‘Home!’ said Mothga, and she turned away from the island and pointed with the oar, back across the silvery black sea. Dara stared where she pointed – all the way back to the mainland, to the moonlit twists of the River Bann, and upstream, right to the furthest hilltop.
‘Mandel?’ asked Dara in confusion, pointing to the distant orange street-lit glow of the town where he himself was from. ‘You don’t sound like you’re from Mandel, Mothga? Are you sure Mandel is your home?’
Mothga had stopped paddling. She blinked back at Mandel, her eyes clouded and puzzled. ‘Is home,’ she whispered, her head on one side, uncertain suddenly as she too stared at far-off Mandel. ‘Is home and is not home. Home is trees. Home is creatures. Home is …’ She shook her head like she’d run out of words.
Then she squinted her eyes into the distance and suddenly she grinned. ‘Ha!’ she said, like she’d won a battle. ‘Ha! There my Spirit Stone! You not take my Spirit Stone, Daramurrum!’
‘What? Your what?’
She jabbed the oar, pointing with it far into the distance to where the Lucozade-orange street-light glow rose above Mandel. ‘Ha!’ she said again in triumph.
And Dara peered where she pointed. There, clear as a shadow, silhouetted by the neon sky, was the tall standing stone on top of the mound in Mandel Forest. The standing stone that was so ancient people said it had been there since before Mandel was even a town, since …
Dara turned and stared wide-eyed at Mothga. It was impossible. But as soon as he’d thought it, he knew it was true …
‘You’re from the Stone Age, aren’t you?’ whispered Dara.
Mothga looked at him like he was totally stupid and totally crazy. ‘You from Stonnidge!’ she said with a toss of her head. ‘Foolish far-ice-lands boy!’ she muttered under her breath.
Dara’s mouth went dry. How? What? How was it even possible?
But it was. It actually was possible. It actually was real. He was here in a boat heading to Lathrin Island with a real live actual Stone Age girl. It wasn’t how he’d always pictured it, it wasn’t how it was meant to be, but here he was … Dara grinned to himself in amazement.
A wave slapped noisily into the side of Peagreen, splashing salt water into Dara’s face. Never mind the standing stone; never mind the Stone Age; never mind who Mothga really was or what she was doing here – one thing for sure, they had to get to the other side of Lathrin Strait and land the boat safely.
‘Let’s go!’ he said, jubilant and ready. But as he turned, Dara saw something coming fast towards them that made him gasp in fear – a wall of sea mist, thick and white as milk.
It swallowed them, swift and silent and strangely cold. Dara shuddered; he screwed up his eyes, peering hard, but all he could see was mist and the dim outline of the wild Stone Age girl.
Mothgirl took a big breath. Lathrin Island was gone now. Her far-off Spirit Stone was gone now. All there was was the thick white mist that wrapped them round like smoke, like winter breath, like cloud. It was like there was no land at all, no land and no water; no thing. Just he, Daramurrum, and she, Mothgirl, in the leaking green boat.
Daramurrum made a long sigh. But Mothgirl would not let her heart sink with his, not when they were so close to the island, so close to ByMySide, so close to Hart.
Up ahead she saw the hazy swoop of brightness where, deep-buried in mist, the light her brother made still shone on. Her heart soared.
She pulled on the paddle, silently edging through the fog towards the light. Slow and steady. It reminded Mothgirl of night-hunting in her very own forest, lying await high on a tree branch, not knowing when a creature would come nosing out of the darkness. She stared ahead, eyes alert and darting. If there were strange impossible porpoises here, then what other creatures might lurk in the Big Water?
She shrieked. A yellow-beaked bird swooped down from the whiteness, nearly diving upon them, before he swept skyward once more. Surprised and surprising.
They paddled on through the fog-dulled darkness. She listened; behind the slosh of the water and the whirl of the wind, Daramurrum was making his own music; he made a hum like a bee.
For a small minute she remembered Voleboy, how he played wolfsong on his bone whistle. Wolfsong. She wished she could play wolfsong and call her wolf to safety. ‘ByMySide,’ she whispered.
And as Mothgirl gazed into the emptiness of the mist, for the first time she let herself think how very far this would be for a wolf to swim. How very strong the Big Water was. Would it even be possible for ByMySide to …
Her throat tightened and Mothgirl quick-pushed the thinkings away. She listened again to Daramurrum’s humming. ‘What you sing?’ she asked him.
‘Nothing,’ he said. ‘Just a silly song my dad used to sing when I was little.’
‘Sill-ee song,’ she echoed. Some of his strange words pleased her to say. Like eating a fresh new fruit.
A sudden high screeching sound and Mothgirl felt the horrible scrape drawing along the underbelly of the boat; she winced.
The boat juddered to stillness.
She lifted the paddle out of the water and they looked at each other, faces pale. They both knew what had happened, but only Daramurrum dared speak it.
‘No!’ he breathed, dangerously quiet. ‘The Needle Rocks! They’re under the water all around the island. We’ve sailed right into them.’
The mist thickened, cold on her skin. Mothgirl could not even see the end of the paddle. A wave lifted the boat, dragging it further on to the sharp rocks with that scraping sound that made her teeth twinge and her eyes squeeze shut.
She looked down. The water was coming in faster now and their feet were ankle-deep. She used Daramurrum’s other foot deerskin to scoop water and slosh it overboard.
Another wave came, this time a larger one; it lifted the boat from the Needle Rocks. They cried out together in joy as the boat was carried free and floated for a breath until, hearts sinking as quick as they had risen, they felt the grinding scrape of another Needle Rock beneath their feet and heard the ear-twisting sound again, like carving a hole in a bone, but worse, much worse.
Wordless with horror, Mothgirl pointed. This time the Needle Rocks had found the very place they were least wanted; the crack in the side of the boat where the dead tree had struck them. Where once there was a thin oozing line, now there was a jagged hole, and through it came a spike of rock that was black and sharp as a spearhead.
A wave shuddered hard into the side of the boat; Mothgirl and Daramurrum screamed. Powerless, they watched the Needle Rock saw a fresh gash in the boat’s side, then remove itself as the boat lifted in the next wave and they were flung forward in the tide once more.
‘No!’ yelled Mothgirl. And through the hole poured cold dark water.
Even though Mothgirl and Daramurrum pressed their hands to it, both of them screaming now, they could not stop the determined water that gushed around their fingers.
Dara bailed frantically with his welly. He scooped and tipped, scooped and tipped, but it was no good; the cold water was gushing in so fast. Peagreen was definitely tilting now. Dara scooped and tipped and scoo—
A huge wave broke and the boat spun, crashing nose first into another rock. Splintering the wood into pieces. ‘Help!’ yelled Dara into the endless whiteness of the mist. If Mothga’s brother really was at the lighthouse, maybe he would hear them. ‘Help!’
The beam of light swung through the fog. They were close now. Really close. ‘Help! Hart! Help!’ he yelled. Then Dara started to laugh.
‘Why you laugh?’ yelled Mothga; he could hear the rawness of her fury and her fear.
‘Because we’re so bloody stupid!’ he yelled, hysterical with incredulous terror. ‘The lighthouse! The lighthouse is a warning! A big bright sign to say STAY AWAY OR YOU’LL BE A SHIPWRECK, and we’ve been deliberately rowing towards it.’
He could tell Mothga didn’t understand, but it really didn’t matter. Already the end of the boat was dipping dangerously low in
the water.
He felt panic rise in his chest, like sickness. They were sinking.
Dara almost thought he heard a voice. Faint and ghostly. Like the voices of the wraiths and merrows in The True Legends of Lathrin Island.
‘Help us!’ he yelled back. ‘Help!’
But no one answered. His legs slid into the cold water and he grasped at the boat bench, but his hands slid and the boat tipped and he screamed and then Dara was in the sea.
The icy zing of it gripped him and squeezed; he gasped, chest tight with the shock, and he waited to sink, dragged down by the waves, but –
He was OK.
He was floating.
Dara looked down. The life jacket, the life jacket he’d got out of the Old Boatshed! He’d forgotten he was wearing it. Dara hugged its squishiness in relief. Hope surged through him like warmth, like sunshine. At least he’d had the sense to wear a life ja—
Mothga!
He peered into the mist and the darkness and the seething white water. Mothga didn’t have a life jacket! She couldn’t even swim properly.
‘Mothga!’ he shouted. Where was she?
A big wave surged right over his head, pushing him under. He rose to the surface, gasping. ‘Mothga!’ he wheezed, breathless, pathetic.
He turned and turned in the dark water, but she was nowhere. His heart was pounding in his ears. He squinted through the mist. ‘Mothga! Answer me!’
But all he could hear was the crash and hiss of the breaking waves, and the whistling of the wind and the pounding of his own heart. Then he heard a huge schlupp like a giant taking a gulp of water. He turned just in time to glimpse the disappearing nose of Peagreen as she slid down beneath the rough-tumbling waves.
The cold of the water clasped Mothgirl’s chest. Stealing her breath. Stealing her words. She heard Daramurrum call her name but all she could answer was a small small squeak, then a wave crashed into her face and she gasped and she coughed and she slipped beneath the surface.
Her open eyes saw the beam of light cutting through the blurry water.
And Mothgirl knew her brother needed her.
Her legs kicked. She was still holding the paddle. With two hands she gripped that paddle spear-tight, and the paddle floated, and she floated with it.
Up. Up. With a rising rain of white bubbles. Up.
Until she burst through the surface and the cold wind whipped her wet cheeks and she took in a huge thirsty suck of a breath.
Mothgirl kicked and kicked with her legs, holding the floating paddle in front of her, and she swam through the mist. Each wave lifting her and carrying her along, then fizzling flat and dropping her again. She did not know where the waves were taking her. Out to deeper waters or into the shallows.
But she had no choice. She was helpless as a fallen leaf in the river. Exhausted and breathless, still Mothgirl kicked and still she kicked and still she kicked until she felt the suck of a wave pulling her back back back, and she tightened her grasp on the paddle. And she felt the Big Water grab her and lift her high high high on a wave, and for a moment she was above the fog and she screamed.
Because there, straight ahead of her, was a tall spire of rock, sharp as aurochs horn, jutting out of the water. The big tight wave held her a moment and she heard the roar growing and felt the surge coming as the wall of black water bent itself to frothy forcefulness and hurled her forward.
And Mothgirl spun and she rolled and she turned, for a jumble of moments, eyes open, as moon turned over foam over dark, and she felt the paddle smash in her hands on the rocks and she felt herself slide down and down deeper into the quiet blackness.
And in the deep of the dark she thought of her wolf. Her wolf who had dived down and pulled her up to the surface. Her wolf who had saved her.
Oh, ByMySide! Mothgirl’s heart twisted with the truth of it. Oh, ByMySide! She had searched the dark water for him, but he was not there. Oh, ByMySide! It was not possible for her poor brave wolf to swim all this way. Oh, ByMySide! Mothgirl’s tears fell, invisible underwater, as she looked truth in its face at last – her own dear wolf was in his waking days no longer. ByMySide was truly gone.
Mothgirl kicked weakly with her legs again. And her toe tips brushed something firm beneath them. Could it be …? She pushed down with all her might and up up up she rose.
Her face broke the surface. A small gasp and another wave caught her, took her with it, spinning her around and flinging her forward.
Mothgirl landed on her knees. On sand? Sand! Soft sand beneath her! She wanted to laugh and to cry.
A wave crashed behind her, rushing in, tipping her off balance on to her hands. She crawled coughing, through the mist and the waves, until the sand was dry as nut flour beneath her hands and knees. And when she knew she was safe she let her arms and legs soften and collapse beneath her so that she lay on her belly.
Exhausted. Eyes closed. Breathing. Just breathing.
Dara staggered out of the sea, his knees weak, his breath ragged and raw. His feet sank into the soft sand and he stumbled, then caught himself. He coughed and his cough turned to sickness and he fell on to his hands and knees in the shallows and threw up until he was empty.
Something bumped his foot. Wiping his mouth with his soaking sleeve, he turned around. It was his stupid yellow wellies, both of them, washed up in the tide. He almost laughed as he snatched them up, then dragged himself to his feet and stood wobblish and shivering. The sea mist had drifted way out into the strait. Dara peered into the blue-black waves; he cast his eyes along the wet moonshone sand.
Mothga? Fear filled the empty pit of his belly. Where was she?
‘Hhhhuuphhh …’ A breath. In the darkness behind him. A hoarse, husky wheeze. ‘Hhhhhupphhhhh!’
Dara turned slowly.
He was standing in a little crescent-shaped cove, backed by massive sheer black cliffs and filled with the dark lumpen shapes of seals, grey seals. A whole big colony of grey seals, a hundred of them maybe, and they were all asleep. Big ones and baby ones lay flopped untidily on the sand, their bodies gleaming silverish in the moonlight.
HhhhhuPHHH! puffed the nearest seal, and Dara saw her long whiskers twitch, like she was having a particularly fishy dream. Cold and wet and shivering as he was, Dara couldn’t help but grin. Seals!
Then he noticed that one of the seals was not asleep. Just up the beach where the moonshadow of the tall cliffs made everything darker, a big seal lolloped across the sand briefly, then flumphed down into a new spot. Dara wondered for a moment why that seal was awake while all the others slept, then he noticed another shape lying in the shadows over where the seal had been. Dara squinted – what was it?
Avoiding the sleeping seals, Dara staggered up the beach towards the shape, the sand softening beneath his heavy feet. The shape became clearer, more person-like, the nearer he got. Hope began dancing under his skin as the shape became itself properly and Dara could see that it was, yes, it was Mothga! His heart soared. But, as he staggered closer, he realised that she wasn’t moving at all. She was just lying there, face down in the sand.
Dara stood, swaying slightly; fresh dread swirled in his belly. He swallowed.
‘Mothga?’ he said, his voice weak and croaky.
But the girl didn’t move. Just a wisp of her dark hair fluttered in the silvery light.
Mothgirl summoned her strength and rolled herself over on the sand. She opened her eyes and, as she blinked in the moonlight, she saw a grey shape she did not understand.
At first she thought it was a rock, but then it lifted its head and stared at her with big dark eyes. Mothgirl drew back. It was not a rock but a creature, a creature the like of which she had never seen before. Pawless as a fish, but whiskered and wolf-nosed.
Mothgirl tasted the air for the tingle of danger; her spear hand stretched emptily in the sand.
The big grey land-fish did not send her fierce eyes or growlings. He just blinked at her very slowly. Hhhhhhumppphhhh! The creature snorted softly like P
a’s sleep-breathing.
Hhhhhhhhumphhh! came another soft snort from behind her.
Mothgirl turned with a jerk. Another land-fish lay right next to her. Smaller. Sleeping. Mothgirl crawled to her hands and knees and peered around the moon-pale beach; a whole shoal of land-fish filled the sand, peacefully at rest, hhumppph-ing softly.
Then Mothgirl heard the gentle crunch-crunch-crunch of footsteps. She spun around, dazed and fearful. But it was not a land-fish; it was Daramurrum. Mothgirl felt a wave of warmth rush through her, like sunlight, like fireglow.
He came slowly to her and crouched by her side in the sand. ‘Are you OK?’ he said softly.
But he looked so pale and afraid in the blue moonlight that for a small moment he seemed more spirit than boy, and she wondered if he was in waking days or spirit sleep.
She reached out a fast hand and pinched his arm.
‘Ow!’ he said crossly, rubbing his skin. ‘What d’you do that for?’
‘Waking days!’ said Mothgirl, smiling weakly. ‘You in your waking days, Daramurrum!’ She held out her arm towards him.
Daramurrum looked at her arm. ‘What? What do you want me to do?’
She saw his eyes slowly understand. He pinched her arm too.
Mothgirl felt the sharp zing of living pass fast through her and she let out a little gasp.
Daramurrum smiled too. ‘So are you in your waking days then, Mothga?’
She nodded. But her joy to be living was mixed with deep sadness too.
‘What? What is it, Mothga?’
‘ByMySide,’ she whispered, to Daramurrum and to herself.
‘I know,’ said Daramurrum softly. ‘I’m so sorry, Mothga.’
She looked back at him, but he was just a blurrish shape through her tears.
A nightwind blew the sand in spirals. Mothgirl stood on shaky legs and faced the Big Water that had taken her wolf and rocked him to spirit sleep.
The Way to Impossible Island Page 10