by Janis Mackay
Seconds felt like minutes. Magnus read snippets from the newspaper to his mother, but his mind was elsewhere – under the sea. Later he sat beside her and watched television, but could only see little coloured dots jumping in front of his eyes.
“Something’s got you, son,” she said in her small shaky voice. “Love, I bet. Eh? Is it? You can tell your mum. I might not look like much but I could turn a head or two.” Barbara nudged him in the ribs, but Magnus Fin only shook his head. The truth was he was in love with the picture of the mermaid on his wall, but he could hardly tell his mother that.
Barbara sighed and said it was time for her bed. She turned to look at him. She had taken her face scarf off, saying it was too hot under that thing, and for a second he stared into her brown eyes. Eyes, he thought to himself, don’t seem to age.
“Tell them I’m sorry,” she whispered, then she got up and limped slowly off to her bedroom.
So his mother knew about his planned journey. She had tried once to stop someone she loved from going under the sea. Magnus Fin knew by the way she looked at him that she would never do that again. Her small words reverberated in his head – “Tell them I’m sorry” – and as he looked at her bent frame he wondered, would he ever see her again?
He stayed sitting on the sofa after his mother had gone, biting his nails and staring into the flames of the fire. At ten to ten his father nodded to him. It was time. Magnus Fin got up from the sofa, stared briefly at his father then ran through to his room.
Usually it took him ten minutes to reach the cave. Add another three or four for reaching the black rock, which gave him, he worked out, plenty of time. The moon would be full at 10.25 pm. He wanted to be there, ready to grasp the shell handle at quarter past.
Hands trembling, Magnus Fin pulled on his wetsuit then his trainers. He stretched then touched his toes. He felt fit, though wished he felt braver, and tried to ignore the butterflies in his stomach. Thinking of bravery he remembered his moon-stone. He had laid it carefully under his pillow the night before. He pulled the pillow back and stared. There was nothing there.
Panic rose in him. Where was it? Frantically he felt under the duvet, under the sheet. He dived under the bed and groped about over the carpet. His grasping hand touched shells, little boats he had made and bones – but no moon-stone. It was gone.
He wanted to burst into tears. He couldn’t believe it. He had been so prepared and now the most important thing – his courage stone – was nowhere to be found. His heart sank remembering how granny had been in that afternoon. She had probably washed his bed sheets. He wanted to scream.
Frantically he searched in his treasure box, on his shelves, in the pages of his books, amongst his pieces of pottery. Maybe he hadn’t left it under his pillow after all. Maybe he had put it in his school bag.
He tipped out the contents of his rucksack. The cormorant’s skull was there but no moon-stone. Perhaps it was in the washing machine.
He ran through to the kitchen where his father was standing wringing his hands. “Go, Fin, just go, there’s no time to lose,” he said, his voice shaking.
“But – my courage stone,” he cried, “I can’t find it. I’m scared.”
“Fin, you’ve only ten minutes, son. For the love of the sea, please go.”
Fin’s whole body was shaking. His knees were quaking, his lip quivering. Suddenly he felt so young. “I – I’m sorry.”
The kitchen door opened. Fin spun round and there, with her long grey hair falling over her nightdress, was his mother. She stretched out a shaky hand towards him. “I found this in the washing basket,” she said and opened her palm. There, nestled like a secret, was the moon-stone.
Fin’s heart leapt. He scooped up the stone. It was still on its lace. Quick as lightning he tied it round his neck, took a deep breath, ran to the cottage door and laid his hand on the door handle. He had nine minutes before full moon.
“Good luck, son,” his mother said. She lifted a bony hand and waved, a shadow of worry in her eyes. “Good luck.”
Ragnor was by his side, his hand on the boy’s shoulder, his face twisted with worry. “Quick, son, go – and run like the wind. It’s now or never, please, Fin – go!”
Now Magnus Fin felt brave and strong. “Right, Dad,” he said, and like an athlete he dashed out of the house. At the garden gate he looked back for a second at the small cottage by the shore, thinking he might never see it again. Then he turned and sprinted to the beach.
As he ran, thoughts of his friend Tarkin flew through his mind. Tarkin had said he’d be with him all the way. Just knowing that put wings in his feet.
He was breathing hard now, pumping his arms back and forth and leaping over bracken and cow parsley to take a shortcut to the beach path. A buzzard soared overhead. It mewed like a cat, as though willing him on. Racing down the beach path to the rocks, Magnus Fin hoped that he, Tarkin’s best friend, could at least open a door in the sea. If Tarkin was brave then so was Fin.
He reached the sandy beach in four minutes then dashed along the shore to the cave. Pounding the sand, he glanced at the underwater watch Tarkin had given him. It was now 10.21 pm. He had to reach the rock in four minutes. He pushed himself on, though now his whole body ached and his heart thumped. But the cave was in view now, and there, jutting way out to sea, was the black rock.
“Keep going,” he willed himself, “keep going.” Running over the skerries he jumped on to a green slimy rock, slipped and lost his footing. His knee banged down on the stone. He cried out but scrambled to his feet, not caring his knee was throbbing, only caring he had two minutes left.
Magnus Fin’s legs felt like lead. He would never make it. He panted hard. The sight of the flat sea and the memory of his father’s haunting story urged him on. He had to make it. There was no time to stop. No time to doubt.
Out to sea he ran now, leaping over rock pools and jutting stone, his heart thudding. He was almost there when a curlew trilled, making him glance round. Behind him a curl of smoke rose up from the mouth of the cave. It seemed to wave to him, to wish him luck. Magnus Fin, now feeling strong and confident, raised his hand and waved, then he raced forward again, jumping over the rocks like a goat.
His knee was sore. His legs were aching. The rocks were steep now. Gasping for breath he hoisted himself up.
One minute left. He must reach the handle in time. He must do what his father had begged him to do. Suddenly it was the most important thing in the world. He must meet his father’s people under the sea.
Over the flat ocean he could see the huge face of the moon. In half a minute now it would be completely full. Tide, moon and boy had to coincide. This moment of crossing worlds had to be a moment between time – between the waxing and waning moon, between land and sea, between child and man. His heart hurt in his ribs it was knocking so hard.
He flung himself over the final rock pool and fell with a cry on to the black rock – and there it was in the swirling water beyond, half hidden behind fronds of seaweed: the glittering mother-of-pearl handle. With not a second to lose, Magnus Fin jumped into the cold water, reached out his hand through the tangle of seaweed and grasped it.
The handle gave under his touch. He pulled it through the water towards him. He felt the drag of a whirlpool. A crack flashed in the rock. A green emerald light blinked from the black, so bright it almost blinded him. And the door in the rock under the sea opened.
Chapter Thirteen
As the rock door opened, a tremendous sound crammed into the boy’s ears, like a thousand screeching gulls. Magnus felt himself being sucked forward, pulled like a magnet. Something had brushed against him. Someone or something had taken him by the hand.
The emerald light was gone. The door closed behind him. Magnus Fin was floating now and water swirled around him and above him. His wetsuit clung to his skin and a warm, weightless feeling filled his body. Fronds of seaweed brushed his legs. He held his breath.
The slow ringing words, “Welcome, son
of Ragnor,” reverberated around him. In a daze, Magnus Fin looked around. Everything was filmy, swaying, like a dream. Who spoke? Who was holding his hand? Was he drowning? The voice sounded like bells, or flutes, or waves breaking. It soothed the boy. The voice and the hand soothed him.
“Welcome,” it spoke again in a warm lilting voice, “you must be Ragnor’s son.” Magnus Fin felt as though he was dissolving, like sugar in tea, and wondered – had he drowned? Was he dead?
But the ringing voice sounded once more. “Welcome, son of Ragnor. I am your grandmother. Welcome to the kingdom under the sea.” And just when Magnus Fin couldn’t hold his breath one second longer, a kiss pressed against his lips making a fire burst in his lungs. Then instantly, and effortlessly, he could breathe.
Magnus Fin blinked over and over. His body felt warm and strong. That kiss had been like bellows to a fire. He was breathing underwater. And he could open his eyes and, in a blurry fashion, he could see. He stared at the strong white hand with smooth long fingers now holding his. Slowly his gaze traced the hand up the arm to the elbow, then further up to the shapely shoulder and finally to the face, the kind face of a woman.
“My name is Miranda,” she said gently. “To greet you I have worn my human skin.” Magnus Fin stared into her large green eyes. She looked human, beautiful and old in a wise, kind way. Long thick white hair tumbled down her back and reached to her knees. “We selkies do exist,” she said, pressing Magnus Fin’s hand, “we really do.” The selkie woman looked into his eyes and smiled. “Now come and meet your kinsfolk,” she said, and gently pulled her grandson through the sea. Then she stopped and looked at his feet, bound in trainers and making little headway in the water.
“Shoes are good for land, Magnus Fin,” she said, “but you are part selkie. Webbed feet will serve you better. Take off your shoes, Fin. I’ll take care of them.”
So Magnus pulled off his trainers then stretched and wiggled his toes.
“Grand feet,” said his grandmother, and for the first time Magnus felt proud of his feet. And she was right. It was easier to swim without his heavy shoes pulling him down.
Magnus Fin could see easily underwater now. Looking above him he could see the red rays of the setting sun stream through the water. Ahead of him the long snow-white hair of Miranda floated through the water, making him think suddenly about Mrs McLeod and Tarkin’s seventeen words for snow. Good old Tarkin and his Alaskan mermaid. Then he thought about his father waving him off urgently and his mother handing him the moon-stone. When was that? Hours and minutes seemed to slip away in this dim watery world.
Magnus Fin let this beautiful snowy-haired sea maiden guide him. She wore a necklace of cowrie shells, a skirt of seaweed fronds and around her waist a belt of amber. As she swam her thick white hair billowed around her like a bridal gown. Magnus gaped in amazement as his grandmother guided him down through the ocean, parting waving seaweed fronds to take them through a dark kelp forest. Then on they swam through coral valleys where shoals of small darting fish brushed against his feet.
Magnus Fin shivered, especially when a pulsating pink jellyfish stretched out its long tentacles and tickled his face. “He’s just curious!” Miranda laughed, but never slowed down for rest. She pointed to the ocean floor, carpeted with writhing brittle stars. Magnus Fin couldn’t wait to tell Tarkin. But there was no time to stare. On and on they travelled, Miranda swimming and Magnus Fin being propelled through the water beside her, holding fast to her hand and kicking away for all he was worth. With his other hand he made round swimming gestures. Never had he swum so fast.
They had left the sun-filtered water behind and as they swam deeper the water darkened. Now, for the first time in his life, the blue pupils in his eyes did what they were made to do. They were like tiny strong torches that sent out beams of light through the dark water. Magnus Fin could see into caverns of swaying coral. He could see ghostly wrecks of fishing boats and sunken warships, some upside down, some broken in two. Here were rusting navies and rotting anchors
They swam over vast desert wastes of rippling sand. Magnus Fin stretched out his arm then recoiled quickly when he spotted a grotesque fish coming towards him. It was an anglerfish with its mouth gaping wide. Magnus tried to scream but only a bubbling noise sounded in the silent world. Miranda tugged him to safety and gently ruffled his wet black hair.
They could have been travelling like this for a long time or a short time when Miranda slowed her pace and gathered Magnus Fin into her arms. Ahead of them was a dark archway, hung limply with yellow seaweed.
“Through here,” she said, lifting her slender arm and indicating towards the archway, “is where your father was born.” Under the archway, like a barricade, was a rusty iron gate that looked as if it had been taken from a sunken ship. “We didn’t always have a gate,” she said sadly as she pushed the rusting bars aside. “Come, son of Ragnor, welcome to the Emerald Valley of the seal people, the home we call Sule Skerrie.” The gate clunked behind them.
This floating dark world is where Dad is from? Magnus wondered, glancing around at the huge fronds of seaweed waving like dancers on either side of the cavern. The words of his father’s song – I’ll see no more my Sule Skerrie – haunted him. So he was here. In the place his father would see no more. His dear Sule Skerrie.
The thought that on land had seemed so unbelievable now seemed to him a fairly ordinary thought. Many boys visited the site of their father’s birth. Magnus Fin was simply doing what many had done before him – the only difference was, this was under the sea.
The entrance to the cavern was decorated with mixed pickings from the wrecks of ships. On rocky ledges Magnus noticed china ornaments, computers, cooking pans, a glass chandelier, a brass candlestick, a ship’s wheel, a wooden mermaid taken from the front of a boat and a dark green glass bottle. He stared at the bottle, a green glass bottle with a cork in it.
“Yes,” said Miranda, noticing that Magnus Fin was staring at the odd collection of ornaments, especially the bottle. “We selkies love human things. And we love humans. Your father, after all, loves your mother.”
Magnus Fin wanted to ask about the bottle. Was it his bottle? It looked like his bottle, but perhaps all dark green glass bottles look the same. But Miranda seemed to be in a hurry. She took the boy and guided him deeper into the cavern.
As they swam through the Emerald Valley, forests of green and red seaweed nodded to them and strings of shells rattled. Miranda paused then guided Magnus to a small cove.
“Here I will put on my seal skin,” she said. “It is easier for us to travel that way underwater. I can swim much faster as a seal. When I change, son of Ragnor, know that I am still your grandmother, even though I will look different. To your eyes I will look like a seal, but look deep into my eyes and you will see the eyes of a selkie.”
Magnus Fin stared as Miranda lifted up a pale fur and slipped into it, just like a human would slip into a coat. In seconds the fair-skinned woman had gone and now a cream speckled seal swam towards him. Fin trembled. He had never been so close to a seal before – then suddenly remembered that was not true. Only days, or was it weeks, ago he had been inches from a seal. But still he felt frightened. Suddenly he felt so alone.
He tried to scramble away but the seal swam towards him and looked deep into his eyes. It could no longer speak but the kind eyes seemed to impart many words. Fin relaxed, the trembling left him and the seal, nuzzling him, pushed him through the water with its nose. Now it was thoughts instead of speech that jumped from seal to boy, a strange kind of talking that sounded in Fin’s head.
“Soon, Fin, you will meet your family. Come.” The seal thought and Magnus Fin understood. He was starting to get used to the idea of having a seal for a grandmother. They swam deeper into the cove and suddenly a young seal swam out of the dark water and greeted them. The seal, in its own way, embraced the human child, then, as though on cue, a hundred seals swam from the shadowy waters and surrounded Miranda and Magnus.
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br /> “Don’t be afraid,” Miranda said to him in her thought-talk way, rubbing her head against the boy’s. “these are your kinsfolk.”
Magnus Fin didn’t know what he was supposed to do. He lifted an arm through the water and slowly waved to the seals, which were now grouped around him, staring. They looked like gentle large dogs with flippers instead of legs. Their eyes seemed to see right into his heart. They didn’t wave back.
Maybe waving is not their custom, Magnus thought. They don’t have arms like I do, just small flippers.
Then suddenly, as though reading Fin’s thoughts, they all started clapping their flippers and yelping and singing. Magnus Fin’s fears disappeared. He grinned. Never had he heard such a joyous deep trumpeting sound.
“Welcome,” they seemed to be saying, “welcome, son of Ragnor, welcome cousin, nephew, grandchild, friend.”
And while Magnus Fin stared, mesmerised by this circle of seals swaying around him, they began to dance. They swam over and under each other. They did backflips. They somersaulted. They flicked their tails and made the water bubble. They sang until it sounded as though the wedding bells in some great watery cathedral were announcing the marriage of the century.
Magnus Fin cheered and clapped his hands, though that was a hard thing to do underwater as the heavy water slowed down every movement. In a curious way, even though he had two legs and two arms and no flippers, he felt at home. And here was his family. He wanted to hug them and get to know them. But suddenly the welcoming singing and yelping ceased and the dancing slowed into what looked to Magnus Fin like a funeral march.
The glad party mood had changed. Now the seals’ cries were the saddest Magnus had ever heard, sadder even than his mother, sadder than a heron, sadder than a crow.
Magnus Fin felt his eyes fill up with tears. Just then his grandmother swam over to him and guided him to a chair made of scallop shells.