The priest glances at the coffin as he speaks, as if he’s talking to Adam Dubrovski too. He says that we must all die, and that this young man already knows more than the oldest of us here. It’s not the usual kind of funeral sermon at all. For some reason it makes me think of Malin too. The sea took him, just as it took Adam Dubrovski, but instead of drowning him, the sea flung Malin on to land. The Mer can drown in air, just as we can drown in the water. It’s so strange, how we live side by side with the Mer but never know them. As if they are foreigners… but much more than foreigners, even though they share the same world with us… Many of us are here to mourn a young man we didn’t know… But if Malin had died, would we have mourned him, or would we have taken him away to a laboratory to investigate him, as if he were a different species that didn’t have thoughts and feelings like our own?
We play a Polish hymn. Only the sailors know the words, but the tune is easy and we’ve practised it beforehand. It’s like folk music, not church music, slow and mournful. The sailors stand very upright, heads thrown back, eyes closed, singing with all their hearts in deep, resonant voices. I close my own eyes and the song surges into me. I wonder if the familiar tune makes Adam Dubrovski feel as if he’s being buried with something from home.
At the end of the service, as the coffin-bearers leave their seats, Digory steps forward. Tamsin is right. He must be going to play the lament, as the coffin is carried out to the churchyard.
I put down my violin, and everybody else in Ynys Musyk puts down their instruments, ready to follow the coffin. Digory raises his bow, and strikes the first note. I’ve never heard this music before, and I wonder where he heard it? Digory only has to hear a piece of music once, and he can play it. It’s a lament, and it’s very simple, but it has the sea in it, and the noise of the wind. It sounds like the sea when it’s quietening itself after a storm. The priest leads the procession out of church, and Digory walks forward, still playing, and follows the coffin. We all follow after him.
It’s soft and still outside. The grave has been dug close to the granite wall that encloses the churchyard. The church is built on high ground, and from the churchyard you can see the sea stretching to the horizon. Everybody walks slowly through the old graves and the turf, while the sound of Digory’s violin swells over the crowd. Jenna glances at me to see if I’m going to follow her, but I shake my head. I wonder where Bran is? I thought he’d be here. The whole island is gathered, and his nan would expect him to come, if he’s staying with her. It’s a mark of respect to the dead. Maybe Bran not being here has got something to do with Jenna crying…
I go to stand by the wall. I don’t want to hear the final prayers, or see the coffin lowered into its grave. Instead, I look out to sea.
They are there, the Mer. I can see their heads rising above the water, and their long streaming hair. They are far out, riding on the swell, but I can see them quite clearly. Two heads, and then three. Suddenly I am sure that they are here to listen to Digory’s music, just as he said they were listening yesterday. I glance round. Everyone else is gathered around the grave now. Digory’s playing is growing softer. A breeze blows the priest’s vestments as he opens his prayer book. Very faintly, from far away, I hear music. Flutes, fiddles, bodhrans, all echoing Digory’s lament. The sounds are familiar, and yet they are mysterious, as if they’ve been sea-changed. The Mer didn’t save Adam Dubrovski, but they are playing for him.
I look over at the crowd by the graveside. Can they hear the Mer music too? No one has turned. I can see Jenna’s face. Her eyes are downcast and her face serious, but there’s no sign that she has heard anything unusual. As I turn back to sea, the Mer heads disappear.
After the funeral, while Digory and I are putting away our instruments, one of the Polish sailors comes over to us. His right sleeve hangs loose, because his arm is in a sling.
“Thank you,” he says carefully, as if he’s practised the words. “You play good for my friend.”
Digory looks up at him and smiles. The man nods, and walks away.
“Did you make up that music, Digory?” I ask him, thinking that’s probably why I haven’t heard it before.
“The Mer played it to me,” says Digory in a matter-of-fact way, as he wraps his violin in its green velvet cloth before putting it into the case. I feel cold. I hate it when Digory talks about the Mer as if they are part of his everyday life, as familiar to him as we are.
“Don’t tell Mum and Dad that.”
“Of course I won’t. You’re always telling me not to tell people things.”
“Well, remember this time,” I say meanly, and his face clouds.
“I didn’t mean to, Mor—”
“I know. I’m sorry. Quick, Dad’s waiting.”
“That was a great piece you played just now,” Dad says to Digory as we walk back home. “Where did you hear it?”
“I— I can’t remember,” says Digory, looking down at the ground. He’s holding Dad’s hand and keeping close to him. He looks pale and tired after being up half the night, and even though playing is as natural to him as breathing, it must have taken a lot of energy to play the lament like that. Dad notices how tired Digory is.
“Come on, boy, I’ll give you a ride,” he says, and he swings Digory up on to his shoulders. Mum and Jenna are a little way behind, talking together in low voices.
“I’ll make bacon sandwiches for the lot of you,” says Dad, “that’ll put hairs on your chest.”
Digory giggles. “Jenna and Mor don’t want hairs on their chests.”
“They may not want them, but that’s what they’re going to get.”
“Dad,” I say, “I’ve got to go. You know that project we’re doing on coastal erosion – I’m supposed to be collecting data over half-term—”
Dad frowns. He wants us all together in the kitchen in a warm fug of bacon, ketchup and big mugs of tea. Dad hates funerals.
“Can’t you do it later?”
“No, I’m behind with it anyway. Jenna’s already done loads.”
This is true, as well as convincing. Jenna is always way ahead with any kind of school project.
“OK then,” says Dad, “but you’ll be hungry.”
Nowhere near as hungry as Malin is, I think, as I make my escape before Mum and Jenna can ask me where I’m going.
A cold wind is getting up, with rain clouds massing in the west. The beach is bleak and empty. I look round carefully, scanning dunes and rocks, but I’m still uneasy. Someone could be hiding. Bran isn’t stupid. He’ll know that all he’s got to do is watch, and wait. I am much too visible as I climb up the rock. It’s better once I’m by the pool. No one can see me now except from the air. Malin rises to greet me.
“Come into the water, Morveren. The air hurts me today.”
Even in my jacket and layers of clothes, I’m cold. The last thing I want to do is jump into King Ragworm Pool. The heavy grey sky makes it look so dark and dead. I shiver as I take off my top layers. I’m definitely keeping my T-shirt on.
“Quick, Morveren!”
Who said that? It can’t have been Malin, because he’s already dived to the bottom of the pool. I’m probably just hearing my own thoughts. I’m so jumpy today. I didn’t get enough sleep.
I dip my foot in the water. It’s freezing. I crouch on the ledge with my arms wrapped round me. I’ll have to jump. No, I can’t do that, someone might hear the splash. I’ll turn round backwards, and slide in.
The water wraps itself round me with icy hands. I gasp as I push away from the edge, treading water. The rocks are like prison walls, trapping me. I want to get out. I want to be at home with the others, in the warm kitchen.
“Don’t fight, Morveren. Come down. Remember the live water.”
I take a deep breath and scull with my hands, pushing the water upwards so that I sink down. The cold eases as I go deeper. I open my eyes and there are the sea-anemones, waving their pink and orange fronds. The water tastes of salt. Salt! I want more of it. I ope
n my mouth greedily and breathe out every bubble of the air I’ve brought with me from the human world. When my lungs are empty, I breathe in water, not air.
“Malin!”
“Morveren. I am happy to see you.”
I feel absurdly pleased, as if these few words are the greatest compliment I’ve ever had.
“You look so much better,” I tell him. He looks stronger, and somehow even more Mer, as if he’s coming back to himself. The gash in his tail is healing.
“I am well enough to leave this place.”
“Are you sure?”
“If you will help me. You and your sister.”
“Jenna.”
“Yes, Jenna.”
I hesitate. I need to tell him about Bran, but I don’t want to alarm him. He’s only just started to recover and it might make him worse again if he has to wait here, trapped but unable to do anything about the danger. “Malin, have you seen anything unusual at all – anything new?”
“Unusual?” Malin frowns. His hair swirls back as he says scornfully, “How can I know what is unusual in the human world, Morveren? It is all strange to me.”
“Yes…” I pick my way carefully. “Did you hear someone playing a violin yesterday, down by the rocks?”
Malin’s face lights up. “I heard music,” he says, “Mer music. My people are playing to me, because they want to keep me strong.”
“Yes, they were playing too, but I think it was my brother you heard. He was playing his violin close to the rocks.”
“Your brother?” The water boils white as Malin turns and seizes my arms above the elbows. “Who is your brother? Does he know I am here? Has he weapons? Can we trust him?”
“He’s only a child, Malin! A little boy.”
“Human children can be dangerous,” says Malin thoughtfully. “They believe what they see.”
“What do you mean?”
“They do not pretend to themselves that what they see is impossible. If they see one of my people, they do not rub their eyes and say it is an illusion.”
“Let go, Malin, you’re holding me too tight.” I want to say “You don’t know your own strength” the way Mum used to when Jenna and I fought and knocked over the furniture, when we were little – but it would sound too patronising. “But there’s a problem now, Malin. We think – I think – that is, I’m afraid someone else heard Digory’s music and it drew them here, to the rocks. Could anyone have seen you? If they’d climbed up on the rocks, would you have known they were there?”
“Of course I would know,” snaps Malin quickly. Too quickly. I catch the shadow of doubt in his eyes.
“Did you see something, Malin?”
“No…”
“Malin, please try to remember!”
“The sun woke me,” says Malin slowly. “It was a flash of sun off the water. I do not ever sleep so deeply, Morveren, when I am well.”
He looks furious, but this time I understand that he’s not angry with me, but with himself. He has dropped his guard. The sun woke me… a flash of sun… a flash…
Oh no. A flash. A camera. But surely the light would bounce off the surface of the water? Bran wouldn’t get an image of Malin.
“Were you sleeping down by the ledge?” I ask him. He’d have been all but invisible down there. I don’t think any ordinary camera would be able to capture him. But Malin’s frown deepens. He looks proud, furious – and deeply worried.
“You weren’t, were you?” I say despairingly. “You came up—”
“I was listening to the music. My people’s music, far away, from Ingo. I could not hear it in the depths of this pool. I fell asleep to the music, below the skin of the surface.”
I turn away. I don’t want Malin to see the despair I feel. I’m afraid that he’ll hear the racing of my heart through the water. I am sure now that Bran must have taken a photograph of him. We’ve got to move fast.
“I had to hear that music. I had no choice,” says Malin, stiffly. He doesn’t want to appeal to me, or defend himself. “Do you understand?”
“I don’t know. I mean, I heard the music too, but I’m not Mer so it doesn’t mean the same to me.”
“You heard it too?” Malin lifts his hands, cups my face and stares intently into my eyes. For a moment fear and anxiety retreat like a tide. He smiles a smile I’ve never seen before, on Malin’s face or any other. He says with soft, almost incredulous emphasis: “You heard the music of Ingo, Morveren. Your name is true. You are one of us.”
I so much want to say yes. I want to be part of whatever Malin is part of. I want that smile to stay on his face. But it wouldn’t be the truth.
“Malin, you know I’m human.”
“Human? Maybe. But look at you now.”
For a moment I see myself as Malin sees me. My hair flows up through the water like seaweed. My lips are open, breathing in water. I don’t even have to think about it any more.
“Stay here with me,” says Malin, “and soon you will become like your name. Morveren, because you are a daughter of Ingo just as I am Ingo’s son. You will leave this pool and come to Ingo with me. I will teach you to fly down the currents faster than any dolphin. You can become a messenger, like me. We will go to the ends of the world, Morveren, and back again faster than the sun travels across the sky to meet the next morning.”
His voice is like a spell in my ear. Longing floods through me as I gaze into his eyes and see the whole of Ingo there, free and wild. Surely he’s right and I belong there?
I drag my mind back. I can’t help Malin by pretending to be Mer. He needs to get out of this pool and into the sea, and the only way that’s going to happen is by human means. But it feels like letting go of an enchanted dream, and waking to cold morning. Very gently, I reach up and take his hands away from my face.
’m desperate to talk to Jenna, but she’s not at home and Mum doesn’t know where she is.
“I thought Jenna was with you. Has either of you cleaned the bathroom?”
“I will later, Mum.”
“You both know that’s your job. I can’t do everything.”
Mum looks tired and harassed. All the furniture is out of place and there’s a strong smell of soap and polish, so I guess that she’s been cleaning furiously. The only time our house gets spring cleaned is when Mum is upset. She must have been more shaken by the funeral than I thought.
“I’ll clean it later, Mum, I swear,” I say, sidling round to the door.
“Morveren! Will you please just for once do what you’re asked when you are asked to do it!”
Usually I’d give in if Mum spoke in that voice, but I can’t today.
“Morveren! Come back here!”
I scour the village to see if Jenna’s anywhere, but there’s no sign of her. She might be down at the harbour with Dad…
Neither she nor Dad is there. I even look in the fishermen’s shelter, but there’s only Billy Lammas and Charlie Cocking sitting there in caps and overcoats, as usual. The air is blue with smoke from their pipes. They are about ninety and they spend most of their lives in the shelter. They don’t know where Dad is either but they reckon he could be hauling seaweed over on the Menhir shore. The Tremough farm tractor’s over there, they do know that, and Johnnie Tremough was looking for help.
I suppose Jenna could have gone over as well, but it doesn’t seem likely. Hauling heaps of rotting seaweed isn’t her thing. Seaweed may be great fertiliser, but that doesn’t make it stink any less.
I’m about to leave when Billy says, “If your dad a been here, he could a taken your Jenna over.”
“Over where?”
Billy jerks his head towards the mainland. “Got down here too early she did, like she didn’t know the tides. Water was slopping over the stones and still she was all for going cross the causeway but we told her ‘Don’t you take a chance my girl, you know better’n that. Wait an hour and you’ll walk with your feet dry.’ But she couldn’t wait a bare hour. Never seen your Jenna like that. Near eno
ugh crying she was. She could see as well as we could, the water was deep enough in the bay to wash her to glory, not to Marazance town. We told her, didn’t we Charlie?”
Charlie nods and draws on his pipe. “We told her.”
“The next thing, Jago Faraday comes over and he says he’ll take her. You’d think she’d died and gone to heaven when she hears that. She near kisses him I reckon. Be the first girl ever had kissed Jago Faraday.”
“Poor old beggar, he never had a way with them,” agrees Charlie. They’ll start on the life history of Jago Faraday any minute. That’s how they go on all day long. Sometimes I like to hear their stories…
“So Jenna went over in Jago Faraday’s boat? When?”
The men look at each other. “A half hour since I reckon. Look where the tide’s fallen. I reckon your sister’s got herself a young man in Marazance.” They laugh until their eyes water, as if it’s the best joke ever.
“She probably had to do some shopping for Mum,” I tell them.
Charlie and Billy swap knowing glances. “Shopping… Is that what they call it these days?”
“Used to call it courting when we was young, didn’t we Charlie?”
The Ingo Chronicles: Stormswept Page 13