The Ingo Chronicles: Stormswept

by Helen Dunmore

  My companions have disappeared. I’m alone, and the only person not dancing. Everyone who passes glances at me curiously, but they don’t seem as surprised to see a human being as I’d have thought they would. It’s as if they’re saying to themselves, “Ah, here she is at last. So this is what she looks like.” No one bumps into me, or makes me feel that I’m in the way. They dance around me gracefully, making patterns that weave and wind, in and out, to the rhythm of the music. They wear wonderful cloaks of woven coloured seaweed which sway and ripple, fan out and then cling close to their bodies. And here I am in my dull black wetsuit, like someone who’s gone to a party in trackie bottoms and an old T-shirt. I’d like to dance too, but I don’t know whether or not I’m allowed. I should feel embarrassed at being out of place here, but I don’t. I feel as if I’m meant to be here.

  At the same time, I’m angry with the dancers. What do they think they’re doing? Malin is missing from Ingo, and Digory is missing from the Island, but they don’t care. They carry on with their celebration. I want to stop the music and make them all listen.

  “You are angry,” says a voice in my ear. It’s so like Malin’s voice that I almost expect to see him as I turn, even though I know Malin can’t possibly be here.

  “My name is Venvyn. I think you know my son.”

  He is heavy-set and there is grey in his long, tangled hair, but yes – his eyes are familiar. He could be Malin’s father. But is he really? I remember what the other Mer man said when I met him with Eselda, “Malin father far. Far from this place.”

  “I have travelled with the dolphins,” he says, as if he understands my puzzlement at his being here. What this means I’m not quite sure – Venvyn makes it sound as if dolphins are some form of express travel for the Mer. Ridiculous images of dolphin traffic controllers surge through my mind… It’s weird how the more tense you are, the more you want to laugh.

  “Come with me,” says Venvyn, pointing ahead of him into the crowd. Even though the dancers aren’t looking at him, they respond to an invisible command and part to make a passageway for us.

  I don’t move. For the first time I can see the low stage at the end of the hall, and on it there are the musicians of Ingo. There are violinists, flautists, bodhran players, someone on the bagpipes and others playing instruments I don’t know, which look as if they are carved from shell. And there, in the middle of them, smaller than any of the other players, is my brother. His eyes are closed and his head thrown back. Conan’s fiddle is under his chin, and Conan’s bow is in his right hand.

  “Digory!”

  I’m not sure if I’ve spoken aloud or not, but nothing breaks Digory’s concentration. He looks completely at home, as if he’s in the village hall, rehearsing with Ynys Musyk. So many questions crowd into my mind that I don’t know which to ask first. How did Digory get here? Who brought him? Did he want to come or did they make him? How is it that a violin can be played underwater? Surely it’s impossible. But then the whole thing is impossible. I am in an underwater city, breathing water as easily as I breathe air, surrounded by the Mer, and the music I hear is being played by the musicians of Ingo.

  All of it is impossible and yet none of it frightens me, or even feels strange. I feel… not exactly as if I belong here, but as if I’ve been here before. The music flashes and shimmers. I’ve heard Digory play so many times, back in the human world, and thought he was amazing, but I’ve never heard him play like this. My feet are itching to dance. And here’s a Mer boy gliding towards me, arms outstretched, ready to lead me into the swirl of the dancing.

  But just as I’m about to move towards him, I catch a glance from Malin’s father. It’s a curious, judging look, as if he guesses what I’m about to do and doesn’t like it. My dreamlike confidence fades and I scull backwards, a little away from the dancers. The Mer boy hesitates, and then he moves away as well, towards another girl.

  What am I doing? Malin. I’ve got to think about Malin. These are his people. I thought they’d be waiting just beyond the breaking waves, straining their eyes to see any signal that suggests he may be on his way home. But instead, here they are at a huge party, perfectly as ease, as if no one’s even missing, let alone injured and desperate and in danger…

  I can’t judge them, I realise suddenly. I’m just the same. I’m here, not scouring the Island for my brother, even though I know how anguished Mum and Dad must be. I know how desperately Jenna will be searching for Digory, and yet I was about to lose myself in the dance and forget everything except the rhythm of the drums and the haunting sweetness of flutes and violins. Malin’s father is still watching me, but his expression has changed. Maybe he guesses at the thoughts which are going through my mind, because his harsh face softens.

  “You have tried to help my son.”

  “Yes. But why aren’t you helping him? He’s in terrible danger, and here they all are, look at them – they’re dancing.” I gesture at the dancers, who are whirling so fast now that they are half-hidden by clouds of foaming water.

  “They must dance tonight,” he says seriously.

  “But why? Don’t they care about Malin? I came to tell you that Malin’s in danger. He could be captured tonight. I think some men are on their way—”

  Venvyn’s fists clench. “Do you think, my child, that we haven’t known from the first moment we lost him that he was in mortal danger? We know what a prize he would be in the human world. Every Mer child is taught this from the day he can understand. We learn to hide, to evade. We do not show ourselves. We know your people too well. But Malin forgot the lesson, and forgot the power of the storm. We have mourned him every moment since we lost him, because we know he cannot return to us. It has never happened. Eselda had hope after she talked to you, but that is because she is his mother. She does not understand your language or your ways, as I do. Tell me, my child. What do you think we can do to help my son?”

  “Fight! You’ve got to fight them. I know you can’t go on land but surely you can get close. If you’re there when we try to help him back into the sea—”

  Venvyn’s hand sweeps away my words. “Of course we will be there in an instant, if there is any hope of saving him. Do you think these dancers are thinking of anything but Malin? But the gulls tell us that there is no hope for him in your human world. He is in a prison of stone and soon he will be prisoned by humans. There is only one way my son can free himself, and that is by death. All the Mer know that. You mean well, but you are a child, and alone. You do not have the strength to carry out a rescue, and I see no sign of this sister whom you told Eselda was ready to help you. Look at us. We are strong, but the Air and the human world make us helpless. We feel the danger in every fibre of our bodies but we can do nothing.”

  I glance at the crowd dubiously. They look as if they’re feeling anything but danger. Kidnapping and death seem far from their minds. Their tails flash, their strong arms gleam, their cloaks swirl around them in brilliant rainbows. Their white teeth are bared in fierce smiles.

  “Do you know what night it is?” demands Venvyn.

  “No.”

  “We are celebrating the night that this city became ours. We are celebrating the power of Ingo. On this night the sea came and took what was its own. On this night the flood took hundreds of your human ancestors.”

  His teeth are bared now too. He looks at me with a triumph which is both ferocious and frightening. His cloak swirls as he raises his arms high in emphasis. “This city is what all cities will become,” he says. “The human world is strong now, but it came from Ingo and it will return to Ingo.”

  I am not sure what he means. Vague memories of biology lessons stir in my mind. Something about life originating in the sea… Is that what Venvyn’s talking about? But that was millions of years ago, maybe even hundreds of millions.

  “But why does that make you not care about what happens to Malin? He’s your own son. His mother cared, I know she did. I bet she’s not dancing.”

  His gaze holds
mine. “You are right,” he says, “Eselda cannot see the dance. The confusion in her mind hides it from her.”

  “Confusion! You mean love.” I am furious with him. How can he think about anything else when his son might be captured or even killed?

  Venvyn seizes my arm. He doesn’t hurt me but I feel his power. “Listen,” he says. “You think that you know about love? You humans? It seems to us that you know more about death than you will ever know about love. None of our children has ever returned to us, after being cast up on your shores. Why do you think that is?”

  I want to say, “But you could have saved Adam Dubrovski, and you didn’t. Are the Mer so very different from humans?” But I remember that I’m talking to Malin’s father and instead I say, “It’s because the Mer can’t survive in air.”

  “Ha! You think that! No. It is true for many, but not for all. There are some, like my son, who can bear the touch of human Air. It doesn’t save them. They die, rather than be captured. They die, as my son will die. We cannot help them. We can do nothing. We hear their stories from the gulls and we are helpless. How do you think that feels, human child? Do you understand now why we dance and why we remember the time when Ingo was strong enough to overwhelm the human world, and we dance our belief that Ingo will be strong again? Do you want us to remember our weakness? The only way we can ‘help Malin’ now, as you call it, is to make the body of Ingo strong. How would your parents like to know that their child was far away and suffering, in a world they cannot enter, lost to them?”

  I stare at him in horror. That is exactly what has happened to my parents, although they don’t know it yet. Digory is lost to them, in another world where they can’t find him. The parallel is so exact that it’s eerie. Have the Mer made it happen, in revenge for the loss of Malin? Surely they wouldn’t do that to a child of Digory’s age. The Mer must know that it wasn’t human beings who created the storm that hurled Malin up on to shore. But… It’s true that they made music, and Digory heard it. Something pulled him so strongly that he disobeyed everything he’s ever been told, and walked into the water with Conan’s fiddle. Now he’s playing like a boy in a trance, his bow flying up and down the strings as he makes the music of Ingo. I shiver. Digory is playing in the way I wanted to dance. He’s part of it now. I’m even a bit afraid of calling to him, in case it’s dangerous, like waking a sleepwalker. Venvyn’s gaze follows mine.

  “We will not harm your brother,” he says. “Listen to him. We have never had such a musician in Ingo. He will be honoured among the Mer as long as he lives. No one can break this dance.”

  “But he needs to go home.”

  “Home? Look at him, and tell me he is not at home here. He is one of us.”

  “Digory’s at home wherever there’s music. But he still needs Mum and Dad – and me and Jenna too. He’s only a little kid.”

  Venvyn does not respond. He lets go of my arm, and draws his cloak more closely around him. His head is bowed and suddenly I’m not angry with him any more, only overwhelmed with sorrow for him. I can see his suffering. I was wrong to even hint that he didn’t love Malin.

  “How does he look?” he says at last.

  “Better. Almost well. Listen…”And I explain to him about Jenna searching for Digory instead of helping me with Malin, and how there’s just a little time left, but we can still rescue him. Only none of it is going to work unless Digory comes home. I’m not hopeful. The music and the dance are so powerful. The Mer seem to be lost in their celebration of Ingo’s triumph over the human world…

  And then my thoughts click into shape. All the things I’ve known but haven’t connected come together, and form a pattern I cannot miss. The Mer are celebrating the drowning of a human city, long ago. What if it’s our city, the one in the legend? It must be. It has to be. I didn’t think of it at first because this city is so magnificent and the buildings are unlike anything on the Island. But perhaps this is how our ancestors lived, before it was all swept away from them. The legends made it sound as if the city was closer to where our island is now. But stories change, as they get told over and over.

  It would all fit together. The storm might have swept in here, covering these cobbled streets and stone-flagged floors. My ancestors might have been in this hall, listening to music just as I’m listening to it now. But instead of dancing through water, they would have been dancing in air. And those high windows – that’s where Conan’s dad lifted him to safety. And the great doors behind me are the doors that opened to show the sea surging in across the land…

  But if the other part of the legend is true, and there really were some people caught in the flood who didn’t drown but found that they could breathe water as well as air, then that might mean… I stare at Venvyn with wild surmise. Then, it might mean that he, and all these Mer gathered here, are also part of what happened that night. It might mean that some of them are descended from the same ancestors as I am, only theirs were the water-breathers, and mine are the few who raced to shore and found the Island.

  But I’m here, breathing water. Digory’s here, breathing water. There must be something in us which connects us to all these people from the past, both Mer and human. We are not completely separate races, as I always thought and Venvyn obviously still thinks. Malin can breathe air – not always, but sometimes. I remember he said that not all the Mer can, and it was true of the Mer boy and girl who couldn’t follow me through the sea’s surface. I can breathe water – not always, but sometimes – and so can Digory. I glance at him again. He looks completely at ease. Maybe a few people on the Island have always been able to breathe in Ingo. Surely it’s possible that it’s been going back for generations and that’s why the mainlanders call us first cousin to the seals…

  My thoughts race so fast I can hardly keep up with them. I believe in the patterns they make. It all makes sense. I don’t know how I can explain it to Venvyn… But I’ve got to, whether I can or not. If he believes me, it might make all the difference.

  I take a deep breath, and the power of the salt water flows through me. I do belong here. The Mer think theirs is the only way of handling Malin’s disappearance, but I’m sure that they are wrong. Even if they’re right, we’ve got to try and save him. And then I realise something else. Venvyn’s father says that nothing can break the dance of the Mer, but he isn’t dancing himself. He didn’t like it when he thought I was going to swim forward into the crowd. That’s why he glanced at me so critically. He is Mer and I’m sure he believes everything he says about upholding their traditions and making Ingo strong – but he is also Malin’s father. He’s convinced that there is nothing he can do to help his son, but he’s not prepared to join in the dance which is almost like a mourning for Malin as well as a celebration of the drowned human city. Somewhere deep inside him, even if he doesn’t know it, there must still be a flicker of hope.

  “Venvyn,” I begin, “please listen to me. Even if you think what I’m saying is rubbish, please just listen until I get to the end…”

  y voice dies away. I feel empty, exhausted. I’ve pleaded my case as passionately as I know how, but Venvyn hasn’t responded. He stares into the distance, his face furrowed with thought. The skirl of the bagpipes rises as the dancers fly through the water faster and faster, clapping to the rhythm as it accelerates. In the middle of the wild dance only Venvyn and I are still. It feels as if we are on our own island, cut off from everyone. A dark, sad, hopeless island. I’ve failed.

  I’m so deep in my own silence that it takes me a moment to hear my name.

  “Morveren. Morveren!”

  It’s Venvyn.

  “What?”

  “Morveren, you have entered into my heart and told me what lies there. I am Malin’s father and that is stronger than anything else in Ingo. You really believe that there is a chance?”

  “Yes.” I’ve turned to him and I hold his eyes as he gazes deep into mine, searching, trying to uncover everything I know. “But there’s not much time. We’ve
got to go now. I don’t think that the men who want to capture Malin will come across in a boat. They’d have to come into harbour and it would be hard to hide what they were doing. People like Jago Faraday watch every boat. They’d have to carry…” I hesitate. I don’t want to put the horrible image into Malin’s father’s head. Don’t be stupid, Morveren, you’ve got to make him see it. “They’d have to carry him – Malin – all the way from the rocks to the harbour. They’d have to pass through the village.”

  “If they came by boat we might have a chance,” says Venvyn. “We might overturn it and drown them all.”

  He makes it sound quite ordinary, as if the Mer attack boats every day.

  “They won’t do it. Someone might easily see them and ask what’s going on. I don’t think they’d risk it. They’ll wait until the tide’s low enough for them to cross the causeway. Aidan Helyer’s got a van.”

  “How many humans – men – are there?”

  “I don’t know. This man who wants to capture Malin is – well, he’s quite scary. He breaks the law. People say he does, anyway.”

  “I understand. He violates the wisdom of your ancestors.”

  “Umm… Yes, in a way.”

  “It is dangerous for Ingo, if we Mer show ourselves. You understand that. Your people are hungry. You will not rest until you have plundered everything in the sea and under it. Once you humans believe that the Mer exist, you will hunt us down as you hunt every other species in Ingo.”

  I want to deny it, but I’m afraid it’s true. It’s not only theme parks and circuses that would be desperate to get hold of the Mer. Scientists would want them. Researchers might experiment on them. There are probably even people somewhere who would say that Mer tails were a new, delicious delicacy for the most exclusive restaurants… Anyone for Mer sushi? I turn away from the thought with a shudder of revulsion. My own people suddenly seem as alien as snakes.