The Crossing of Ingo (18 page)

It hardly hurts at all as the waters of Ingo enter my lungs and fill my body. The icy grip of the Arctic is broken as Ingo enfolds me. We are back in our own element, safe. I look over my shoulder and see the ice floe growing small above us. I picture the seal drifting southwards, stoically waiting as his island of ice slowly melts around him. He is much too weak to fish.

When I turn back, Faro is already swimming away with the steady Mer stroke and sweep of the tail that he can keep up for hours. Where’s he going? Away from the ice floe. Northwards. I plunge after him. “Faro! Stop!”

With a twist of his tail he is back at my side. “Are you hurt, little sister?”

“No, but we can’t go north without the others. They’ll never find us.”

“They will go north too. That’s what we agreed. Keep going northwards if we get separated.”

I stare at him. “But Faro, we didn’t expect this to happen …”

“It has happened, little sister. What do you suggest? That we should swim round and round in this world of ice until they appear, or until we die? I cannot find my sister anywhere. Do you think I haven’t been searching for her? I have stretched every fibre of my mind, Sapphire, and there is no answer from Elvira. We must go on and make the Crossing, and trust that they will join us. It’s what we agreed.”

It sounds so logical, so right. I’m half persuaded, but then the reality hits me. It means leaving Conor behind among these icebergs, thousands of miles from home, maybe drifting injured, maybe alone—

“I know we agreed, but I can’t do it, Faro.” Faro is silent.

“Can’t we give it a couple of days at least?” I plead. “Just to give them a chance to catch up with us, wherever they are?”

“But will you go on with our journey after the two days if they don’t come?”

I will have no choice; I see that. To go back without Conor and Elvira will be no better than to go on without them. Faro understood that before I did. Besides, if we go back we’ll have lost everything. No Crossing of Ingo. Our failure will prove Ervys right. He will grow stronger, and more and more of the young Mer will follow him. He’ll lead them deeper and deeper into conflict. Weapons will bristle throughout Ingo. Those who won’t follow will be destroyed. Ingo and the human world will be
pitted against each other in a battle that will go on for generations. Everything Saldowr hopes to avoid will happen.

“Do you think it will still count if you and I make the Crossing?” I whisper, because I don’t want to say the words aloud and make them real.

“I don’t know. I believe it may count for something,” replies Faro. “Believe me, little sister, I would much rather stay. I would rather die searching for your brother and Elvira than live without them.”

“I know.”

“If Ervys gains more power in Ingo, you know what kind of world he will make there. There will be no more gateways between your world and mine. He will set guards on all of them. Every cove will be a Porth Cas. He will hunt down those whose blood is mixed – Mer and human – and he will kill them. Saldowr says this is the world Ervys wants. Ervys tells his followers that Mer and human have separate destinies and must be kept apart. War between Ingo and Air will be inevitable until Ervys gets all the territory he thinks Ingo needs.”

Ervys’s plans don’t leave any space for me. I’m a half-and-half. I don’t belong in Ingo and I’ve got to be hunted out. Nothing we have done for Ingo counts any more. It doesn’t count that Conor healed the Tide Rock after it broke. It doesn’t matter that we went to the Deep and defeated the Kraken.

“It’s the same for me,” says Faro.

“What do you mean? Faro, I wish you’d keep out of my thoughts!”

“Then close them against me, little sister. You know what I mean. I have human blood,” says Faro. “In Ervys’s opinion, even if I were ninety-nine parts Mer and one part human, that one part would still make me unfit to live in Ingo. I have listened to the speeches he makes to his followers. He talks of the pollution of human blood in the Mer race, and how it must be eradicated. He means every word.”

I am so shocked that for a while I say nothing. I never thought Faro would openly admit to his human blood. He’s fought against it and denied it for so long. Now I partly understand why.

“Do his followers believe it too?” I ask at last.

“More and more believe it,” says Faro sombrely. “Think how easy life becomes, little sister, if all the evils of the world can be solved by hating us and wiping us out.”

Us.
Again, I never thought I would hear Faro say that.
Us.
Whatever the future is for people like us, Faro and I share it.

“Saldowr says that the future lies with Mer and human living together – learning to share their worlds. He told me so. For a long time I fought against it, but my mind has changed. Saldowr says I must hold this knowledge in my heart and build on it, whatever happens to him. I am his
scolhyk
and his
holyer,”
says Faro, and his eyes glow with all the old pride. “Saldowr has taught me that Ervys’s way leads to destruction, not just for his victims but for all the Mer.”

“Destruction …”

“Yes. Evils compared to which the breaking of the Tide Knot
and the awakening of the Kraken are small troubles.”

“Oh, Faro, I wish it didn’t have to be like this. Why can’t we all just live peacefully?”

“Because Ervys exists,” says Faro, “and if one Ervys dies, there will be another. We must be strong, little sister. Remember, Ervys will be very happy if we fail to make the Crossing of Ingo. Our failure will prove his point and recruit many more followers to his side. There are Mer who are wavering in the currents now, unsure whether to be loyal to Saldowr or follow a new leader. They will decide for Ervys if we fail.”

I know that Faro is right, but there is a cold feeling in my heart, as if some of the northern ice has got into it. I’m afraid that Conor won’t understand why we’ve travelled on without him and Elvira. He’ll think I’ve abandoned him. But surely – if we can search for just two more days – we’ll find them.

“I suppose you’re right,” I say.

“Reach out for Conor in your thoughts,” says Faro, “and I’ll reach out for Elvira. Keep your mind open. Listen for the smallest sign of their presence.”

“But Conor and I can’t enter each other’s thoughts.”

“You humans! All the same, reach out.”

We float, half awake and half asleep, for the rest of that night. No current comes near us and I’m glad of it. If we struck a strong northern current, I’m not sure I could keep Faro from
surfing it. A few fish drift by. Once I think I hear a whale, but the noise dies away in the distance. I open my mind as wide as I can, feeling through the darkness for my brother’s presence.

Conor? Conor, can you hear me? It’s me, Saph. I’m here, waiting for you. If you’re hurt, give me a sign if you can. We’ll come and rescue you, wherever you are.

No sign comes. The Arctic swell rocks us like a cradle. No one seems to be out there.

A late, feeble dawn starts to seep down, lighting the water. We’re about twenty metres below the surface. The water’s crystal clarity is startling. I thought the sea around Cornwall was clear, but it’s cloudy compared to this. I can’t smell land at all. We said we’d wait two days. I’m not sure if this counts as the first day, or if it’s already the second. If it is, we have to go north tomorrow.

“Maybe we should swim round in a wide circle,” I suggest rather hopelessly.

“And exhaust ourselves,” snaps Faro. “That sounds a good idea.”

“We can’t just float here all day waiting for them to find us.”

“I know that. But we need our strength. We don’t want to end up like that seal — Wait, Sapphire. Hush. Keep still.”

“Faro, what is it?”

He points into distant water, up at the surface. I strain my eyes but all I can see is the faintest of shadows. “It’s not a shark, is it?”

“No.
Wait.”

It’s coming closer. I recognise the movement long before I can really see the outline. An unmistakable firm outward sweep of the arms. A slow stroke that conserves energy and lets you swim all day long. Breast-stroke. It’s them! “Faro, look, it’s the others!”

“No, Sapphire. Look at it.” Faro’s voice is tense. The creature is coming into focus now. The blunt head, the smooth, sweeping, steady stroke that comes and goes, the limbs spreading and drawing in … “What is it, Faro?”

“Nanuq,” he replies.

It is a polar bear, swimming on the surface, its yellowish coat distinct against the rich blue-black water. It’s doing breast-stroke so powerfully that in a few minutes it will catch up with us. I stare at it, hypnotised. Its head dips below the water with its next stroke, and it sees us down below.

“Dive!” says Faro. “Dive, Sapphire!” But a shelf of ice has glided beneath us. It juts out underwater from a passing berg. We can’t dive out of the bear’s reach. Not in time. The bear plunges, diving for us. There’s nowhere to go. Faro throws his arm around me as we face the bear. Its muzzle is heading straight for us. I see its eyes, its mouth.

“Know that we are Mer, Nanuq,” says Faro. He speaks full Mer, which every creature in Ingo understands. “If you smell human blood, know that you cannot spill a drop of it without spilling Mer blood too. Our people have never harmed your people.”

The vast shaggy belly of the polar bear glides overhead, so
close I could touch it. With unnerving speed and grace, the bear turns in a tight circle until it faces us again. The front paws open wide, although the bear’s claws remain sheathed. They close around me, not crushing me but holding me tight in a cage of bear flesh. The next second, Nanuq and I are shooting up to the surface.

We come up in an explosion of foam into a whiteness that almost blinds me. The bear rolls over, swimming on its back, holding me. I can smell its breath. The fur is a dirty, sodden cream. In a moment it will unsheathe its claws and kill me. My chest pounds with the agony of being torn through the surface so suddenly. I hear Faro’s voice. “Don’t hurt her! She is one of us.”

Nanuq will kill me, and Faro will see my blood in the water and rush forward to attack the bear, and then Faro will be killed too. Desperately I reach out for him in my thoughts, trying to prevent him.

Go north, Faro! Quickly! At least one of us will escape.

But Faro is rising to the surface. His voice cracks as he cries out, “Nanuq! Hear me! Hear that she is of Mer blood!”

“Mer blood,” rumbles the bear’s voice, so close to me that it feels as if she’s speaking inside my body.

“Yes,” I gasp.

“But you are breathing air.”

I move my head a little in the direction of Faro’s voice. I can just see his face. His lips are drawn back, his teeth bared. He is getting ready to fight the bear. But he mustn’t or she’ll kill us both.

“You’re hungry,” I say to Nanuq, and her grip on me seems to ease, just a little.

“Yes, hungry, little one. I have swum many miles from the far North without finding safe ice for hunting, or seals.”

“But I am not your prey,” I say with all the firmness I can muster.

The bear turns her head from side to side, peering down at me, trying to identify me.

“I must eat,” she rumbles again.

I think of the seal floating south. If I tell Nanuq that there’s a seal not far away, and that if she swims directly south she’ll find it, then maybe she will let me go. No. She’ll think I’m trying to trick her. And besides, the seal wants to live as much as I do.

“You can’t eat me,” I repeat. I don’t know where my certainty comes from, but it is like invisible armour that holds me safe even though I’m trapped between the polar bear’s paws. “You must hear that I am not your prey.”

“Does your Atka protect you?” asks the bear. I have no idea what an Atka is, but decide to say yes. The bear nods her head sorrowfully.

“Nanuq cannot cross the Atka,” she says, “and I am so hungry, and I have swum so far. Perhaps your Atka is telling me that I must prepare to die.”

My fear is shrinking. I look at the bear closely, meeting her eyes, studying her body. All I saw as she dived at us was a fearsome predator. Now I see a badly healed gash in her
shoulder and the hollowness of her flanks. She has been hungry a long time. I wonder how long she’s been swimming, desperately searching for food or for somewhere she can rest. I glance at Faro. His face has changed. He knows the bear won’t attack me now.

“Go south, Nanuk, where you’ll find land and food,” he says. The bear releases me and rolls over in the water.

“The seals do not pup as they should,” she says, “and the pack ice breaks up. My hunting grounds are shrinking, and my paw is hurt so badly that I cannot run on the ice.” She extends her paw. For an odd moment the huge, powerful polar bear looks like an injured dog holding out a wounded paw.

“May I look at it?” I ask.

She growls agreement. It is her left front paw that is injured, and as soon as I examine it I see why she can’t run. The paw is swollen around a splinter of metal. Every step must drive the metal deep into the sore flesh.

“How did this happen?”

“In the summer, by the human settlements. I have tried to release it with my teeth but they cannot reach the place.” She has torn the flesh too, worrying at it with her teeth to try to free the splinter. Her paw is a mess of half-healed scars.