The Crossing of Ingo
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“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.
Rainbow pats Treacle protectively. “How can you say that? He’s got the best temperament. You could put a cat up on him and he wouldn’t shy.”
“And he gallops exactly like his name.”
“Don’t listen to her, Treacle.” We both laugh. Conor comes out with a clutch of mugs in one hand and a plate of biscuits.
“No more cake?” I ask.
“No more cake.” He smiles at Rainbow. “You’re growing your hair.”
I hadn’t noticed, but he’s right. Rainbow’s bright hair is curling down over her neck now. She blushes a little. “I just felt like it,” she says, looking down at the mug of tea Conor hands her, rather than at him.
“It’s nice,” says Conor.
“But where’s Sadie?” asks Rainbow abruptly.
“She’s gone to stay with Granny Carne for a while,” I answer, not looking at Rainbow.
“We’ve had a call from family upcountry,” says Conor.
“Mum’s second cousin,” I put in quickly. “They want us to go up there for half term, and maybe stay on for a week afterwards, because of Mum being away. We’re going to write to our schools for permission to miss the time. But we can’t take Sadie because they live in a flat.”
Too much information, I realise as the words gush from my mouth. Second law of lying: don’t put too much icing on the cake. Silence falls, an awkward silence.
“In Plymouth,” I blurt out.
Rainbow looks from me to Conor. Her face is puzzled. Her blush returns and deepens. “I didn’t know you had any family in Plymouth,” she says. “Have you been up to stay with them before?”
“Yes,” I say.
“No,” says Conor at the same moment.
Another silence falls. Rainbow turns away and starts to fuss over Treacle. “There, boy, good boy, steady there…” Treacle looks surprised but smug, while Rainbow gulps down her tea, even though it must be too hot.
“They’re not well,” I blunder on. “Our cousin and his family, that is. That’s why they want us to go, to help look after them…”
“I’ve got to get going,” Rainbow mutters into her mug. “Kylie will want Treacle back…”
Kylie Newton wouldn’t care if you took Treacle out until the middle of next week, I think, but I say nothing. I have the feeling that Conor’s got to sort out this mess, not me. The silence drags on painfully. Rainbow puts her mug down on a flat stone, fumbles for her hard hat and puts it on.
“Rainbow,” says Conor.
“Yes?” Her voice isn’t cold – Rainbow’s voice could never be that – but it’s constricted.
“Rainbow, I’m sorry. That wasn’t true, what we said.”
“I know.”
“Saph and I do have to go somewhere. But we can’t tell you any more than that. We can’t tell anyone. If our schools think we’re with family there won’t be any trouble.”
“You didn’t have to lie to me,” Rainbow says.
Neither of us knows what to say. Colour rises under Conor’s brown skin. He frowns and his lips tighten. I hope Rainbow doesn’t think he is angry with her. He’s furious with himself, and with everything that’s forced him to lie to Rainbow. “I was stupid,” he says quietly.
“Yes, you were.” Rainbow is frowning too. Elvira would have melted into sympathy by now, I think. But Rainbow’s not like that. She thinks a lot of Conor but she expects a lot from him too. They take no notice of me. In fact they’ve probably forgotten that I’m here. Rainbow is trying to work out what can have made the Conor she knows behave so much out of character.
Suddenly she gets it. Light breaks on her face. “Is it to do with your father?” she asks. I follow her thoughts. She believes that maybe we have been right all along. Dad is still alive, and we have managed to trace him. Conor hesitates. He can’t – no, he won’t – lie to Rainbow any more, but he’s got to give her some kind of explanation. It would be cruel to leave her thinking that we don’t trust her.
“In a way it is,” he says carefully.
Another flash of insight. “You’re going where he is, aren’t you?”
“Yes,” says Conor. You can see how relieved he is to be telling the truth. “But we can’t tell anyone else. It’s vital. People could get hurt.”
“Is it dangerous, then?” It’s an odd question, given all that Rainbow doesn’t know. It’s as if she understands what is going on by instinct.
“It could be. But Saph and I haven’t got any choice.”
This is where I have my own moment of inspiration. “Granny Carne knows,” I say.
Rainbow’s expression clears. “She knows where your father is?”
“Yes.”
“And she hasn’t tried to stop you?”
I think of Granny Carne standing in the lane a long time ago, keeping us from Ingo, giving us blackberries that tasted of Earth. She stopped us then, but time has moved on. We’re not strangers to Ingo any more, or visitors who can plunge beneath the skin, surf a few currents and come out unchanged. We’ve become part of it, even Conor, whether we want to be or not. Our future is tied to Ingo’s. That’s why Granny Carne won’t stand in our way this time, and why she can’t give us any protection. I see her in my mind’s eye, her red scarf flying in the wind, her feet planted on the Earth, her far-seeing eyes fixed on me. One of her hands is lifted. I don’t know if she’s greeting me or saying farewell. Her other hand rests on the hoary grey of a granite standing stone, while the adders – her nadron, the children of Earth – twist and twine at her feet. The vision is so powerful that I almost hear the snakes hiss.
I come back to myself. Rainbow is watching me curiously.
“Granny Carne hasn’t tried to stop us,” Conor confirms. “She’s the only one who knows where we’re going, though. You won’t tell anyone else, will you, Rainbow? Not even Patrick?”
“Not if you don’t want me to.”
Rainbow unhitches Treacle’s reins from the post and leads him away from the wall. He stops, placid and foursquare as ever. She puts her foot into the stirrup, and springs on to Treacle’s broad back. Her legs are way too long for him, but Rainbow is light and no burden.
“That animal’s more like an armchair than a horse,” Conor says, trying to lighten the atmosphere. Rainbow remains serious.
“You said it might be dangerous.”
“Yes,” says Conor.
“You will—” Rainbow clears her throat. “You will come back, won’t you?” The light is behind her, shining through the bright rim of hair beneath the hard hat. Conor puts his hand on Treacle’s neck. He is serious, too, as he gazes up at Rainbow.
“I’ll come back,” he says. “I promise you that.”
CHAPTER SIX
Faro was right. When the time comes, we can no more resist the force that is pulling us towards that Assembly chamber than we could stop the blood flowing through our veins. The Call isn’t just one note blown on a conch: it’s a summons. Ingo wants us, needs us, and demands that we come now.
It’s a clear, still night, thick with stars. The moon will rise soon after nine o’clock, Conor says. It’s coming up to high tide. The salt tide of Ingo rises in me, growing stronger every minute.
We turn out the lights and lock the cottage door. A gull mews like a cat out of the darkness above our heads. Another answers, and then I think I hear wings. Conor stares up, trying to see what the gulls are doing. “Are they still there?”
“I think one flew off.”
“Do you think they’ve guessed where we’re going?”
“I don’t know.”
We are both whispering. Now that my eyes are getting used to the dark I can see the pale shapes of the gulls standing on the roof, silhouetted against the moonlit sky. There are six of them.
They make no more sound. Their silence seems more sinister than a flurry of angry squawking.
“Come on,” says Conor.
We cross the garden, open the gate and set off down the track. Our feet crunch more loudly on the hard surface than they ever do by day. I glance back. I can still see our home by starlight, although the moon hasn’t risen yet. The gulls are there, watching and waiting. They can wait there as long as they like, I think, but they’ll never be able to enter. The rowan will keep our home safe. I can just see the rowan tree’s shape against our door. No evil can cross a threshold which the rowan guards.
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.
CHAPTER SEVEN
The 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 fingerhold 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.
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