The Crossing of Ingo (31 page)

It’s comforting to think of the stars. I’m not really afraid of being dead, but I’m afraid of dying. It must hurt so much to die. I’m afraid that Ervys has set the sharks to watch out for us again and more and more of the Mer will have gone over to Ervys’s side. The last thing they want is for us to return. They’ll be hoping that we’ve been trapped in the ice or caught in a net like that dolphin. What will they do when we come back and they realise that in spite of our human blood, we’ve completed the Crossing of Ingo?

To calm myself I watch a shoal of tiny fish, like electric blue needles, shimmering about a thumb’s length from the surface. I don’t know what they’re doing – probably feeding. Most
creatures in the world seem to be either hunting or being hunted, most of the time …

I must have fallen asleep. I wake to Conor gently shaking my shoulder. “Saph! Wake up! The dolphins have come.”

The water around us is ghost grey with dawn. Even the dolphins, solid and powerful as they are, don’t look quite real. Elvira is already mounted, and Faro too. Faro smiles across at me.

“Time to go, little sister.”

I
’m in the heart of Ingo. The dolphins are taking us somewhere human beings have never dreamed about. I’m sure that even Faro could never survive here, if he weren’t riding with the dolphins. The world outside the current goes by in a blur. We can’t see or hear or feel anything except the pressure of the current sweeping us along with it, and the strong, supple backs of the dolphins that carry us.

Most of the time we can’t talk, and the others are hidden by surges of foam. I have to trust that Conor, Faro and Elvira are still with me, racing alongside but out of sight. Sometimes, if the current we’re riding starts to slacken, the dolphins swerve sideways, searching for the pulse of faster water. For a second or two we’re slow enough for me to catch sight of Faro, his hair swirling in the tumult of water as his dolphin shoots past on my right. Conor is always looking out for me. A smile of relief breaks over his face when he sees that I’m still close to him and still all right. I smile back and try to wave, but the water’s too strong. My hands are plastered to the dolphin’s sides.

I catch a glimpse of Faro, but he doesn’t look at me. He
doesn’t seem to know I’m there. His hair streams across his shoulders as he rides low down on the dolphin’s neck. The outline of his tail melts into the dolphin’s body as they plunge forward into the heart of the next current. He doesn’t look like my Faro any more. He looks like a different being, part Mer and part dolphin. I try to call his name, call him back to me, but the current stops my mouth. Beyond Faro, Elvira is flying along on a dolphin that quivers like a racehorse when it sees the finishing post.

I don’t know how many times we’ve changed from dolphin to dolphin. Whenever they feel that they’re beginning to lose speed, the dolphins sweep the water ahead of us, calling for other dolphins to leave everything and take us onward. To us, the dolphins seem tireless, but each time we slip on to the backs of a new group of dolphins, we feel the change. The new dolphins soar up through the water as if our weight on their backs means nothing.

The dolphins rarely speak to us after the first greeting. It feels strange because dolphins love to communicate, but there’s no time or energy for it. Their task is speed. Suddenly I am sure that every second counts. Ingo needs us now, and the dolphins know it. Every time, they find the strongest currents and dive into them at such a perfect angle that we never hit the buffeting of the water. And then they fly. I understand now why they called it a flight of dolphins. My dolphin stretches out his body so there’s the least possible resistance, and powers along the current so that miles stream behind us like moments. If the
current slows even for a heartbeat, my dolphin races. While the current is fast, he steers into its speed and lets it fly with us.

All that’s real is speed, and becoming more and more one with the dolphins, travelling deeper and deeper into the mystery of Ingo. I’ve always dreamed of being truly part of Ingo. I’m not Sapphire any longer, with my human body and my Mer blood, not quite belonging anywhere. I’m as much a part of Ingo as the sea bed flowing away beneath us, and the water surging with bubbles as it rushes away behind us.

We skimmed a coast where huge breakers thundered on black-fanged rocks. The current whipped inland and the dolphins risked everything for speed and took us within metres of the rocks. I saw jagged spikes of rock reach out for us, and then we whipped past. They couldn’t get us. The water widened between us and the heave of sea throwing itself against land. Seabirds screamed and dived down past our heads. The dolphins plunged through a cauldron of bubbles and then we were heading out into open water again.

We passed schools of porpoises that leapt to ride our wake, but we were faster and they fell back. A pod of whales crossed our path and we dived down, down, down into the darkness under their bellies and then we shot up again towards the light before the dolphins swerved into a current so fast that everything vanished behind a curtain of rushing water.

So many dolphins, so many currents. Every muscle in my body aches. I can’t begin to guess how long we’ve be travelling and I don’t even care any more. All I can think of is the next
change of dolphins and the next plunge forward into the unknown. One more dolphin dipping down for me to climb on to his back, his body sleek and glistening with muscle, his spirit burning with purpose. And just when I think I can’t take any more, there’s another dolphin, a female this time, and yet another current …

The others seem so far away. We have to keep together, but I’ve forgotten why. This is my life now, travelling on and on with the dolphins until I become one of them. Look at my hand, there, curved inward to the curve of the dolphin’s shoulder. Surely it’s almost the same colour as her skin. And the outline of my fingers seems to be blurring, melting into the solid flesh of the dolphin …

“Saph! SAPH!”

I jolt awake. Something’s wrong. Something’s different. I stare around me at the smooth grey water. Nothing’s moving. We’ve stopped. And there’s Conor, not on the back of a dolphin any longer, but swimming slowly and stiffly towards me. And there’s Faro, staring into the distance ahead of us. Elvira is by his side.

“Conor.” I look down at my hand. Each finger shows distinctly. Slowly, reluctantly, I peel my hand away from the dolphin’s shoulder. As I do so, I think I hear a sigh from deep inside her body. She doesn’t want us to separate either.

“It’s all right, Saph. It’s all over. We’re there. Can you climb off?”

“I don’t know. I don’t think I can move.”

I don’t want to move. My dolphin dips down gently in the water, and the bond between us dissolves. I float away from her a little, then swim around to her head. Her small, wise eyes stare into mine.

“You felt it too, didn’t you?” I whisper.

“You are one of us, little one,” the dolphin whispers back. “Whenever you wish, you may ride with us. But now, go to your brother.”

I push my hair out of my face and turn to Conor. “Where are we? Oh Con, I feel so weird.”

“You were on the leading dolphin for too long. No one realised. We should have changed places. You must have taken a pounding.”

But it wasn’t like that. The water felt smooth and silky. I didn’t even realise we’d pulled ahead of the others. “My legs are like jelly. Isn’t it strange not to be … not to be going so fast?”

“I’ll be OK in a minute,” I mutter.

The four dolphins circle us, like athletes cooling down after a race. One of them, another female, nudges close to me. “How are you, little one? Are you sick?”

Little one.
These dolphins are like my friend the whale. I hold out my arms to them and they press close, nuzzling and rubbing against me.

“Thank you, dear dolphins.”

“Saph, are you really OK?” Conor sounds worried.

“I’m fine. It’s just that I’ve never travelled so fast.”

“It was wonderful, wasn’t it?” says Conor, his eyes shining.

But just then Faro shouts, “Sapphire! Look ahead! Do you know where we are?”

I peer through the grey water. It must be very early up in the human world. The sun hasn’t risen yet. There’s something solid rising from the sea floor ahead of me. A wreck, maybe, or an underwater reef. No, it’s too big for that. Minute by minute the water grows lighter and the outline clearer. I see low humps of drowned hills. Ruined stone buildings. A long line of wall that curves protectively around what must have been a harbour once.

“The Lost Islands!” shouts Faro joyfully. “Look, there they are! We are almost home, little sister!”

Almost home.
Then that means we have almost completed the Crossing. It feels too sudden. Too easy. I ought to be elated but I’m not. There’s a knot of fear gathering in my stomach, and I don’t know why. Elvira turns, her sweet smile lighting up her face.

“Isn’t it beautiful?” she calls. Conor and I glance at each other.

“What is it?” asks Conor, and I remember that he’s never seen the Lost Islands before.

“They were islands once,” I explain, “but then the sea level rose and covered them. Faro took me here once. You can even see the church, but it’s all deep underwater.”

“Did the people drown?”

“I’m not sure. I – I think some of them must have.” I can’t help shivering. The Lost Islands are so sad. All the life in them was wiped away, maybe in a single day, when the sea swallowed them. Maybe some people had time to escape in boats, but most of them must have drowned along with the cottages and the church which has lost its tower.

“Poor souls,” says Conor. “You can’t help thinking about how they must have struggled.”

“I know.” The knot in my stomach tightens. I try to steady myself. Faro’s right that we’re close to home. The Lost Islands are only about twenty-five miles from land. Soon we’ll start to recognise every reef and every half-buried wreck. We’ll swim on until we come to the Groves of Aleph, and there we’ll find Saldowr.

I still can’t really believe it. I expect to wake up any minute and find I’m still flying through Ingo on the back of a dolphin. I close my eyes, squeeze them tight and then open them again. The Lost Islands are still there, beneath deep swaying water that’s changing from grey to green and turquoise and ultramarine as the sun rises. And there’s Elvira, rummaging in her sea-grass bag for those disgusting tablets of seaweed.

“Swallow it, Sapphire. It will give you strength.”

The dolphins move away a little, probably in case Elvira starts dosing them too. Besides, their task is complete. Tired as we are, we can easily swim home from here without them. We only need to catch the gentlest of currents and drift to the Groves of Aleph, and to Saldowr. Three of the dolphins want to leave now,
but the dolphin who was carrying me says she will travel to the Groves with us before she rejoins her brothers and sisters. She wants to see Saldowr. She tells me that her recognition name is
She who carries our story across the oceans,
but we should call her Byblos.

I’m glad Byblos isn’t leaving us just yet. Already I’m imagining our arrival at Saldowr’s cave and how he’ll welcome us. It’s right for Byblos to be with us, because without the dolphins we’d still be travelling. It would have been weeks, maybe months, before we got back from the bottom of the world.

We have made the Crossing of Ingo. I daren’t say it aloud: I can still barely believe it. I just wish that nagging knot of fear would dissolve and let me relish this moment. A thousand memories of our journey swirl in my head so powerfully that they almost hide my view of the Lost Islands. Nanuq, holding me between her paws. My Atka, gliding on her throne of ice. The marks of the net, cut into the side of the dolphin who carried me to Mum. I thought the Crossing of Ingo was just a journey, but it’s more than that. I am not the same Sapphire as the girl who set out so hopefully on the southern route, before the sharks crossed our path.

“Look out! Look ahead!” Faro’s cry cuts through the water. “Sapphire!”

I jolt out of my dream. The Lost Islands are changing. Moving. They look as if they’re alive. As I gaze in horror, the swaying curtain of weed that grows from the drowned cottages and the church begins to move upwards. It looks as if a shaggy
monster is rising from the Deep. The weed parts, and I see shapes shouldering their way out of hiding. The moving weed isn’t weed at all, but long, streaming hair. One after another, figures rise from the weed bed. They are Mer, with broad shoulders and powerful seal tails. Their skin gleams blue as they turn with powerful strokes to form a line across the water. Some of the figures look familiar but they’re too far off for me to recognise them. And they’re holding long poles – sticks …

“Ervys,” says Conor.

My heart lurches. It’s as if I’ve always known that this moment would come. I strain forward and pick out Ervys, in the centre of the gathering Mer. And there’s Talek – Mortarow – and Hagerawl – more and more of Ervys’s lieutenants, each with a band of Mer forming around him.

Ervys and his followers have been lying in ambush. We’ve come so far. We have almost circled the globe, but it wasn’t quite far enough. They knew we would have to come back this way.