The Crossing of Ingo

Mary Thomas said we’d have to get someone up from the council to do something about those gulls. We just nodded.

Rainbow and Patrick will be here in half an hour. Rainbow is bringing some pasties from St Pirans, because we told her what had happened to Sadie and that we hadn’t had a chance to cook.

Conor reaches forward to put another log on the fire. “So are you still going to release that fish back into the sea?” he asks. His voice is harsh.

“Yes,” I say.

“You’re crazy, Saph. Mary Thomas’s cat should have it.”

“No,” I struggle to explain. “If we act like them – like Ervys – it will never end. There’ll be one revenge, and then another, and then another…”

“I get the point. There’s another solution, though, Saph. We could walk away.”

“What do you mean?”

“We get out of it. Turn our backs on Ingo completely. If you don’t feed your Mer blood by thinking of Ingo and going to Ingo, it’ll grow weaker. In a few years’ time you might not even remember that it’s there. You’ll look back and believe that Ingo was one of those things you used to be interested in before you grew up.”

“How can you say that, Conor? Ingo is real.”

“Of course it’s real. But it doesn’t have to be real for us. Look at Sadie. That happened because of us going to Ingo. Do you really want to live like this, Saph?”

“Conor, I can’t believe you—”

And at that moment it comes. A low, thrumming sound that is sweet and piercing at the same time. It seems to begin deep in the shell of my ear, as if it’s growing from inside me. But it’s not just inside me, it’s outside me too. It beats the air like a bell, but it’s not an Air sound at all. It’s salty, full of tides and currents and vast undersea distances. It sounds like the sea beating on the shores of my understanding. It’s a summons, an invitation, a command.

Conor hears it too. The log rests in his hand, forgotten. The sound grows until there is nothing else in the room, nothing else in the whole world. Every cell in our body vibrates to it, and now, suddenly, I grasp its meaning. I am hearing the Call. I am being invited to come to the Assembly chamber as a candidate for the Crossing of Ingo. It’s what Faro told me about, but I never thought it would feel like this. I glance down at the bracelet of woven hair that is always on my wrist. My hair, twined so close into Faro’s that you can’t tell where one ends and the other begins. My deublek bracelet. Faro’s voice comes back to me. And then, little sister, we will present ourselves to the Assembly, and say that we are ready to make the Crossing of Ingo.

The Call thunders through us. Faro will hear it too in Ingo. And Elvira. The log falls to the floor as Conor reaches out and grabs my hand. I’ve never seen Conor look like this. Lit up, like a face with a torch shining on it, except that the light is coming from inside him.

“Saph,” he says, “you hear it too, don’t you?”

“Yes.”

“I was wrong. Everything I said was wrong, Saph. We’ve got to answer the Call.”

CHAPTER THREE

All yesterday evening Conor remained lit up with excitement. I was sure that Rainbow and Patrick would sense the Call thrumming through him, even though they don’t know about Ingo. Maybe Rainbow did, in a way. She was very quiet, and she kept glancing at Conor when he wasn’t looking, and then away. Rainbow likes Conor; really likes him. Sometimes I wonder what might have happened if Conor had never seen Elvira. Conor almost never talks to me about Elvira, but I know he thinks of her. He keeps her talisman around his neck. But whenever we’re with a group of friends it seems that Rainbow and Conor will end up sitting together talking. Conor’s face is full of warmth and life when he’s with Rainbow. They laugh a lot, but it’s not as if the rest of the world has vanished into nothing, as it is when Conor’s with Elvira. Rainbow isn’t dreamy like Elvira. She’s always aware of other people.

It was a good evening, but because of the Call it felt as if Conor and I were on one side of a sheet of glass, and Patrick and Rainbow on the other. I think they felt it too. We chatted about music for a while, and then everyone lapsed into silence. Patrick had brought his guitar, but he didn’t play. We built up the fire because it gets cold when evening comes down, and sat around it watching the flames. You know how it is with watching a fire: you don’t have to talk. The flames twist and pucker round the logs, never making the same shape twice. It made me think of the fire I saw once, when Granny Carne showed me the passage that runs to the centre of the Earth, from the standing stones. A log hissed and crackled. I suddenly thought, There’s never any fire in Ingo. It sounds so obvious, but I’d never realised it before. Faro had never sat by a fire and watched the flames and dreamed, and he never would. Faro watches baby fish flicker in rock crevices and dark red sea anemones quivering. He would scorn the idea of fire. Humans are very strange. Why should anyone want to change the temperature of their world? Why not live in it as it is? It would be impossible to explain to Faro about shivering with cold on a winter’s night. He’s never felt anything like that. He’s in his element, slipping through it, part of it. Faro would hate this fire.

Conor’s eyes were shining with dreams. I saw that Rainbow was watching Conor, not the fire. I couldn’t work out her expression. Rainbow is someone who understands much more about you than you ever tell them. Conor felt Rainbow’s eyes on his face and he looked up and smiled. Rainbow smiled back. They are so similar, even though Conor is dark and Rainbow has hair the colour of sunlight. They have the same warm-coloured skins. They are responsible in the same way.

“Conor,” said Rainbow, “Patrick thinks he can get you a Saturday job at The Green Room, don’t you, Pat?”

The Green Room is the surf shop where Patrick works. Everybody wants to work there because they pay over the minimum wage and you have an amazing reduction off all the stuff. Conor leaned forward eagerly. “D’you think you really can, Patrick?”

Patrick nodded. He is a person of few words. Then I saw Conor remember, and the eagerness faded from his face. The sound of the conch thrummed in my head and I knew that Conor heard it too. It drowned out everything.

“I’ll call in one day,” said Conor awkwardly, and I saw the surprise and disappointment on Rainbow’s face. She’d expected him to seize the chance of the job. But I couldn’t think about Rainbow too much, because my mind was full of Ingo. The flames of the fire made shapes like waves. I listened and I could hear the swell beating against the base of the cliffs. The tide was high, almost at the turn. Ingo was coming close. I saw Rainbow shiver.

“The sea’s loud tonight,” she said.

“You always hear it like that up here,” said Conor quickly. “It must be the way the wind blows.”

“It never sounds as loud as this in our cottage,” said Rainbow.

“And we’re closer to the water than you are,” said Patrick. “The tide comes almost to the door. Or through the door sometimes.” He was thinking of the flood and the way their cottage filled with sea.

“It won’t come like that again,” said Conor. He threw another log on the fire and the sparks shot upward. Rainbow leaned forward, holding out her hands to the flames.

“I love fires,” she said.

I know, I thought. You love fires and horses and dogs, and everything that belongs to Earth. You’ve never heard Ingo calling and you never will. You’re not half one thing and half another. You’re all Earth, like Granny Carne. You don’t have to choose because the choice has already been made in you.

The sea boomed against the cliff. I felt it ebb, then surge forward and smash on the rocks. Rainbow was right. Ingo was very close tonight. Faro was there somewhere in that deep wild water, and my father, and my baby half-brother, little Mordowrgi, and all the others. Soon I would be there too, and Conor. Excitement raced through me like an incoming tide.

But this morning everything is flat and gloomy. The rain is coming down in a thin, steady drizzle. The hilltops are hidden in mist. The only thing that is sharp and clear is the impossibility of our dreams.

How can I leave Sadie? She trusts me and believes that I’ll always be here to take care of her. I think of Sadie padding up and down, whining, sniffing the air, scratching at the door, waiting for me. I can’t abandon Sadie. Besides, there’s Mum. She’ll call us, as she does every day, and we won’t be here. She’ll call again and again, and still we won’t answer. How much human time does it take to make the Crossing of Ingo? Mum will panic and get on the next plane back from Australia.

We have to think about school as well. They’ll notice our absence, and Mum has given them contact details for everyone who is supposed to be responsible for us while she’s away. In practice that means they will contact Mary Thomas, because Granny Carne has no phone. Mary will come over and find an empty house. In less than an hour the entire village will be searching for us. They’ll remember Dad’s disappearance. They’ll whisper, “God forbid it’s another Trewhella lost to the sea.” They’ll scour the cliffs and coves and all the deserted places where we might have fallen or become trapped. In my mind I see the searchers moving steadily forward, beating at the furze on the cliff tops. I see divers with waterproof torches scanning the backs of caves. They’ll risk their lives to find us. We can’t let them do that.

Even if we managed to fix school, it’s impossible to fix the whole neighbourhood. If you cough at one end of the churchtown, someone the other end will ask if you have a cold.

But we must go. We have no choice. I can’t hear the Call any more but the memory of it is twined into every fibre of me. It won’t let me alone. You only hear that Call once in your life; if you ignore it, it won’t come again. Faro will turn his back on me. He’ll rip off the bracelet he made from our hair, and he’ll never call me “little sister” again. Dad will be at the Assembly. It’s our chance to see him again.

Ingo needs us to make the Crossing. We are mixed in our blood, Mer and human. Ervys hates us for it: he wants nothing human in Ingo. I used to hate it too because I wanted to be one thing only, instead of being torn two ways. But now I’m beginning to understand that to be double adds things to you as well as taking them away. I’ve been to Ingo so many times and there’s still so much I don’t know. I will never know Ingo truly unless I make the Crossing. Saldowr believes that the Mer world and the human world can come together, and stop fearing each other and trying to destroy each other. If human blood can make the Crossing of Ingo then maybe there is hope for a different future, where we’re not all battling for what we want and trying to destroy what is different from us.

Ervys will do anything to stop us. He wants Mer and human to remain apart. Fear and distrust is what drives his followers, and gives him his power.

I’ve got to go, but I can’t…I must go, but how can I…?

By ten o’clock this morning my head felt like a hive of swarming bees, full of thoughts that couldn’t live together. I was so desperate for distraction that I even dug one of my school set books out of my bag. Now I’m sitting at the kitchen table, trying to read Pride and Prejudice. The words dance and dive. If only Jane and Lizzie realised how lucky they were. All they had to worry about were their embarrassing parents and the embarrassing men who kept trying to marry them. They were never going to go to Ingo in their shawls and long dresses and elaborately curled hair…

Sadie is under the table, asleep. She’s been trying to hide under things ever since she got back from the vet’s. I keep telling her, “You’re safe now, Sadie girl. No gull will ever come into our cottage.” I wrap my arms around her neck and kiss her cold black nose, but she looks at me with scared eyes and I see she doesn’t really believe it. Even in her sleep, Sadie twitches and whimpers. She’s dreaming of gulls with cold yellow eyes and beaks that stab at her flesh. I’ll never let it happen again. I’ll throw myself on top of her so that they can’t get to her.

Conor has gone back to bed. In his view sleep is the best thing to do with a rainy day like this. I tried to talk to him about the Call but he was grumpy and monosyllabic – “Yeah, all right, Saph, we’ll work it out” – and then he dived back under the duvet. I’ve got to wake him up at one o’clock because we’re due at Jack’s house for Sunday dinner at one thirty.

When the knock comes at the door, I shout, “Come in, it’s open,” and quickly shove a heap of ironing off the table into the laundry basket. Some of our neighbours are all too curious about “How those two younguns are coping with their mum off in Australia”. They come round with a pie or a bunch of onions and their eyes dart round the kitchen, checking every heap of unwashed mugs.

It’s Granny Carne. Her old brown coat is dark with rain. She takes off her boots at the door and steps inside. Fortunately she has no interest in dirty crockery or unswept floors.

“Those gulls are thicker’n ever on your roof, my girl.”

“I know. Do you want a cup of tea?”

“Cup of tea would be good.” Her eyes burn on my back as I fill the kettle. “You want to do something about them,” she says.

“Yes,” I reply.

“I hear they hurt your Sadie.”

“We took her to the vet. She had to have stitches, but she’s OK now, except she’s been asleep most of the time since. She doesn’t want to come out from under the table.”

Granny Carne bends down and whistles softly. Immediately Sadie stirs. Shaking her head as if to shake away a bad dream, she creeps out from her shelter and rubs against Granny Carne’s long skirt. Sadie trusts Granny Carne more than anyone except me, ever since she almost died and Granny Carne healed her.

“She’s not looking so good, spite of what the vet’s done for her,” observes Granny Carne. A pang of dread goes through me.

“She’s all right. The vet said she was.”

“All right, is she?” asks Granny Carne. I look at Sadie. Her tail is down. She’s huddling against Granny Carne as if she wants to make herself disappear.

“She’s still scared that the gulls will get her,” I say.

“With reason good,” answers Granny Carne. “A dog can’t stay in a house all day long, cowering under a table. It’s not in her nature.” She bends down and strokes Sadie with a strong, reassuring hand. “It’s not in her nature, what’s going on here. You let me take Sadie, my girl.”

“Take Sadie!”

“You let her come up to my cottage where she’ll be safe. There’s no shadow of a gull there.” Granny Carne looks up, straight at me, hard and clear.

“But… but I look after her. I won’t let anything hurt her.”

Granny Carne glances down at Sadie’s back. She doesn’t say anything about the injury. She doesn’t need to. “Listen, Sapphire. Nothing of Ingo is going to come close to where I am. Sadie can walk on the Downs with me and be free. Those gulls lifted off your roof the moment they saw me put my foot to your threshold. But once I’m gone, they’ll be back, and more of them each day. You want your dog to be frightened out of her life? You give Sadie to me and no harm will come near her.”

Sadie is watching Granny Carne’s face very closely, following the conversation. She whines deep in her throat, as if agreeing.

“But I can’t. She’ll miss me too much.” I’ll miss her too much, is what I don’t say. “Sadie needs me.”

“How will you look after Sadie where you’re going?” asks Granny Carne. Her face is stern, intent. There is no point trying to pretend I don’t know what she means.

“How do you know?”

“You’ve been called to make that Crossing. You remember I told you once, my girl, neither hell nor high water would stop you once your heard that Call. And your brother too. Look at your face. Look at those gulls gathering. There’s some in Ingo don’t want you to make it, seemingly.”

“But we can’t go. Sadie – Mum—” Suddenly the reality of it hits me as hard as a blow. I am only going to hear that Call once in my life. If I don’t go, I’ll feel as if something has reached inside me and ripped my spirit down the middle like a piece of paper.

“Some things, if you don’t do them, they follow you all your life, whispering in your ear,” says Granny Carne. She faces me sternly as if she’s judging me. “You’ll find a dozen good reasons why you pulled back from the Call, and you’ll even fool yourself that you had no other choice. But in your bed at night you’ll curse yourself for a coward.”

I stare at her in astonishment. Why isn’t Granny Carne trying to keep me here, as she’s always tried before? It feels like a cold wind whistling through me. Granny Carne isn’t going to stop us. The choice is completely ours.

I hear the creak of Conor’s loft ladder. He’s heard voices and he’s coming down to see who is here. The door opens and he ambles into the room, yawning and wrapped up in his duvet as usual.

“Granny Carne.” A slow, warm smile spreads over Conor’s face.

“Yes. I’ve been talking to your Sapphire. The two of you are going out into the world, seemingly.” Conor shoots me an accusing look.

“I didn’t tell her. She knew,” I say quickly. “But, Con, I can’t see how we’re going to do it. There’s Sadie, and Mum, and everyone else. They’ll think we’ve – we’ve disappeared.”

“Like Dad,” says Conor. He frowns, thinking. Conor is logical. He always looks to find a path to a solution. Usually it works, but this time logic isn’t going to help. Granny Carne isn’t going to help either. She stands there, watching, waiting.

“There’ll be more than those gulls wanting to stop you,” she observes.

“I know,” says Conor.

“I’ve no rowan berries for your protection this time. You’ll have to go alone.”

Without meaning to, I glance down at the bracelet on my wrist. My deublek. Granny Carne’s gaze follows mine. “Earth can’t help you in the Crossing.”

“We’re not helpless,” says Conor hotly.

“I know that, my boy.” Granny Carne’s ancient, hardened face remains impassive, but her eyes soften as she looks at Conor. “I can’t give you anything. No berries, no touch of fire. There’s no Earth magic where you’re going, only what’s inside yourselves.” She pauses. Her owl eyes are lit up now, fierce and bright. “But never forget how strong that is. Come here, give me your hands.” She takes Conor’s outstretched hands and presses his thumbs together. “Think of what’s strongest for you here on Earth,” she whispers. “Let it come to you. Don’t force your thoughts now.”

Conor closes his eyes. I look away. I feel as if I shouldn’t spy into his thoughts. There is a long silence, then Conor opens his eyes again. He looks surprised, as if what came into his mind wasn’t what he’d expected.

“Now you, Sapphire.” My thumbs touch. It feels like a connection being made. “Think of what’s strongest for you here on Earth,” she says. “Let it come to you.”

I don’t even have to think. Sadie leaps into my mind, bounding down the track towards me. Her eyes glow, and her golden coat shines in the sun. I hear her bark. My thumbs feel as if they have fused, like legs into a tail.

“If you forget Earth, touch your thumbs together like this and press. Sure enough it’ll come back. Wherever you are, however deep in Ingo you travel, you can’t lose what’s deep inside you,” says Granny Carne.

The pressure is released. I let my hands drop to my sides. The Sadie in my head vanishes. The real Sadie is watching me with scared, questioning eyes.

“I’ll take your Sadie with me now,” says Granny Carne. “Best I do that. As for your mother, you’ll find a way. A Call with as much power over the pair of you as that, it’ll make its own path through your lives. You and Conor have good brains between you. I won’t wait for that tea now, my girl, I’ll be on my way.”

“But, Granny Carne…” I can’t believe she’s just going to go like that. I’d expected her to stand in our way, as she did in the lane long ago when she stood between me and Ingo and wouldn’t let me go. But now she’s stepping aside.

Granny Carne has her hand on Sadie’s collar, steadying her. Objections whirl in my head. I’ve got to stop her going – why won’t Conor stop her?

“But what about Sadie’s food bowl – her food – and there’s her lead—”

“Sadie and I can manage. Say your goodbyes, Sapphire.”

I kneel down at Sadie’s side. There is a shaved place in her coat where the vet put in the stitches. The gash went deep. The vet said he’d never seen a wound from a gull as bad as that. There is still a faint smell of antiseptic. I don’t ever, ever want Sadie to be hurt like that again. What if the gulls had gone for her eyes?

“You’ll be safe with Granny Carne, won’t you?” I whisper. Sadie’s beautiful shining golden coat is a blur. I swallow. I don’t put my arms around her body in case I touch her wound. Instead I rub my face against her soft, cold nose. “Goodbye, Sadie darling,” I say, keeping my voice as steady as I can. “You’ll be fine. Granny Carne will look after you. Be good now.”

Sadie doesn’t make a sound. She pushes her nose into my cheek. She knows what’s happening. I feel terrible. It would be better if she protested.

“I love you, Sadie,” I whisper. “Don’t forget.”

I stand up again. I want Granny Carne to take Sadie away now, quickly, before I have time to think about it. Granny Carne seems to understand. She moves to the door and opens it. “There’s no gulls now,” she reassures Sadie. She bends down and slips her hand though Sadie’s collar reassuringly, then says over her shoulder to Conor, “Your mother has a second cousin somewhere upcountry, Plymouth way. Could be it’s time for you and Sapphire to pay a visit there, with your half term holiday coming. Anyone in the village who asks, that’s where I’ll tell them you are.”

One moment an old woman is looking at us over her shoulder, the next moment her outline blurs and trembles. I see a young, strong woman with ropes of gleaming earth-coloured hair. The outline shimmers and vanishes. I see an owl with fierce, unblinking eyes. Its wings are spread, ready to fly off into the dark. The owl fades. Only its eyes remain, deep in Granny Carne’s weather-beaten face.

The wind blows. The door bangs. Granny Carne is gone.

At first the day went on quite normally. We went up to Jack’s, and his mum made one of her classic dinners with roast beef, Yorkshire puddings and what she calls roast-pan gravy. Jack’s dad talked endlessly about whether he would get a government grant for re-laying a stretch of Cornish hedge. Jack kept trying to change the subject. He thinks his dad is extremely boring most of the time, but I didn’t mind. Hedging is as good to talk about as anything when there’s a storm raging in your mind.

We’re back at the cottage now, and it’s almost ten o’ clock, the time when Mum usually calls on a Sunday. But it’s not Sunday for her, it’s already Monday morning. While we are still enjoying the last hours of the weekend, Mum is in a world that’s going back to work.

Mum’s face comes on screen. Her hair is pulled back into a ponytail. She’s wearing a dark red T-shirt and she looks tanned and cheerful, but apprehensive too.

“I’ve got some news for you guys.” You guys. Mum sounds more like Roger each day. She pauses. We can see her taking a deep, steadying breath. “We’ve got the chance to take a big trip north, up the coast. It’s a mate of Roger’s who runs these trips into the bush. He’s offered us a freebie if we go as chief cook and bottle washer to the paying customers.”

“Bottle washer?” I ask.

“Doing all the stuff tourists don’t want to do for themselves,” says Mum succinctly. “It’s for two weeks, though, and we’ll be way out of contact. We won’t have access to a phone and anyway there’s no signal up there. How would you feel about not getting calls for a while? Listen, you can be straight with me about this, Sapphy. Nothing’s fixed yet. I won’t go if you’re not happy about it—”