.
We walk forward over the sand. There’s the sea I’ve longed for, cool and transparent and calm. When I was up at Granny Carne’s cottage I felt as if I’d die if I didn’t get to the sea.
And here it is, and here I am. And I’m afraid. My hands are sticky with sweat and my heart bumps inside me so loudly that I’m sure Conor can hear it. I’ve been longing for Ingo so much, but now that I’m standing on the borderline I want to turn around and run until I’m back in the cottage with my duvet wrapped over my head. I feel sick and I can’t breathe properly.
Give up, says a voice in my head. Go back. You don’t even like Roger. Why risk your life and Conor’s to help him? You know how dangerous it is. Go home now. No one will blame you. No one will know. You’re only a child. Roger’s a grown man, he can take care of himself.
Yes. It’s true. It’s Roger’s fault for coming here. It’s not my responsibility. I can tell Conor that it’s too dangerous and I haven’t got the power to take him into Ingo. Nobody will ever know if it’s true or not.
But then I hear Granny Carne. Of course I can’t really hear her, but I remember her words so strongly that it’s like her voice speaking in my ear: You’ve got Mer blood in you, Sapphire. It’s come down to you from your ancestors. You can do it.
Granny Carne will know that I had a choice, and I went home. And Conor will know too. And most of all, I will always know, and I won’t be able to pretend to myself. I can try to help Roger or I can abandon him, and let him blunder into the Bawns with all of Ingo against him.
Roger tried to help me. We talked about Sadie in the kitchen and Roger understood about her. He told Mum he thought we were old enough and responsible enough to have a dog. Maybe Mum won’t ever let me have Sadie, but if she doesn’t, it’s not because Roger didn’t try.
I can try to help Roger, or not. The choice is mine.
As soon as I say these words to myself, the noise of blood rushing in my ears doesn’t frighten me so much. I’m not panicking any more. The choice is mine. I can make it.
I look around, and spot another gull on the rock where Faro sat the first time I saw him. The gull leans forward, watching us, neck outstretched and beak wide, the way gulls do when they’re warning you off their territory. This time I understand straight away.
“NOW!” shrieks the gull. “Go to Ingo NOW.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE (#ulink_47cf8c2e-51c4-5348-abd5-1598d2756725)
Ingo is angry. We know it as soon as we are beneath the skin of the water, as soon as the pain of entering Ingo fades enough for us to notice anything else. Currents twist around us like a nest of snakes. The sea boils and bubbles. Down and down we go, spiralling, while white sand whirls around us, beaten by the underwater storm. The rage of the sea catches us and blows us before it like leaves in the wind.
“Look out!” says Conor. “Rocks!”
We’re being swept towards the black rocks that guard the entrance to the cove. Ingo can’t drown us, but it has other ways of destroying us if it wants to.
“Don’t hurt us,” I plead under my breath. “We haven’t come to harm you.”
The wicked spikes of the rock shoot past, less than a metre away. This time, Ingo has let us escape. We plunge into deep dark water, dragged by a current that lashes like a switchback. Down, down, down, deep into Ingo. Suddenly the current throws us off.
We’ve got to swim. I peer through the surging water, looking for some sign of the Bawns. Has the current carried us past them already? The water’s so dark and wild, so strong, that I don’t know if I can swim against it. I kick with all my strength, then kick again, but it’s like trying to swim in a dream. Conor tugs my wrist.
“Saph, you OK?”
I turn to him. “I’m fine,” I start to say, then realise that it’s Conor who doesn’t look right. There are blue shadows around his eyes and mouth, and his face is twisted with pain. His legs move feebly. But Conor is a brilliant swimmer, much better than me. What’s the matter with him? Why isn’t he swimming?
And then I know. Conor is not getting enough oxygen. Ingo won’t let him. He’s getting some oxygen through me, but only a little. Not enough.
“Conor, hold on to me! Hold tight.”
Conor’s grip on my wrist is weak. In a flash of terror I realise that I’m all he’s got, and I’m not strong enough. Not when Ingo is angry, and the waters are dark with danger. Not when we’re being whirled through the deep water like human rags inside a giant washing machine. I catch hold of Conor’s other wrist and try to find his pulse. It’s there, but it’s so hard to feel that I’m frightened. Conor’s fingers are slipping off my wrist.
“Conor! You’ve got to hold on!”
“M’OK, Saph. Tired.”
“Don’t try to swim. I’ll swim for both of us. Just keep still. Try to relax.”
Try to relax. You idiot. You brought him down here. You thought you had enough strength for two, and he believed you. It’s your fault, Sapphire, no one else’s.
“Can’t breathe,” mutters Conor.
Oh God, he mustn’t start trying to breathe. It’s dangerous. There’s no air here. Oxygen is flowing smoothly into my body, but not into Conor’s. He’s suffering, it’s hurting him. We’re so deep down, I’ll never get him to the surface in time. And even if I do, once we’re out of Ingo, the sea will drown us both—
“Conor, don’t try to breathe! You mustn’t!”
What can I do? How can I help him? We should never have come alone. If Faro was here – Faro would be strong enough to help—
“Faro!” I cry out with all my strength. “Faro!”
“Don’t, Saph. Faro won’t help. He’s with the Mer. He’s on their side.”
Conor’s eyes are dull, half shut. We cling to each other as the current spins us around and drags us through the wide mouth of our cove. Below us the floor of the sea falls away. Deep, dark, stormy water sweeps us along. I hold on to Conor with all my strength but he’s barely grasping me. His head falls back.
“Faro! Help us!”
I am sure Faro can hear me. I am sure he is there, just out of sight behind the tumult of the water. I know it. How can Faro let Conor suffer like this? Why won’t he come to us?
The cry of the gull flashes over my mind. He spoke to me, and I understood. Maybe I am using the wrong language to call Faro. Faro is Mer, not Air. Maybe I can find that other language, buried deep inside me. I found words before. Moryow… broder…
My ancestors had powerful Mer blood, I think fiercely. They passed their power down to me. It comes down from generation to generation, and it doesn’t weaken. I am human, but if Granny Carne’s right, I am also partly Mer. I can make Faro hear me. I must help Conor. Broder, broder…
I grasp Conor as tightly as I can. He’s not holding on to me any more. Maybe he can’t feel where I am. I’m going to lose him. He’s going to drift away, my Conor, down and down into Ingo until he’s lost. And I said I’d bring him back safe.
