The softness of Fletcher’s voice seemed to stir the pirate. ‘They’ve gone through.’
‘Gone through? Gone through where? What do you mean?’
‘Gone through the doorway.’
‘What doorway?’
‘Look.’ The pirate pointed at the South Bookend Isles. ‘What do you see?’
‘Two rocks. Nothing else. We’re in the middle of the ocean.’
‘And beyond the rocks?’
‘More sea. What do you mean?’
‘You’re telling me what you see with your eyes, but look with your whole being.’
Fletcher studied the rocks. They jutted from the ocean, rising to craggy points, their flat sides creating a passageway through the water. All he could see through the passageway and beyond, was ocean.
But then he saw a faint shimmer, somewhere between the rocks. He softened his gaze, allowing his other senses to work. The air in the passageway seemed to bend or blur. There was a softness to it, barely visible.
‘There’s something different about the air between the rocks,’ he said, tentatively.
‘Yes. There is. Remember what I told you? These islands mark the southern border of this realm.’ Fletcher nodded. ‘That’s what you can see. It’s a doorway – a doorway leading beyond this domain.’
Scoop looked up, her eyes puffy. ‘A doorway? Is that where Rufina and the others have gone?’
‘I believe so. They’ve been swept through the southern gate of the world.’
‘And Nib?’
The pirate shook his head. ‘I don’t know. I couldn’t see if he made it through.’
Scoop’s shoulders dropped and she nodded.
After a moment, her expression changed. ‘Where does it lead?’
‘What?’
‘The doorway – what’s on the other side?’
‘I don’t know. Nobody knows.’
‘You don’t know, but …’ Scoop’s eyes widened. ‘We have to follow them. We have to go after them.’
‘No.’
‘No? What do you mean? We have to! They’re our friends. We can’t just leave them!’
The pirate shook his head. ‘You must let them go.’
‘Let them go? I won’t. I can’t!’
‘You must!’ said the pirate, raising his voice. Realising how harsh he sounded, he softened. ‘You must let them go, Scoop.’
‘But, we can’t just––’
‘You’ve been given a job by the Storyteller.’
‘I don’t care!’
‘You should. It’s more important now than ever.’
‘But Alfa, Sparks, Mr Snooze, Knot …’
‘You have to let them go, Scoop. We have to trust that even in this loss, there’s hope.’ Scoop shook her head. ‘You have a different doorway to cross.’ He pointed at the South Bookend Isles. ‘That’s not your journey.’
‘But perhaps they lead to the same place?’ said Fletcher.
‘Perhaps.’ The pirate looked sceptical. ‘But we’ve no way of knowing. All we know is that you were told to cross the Threshold. You were not instructed to go through the South Bookend Isles. The Storyteller asked me to make sure you got there – that is what I intend to do.’
Scoop sank onto the skiff’s bench, her head in her hands.
The pirate looked at the two apprentices. ‘I know it’s hard, painful. But if you trust me at all, I’m asking you to trust me now. We must reach the Threshold. You must cross it. I don’t know how, but you will reverse this sickness and wake the Storyteller. That’s the best chance you have of saving your friends, of saving all of us.’
Fletcher scuffed his foot along the skiff’s boards. ‘But what if we can’t? What if we fail?’
The pirate sighed. ‘We live with the possibility of failure every day. We all fail, many times and in many ways. But it’s my belief that, even in this darkest of moments, our failure can be turned to success – if we only hold tight to our trust in the Storyteller. Things can be turned around. The only real failure will be if we’re dissuaded to try at all.’
Fletcher couldn’t believe what he was hearing. Could this darkness become light? It seemed unlikely. But he wanted to believe it. He longed to. He looked at the Storyteller and Princess asleep in the boat, oblivious to all that was happening.
‘But he’s asleep,’ said Fletcher.
The pirate rubbed his eyes. ‘He is. I can’t pretend to understand. But I’ve trusted him my whole life. I won’t turn away now, as much as I might want to.’
‘You want to?’
The pirate snorted. ‘Of course! I live with that temptation every day. I question whether it’s been worth it, whether the sacrifices I’ve made have been for nothing. I want to go after the others too – they’re my friends as well!’ He paused. ‘But I still have an irrational hope that they –’ he pointed at the Storyteller and Princess – ‘will bring us through this. I believe there will be resolution at the end, even though I see him there asleep.’
Fletcher stared at the Storyteller. He shared that hope too. He couldn’t recall how or when it had taken root in him but he knew he couldn’t turn his back on it, even now. He nodded.
The pirate turned to Scoop. ‘This is exactly the sort of time we need to hold fast.’ He pointed back across the sea. ‘What’s behind us can give us confidence to …’ His voice trailed away.
‘Oh …’
Seeing the pirate’s expression, Fletcher turned too.
He gasped.
Behind them, rising from the ocean was a remarkable sight. A lone rock had been sculpted into a majestic figure – a statue, as tall as the Black Horizon had been.
How did we not see that? Fletcher wondered. The statue must have been hidden by the cloud as they’d passed. Ever since, they’d been focused on the Bookend Isles, ahead. It was only now they looked back they saw it. It was an extraordinary sight.
The statue rose from the ocean, water lapping around its waist, as if it were swimming, the rest of its body submerged. The rock was weathered and worn. The statue’s features were noble, its eyes piercing and wise. It wore a crown, peaks cresting like waves. Seaweed hair tumbled down the figure’s body, clothing it. In an enormous hand, it held a trident, the skiff’s anchor caught between its prongs.
As they took in the sight, stone crumbled from the statue’s beard, bouncing down the monument, showering the water.
‘What is it?’ asked Fletcher.
‘It’s the Merking,’ said the pirate. ‘I’ve heard tales, but …’ He shook his head.
‘A mermaid?’
‘Merman,’ the pirate corrected. ‘The most powerful in the Oceans of Rhyme.’
Fletcher could imagine its tail snaking below the sea, mighty as a whale. ‘Who put it there? It must have taken an army to sculpt!’
‘If it was sculpted.’
‘What do you mean? How else could it have got here?’
‘The mermaids of the North Bookend Isles say the Merking is alive. In the beginning, the merpeople were charged with guarding the doorways of the Bookend Isles, north and south, dwelling as they do between the realms of sea and air. They believe the Merking kept his watch so well, remaining so still, so alert, that gradually he turned to stone. And here he is, still guarding this doorway, keeper of the southern border of the world.’
There was a splintering and another flurry of stones tumbled down, splashing into the sea.
‘Look.’ Scoop pointed at the anchor. One of the trident’s prongs had cracked and was balanced precariously.
Picking up an oar, the pirate rowed towards the statue, taking the strain from the rope. As the little boat drew alongside, he touched the rock. It crumbled in his fingers. He shook his head. ‘The boundaries are collapsing. We don’t have long.’ He turned to the apprentices. ‘We need to free our anchor.’
Fletcher looked up. ‘If we pull hard enough, that prong will break and we can pull it down.’
‘No,’ answered the pirate. ‘The Merking has stoo
d here for generations. I won’t be party to pulling him down, even if he is already crumbling,’
Scoop looked up. ‘I’ll climb it.’
Fletcher frowned, unsure.
‘I’m the lightest,’ she reassured him.
‘You are,’ agreed the pirate.
Reluctantly, Fletcher nodded.
Holding the boat close to the rock, the pirate helped Scoop climb onto the Merking’s hand. She steadied herself at the base of his trident. Fletcher watched, nervously, as she began to scale the statue, slowly testing each rock before moving up. Gradually, she made her way up the twists of the Merking’s hair.
‘Careful,’ Fletcher hissed, as she dislodged a section of beard. It crashed down, narrowly missing the boat. Scoop withdrew her foot, searching out a firmer place to stand.
Slowly, she moved higher, up the Merking’s chest, until she was standing on his shoulder, her face level with the top of the trident. Reaching forward to free the anchor, she stopped.
‘What are you doing?’ Fletcher shouted up. ‘Quickly, before the whole thing collapses!’
Another chunk of stone broke free and crashed into the sea.
Scoop looked down. ‘There’s something written here.’
‘Where?’ called the pirate, suddenly alert.
‘On the trident. One word on each of the prongs.’
‘Really?’
‘Yes.’ Scoop leaned forward to brush down the stone.
Fletcher’s heart was thudding. ‘Be careful up there!’
The pirate seemed agitated. ‘The stories say the Merking carries a message, a message for the end of the age––’
‘Let’s hope it’s not the end of my sister!’ Fletcher interrupted. ‘She doesn’t look safe up there!’
‘I’m fine!’ Scoop called down. ‘Stop fussing.’
‘I thought the message would long since have been lost. What does it say? Can you read it?’
Scoop stretched out to clear some debris.
‘I can’t watch,’ Fletcher muttered.
‘SEEK,’ Scoop called down. ‘The word on the first prong is SEEK.’
‘SEEK what?’ called the pirate.
Scoop clutched the Merking’s crown, swinging further out. ‘THE,’ she called down. ‘SEEK THE …’
‘SEEK THE what? What’s the third word?’
Scoop leaned further, her body swaying dangerously.
‘Oh, come on, come on,’ Fletcher hissed.
‘It’s worn away. If I can just …’ Scoop reached out to try to brush more debris away but her foot slipped. A chunk of the Merking’s shoulder came crashing down.
Fletcher ducked.
Scoop grabbed the prong, scrambling higher, her body bridged between the Merking’s face and his trident.
‘She needs to come down,’ Fletcher snapped. ‘It’s dangerous up there!’
‘No,’ replied the pirate. ‘We need to know what it says. Can you see?’ he called up. ‘What’s the third word?’
‘There’s an S. I think that’s the first letter. Yes, S,’ Scoop confirmed.
‘And?’
‘I can’t see.’
CRACK! A big portion of the Merking’s arm fell away.
Fletcher’s face flushed. ‘Do we really need to know? Haven’t we lost enough people today?’
‘ACE,’ Scoop called. ‘The final three letters are A–C–E.’
‘Seek the S … A-C-E,’ the pirate repeated, ignoring Fletcher.
‘No, hang on … It’s an R not an A.’
‘Seek the S … R-C-E.’
‘Source,’ Fletcher said. ‘It must be. Now come down!’
‘Is it? Can you see?’
There was a loud snap and the first prong of the trident broke away, bouncing down the Merking. It smashed against the side of the skiff. The anchor came loose and clattered down, making the boat tip.
Fletcher stumbled. ‘Get her down from there!’
‘Okay, okay,’ said the pirate. ‘Is the word SOURCE?’
‘Now! Come down, Scoop! It’s not safe up there!’
Scoop squinted at the third prong and then pushed herself away. Quickly, she began to scale down the statue. The disturbance was taking its toll. With a shudder, half the Merking’s face split, scarring him from the top of his crown to his cheek. Scoop ducked as the creature’s nose and one of its eyes rolled past, smashing into the ocean, the impact sending icy water across the skiff.
‘Quickly!’ pleaded Fletcher.
The statue was starting to quake now. Cracks appeared across its body.
Scoop scrambled down the last few stones and leapt onto the skiff.
‘Let’s get out of here,’ called Fletcher. ‘The whole thing’s about to come down!’
The pirate caught Scoop’s arm. ‘Is it SOURCE?’ he said. ‘Is the last word SOURCE?’
‘We can talk about that later, when we’re safely away!’ Fletcher picked up an oar and began to row.
‘Is it?’ the pirate demanded, not letting go.
‘Yes,’ Scoop panted. ‘It is.’
‘SEEK THE SOURCE.’ The pirate grinned. ‘Good.’ Then, grabbing the second oar, he joined Fletcher and they rowed away from the great statue.
They cleared the rock just in time. A deep grinding rumbled through the ocean. With an almighty crack, the majestic figure of the Merking shattered. The statue crumbled, tumbling into the sea. The ocean churned, as great chunks of rock disappeared below the waves. The remains of the Merking’s face descended slowly, still upright, like the captain of a sinking ship, until its crown disappeared into the depths. Scoop willed the Merking to leap back up, to explode from of the ocean. But he never did. The sea fell still and the noise abated. It was as if the Merking had never been.
They stared at the empty ocean. After a moment, the pirate broke the silence. ‘Take this.’ He was holding out two pieces of stone – remnants of the statue that had fallen into the skiff. They each took a piece.
‘Put it in your pocket. It will keep you safe.’
‘What do you mean?’ asked Fletcher.
‘These stones still carry the power of the Merking.’
‘Power?’
‘Yes. As Keeper of the Doorway, The Merking protected these border seas. That power will still cover us while we have these stones. It will protect us. We’re going to need it. The Threshold is surrounded by the Sea of Tears. These stones will save us from its heartbreak. It’s the Merking’s parting gift to us. You see, even loss can become a gift.’
Scoop put the stone into her pocket, aware she was carrying something precious, a remnant of an ancient life. She felt its protection surrounding her.
SEEK THE SOURCE, she thought. What did that mean? She had the strange feeling the message was meant for her and Fletcher and that the Merking had held it, waiting for the moment he could pass it to them. Having done that, he had crumbled away, returning to the sea.
She touched the stone. It was warm.
Fletcher raised the skiff’s sail and the pirate sat at the tiller. A light breeze had picked up and Scoop felt the tug, as wind caught the sail. The skiff moved away, heading west.
Looking back, Scoop watched the barren rocks of the South Bookend Isles shrink into the distance. She thought of her friends – Alfa, Sparks, Rufina, Knot, Mr Snooze, the Yarnbard, Pierre, Freddo and the Boatswain. It was lonely without them.
Goodbye, she thought. Thank you for being such fine company. I hope we’ll meet again before long.
With a pang of sadness, she realised she hadn’t included Nib with the others. Deep in her heart, she knew why. She pictured him disappearing below the waves, the sea stained red with blood. Nib had gone. She touched the stone in her pocket again, but it didn’t make her feel any better. There were some things the Merking couldn’t protect her from.
As the South Bookend Isles disappeared across the horizon, she sat down, closed her eyes, and remembered her friend.
Chapter 18
Goodbye
The
skiff drifted past the decaying hull of a ship, half submerged, like the skeleton of a whale, its bones picked clean. They had been sailing the Sea of Tears for days now. The water was eerily still. A low mist clung to the sea, insipid sunlight barely piercing the clouds. Even with the Merking’s stone, Fletcher could feel sadness threatening to breach the skiff. He looked out, nervously. The quiet was disturbing.
They sat in silence, each lost in their own thoughts. Fletcher imagined Pierre’s gruel, longingly, but then pushed the thought from his mind. He hadn’t eaten since their last meal aboard the Black Horizon, but the bouts of hunger had lessened now, dissolving into a strange sort of clarity. He ran his fingers over the back of his hand. The wound he’d received was beginning to heal. He’d taken the bandage off. Underneath, a scar was developing. He felt the ridged skin. It was a strange sensation.
I recognise you, he thought, staring at the scar.
It wasn’t the only thing he recognised. He glanced at Scoop. Her face was older, her skin weathered and tanned, but the changes looked somehow familiar. Fletcher wondered where he’d seen her like this before. Scoop caught his eye and they both looked quickly away. Was she thinking the same thing? Had she seen him older too?
And then it clicked. He recalled the night they’d spent in the camp of the Hermits of Hush, the night they’d faced the Nemesis Charm. It had shown them their future. He remembered the vision clearly: standing in front of a wide, black cave – the Threshold – staring into the blackness. He remembered being inside his older self, looking down and seeing the scar on the back of his hand and thinking he didn’t have a scar. He remembered watching Scoop turn to say goodbye, before they stepped into the darkness, knowing there would be no return. He glanced at her again. That was where he’d seen her like this before.
That night, in the camp of the Hermits of Hush, they’d accepted the future the Nemesis Charm had shown them; they’d accepted the quest to cross the Threshold. He ran his finger over the rough skin of his scar again. That future was upon them. They were no longer the children who’d set out on the quest. They were on the verge of becoming adults.
‘Look,’ the pirate said, breaking the silence. Ahead, a dark island broke the horizon.
Fletcher met Scoop’s gaze. His skin tingled with something between excitement and fear. It was Skull Rock. They were finally here.
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