Secret of the Sirens

by Julia Golding

  “I know,” Col shouted back and pointed to the horizon. There—a blacker shape against the dark skies—was the silhouette of a ship sparkling with lights, a great tanker the length of a soccer field, churning its way heedlessly down the Hescombe Channel. But that was not all: revealed by a crack of lightning, Connie saw nine figures on top of the Stacks. They had their backs to Col’s boat and were gazing out to sea. The eight smaller forms she recognized as the sirens; the ninth—a vast eagle standing beside Gull-wing—was undoubtedly Kullervo. The sirens opened their wings and launched off the Stacks, recklessly riding the gusts of wind coming from the west.

  “No!” Connie screamed to the sirens, trying to cut through the evil song they were singing, to make them see sense before it was too late. They couldn’t even hear her, they were so intent on completing their plan. But someone else heard the disruption: the eagle turned around and spied the little boat rocking violently on the swell with its cargo of two small passengers. His reaction was immediate and immense. Connie felt a great tidal wave of hatred and malice bearing down on her. Clutching Col’s arm for support, she closed her eyes and bent her full force upon raising her shield above her head.

  Darkness. Hate. Loathing. The foul tide broke over her; Kullervo’s presence brought her to her knees, but she kept the shield secure. On seeing her crumple to the floor of the boat, Kullervo crowed with delight, then eagerly turned back to watch the mayhem he had unleashed out to sea. With wings outspread, he leaped off the rock in pursuit of the sirens, thirsting to see death at close quarters, regarding the puny powers of the universal as a matter of no importance compared to the feast that was about to begin. So he did not see Connie, pulled up by Col, shakily regain her feet.

  20

  Kraken

  “We’re too late,” Connie sobbed. “They’re going to drive that tanker onto the rocks and drown all those sailors.”

  Dismayed, wretched in their powerlessness, Connie and Col watched Kullervo disappear into the gloom.

  “Water Sprite, ahoy!” A shout from the stern turned the pair’s attention to matters closer to hand. Another boat had arrived: Evelyn had brought Signor Antonelli, Horace, Jessica, and Col’s grandmother to assist them. They could not get too close because of the bucking waves and the howling wind, and their ear protectors made it nearly impossible to converse; but Connie, pointing the others out to Col, heard enough to know that they, too, had seen the sirens and Kullervo set off for the tanker.

  “I have an idea that may save the sailors,” bawled Horace across the water as he stripped off his life jacket. Jessica had already dumped hers on the floor. “Take our boats as near to that tanker as you dare. We’re going to get some help.”

  Connie stifled a scream when she saw Horace and Jessica dive over the side of the boat and disappear under the water.

  “Don’t worry, Connie,” Col yelled. “They must’ve gone to find the selkies. They’ll look after their companions.”

  Connie was only partially comforted. How could anyone survive the freezing stormy waters of the Hescombe Channel? What about their ear protectors: would they work under water?

  Col spun his wheel and followed Evelyn’s boat, Banshee, farther out into the channel. They could now see the sirens wheeling around the ship and, though they were not yet within hearing, Connie could feel they were singing their song by the tingling in her spine.

  It seemed to take an age for the boats to cross the stretch of water to reach the tanker. The waning moon did little to lighten the darkness that yawned between them and the ship, its yellow eye distant and cold, gazing unconcerned on the perils below. Most light came from the tanker as it pitched and rolled in the heavy swell, its deck a blaze of lights, illuminating the area in which the drama was unfolding.

  “Look—it’s the Cyclops. She seems to be drifting,” Col told Connie. It was true: the tanker had left its course down the middle of the channel where the water was deepest and was now veering toward the shore.

  “What’s that?” Connie asked Col, grabbing his arm to get his attention and pointing into the sea. Glimpsed briefly between the wave crests she thought she had seen ahead bobbing in the water—no, there were more—tens of tiny bodies struggling in the sea.

  “The crew’s overboard,” Col said grimly. “The song’s done its work.” He steered Water Sprite toward the mariners in the hope that they could pull some out of the water before the sailors sank out of reach. “We’re not going to make it.” The nearest head dipped beneath a wave, arms flailing helplessly, before struggling to the surface once more. “Come on, faster!” he urged the boat on.

  Connie clung on to the rail, battered by the wind and flying spray, and waited for the moment when they would be within range for her to throw a lifebuoy. The sailor disappeared under the water again and this time did not resurface. Connie screamed. Then, to her great joy and relief, a head popped out of the sea near where the man had sunk. Familiar ebony eyes, long whiskers, a sleek snout that glistened in the searchlight: Horace and Jessica had found their helper. Diving beneath the waves, Arran grabbed the sailor’s jacket with his teeth, pulled the man to the surface, and towed him toward the boats. Reaching Water Sprite, he left the sailor to Col and Connie, who hauled him over the side. Once safe, the mariner lay coughing and retching on the deck. Returning to assist the other people in the water, Arran was joined by more selkies, bobbing up out of the water in all directions. Soon this efficient rescue party had towed all the seamen within reach of the boats, leaving them to be pulled aboard Water Sprite and Banshee. Jessica reappeared above the surface to help Arran with the final sailor.

  “Here you are!” she gasped, following the man over the side of the boat. “Nothing like a bracing dip in December to get the blood flowing.”

  Arran barked at her heels in what Connie now knew to be his distinctive laugh.

  Last up the side was a cold, but pleased, Horace Little.

  “Thanks, my friends,” he bellowed to the selkies, seemingly undisturbed by the violence of the weather which pelted him with freezing spray and whipped his blanket viciously around his legs. “A great swim!”

  Arran and the other selkies bobbed once in the water before diving from view a final time.

  Just when Connie dared to believe that the sailors were safe, a screech from overhead gave her a second’s warning of the sirens’ attack. Enraged to see their prey clutched from the jaws of death, the sirens bore down on the boats with murderous anger. Connie threw herself on to the deck, dragging Col down with her so that they narrowly avoided a siren’s talons.

  “What can we do now?” Col shouted. “I thought they liked you!”

  She shook her head. “Not with Kullervo around, they don’t,” she said, risking a look into the sky, expecting to see the sirens swooping down on her again. But, instead of an approaching death, she saw something that lightened her heart. “Look, Col!” She pointed up to where a dragon was grappling with the sirens in mid-air: it was Argot with Dr. Brock on his back. A blast of fire, and two sirens fell with wings aflame, screaming as they hit the water. Connie shuddered with the impact, sensing their pain and anger. Danger to themselves had been no part of the plan: the other sirens retreated hurriedly, scooping their injured sisters from the waves before flying back to the Stacks, shrieking maledictions at the dragon as they went. There was no sign of Kullervo.

  Argot flew down until he came to hover over Water Sprite, skillfully holding position in the buffeting winds. The bedraggled sailors scrambled for cover, pointing wildly at the dragon and crying out with terror.

  “Connie!” Dr. Brock bellowed, pulling off his ear protectors. “I need your help with Kullervo if we’re going to save that ship. We’ve got to board her.” He reached his arm down to her. “On the count of three, jump up! One, two, three!”

  Lifted by a rising wave, Connie leaped to reach Dr. Brock’s outstretched hand and was pulled up on to Argot’s back. Jessica shrieked, fearing for her friend.

  “Go, Connie
, go!” shouted Col in encouragement. The dragon swept off in pursuit of the ship, which was now hidden in a great mass of dark cloud. Plunging into the heart of the storm on Argot’s back, Connie could see that the ship was perilously close to the cliffs that ran between Chartmouth and Hescombe. Spray exploded into the air as each massive wave broke on the rocks. It would not be long before the thin steel sides of the tanker met the stone outcrops of the cliffs. The sharp rock teeth would slice through the tanker’s belly, spilling the ship’s black bowels into the water.

  “We must hurry,” shouted Dr. Brock, seeing the same danger.

  Despite being pounded by the wind, Argot landed on the wave-washed deck without difficulty; after Water Sprite, the tanker was a massive target for a skilled flyer. Connie and Dr. Brock scrambled down from his back and pelted toward the bridge. They burst in and found it deserted: a forlorn alarm rang on the wall and red lights flashed in an empty room.

  “Do you know how to sail this thing?” Connie asked, looking down on a bewildering array of dials and handles while water pooled at her feet.

  “Er...no,” admitted Dr. Brock, “but there has to be a first time for everything.”

  Connie felt she could be of no assistance with the controls, so she took up position as lookout at the window. Through the driving snow, she could just make out the dark cliffs ahead. A flash of white light—a bolt of lightning—and Connie saw something else.

  “Kullervo’s on the cliff top and he has the weather giant with him!” she told Dr. Brock.

  “I know,” said Dr. Brock, intent on leafing through a fat book he had pulled out of a locker. “I saw him as I flew over. I think the weather giant has changed the direction of the wind to the southwest to bring the tanker on to the shore. He’s probably also responsible for this cloud: no one will see us until it’s too late! Let me know if you sense Kullervo coming any closer.” Dr. Brock’s face was creased with worry. “And I’m afraid I can make little impact on the ship’s course by reading the manual. We need some mythical help.”

  “Even dragons can’t tow a ship this size out to sea!” Connie replied, her hope ebbing away.

  Dr. Brock flung the book aside. “No, but they can send a message.” He rummaged through the locker and produced a bundle of flares. “Here, take these to Argot and ask him to fire these above the cloud.”

  Connie ran back out into the storm to where the dragon was sheltering. The wind was blowing so fiercely it almost knocked her over. Argot spread a wing to shield her as she shouted her instructions.

  “Here,” she said thrusting the distress flares into Argot’s teeth. “It’ll be just like the fireworks—one touch from your fire, and these will go off with a bang. Be careful now.” Argot hesitated; Connie could feel he did not want to leave her and the doctor with no means of escape. “Don’t worry—these will bring help—we’ll be fine,” she reassured him, though deep down she was not so convinced herself.

  Argot took off and disappeared into the blackness, heading steeply upward. A shaft of lightning crackled past, narrowly missing the dragon as a fortunate gust of wind threw him out of its path.

  “He’s gone,” Connie told Dr. Brock when she returned to the bridge. “The weather giant almost got him, but he escaped. But I couldn’t see if he’d managed to let off the flares—too much cloud.”

  Dr. Brock shook his head. “I fear it will be too late if we don’t do something now. We’ve got to summon some more help.” He looked up at her with a sudden inspiration. “Of course! What I need is the universal. Connie, have you ever heard of the Kraken?” Connie shook her head. “It’s a legendary sea monster—Col’s dad is a companion to this species. He’s in the area at the moment, so his companion creature must be here, too. Can you try and summon it?”

  Connie bit her lip doubtfully.

  “I’ll try. What is it like? I have to know a little about it to sense its presence.”

  “A great, many-armed creature that lives in the depths of the oceans, unseen by man except when it rises in storms to devour ships.”

  “And this is the creature you want to help us?”

  “The Kraken won’t want its waters polluted by oil any more than we do. Don’t appeal to its better nature: appeal to its self-interest.”

  She had nothing better to suggest, so it was worth a try. But she would have to be quick, before Kullervo guessed what she was up to, as she would have to lower her shield to reach out to the Kraken. Connie focused her mind on the sea, imagining the depths undisturbed by the storm raging above. Diving down into the silence, she sent out her distress call.

  Kraken, you are summoned. You are needed.

  Nothing. She tried again. And then again. Her call echoed around the void, meeting only silence. She was about to give up when a tentacle gripped her departing thought and pulled her back down.

  Why do you wake me? a cold presence asked her. Its question curled around her, drawing her into itself. She slipped into a world of darkness, lit only by the phosphorescent glow of bizarre sea creatures, strangers to the life on the surface. Huge round eyes bulged at her with an eerie green glow; trails of semi-transparent tendrils flitted by; the electric-blue parachute puff of a jellyfish brushed her, making her smart with red-raw pain from its sting. Lost to her own world, Connie felt a momentary doubt that anything she might say could be relevant to this dweller of the deeps. Down here was as alien as the surface of the moon. But this was not so, she reminded herself: no matter how unfamiliar the Kraken’s world seemed, the depths of the sea were not immune to the effects of what happened overhead. This, too, was part of the same world, an interlinked system in which one part needed the other to survive. Schooling herself to make the effort, she showed the sea beast a picture of all that was happening on the surface.

  I do not care for such matters. Ships wreck every day in my oceans. The tentacle released its hold, casting her carelessly away.

  Wait! Connie cried, swimming back down to reach the Kraken before it could sink without a trace from her mind. She grabbed hold of one of the tentacles and showed the Kraken the black oil in the belly of the tanker. She warned it of the pollution that would result if this load were allowed to spill into the water. Then she showed it a picture of the ship safe in Chartmouth Harbor, cargo intact. She received no answer, but she felt movement: the Kraken was surfacing.

  “It’s coming,” she told Dr. Brock as the creature released its hold on her. “But as for what it’s going to do—your guess is as good as mine.”

  Hurtling out of the darkness, an enormous arm whipped across the deck like a rope the thickness of a tree trunk. It was joined by another and another. The rails on either side of the deck were crushed like matchsticks in the Kraken’s squeezing grip.

  “Cyclops is in the Kraken’s embrace,” Dr. Brock marvelled. “Will it crush us, or help us?”

  The tanker ceased to drift toward the rocks and hung for a moment on the billowing seas. Connie swallowed hard: which way would the Kraken choose? She had been unable to read its alien mind, so brief had been their contact. Slowly, the ship turned to the east and began to move toward Chartmouth.

  “It’s doing it! It worked!” Connie cried.

  The wind redoubled in its howling, trying to pry the tanker out of the creature’s arms. The sea lashed and piled itself in mountains against the sides of the ship, but to no avail: the Kraken’s grasp was stronger than the storm. The weather giant could produce nothing to defeat it once the sea creature had determined its course. Connie felt a dark pulse of power as Kullervo summoned the Kraken to join with him. But the depths of the ocean were so far beyond Kullervo’s reach or understanding, his call went unheeded. The Kraken cared only for itself—Kullervo could offer it nothing it wanted.

  As the lights of Chartmouth appeared on the port side, Connie prepared to restore her bond with the Kraken to thank it for its aid. This was unwise, for she did not yet understand her adversary. Angry beyond all measure to see his plan foiled, Kullervo sought her out to vent
his spite upon her. The shape-shifter was waiting to pounce. Her guard down, the presence of Kullervo swept back and felled her.

  Death! Darkness! Ruin! he shrieked in her mind, driving his vengeful presence into her so hard that she almost lost her sense of self under the inundation. Connie twisted in agony, trying to block her ears. Dr. Brock ran to support her, but there was nothing he could do to assist her in this battle.

  No, that’s not the way, whispered a deeply buried instinct. Find the shield. Dropping her hands from her ears, Connie grappled to restore the image of the universal’s shield in her mind. She lifted it inch by inch. At first, the shield struggled to hold back the deluge, wobbling and wavering in her grip, but gradually it gained in strength and brightness. She could now feel his hatred battering on the shield’s rim, drumming out destruction for her and her kind, but no longer able to touch her.

  How dare he attack me, thought Connie, an angry fire kindled inside her like a dragon’s breath. How dare he enter my mind without my permission? He has no right to do so. And look at him, waiting out there, relishing all this suffering he has caused! He killed Scark!

  Enraged by Kullervo’s invasion of her, no longer frightened now that she sheltered under the protection of her shield, she felt a great urge to defeat him. It filled her with the strength to raise the shield above her head. How she despised him and all he stood for!

  Go! she ordered the dark presence. I send you back! There was a great rush of energy, like the opening of a dam of silver water, and Connie felt the evil thoughts rebound from the surface of her shield, propelled back the way they had come. A piercing screech split the night sky; a midnight-blue eagle fell like a stone from the cliff and dashed on to the rocks beneath, losing shape and substance. The storm-tossed sea turned black where the creature had fallen and threw itself in impotent fury against the cliff face, the spray flickering with blue fire. But the shape-shifter was unable to take form again in the chaos of the storm he himself had raised. Kullervo’s presence vanished, battered into spray on the rocks, then sucked with the retreating waves down to the depths. His leader gone, the storm-giant immediately dispersed into scraps of cloud and swirled out to sea. Connie could breathe freely again.