Changeling's Island - eARC (22 page)

CHAPTER 20

Áed’s powers were far too small to fight the might of the sea, but his master was doing that well. Still, he used what little strength he had to aid. A little magic: the rain he made fall ahead might wet…but it beat the swell down, and behind it, as it often is behind a rain-squall, the light was a little better and air a little clearer. The day was dying, and it was growing darker. That raised Áed’s small power, but it didn’t help the master.

But the selkie was out there, moving as fast as they were, and she had her watchers keeping the child on the rocks. Áed could taste the selkie spell-work.

* * *

“Rocks! Rocks ahead!” shrieked Molly.

“Marriot Reef!” Tim swung the tiller over slightly, and they raced along a wave and in behind the rocky Islet in its seethe of foam and breaking waves.

It did give some shelter, but even on the lee of the chain of little islands there was no way they could safely land. “Treasure Island ahead,” shouted Tim. “Can you see her?”

“No…Are those sharks?”

“Dolphin! And there’s the seal-woman. And look! Look! Up against the rock!” He shouted, triumphant.

There was a huddled child—a wet blonde head and a scrap of red shirt. “Sammy!” screamed Molly along with Tim. The child didn’t move. Then she lifted her little head and started waving frantically, plainly screaming too. But the wind whipped her cries away like a seagull’s mew. A sheet of spray shot up behind her, drenching her.

“How close can we get, Tim?” asked Molly.

In answer he fiddled with something next to the outboard. “I’ve unlocked the motor, I’ll run in as close as I dare. Grab the anchor rope.” He had his knife out. “I’ll cut the anchor off. We’ll throw the rope to her.”

Starting from the anchor end, Molly hauled the anchor chain until she got to where it connected to the rope. There was a shackle, but she knew Tim was right, her fingers were too cold and weak to undo that. She struggled back to him in the tiny pitching boat, nearly going overboard. “She’s too little. She can’t. Tie it onto me. I’ll get her.”

“I’ll go,” he said, slashing the rope free. It was a very sharp knife.

“I can’t drive a boat,” said Molly. “And I am not strong enough to pull you out of the water. And I can swim well.”

He didn’t waste time arguing. Just tied knots.

“Bowline. Tie one on her too. Let’s go.”

Tim edged the boat in, the breaking surf bouncing it around.

Molly could only hope he was right about them being dolphins. But sharks ate seals, didn’t they?

“Go!” he shouted. “Now!”

Molly dived overboard.

She was a good swimmer. It couldn’t be more than ten meters to the waves sloshing almost over the rock. She was still totally unprepared for the cold, and for the sheer strength of it…she couldn’t swim in this! She had a moment of terrible panic. And then she was carried upward, something muscular, warm, and immensely powerful thrusting her along, ripping her jeans as she shot up the rock with the wave. She scrambled clear. There wasn’t much island left. The little girl flung herself into her arms.

“Bowline! How the hades do I tie that? Sammy, honey, let me tie this onto you. Quickly.” She did her best, and then ran back to the rock edge. The sea looked huge and hungry. Tim and the boat seemed so far. “Take a deep breath, Sammy. Seal lady! Maeve! Help us!” she yelled as she backed off and ran at the sea, jumping as far clear of the rocks as possible.

Tim wasn’t pulling the rope. Instead he’d tied it to the boat and used the engine to drag…and the seal lifted them, away from the rocks. Tim was hauling at the rope now, like a runaway steam-train, pulling them up the side of the boat. She shoved Sammy up, got a kick for her pains, but then Tim heaved her over the pontoon too, as she pulled and the seal shoved. Molly sprawled in the bottom of the boat, but she was on-board.

“Sorry!” said Tim, his arm strong and warm around her as he lifted her to her knees. “Had to get you away from the rocks, Maeve said. Crawl up in the bow and let’s get out of here! We’ve still got to get in!”

And he turned to the water. “Maeve! Thank you!”

“I’ll hold you to our bargain,” said the seal-woman. “Sail. There are bigger waves coming.”

Molly didn’t try to stand. Instead, she clung on to the bow-rope with one hand and cuddled Sammy on her lap with the other. The child was even colder than she was. Fortunately, now they were running straight for the shore, riding on the back of a foaming wave, so it wasn’t the pounding they’d taken quartering the sea. She couldn’t see the shore. Ahead were the backs of more monstrous waves, peaking and breaking. The beach must be there, somewhere. But could they get in through the shore-break?

And then as the wave peaked and Tim dropped the throttle back slightly, she caught a brief glimpse of car lights on the beach.

* * *

Jon and the crew in the police vehicle arrived at the flooded creek mouth, with the sea breaking into it just as another elderly ute came bumping and swaying down the track over the dune on the other side. It stopped, barely at the edge of the water, and the door was flung open. A small, white-haired woman got out and strode into the water. “Who is that?” asked someone.

“Tim’s grandmother,” said Jon. “Someone must have told her. Let me do the talking, Sergeant. Coo-ee, Mrs. Ryan,” he called out.

She nodded at them, briefly, but looked intently at the sea. “My boy is out there, Mr. McKay. I can’t take a third heartbreak. It’ll kill me.”

“We’re here to do our best, Mrs. Ryan. Be strong for him. He’ll do it if anyone can.”

She nodded. She didn’t say anything, but Jon could see the tears coursing down her cheeks as she stared intently at the sea.

He looked at it himself, and it was not encouraging. He knew there was a shallower bank of coffee-rock and mud about seventy or eighty yards offshore, and the waves were peaking and breaking on it with a fury that would toss most boats. It was merely a strong, thundering foam running about a meter high and racing up the beach and into the creek-mouth beyond that.

“We’ll never manage a beach launch in this! She’ll be swamped before we can turn her,” shouted one of the men. The sea was far worse here than it had been when they’d left the Port Davies ramp.

“We’ll put the boat in the creek, turn her, and push out with the waves. You’re going to get wet,” shouted Jon McKay. “The trick is going to be getting through the big break out there.

“There’s a boat! There’s a boat out there! Oh, dear God, it must be them!” shouted a woman—Alicia Symons.

Jon turned to see his own RIB rising with the wave just short of the mudbank.

But it would be suicide coming in over that.

And plainly the red life-jacketed skipper knew that too, because he turned on the wave top and scooted for slightly deeper water again.

* * *

From the wave top Tim had seen and assessed the break on the mud bank. He’d seen it from the shore, before, but only at very low tide. There was a slightly deeper water channel here on the seaward side, so the half-breaking waves started to reform, and it was slightly less hectic than it had been further out. A bigger wave could still come through and flip them. He opened the safety drum. Dug with one hand, watching the sea, working by feel. Pulled out what he was looking for—a spare yoke—a basic life-preserver. “Tie that on her. We’re probably not going to get in here.” But what alternatives did he have? Trying to batter their way back into the wind and waves to West End? That could take hours, and there was no guarantee it would be possible to land there. The sea was getting rougher, the swells bigger.

And then he had an odd experience, rather like the seeing of Faerie, but sort of inside his head. Eight men, dressed like they came out of one his mum’s favorite English romantic movies from long ago, but much scruffier than in any movie, in a long, narrow, wooden boat, rowing—in a storm, in this very place. In the bow, a few huddled women and children. And at the stern, holding an oar in the water like a rudder, was someone who made him feel he was looking in a mirror—but wearing fancy old-fashioned sailor clothes. “We’ll never get in!” said one of the rowers fearfully.

“On the double wave,” said the mirror-image, ice-cool. “On my call, on the double wave.”

Tim looked at the sea, and turned outward again, looking for the wave. He understood now what he had to do. He unlocked the outboard again so the engine’s keel would not dig in. Now to choose the wave…

They circled three more times, and then he saw it. A monster, already capping beyond them. He gave the RIB full throttle and cut across the smaller wave, and up the steepening face to get over the top, and then turned and chased it inward. “Brace yourself and her,” he shouted. And then, for reasons he never quite understood until years later, yelled, “Two six, stroke!”

* * *

“What’s he doing?” demanded Alicia, anxiously.

“Looking for a break in the waves or somewhere to get through,” said Jon, staring. “But I can’t see one.” He wished he hadn’t said that. But there wasn’t a gap. Just big waves. He saw Tim lip a monster…and turn to follow it.
Why?
part of him screamed…it was worse than the rest.

And then he understood. The big wave was catching up on the wave behind, making for much deeper water, so instead of a dumping break it was curling over, and the boy was keeping the RIB just behind the breaking edge, where the water was fast, but still rushing forward, not tumbling and crashing. As it finally broke he’d tapped off the throttle and then, on the surging uprush of foam, opened it fully. Jon was with rest of them running into the water…

But Tim had judged it just right. The RIB skimmed up the wave onto the sand—going right past the first few men. Then Tim was over the side, yelling, “Help haul her in. Quick! Haven’t got an anchor.”

* * *

Mike Symons thought his heart would burst when he saw his daughter, wet hair plastered to her head, stand up in the bow of the boat, with the young girl in her arms. “She’s really cold,” she called, as strong hands lifted the RIB further up the beach, with her still in it. “Can someone take Sammy and get her somewhere warm?”

The cheering was loud even above the tumult of the waves and storm.

And Mike was only one of the men carrying her, and the child, to the police vehicle.

“Ambulance is on its way,” the cop yelled. “Get the little girl in here, I’ll want a first aider, space blanket, and the boat unhitched, fast, gentlemen!” Men leaped to do it. But that didn’t include Mike or his wife. They were too busy hugging their wet child to do that.

“Sorry, Mum, Dad. I had to do it,” she said.

“You’re back safe and alive and you got the child, honey, and that’s all that matters,” said her mother. “And we’d better get you somewhere warm and dry and into some dry clothes. Your bags are still in the car.”

She nodded. “Just got to make sure Tim is all right, Mum. Dad. You won’t let them take him away or get him into too much trouble? If he hadn’t gone out, little Sammy Burke would be dead, too, I think.”

“Huh. I might give him a little trouble for taking you out there,” said Mike, giving her a squeeze and a smile to show it wasn’t…really meant. “But no one else is going to.”

“He tried to get me to stay behind. But he needed me, and I knew that. So I went. He couldn’t exactly stop me. He was…careful as he could be. He’s a really good skipper.”

“I don’t think anyone is going to disagree with you about that! Or think that he’s going to be in any trouble. Honey, if the sergeant had only listened to him…I just wish you’d called me.”

“I should have. But I thought you’d say no, and I didn’t think you’d believe. Good grief! Mum, that’s Bunce. How did he get here?”

The wolfhound was leaping and licking in delight as she hugged him. “I really have no idea,” said her mother, “but he’s also pleased to see you.”

Jon McKay came over and handed them a silver blanket. “Wrap it round her. We’re all going back to the Ryan place, to get the boy and his nan settled, and to all get dry and warm. The young man needs a bit of support from me, I reckon. Are you going to join us? Or are you going to take our heroine home? Well done, girl. Tim has been telling us about how you swam over to get her. Brave as a lion. Uh, lioness.”

“They do all the work,” said Alicia. “What do you want to do, Molly? And what do you think, Mike?”

“How do you feel, girl?” asked Mike, turning to his daughter.

She smiled up at him. “Cold. Tired, a bit sore, hungry…and I would not let Tim…or his nan down for anything, Dad. He may still need me. Us. I want to go with them. Please?”

“So long as the wolfhound doesn’t mind.”

* * *

Áed felt there was some justice in letting loose the great Cu. It was a noble beast, even if it was not well suited to boats. It was a small magic, and he was feeling tired but generous. He would not be going to the hollow hills to serve, and that suited him well.

* * *

Tim had seen his grandmother as he had hauled the boat up and, leaving it to the others, he had run to her. Without thinking, he’d hugged her, and had seen the tears on her cheeks, even in the rain, as she put her hand up to touch his face. “Nan! Nan, it’s all right,” he said, holding her. She wasn’t really a huggy person, but right then she was clinging to him, as tightly as any limpet did to the rock. He led her up, away from the water, looking across to see Molly and Sammy being carried over to the police vehicle. That was good. And so was the ground under his feet. “Is this Ryan land, Gran?” he asked her.

“Reckon they call it Crown land, down here,” she said gruffly. “I thought I’d lost yer, boy. I thought my old heart would break.”

He squeezed her shoulders. “Come on. Let’s get back onto your land, then. They can sort things out, Nan. You need to get dry.”

“It’s your land, boy. That’s all I was keepin’ it for. It’s not worth a damned thing to me without yer. And yer soaked, too.”

“Bit of water won’t do me any harm,” he said, knowing it was her own words he was giving back to her. “Come on, Nan. Let’s get back to our place, because I want to go home.”

His grandmother kissed him on the cheek. She’d never done that before. “Home. It’s so good to hear my grandson say that. Yer grandfather would be so proud, and they say joy don’t kill, but I could murder a cuppa.”