Song of the Deep

by Brian Hastings

  And then we are above the water, sailing toward the dark brown cliffs in the distance.

  We’re going home.

  15

  SEASHELL SOUP

  Wake up, Dandelion,” my father calls to me. “We need to get an early start if we’re going to bring anything home for Fergus tonight.” I hurriedly get dressed and meet him in the kitchen. There’s a plate of pancakes waiting for me on the table. My father has drawn a seahorse on them with honey.

  “Mmmmm! Who knew seahorses were so tasty?” I say between bites. My father sits down to eat his own stack of pancakes, pouring the honey on top. “Guess we don’t have to worry about sweets attracting leviathans anymore, right?”

  “Maybe I should bring a little extra honey in the boat, just in case,” he says, stroking his chin as if he’s thinking about it intently.

  We finish up breakfast and walk down the cliff steps. My father has put long wooden planks over the gap, but he still reminds me to be careful as we cross it. Down at the shore, Fergus is waiting, perched on the bow of our new boat. Well, not new exactly, but it’s new to us. We sold one of the coins I found in the Seagarden and used the money to buy the boat. There was even enough left over to buy a whole new set of paints, and new seeds for my garden.

  As we sail out to sea, we take turns telling each other of our adventures below the sea. And this time the stories are real. My father tells me how he was sucked into the current and pulled into the Deeplight. He climbed into one of the gold-and-glass submersibles, hoping to reach the surface. But there was no way to pilot it, and it instead took him through a golden iris-shaped gate and into a tube in the top of the glass dome of the Forbidden City. That makes sense, I think. Only the Fomori’s vessels would be able to use that entrance. The impassable lands were like a secret heavily guarded back door.

  Once in the city, my father searched for a way to escape and reach the surface. He stayed there for many hours, at one point trying to smash the dome itself and swim to the surface. He found the same pool of switches that I had later found and was captured by the Rimorosa. He must have lost his hat on the way down, and it floated down to where the hermit crab found it.

  As the Rimorosa dragged him down, he grabbed onto the kelp vines along the wall and pulled himself free of the tentacles. But he became trapped in the tangles of the strangleclaw, and it pulled him gradually downward through the trench. He used the kelp bulbs to breathe, as infrequently as he could bear.

  He must have been down there for a few hours before I found him. Eventually he could no longer reach any more bulbs, and he blacked out. I must have found him just after that. Even with all the things that went wrong, I can’t help but feel that we were very lucky.

  We check the nets for fish. We’ve had a good catch so far. Maybe the fish are starting to come back! It’s my turn to share a story, so I tell my father about Cara. I describe the house she grew up in, with the seashell drawings on the wall. I tell him about the cave of eggs that shined like rubies. And, finally, I tell him that she once had a friend named Meara. He looks off toward the distant cliffs and is quiet for a long time.

  “I think we’ve caught enough for today,” he says. “Let’s head back a little early.” From the sound of his voice, I already know where we are going.

  Back at the shore, we give Fergus three of our biggest fish and climb back up the steps. In the fields beyond my garden, at the edge of the cliffs, my father and I pick wild orchids. We use a needle and thread to turn them into a pretty purple necklace, just like my mother used to do. Then we walk up the old overgrown path that runs alongside the sea until we reach the grassy hill at the highest point of the cliffs. This is where past generations of my family have been buried. There are graves here that are more than three hundred years old. Standing tall, at the very edge of the cliff, is my mother’s stone.

  We lay the necklace of flowers gently down on top of her grave. We stand, listening to the waves of the sea, as the smell of the orchids embraces us.

  The sun sinks below the cliffs and we turn to walk back down the hill. As we pass one of the worn old stones, something catches my eye. The name and date are too weathered to read, but there is an unmistakable engraving of a tall stone tower with a light shining at the top.

  My ancestors were Fomori. But why did my mother keep that a secret? Was she ashamed of it? I wish I could tell her about Cara; how she’s all grown up, how she still remembers my mother’s friendship. I keep thinking of her lying in the cave, protecting her eggs. Is she safe now? Are the sentinels all gone? If I don’t find out, I’m always going to wonder.

  I hold my father’s hand as we stroll along the path.

  “How about I make a great big pot of seashell soup?” he asks. When he sees my confused expression he quickly adds, “To go with the fish, of course.” But now I understand that seashell soup is more than just a last resort meal to him. It’s a reminder that we made it. We survived. And we did it together.

  “That sounds like the most delicious thing ever,” I say with a smile. We continue down the hill. I playfully kick a tiny rock, watching as it skitters along the path. I look up at my father’s face. His eyes are no longer sad. I squeeze his hand a little tighter. “Dad, I was just wondering one thing.”

  “What’s that?”

  “Is it okay if I build another submarine?”

  ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

  I’d like to thank Christina Pulles and Hanna Otero, editors extraordinaire, for their inspiration, creativity, and guidance throughout this journey. I could not have done this without their help.

  Many thanks to Theresa Thompson and everyone at Sterling Publishing for believing in this story when it was in its infancy. And thank you to Lorie Pagnozzi, Jo Obarowski, Ardi Alspach, Sari Lampert, Kim Broderick, Terence Campo, and Fred Pagan at Sterling for all your hard work on this project!

  Thanks to the GameStop family for their strong support and partnership throughout the entire Song of the Deep adventure.

  Special thanks to a few individuals from GameStop for their support in making this book come to life: Mark Stanley, Cole Young, Nobie Yamawaki, Matt Stadler, Ashley Acks, Shara Reardon, and Jordan May.

  And thank you to the Song of the Deep game team, and everyone at Insomniac Games, whose art, engineering, and ideas turned Merryn’s journey into a living, breathing world!

  ABOUT THE AUTHOR

  Brian Hastings has been creating video games with Insomniac Games for 21 years. He helped develop the stories and worlds for Spyro the Dragon, Ratchet and Clank, and now, Song of the Deep. As a child, Brian dreamed of being an author, and this is his first book. He lives in Los Angeles with his wife and two children. You can learn more about his work and Song of the Deep at insomniacgames.com and on Twitter @songofthedeep.