The Crossing of Ingo

Faro’s head shows through the wave crests and then vanishes again. Next time he rises he is only fifty metres from shore. He waves, and we plunge forward. I dive through the first wave and then the next, cutting through the water with Conor beside me. We are not in Ingo yet, but the water feels like home.

We reach Faro. His head is above the surface and he is breathing air. He is pale and his face, like the sea, is stormy. I wonder if the air is hurting him. I thought it was growing easier for Faro to make the transition.

“Are you all right, Faro?” I ask.

“I was pursued,” says Faro, and anger blazes in his eyes. “Look.” He flips over so that we can see his tail. There is a gash in it at the base. “I am losing blood,” says Faro. “I have called my sister but she is with a child who was thrown against the rocks by a rogue current. She will come when she can.”

“Faro! It looks deep,” I say.

“It is deep. It was intended to be deep. Mortarow pursued me. The sea bull has gored me.”

“He did this to you?” demands Conor, and a fury equal to Faro’s flares in his face.

“Ervys’s followers have taken up arms,” says Faro. There is deep anger in his voice as he shakes back his hair defiantly. “He has taught the Mer to arm themselves against their brothers and sisters. He has defied the law of the Mer. Saldowr shall hear of this.”

“Faro, can you climb up on to a rock?” I ask him. “We aren’t healers like Elvira but if we press hard on the wound that might stop it bleeding.”

“It will weaken me more to leave the water. I came to tell you that in two nights we will answer the Call. But Ervys’s followers are waiting for us. They will pack the Assembly chamber if they can. They will try to turn the Mer against us so that we are not chosen to make the Crossing. They fear what will happen if we succeed. They don’t want peace: they want war, and victory.”

“What time? When shall we come?”

“Be here when the moon rises. I will come for you. You will know when the time is right, because the Call will grow so strong in you that you hear nothing else. This is what I have been told by those who have made the Crossing. I will be here for you.”

“But you’re badly hurt, Faro!” I stare through the water and see a cloud of blood around Faro’s tail. “Will you be strong enough?”

“Strong enough!” says Faro, looking at me as if I am Mortarow trying to stop him. Then his face softens. “Are you wearing our bracelet, little sister?”

“Of course.” I lift my arm to show him. “Faro, what kind of weapons have they got – Ervys and his followers?”

“They have taken up spears fashioned from the wood they find in drowned ships, and from sharpened stones and coral.”

I look anxiously at Faro’s tail. I know that people often get blood poisoning from coral wounds. “Was Mortarow’s spear tipped with coral, Faro?”

Faro turns aside and spits into the water. “Mortarow has taken human metal to tip his spear. He has been rummaging deep in the belly of a wreck and has found human weapons.” He spits again. “And our sea bull says that he is upholding the pure traditions of the Mer.” He’s very pale. Anger gives him energy, but he needs Elvira’s help, and quickly.

“Go, Faro, you’ve got to hurry. Are you strong enough? Shall we come with you to find Elvira?”

Faro shakes his head. “In two nights I shall be here for you.” He turns. There are no dazzling somersaults this time, or glittering plunges into deep water. Faro dips his head beneath the surface and swims down, down into Ingo until he is lost to sight.

“We shouldn’t have let him go, Conor. That wound was deep.”

“He’ll be all right, once he gets to Elvira.” Conor turns and wades back to shore. I catch up with him. “Only two nights to wait,” he says.

“Yes.”

Conor glances at me, his face sombre and thoughtful. “Aren’t you afraid, Saph?” he asks.

“Of Mortarow, you mean? But Saldowr wouldn’t let him hurt us… would he?”

“Mortarow has just struck at Faro, Saph. He knows that’s the same as striking at Saldowr himself. They’ve lost their fear of what Saldowr can do to them. Listen Saph. Do you really still want to make the Crossing?”

I stop dead in the shallow water, grabbing Conor’s arm to make him stop too. “How can you say that?”

“I’m not even sure that I should let you go.”

“Let me go! Conor, you’re my brother but you’re not my keeper. Don’t you understand? I’ve got no choice. I’ve got to go.”

Conor sighs. “I keep thinking what Mum would say if she knew.”

“You can’t think like that.”

“You’re my sister, Saph. My real sister.”

I know this is a dig at Faro. Conor doesn’t like it when Faro calls me little sister. “I know,” I say, “but I still have to go. And so do you, don’t you? You heard the Call.” Conor nods. “Ingo needs us,” I go on.

“You don’t have to tell me that, Saph. I’ve seen what Ervys can do. We’ve got to stop him. I just wish I could go alone. Being afraid for another person is much worse than being afraid for yourself.”

I shiver. “I’m so cold, Conor. Let’s get home quick.”

As we climb up the rocks I look back. The cove is filling. The tide’s coming in. A wild tide, full of anger. Next time we come here the moon will be rising. We’ll walk into the water and our journey will begin.

Rainbow is at the cottage. She has tethered Kylie Newton’s pony Treacle to the gatepost and he is munching placidly at a clump of grass. I glance up at the roof. The gulls attacked Sadie; they might go for Treacle too. Every hour of the day they are there now, watching. Sometimes they change guard as one posse flies out to sea and another flies inland to perch along the ridge of our roof. I wonder what else they have got in their nest now. As if it feels my thoughts, one of the gulls stretches out its neck and screams down derision.

I could have given your stupid egg to the cat, but I didn’t. You should be grateful, I tell them in my mind, but I don’t think the gulls can read my thoughts.

“They can’t be nesting at this time of year,” says Rainbow, puzzled. The biggest gull is staring at her and Treacle with its yellow eyes. Suddenly it looks aside, like a bully pretending to have lost interest when he spots that someone’s not going to be intimidated. He struts along the roof a little way, then flies upward in a wide circle that keeps well clear of us. One by one the other gulls lift off, squawking out their protests, and fly out to sea. For the first time since Granny Carne visited there are no gulls on our roof.

“I won’t have them on our roof,” says Rainbow as if she has perfect gull control.

“Don’t you like gulls?” asks Conor.

“I used to, but they’ve changed. They’ve become really aggressive. I don’t mind them dive-bombing to take food off people because that’s their instinct. They’re scavengers by nature. But the last year or two I’ve seen them attack for nothing. They went for my neighbour’s dog one day – you know, Sky. And she’s tiny, she’s only a Yorkshire terrier. I had to beat them off.” She strokes Treacle’s neck reassuringly.

“Does Kylie ever get a chance to ride her own pony?” I demand. Rainbow laughs.

“You know Kylie,” she says. “If she can get someone else to exercise Treacle for her, she will. She likes the idea of having a pony but she doesn’t like the work.”

I stroke Treacle’s nose while Conor goes in to make tea and rummage through the larder to see if we’ve eaten the last of the last Guilt Cake.

“Kylie is unbelievably lazy,” I agree. “If I had a pony I’d want to do everything for it.”

“They’re going to take me on at the stables on Saturdays,” Rainbow says.

“Which one?”

“Tregony. It’s mainly mucking out and leading the little ones out on rides. I don’t get paid but I’ll get two hours free riding and I can use the jumps any time I want.”

“It’ll be good for you to get up on something a bit more exciting than old Treacle,” I say. Rainbow’s a good rider.