The Tide Knot Page 12

  “Saph! Wake up!”

  “Wasn’ sleep…”

  “You were. Your eyes were completely shut. Did you hear what I just said?”

  “Something ’bout a wiz—No.”

  “Listen, Saph. This is important. How much do you trust Faro?”

  Faro calls me his little sister. Faro and I can see into each other’s minds and discover the memories and images there. How much do I trust Faro? I think of his eyes sparkling with glee as he outwits me and his dark, passionate anger against what humans do to Ingo. “Quite a lot,” I say cautiously.

  “Enough to tell him about Dad?”

  Perhaps Faro already knows where Dad is. He surfs the currents all over Ingo, and I’m sure there are many things he knows that he has never told me because of my human blood. I wonder whether or not Faro would be capable of concealing from me what had happened to my own father.

  “I think so,” I say to Conor now.

  Conor continues to plan aloud. He’s fired up now, and I know he won’t rest until he’s organized exactly what we’re going to do.

  Tomorrow’s a school day, and there is no way that Mum will let me miss school again. By the time I reach home, there’ll be only an hour or so left before dusk. Conor won’t consider going to Ingo in the dark, even though I try to persuade him that it’s not too hard to find your way, especially if there’s a moon.

  “It’s too dangerous, Saph. We won’t know where we are.”

  After this I tell Conor about Saldowr and my idea that Faro’s teacher might help us. Conor is not as interested in Saldowr as I expected.

  “He won’t tell us anything the Mer don’t want us to know. We’ve got to be more subtle than that. Faro’s our best chance.”

  It’s all decided. On Saturday Conor will tell Mum we’re going out together for the day and maybe meeting up with some of the others. But without Sadie. What’s a good reason for us not taking Sadie? Simple. We don’t want her to get exhausted when she’s only just recovered from her illness.

  I’d prefer to add some convincing detail to this story, but as usual, Conor is scrupulous about keeping as close to the truth as he can. We are going out for the day, that’s true. We may meet some of “the others” if things go according to plan; that isn’t a lie either. And so Conor is satisfied. No need to specify what kind of “others” we hope to meet.

  We’re going to walk along the coast, past the Morvah rocks. There are some sheltered little pebble inlets beyond the rocks. Most of the walkers go the other way, following the coast path up where it swerves inland. The inlets can’t be seen from the coast path or from the town. Sometimes people come to watch seals, but if we’re lucky, the place should be deserted on a November morning. Conor thinks we can get into Ingo there. It’s far enough from St. Pirans, and it’s outside the shelter of the bay. The Mer should feel safe to come, as safe as they ever are within sight of land.

  “So we’ll just call for Faro?” It all sounds so vague and unlikely to succeed. Up at Senara, at our cove, I could easily slip through the skin of the water and into Ingo. Ingo was all around us there, its magnetism drawing me even when I didn’t want to be drawn. But imagine standing by the water on an ordinary Saturday morning, calling and calling in broad daylight as if I were calling for my dog, but hearing no answer except the mocking surge of the waves and the screams of gulls. Or stepping into the water but feeling nothing except the cold around my ankles. I’d be like a kid paddling out of season.

  “Conor, I still think we’d have more chance of entering Ingo in darkness, from Polquidden.”

  “It’s too risky. If we have to go in darkness, then we will, but we’ll try this first. I’d even rather do what you did and go up to Senara than try to search for Dad at night here. But you’ve got to believe Faro will come, Saph. You remember how you called him when we were in danger last summer, and he came? There was something in your voice then. I was feeling so terrible by then that I couldn’t even see, but I could still hear you. You had power in your voice. And Faro came, didn’t he? If you call like that, he’ll come, Saph. Believe me, you can do it. Dad’s depending on us.”

  After Conor’s gone off to bed, I lie awake for a long time. I keep reminding myself how tired I’m going to be the next day, but still I can’t sleep. I wish I could be as sure and certain as Conor about what has happened to Dad. It sounds so logical. Dad is in Ingo and cannot leave, and therefore Dad is in Ingo against his will. By Conor’s logic, that means Dad is like a prisoner, waiting for rescue.

  If I believed this as confidently as Conor, the problems would melt away. All we would need to do is find a way to release Dad. It might be difficult or dangerous, but it would be like a journey where you know your destination.

  But I’m not as sure as Conor. I don’t really know where my journey will end. I’ve seen Dad with my own eyes, but that has only made his disappearance more mysterious.

  I turn over and beat the pillow into shape again. I have to get some sleep, and I never will if I keep on like this. I’m going to need all my strength for what lies ahead. Stop thinking, Sapphire. Conor is certain enough for both of us.

  CHAPTER TEN

  “You ready, Saph?”

  “Yes.” I bite my lip. It’s a lie. I’m not ready at all. Carrying the heavy weight of responsibility for my brother’s life—no, I’ll never be truly ready for that.

  There are rocks behind us. Two curving arms of rock protect us from view, on the left and the right. Ahead of us is the open sea. The water is calm today. “Too calm,” Conor says. In November that silky blue surface can’t be trusted. The barometer’s falling, and bad weather is on its way.

  “Will there be a storm, Conor?”

  “Maybe. There’ll be a blow at least.”

  “Could the bad weather get here while we’re in Ingo?”

  “If time were exactly the same in Ingo as it is here, I’d say we should be back safely before the weather turns, but you know it doesn’t work like that.”

  “I really hope there won’t be a storm.”

  When the gales blow, waves sweep right over these rocks where we’re standing. The sea boils and rages. We’d never be able to climb out of the water without being smashed against the rocks. I glance nervously at the horizon. Cloudy strands of mare’s tail streak the blue. Those clouds mean the weather’s about to break. Conor’s right.

  “Let’s get going, Saph. We might not have much time.”

  We’re both speaking quietly, even though no one else is around and we’re hidden from view. But Ingo has ears everywhere. A gull swooping through the air or a seal lolloping up onto a rock could hear us and send on the message that we’re coming to Ingo to search for our father. Would it matter? I don’t know. But if Conor is right, and Dad is somehow trapped in Ingo, then we need to keep our journey secret. If Conor’s right…

  The water shelves down sharply here. Once we’ve waded in a few steps, it will be over our heads. Ingo is almost within touching distance.

  “Saph, get on with it!”

  Conor thinks I should call Faro now. He is sure Faro will come for me. I stare at the water, watching, listening. I can’t tell what’s going to happen. Is Ingo going to open for us, or will we have to go home disappointed, our clothes soaked through for nothing?

  Suddenly a shiver of excitement runs through me. Faro’s close. I’m sure of it. The part of myself that is at home in Ingo is starting to wake. Senses that I don’t possess in my daily life are stirring. Somewhere beneath the surface of the water, somewhere beneath the surface of my mind, Faro makes his presence felt. It’s like a very soft knock on the door of my understanding. A greeting.

  Here I am, little sister. Come and find me!

  I scan the rocks, the water. Nothing. No smooth dark head breaks the surface. I swing round, half expecting to see Faro perched on a rock, watching us with that familiar half-mocking smile. He isn’t there, and yet he is, he is. I grab Conor’s arm. “Faro’s here somewhere, Conor. He’s close.”r />
  But Conor is peering round the side of the rocks. “Saph, quick, there’s a man up on the path with fishing tackle. He’s coming this way.”

  We didn’t think of that. This is a good place for mackerel, and once that man settles down to fish, he might stay all morning.

  “Quick, before he sees us.”

  “What about our stuff?”

  Conor has planned everything. We have spare clothes in a plastic bag for when we come out of the water dripping wet. Conor has wedged the bag into a crevice above the tide line, along with our trainers.

  “Hurry, Conor, Faro’s waiting for us.”

  We take one step, then another. The land shelves steeply here. As soon as we enter the water, I know all will be well. It doesn’t feel cold. This is not the chilly sea of ordinary November beaches. It laps up my legs, soaking my jeans. I wade forward carefully so the fisherman won’t hear any splashes. We’re still hidden here, but soon we’ll be beyond the cover of the rocks. We’ll have to dive down quickly.

  Conor and I glance at each other. He has to trust me now. His mouth is set hard. He’s ready for the dive, even though he can’t be sure that I’m strong enough to hold him safe in Ingo. I’ll never really know how much courage it takes because Conor won’t tell me.

  “Come on, Saph, he’ll see us,” Conor mutters, as if the only thing that worries him is the fisherman.

  “Hold my wrist tight.” He nods. “Don’t breathe, whatever happens. Pull my arm hard if you aren’t getting enough oxygen. I’ll bring us up to the surface.”

  I take a step deeper, and so does he. The water rises waist deep…chest deep. It begins to lift us so that we can’t keep our balance. We glance at each other one last time, then lean forward and give ourselves to the water.

  We go through the skin. I open my eyes. Bubbles stream past me, the last of my breath rising to the surface. My lungs are empty of Air now. I draw in the rich oxygenated water of Ingo, and my body floods with energy and life. Conor is beside me, his hand tight on my wrist, his eyes shut.

  The next moment, as I knew, as I hoped, as I believed, Faro is there, swimming alongside Conor, holding his other wrist. He smiles that secretive Faro smile, as if he knows something we don’t. “About time,” he says. “I was wondering how long I’d have to wait for you. Quick, we must swim farther out. The water’s too clear here. They could see us from the cliffs.”

  We’re swimming into deeper water. The seabed glides smoothly beneath us, falling away as the sea grows deeper. White sand, dark weed, and rocks. The camouflage patterns of Ingo, where anything could be hiding.

  “I knew you were close,” I say to Faro.

  “Not too difficult, considering how loudly I was calling you.”

  “I wasn’t sure.”

  Conor says nothing. I turn to check that he is all right. His color is good, but his face is a mask of pain. “What’s the matter, Con? Aren’t you getting enough oxygen?”

  Faro is holding his wrist. Conor should be fine.

  “It’s not to do with that,” says Faro. “It’s the pain of entering Ingo. Going from Air to Ingo is hurtful for humans. Don’t you remember?”

  How could I forget? That burning pain in the lungs, the feeling of being crushed and unable to breathe—

  “I’m so sorry, Conor. I forgot it would hurt you.”

  I forgot because the transition didn’t hurt me at all. I slipped into Ingo like a fish into water. What does that say about me? I glance down at myself quickly. My feet and my legs in jeans look puny next to Faro’s powerful seal-dark tail. They are definitely human feet and human legs. Whatever’s going on in my mind, my body is still completely human.

  After a few minutes Conor feels well enough to speak. “That was the worst yet,” he says grimly.

  I squeeze his hand. “But it should be getting easier each time. Isn’t that right, Faro?”

  “Not for everyone. Sometimes each journey across the elements is more difficult than the last. You have too much Air in you, Conor. Too much Air and too much Earth.”

  “How would you like it if I said you had too much Mer in you?” retorts Conor.

  “I am what I am.”

  “That goes for me too.”

  There is always this sense of challenge between Conor and Faro.

  “Where’s Elvira?” I ask, because Conor will want to know but will never ask.

  “She’s with our mother. They went away together. Elvira is learning the healing of coral wounds.”

  “What?”

  “Elvira is a healer, or she will be one day.”

  “When did they leave?” asks Conor abruptly.

  “This morning.”

  Conor says nothing, but I guess what he’s thinking. If Faro knew we were coming, Elvira must have known too. She could have come with Faro, but she chose not to.

  We are moving steadily away from shore on the back of a gentle current, about twenty meters below the surface. The light is clean and clear. Forests of weed reach up toward us, like arms that want to hold us tight. Small mackerel flicker through the weed. Their green and silver and black stripes shimmer in the underwater light, and they look as if they’re playing a game of hide-and-seek. They look so free. They don’t know about the white marble slab at the fishmonger’s down by the harbor, where their brothers and sisters lie in rows, waiting to be sold. I swim faster. I don’t want to catch the mackerel’s innocent eyes.

  “We want to meet your teacher,” says Conor to Faro.

  “He means Saldowr,” I say.

  “It’s possible,” Faro agrees. “Although you have chosen your time for meeting, not his.”

  “Could we go to him now?”

  “Why not?”

  I’d forgotten Faro’s way of answering a question with another question and just how annoying it is. As soon as this thought crosses my mind, he gives me a quick, cheeky grin.

  “Get out of my thoughts, Faro! They’re private.”

  “You’ll have to learn to stop me then.”

  “All right. You wait!”

  I think of a portcullis I once saw in a film about a medieval castle. It was a huge black grate of metal with sharp spikes pointing up where someone might try to climb over. Once it slid down into place, no invader could get past it. I’m going to slide a portcullis down over my mind to guard my thoughts. Faro won’t be able to climb over the spikes. But I’m not sure that it will work. Faro is as slippery as water. I might not be able to keep him out.

  “Did he read your thoughts, Saph?” demands Conor.

  “Only because I let him. And I don’t feel like letting him anymore.”

  “I’d hate anyone to read my thoughts. It must be like being burgled inside your head.”

  “Conor, you’ve become even more human since I saw you last,” Faro observes wryly.

  “I’ll take that as a compliment,” answers Conor.

  Faro always wants to draw a clear line between the Mer and humans. I check myself hastily because I don’t want Faro to see this thought. But it seems that I’m safe this time. The portcullis is in place.

  “So, tell me. Why do you want to see Saldowr?” asks Faro. “What need have you of his wisdom?”

  “He’s wise, then, is he?” asks Conor. I’m a bit shocked. Of course Saldowr must be wise if he’s Faro’s teacher.

  “He has more wisdom in one of his fingers,” says Faro haughtily, “than the greatest philosophers of Air have in the whole of their cloven bodies.”

  Conor winks at me. “Fine. Sounds like he’s our man,” he says aloud.

  Does Faro suspect why we want to talk to Saldowr? Probably. Suddenly I have an idea. I want to see how Faro reacts if I let an image of Dad rise in my mind. It’s hard. I don’t want to do it. I want to swim along like this, in the peace of Ingo, between my brother and my friend. I don’t want to remember Dad as he was in the pool in the moonlight, close enough for me to reach out and touch him but caught between two worlds.

  Dad’s face is there in my mind
. Every feature is heavy with pain. It’s there in brilliant detail, like a portrait. I let the portcullis rise. I open my mind, and as I do so, Faro swerves violently, as if he’s seen a shark.

  “When did you see this?” he demands.

  “A few nights ago.”

  “He broke the law of the Mer in coming to find you. What did he tell you?”

  “She doesn’t have to tell you that,” says Conor, not aggressively but as if stating an obvious fact. “And why should our father be ruled by the law of the Mer when he is human?”

  “Conor, please don’t!” We’re in Ingo now, and Conor depends on Faro. The stakes are too high for a quarrel.

  “Your father chose Ingo. That means that he also chose to live under the law of the Mer. He can’t go back on his choice now unless he wants to become a renegade. A traitor to the welcome he found in Ingo’s arms.”

  “But we aren’t sure that it was a free choice, and besides, Faro,” Conor goes on calmly, “this argument is one we must have another time and not with you. Do you know our father?”

  Faro and Conor are swimming close to each other, because Conor must hold Faro’s wrist. They turn, face-to-face, then look away. I’m struck by the similarity between them, which is as strong as the sparks of hostility that leap between them. Both have dark hair, dark eyes, brown skin. The resemblance goes deeper than that, to the fire of their sudden anger and their determination not to back down. But they are different too. Faro is watchful, teasing, secretive. Conor’s spirit is open and generous. They are both strong. I don’t know which of them, if either, is the stronger.

  “I know him,” answers Faro at last. “He is—” but he breaks off.

  “He’s what?”

  “You must ask Saldowr. I was about to say something that Saldowr should tell you.”

  I’m afraid of what’s unfolding so quickly now. I have longed and longed for answers about my father, but now that it seems as if we may get them, I’m afraid. I don’t know what to feel about Faro either. Has he deceived us by keeping his knowledge of our father from us, or wasn’t it his secret to keep? I don’t want to believe that Faro has deceived me or played games with me. Not about something as important as this.