Читать книгу The Complete Ingo Chronicles: Ingo, The Tide Knot, The Deep, The Crossing of Ingo, Stormswept - Helen Dunmore - Страница 31

For long seconds Faro and Conor stare at each other like enemies.

“I’m not going anywhere,” Faro repeats.

“So you think you’ve won,” says Conor. Slowly, deliberately, he unclasps his hand from Faro’s wrist. “But you haven’t,” he says, looking straight into Faro’s eyes, every word full of purpose.

“Conor! Don’t let go of him!”

“I’ve already let go, Saph. I’m going.”

“Conor, no, no, you can’t—”

But he’s turned away.

“Conor!” I plunge forward, forgetting Faro. “Wait for me!”

He’s swimming slowly, and I catch up with him in a few seconds. We are side by side, and as he glances at me I see that already he’s paler.

“Take my wrist, Conor!”

“I’m going to the seals, Sapphire. Don’t think you can stop me.”

It was instinct that made me rush after Conor. My brother, going into danger. I had to follow him, stop him. Nothing else mattered.

But something else matters to Conor.

“Got to warn Roger.”

Roger. In Ingo everything human seems far away. Even Mum, even our home. They don’t seem real. But when Conor says those words, Roger comes into my mind as clear as day. He’s standing in our kitchen. He’s telling me about his black Labrador, Rufie.

Rufie was the best thing in my life, after we came back from Australia.

Roger told Mum she should change her mind about us having a dog. He didn’t have to do that, but he did. Maybe… just possibly Mum was telling the truth when she said Roger cared what happened to us…

“Don’t try to stop me, Saph,” says Conor.

“I won’t. I swear I won’t. I’ll – I’ll help you.”

“Swear and promise?”

“Swear and promise.”

It’s the strangest swear and promise we’ve ever done. We slap hands though the water and press our way forwards, to where the sea is thrashing with the movement of the seals. We skirt the jagged edges of the Bawns, keeping well clear of the borderline we must not cross. On one side there’s the calm of Limina. On the other the wildness of angry water. Through the churn of waves around the Bawns the bulk of a grey seal looms, then vanishes. I peer through the seethe of bubbles. A great bull seal shoots upwards towards the surface, then another seal follows, and another. We stare up at them. So many seals. Now they’re so close together that there isn’t a chink of light between them – I can’t count them, but more are still arriving—

What are they doing?

A wall of seals, solid, shoulder to shoulder. And then it parts. They are separate creatures again, twisting and diving. One, two, seven, nine – they’re leaving the surface, coming back into Ingo—

But surely that’s not a seal? Not that one there, the thin spindly one? It looks puny and out of place next to the strong sleek seals. And that’s not a seal either, that black, stick-like body, turning over and over as it sprawls through the water—

“Oh my God,” says Conor. “They’ve got them.”

I see what Conor’s already seen. Those stick-like creatures are two divers in wetsuits with air on their backs. The seals have got them. The divers’ limbs flail as the seals toss them high, then let them fall. As each diver falls, another seal butts his body upward. The divers’ heads flop back like puppet heads.

“They’re playing football with them.” I can’t believe what I’m seeing. I’m watching a game in a nightmare. The divers tumble in slow motion, and every time they fall the seals are ready for them. Up they go, booted by the lash of a seal’s tail.

“They’re playing with them! It’s horrible!”

“No,” says Conor grimly, through lips that are already turning blue. “It’s not a game. They’re pushing them in one direction – look. They’re taking them somewhere.”

He’s right. The seals aren’t just tossing the divers randomly. Each fall has a purpose. Each fall brings the divers closer to us, each brutal shove is in our direction. The seals are coming towards us. They want the divers here. Why?

The jagged underwater peaks of the Bawns glint like teeth, ready to rip and tear. If a man fell on them – if a diver was thrown on to them—

“They’re going to smash them against the rocks,” says Conor.

“They’ll be killed, Con!”

“Yes. Come on!”

He’s holding my wrist, but now he’s the one driving us. We shoot up through the thick churning water, towards the seals.

They sense us before they see us. They turn. For a moment they forget to toss the divers, whose bodies start to drift downwards. The bull seal faces us, his shoulders huge, glistening with muscle.

Every detail of him burns into my mind. His eyes and whiskers, the sleek fullness of his skin, the bunched muscle under it, the power. And the anger of a guardian. Anger beneath his skin like muscle, powering him.

The seal comes closer. He seems to swell in my sight until nothing else is there. The bull seal blocks out everything. His head lowers and he starts to measure the space between him and us, ready to charge.

Until the day I go to Limina I’ll see that seal’s face. Behind him Roger’s body drifts slowly downward. I don’t know how I know it, but I recognise Roger as clearly as I recognise the seal’s power. Roger, drifting through the water like a broken toy. Rufie… best thing in my life…

And then I hear the strangest sound. Like music, but not music. Syllables that fit together in wonderful patterns, like a puzzle in four dimensions. A sound you’d want to listen to for ever, if you once heard it.

The bull’s whiskers quiver. The focus of his eyes shifts. He looks away from me, towards Conor.

I look sideways at my brother. His bluish lips are open, but his eyes are already half-closed and dulling as they did before. His head falls back. He can hardly move, but he can sing. All the strength he has left is pouring out of him in song. Conor sings, and the seals listen. The bull seal and all his companions listen. Slowly, their heads lift. Their shoulders relax. The bull seal’s eyes are so close to mine that I think I see them change and soften.

Conor, you have your own power that belongs to you, never doubt that. The time will come to use it.

It only takes a few seconds. Before Conor finishes singing another seal has dived beneath Roger and caught him. Her teeth grip his wetsuit, but even from this distance I can tell that she has made her mouth soft to catch him, just as Poppy used to make her mouth soft to pick up her pups. She isn’t hurting Roger. Another seal has captured the second diver, Gray. They bring them to the bull seal, the divers’ limp bodies dangling in the water. Their heads loll. I think they must be unconscious.

But the bull seal doesn’t look at what the other seals have brought him. He won’t take his eyes off Conor. He opens his seal mouth and begins to sing back his own long and patterned song, which is like the brother of the song Conor has sung. And this time I can hear the seal’s song. Maybe it’s the other half of that puzzle in four dimensions that Conor was making. As the song ends, the bull seal shakes his great shoulders. The other guardian seals have fallen back, except for those who hold the divers. The bull seal calls to them, and they rise up towards the surface, taking the divers with them. Their movements are gentle now, as if the divers are as breakable as eggs.

The divers’ wet-suited legs trail. Their bodies are lifeless, and their heads have fallen back. Maybe it’s too late. Maybe Roger and Gray aren’t unconscious, but already dead.

“Boat’s up there,” gasps Conor. “Got to get them into boat. Seals can’t do it. Come on.”

“Will they let us?”

“Yes.”

It feels like a nightmare, slow and heavy and tangled. We swim up and up, pushing against the weight of the water. Conor is heavy against me, barely breathing now. If the seals weren’t supporting Roger and Gray, we’d never get them to the surface. The weight of the divers is terrible. We push them up but they sag down again. There is no way that we’re ever going to get them into the boat by ourselves. Conor’s growing weaker by the second. No matter how tight he grips me, he can’t get enough oxygen.

The seals aren’t hostile any longer, but they make it clear they think their job is done. They push Roger and Gray towards us as if saying they’re our problem now. They’ve delivered the divers over to us. They have done their duty, and protected Limina. The bull seal calls through the water one last time, and the seals who were helping us turn and dive towards the Bawns, leaving us alone with the divers. Immediately, we start to sink under their weight. Conor surely can’t go on much longer.

“It’s time to get Conor out of Ingo,” says a calm, familiar voice behind me. I turn, and there is Faro. And not only Faro. A girl as well, who is familiar even though I’ve only seen her at a distance before. A girl with long dark hair, almost the same colour as mine and Conor’s. It floats around her as mine does, like seaweed, below her waist. She has the same cool green eyes as Faro.

“Elvira.” The name comes out of Conor’s throat in a sigh.

“Quick, Sapphire,” says Faro, “push up with all your strength. You can do it. Get Conor up into the Air. Elvira and I will look after the divers.”

“You won’t hurt them?”

“After all your heroic efforts?” he asks with a glint of malice. “No, we won’t hurt them. Ingo has defended herself.”

The weight of Roger and Gray falls away from me. Conor’s eyes are closed as I push upwards with all my strength, thrusting him towards Air. And there it is, just above us, like a glittering plate of light. Air.

We burst through the skin before I have time to know that I’m leaving Ingo. The first gasp of air is like a knife going down into my lungs. I’m out of Ingo, coughing and spluttering, and it hurts. It hurts, and it shouldn’t hurt. I’m human. I take another breath and the knife goes in again, doubling me over. The taste of Air makes me retch. I want to go back – let me go back—

“Saph!” Conor grabs my arm. “You OK? Here, hold on to me.”

Conor’s colour is better already. He doggy paddles vigorously, shaking his head so the water flies off it.

“I’m OK now,” I gasp, and it’s nearly true, even though each breath of air rasps like sand. “Give me a minute.” I don’t want Conor to guess how much it hurt for me to come out of Ingo. He’ll be afraid. Conor will know what it means, when the Air hurts me.

We’ve come up a few metres from the boat. There’s the ladder. But I can barely swim. The short distance to the ladder looks impossibly far. My arms are heavy, and I float helplessly as air stabs in and out of my lungs.

“We’ve got to get in the boat, Saph. Come on, you can make it. Hold on to me.”

“Roger?”

“They’re coming. Don’t talk. Swim.”

I cough out a mouthful of salt water. I’m full of sea, that’s why the air hurts. I cough again, choking, and spit out more water. That’s better. For the first time a long, easy breath of air goes into me. I tread water and wipe my hair out of my eyes. “Conor. The divers. Are Faro and Elvira bringing them?”

“Yeah. I forgot Elvira was here,” he says. The colour in his face deepens. Oh yeah, you forgot. I believe you, I think, but I haven’t got the breath to say any more. The sun’s too bright. The air’s too sharp.

“Look, there they are!”

I turn. But I see the pain on their Mer faces as they enter Air and it stabs into their lungs, and I look away. I know how much it hurts. Like a thousand knives inside you. Faro won’t want me to see him weak and suffering.

“Elvira!” calls Conor, flipping over and starting to swim towards her. Conor’s strong now, stronger than any of us. I can’t really swim yet. Elvira coughs, wiping the tears that have sprung into her eyes. Her wet hair clings to her neck and shoulders. She’s supporting Roger, and Faro holds Gray.

“Get them up the ladder.”

Even with four of us it’s a nightmare struggle. They are grown men, unconscious dead weights in their diving equipment. Faro and Elvira are out of their element, hurting with the shock of Air. Each time we raise the divers towards the ladder, they slither back into the water.

“We can’t do it this way,” pants Conor. “Get in the boat, Saph.” Conor and I scramble up the ladder and into the boat. We kneel, leaning over the side, hauling on Roger’s arms in his cold, slippery wetsuit, while Faro shoves him upwards and Elvira swims round to the other side of the boat, still supporting Gray. She grips the side of the boat and presses her weight down hard to balance it, so we won’t capsize. Elvira’s strong. Even out of Ingo, Faro and Elvira are much stronger than me.

Grunting and sweating, Conor and I drag Roger up the ladder, bumping him, maybe hurting him. It doesn’t matter. Nothing matters except getting him into the boat. Our muscles burn with the effort.

Suddenly Roger’s weight shifts and he slithers forward like a fish we’ve caught, topples over and then slides into the bottom of the boat. He’s doubled over, but there’s no time to help him until we’ve got Gray into the boat. Gray’s lighter than Roger, but I’m shaking now, I’m so exhausted.

“Faro, push harder! I can’t get a grip on him!”

Air rasps in Faro’s chest but there’s no time for pity.

“Get his foot on the rung! Push him over! Don’t let him fall back!”

And we do it at last. Gray flops forward. His weight carries him down and he sprawls beside Roger.

I crouch on the deck, feeling for Roger’s pulse. My fingers dig into his cold flesh, but I can’t pick up a beat. Panicking, I press deeper.

“That’s the wrong place. Here.” Conor pushes me aside. “His cuff’s getting in the way—”

Conor kneels down, rolls back the latex cuff of the wetsuit, and finds the pulse point. For the longest few seconds I’ve ever known, Conor’s fingers and face are still, concentrating.

He can’t find the pulse. Roger is dead. Roger is dead and I couldn’t stop it. I didn’t help in time. I tried to stop it but it was too late.

It’s all my fault. Roger didn’t know what he was doing. We let him come out to the Bawns.

My mind goes dark with the horror of it. I could have saved Roger, I could have warned him about Ingo and the Bawns. Even if he hadn’t believed me, at least I’d have tried to save him. But I didn’t. Mum—

“I’ve got it. It’s beating.”

“He’s alive! He’s alive, he’s going to be all right, he isn’t dead—”

“Shut up, Saph. Stop yelling in my ear. Try and lift Gray’s arm for me. I can’t get at his pulse.”

Gray’s arm is wedged under Roger’s body. Conor hauls and I push and we get it free. Again, Conor searches for the pulse in the cold limp flesh.

“He’s there. I’ve got the pulse. Quick, we should’ve checked the airways first.”

I bend over Roger’s face. Against my cheek there’s a faint warm flutter. Air. Human breath.

“Now we’ve got to get them in the recovery position.”

They are breathing, and their hearts are beating. We haul them into the closest we can get to the recovery position, and then sit back on our heels, our arms and backs burning. I feel sick with relief. At that moment Roger moans terribly, deep in his stomach, rolls over and opens his eyes. He doesn’t seem to know who I am or where he is. His eyes stare for a few moments as if they can’t take in what they see, and then they close.

“He looked at me! Conor, Roger opened his eyes.”

“We must get all this stuff off them quick. Roger’s got foil blankets in one of the lockers.”

“What for?”

“Stops people getting hypothermia, Roger said. If something goes wrong during a dive.”

“They’re going to be all right, aren’t they?”

“I think so. They’re probably in shock. That’s dangerous, we’ve got to get them warm.”

We don’t even think about Faro and Elvira until much later. We don’t realise that they’re still there, waiting in the shadow of the boat, staying in the Air for our sake.

All that matters is that Roger and Gray are breathing, even though their faces are greyish under their tans and their skin is cold. We get the diving equipment off them somehow. Conor knows a bit about how it works, because of going out with Roger. I think we damage some of it but we don’t care. We struggle to strip off their wetsuits, and get the foil blankets wrapped around them. I remember hearing that people lose most heat from their heads, so we wrap the blankets right over, leaving only their faces clear. They are semiconscious now and Roger’s shaking. I wrap the foil blanket tighter.

They look like creatures from outer space with the foil glittering in the sun. But their colour’s better, I’m sure of it. They’re pale, but not grey now. There’s a long, deep scratch across Gray’s face, with blood oozing out of it. That scratch came from a seal’s claw. Will he remember that? I think how close they came to death. I shiver, but not because I’m frightened this time. It’s the sadness of it. Roger and Gray, blundering into Ingo, not knowing what they were doing or what the consequences might be. And us not knowing, either, not really knowing. Air and Ingo set against each other, like enemies. The seals’ terrible vengeance. Baby gulls and guillemots bobbing on the tide, saturated with oil. Everything we’ve done to Ingo swims in my mind and sickens me.

“Don’t cry, Saph. They’re going to be all right. Look, Gray’s trying to open his eyes!”

“I know. I’m not crying because of that.”

“What is it then?”

“Do you think Ingo and Air will always hate each other?”

Conor sits back on his heels and frowns. “I don’t know. They’re so different. So separate. They can’t understand each other, because they never meet. Humans stay in the Air – on Earth – and the Mer stay in Ingo.”

“But we don’t.”

“What do you mean?”

“We do both. We live in the Air, and we can live in Ingo.”

“You can.”

“You can too. And maybe we’re not the only ones. There might be other humans who can cross over, only we don’t know about them. There might be Mer who can cross over too.”

“Maybe,” says Conor slowly. “But don’t let’s talk about it now, Saph. I’ve had enough of Ingo for today. I’ve got to get the anchor up and get the engine working. Lucky I went out with Roger that time, I think I can remember how it works.”

“Look! Roger’s hand! It’s moving.”

I put my hand under the foil blankets and touch Roger’s cold fingers. They reach for mine. He clasps my hand feebly.

“It’s all right,” I say, bending over him. “You’re going to be OK. There was an accident. Me and Conor are looking after you.”

Roger struggles to lift his head, but it seems to hurt him. He groans and his head falls back. He must be bruised all over, like a boxer coming out of the ring.

“It’s OK,” I repeat. “You’re going to be fine. Don’t try to move. You’re safe.”

A splash of salt water comes over the side of the boat. Salt spray flicks in my face. I get up from where I’m crouching, and look over the side.

There they are. Faro, and Elvira. Elvira’s beautiful dark hair swirls in the water around her. Faro’s eyes fix on mine.

“Are they alive?” he asks.

“Yes, they’re alive.”

“Ah,” says Faro. It’s the faintest sigh of Air going out of him. I can’t tell if it’s a sigh of relief, or a sigh of regret. But even Faro – no, surely Faro couldn’t want them to die?

Suddenly Faro does something I’ve seen before, but only deep under the water. Now he does it on the surface. He curls his body tight and with all the muscled power of his tail he spins into a somersault, half in the water and half out of it. One turn – two – three—

The sea thrashes and sparkles. Faro is a whirling circle. As he comes round for the third time he straightens, lifts his tail and with all its power he smacks it down on the water so it sends a wave of spray into my face.

I wipe it off, laughing. There’s Faro, upright in the water again, tail sculling for balance. He’s laughing too.

“Goodbye, little sister,” he says casually, and slips beneath the sea. I wait, leaning over the bow. Surely he’ll come up again? Surely he’s not going to disappear just like that, without saying any more?

But the sea is flat. Nothing moves. Not even a bubble rises.

Elvira! Where’s Elvira?

I turn. Halfway down the boat, Conor is leaning towards the water. Elvira has drawn herself right up. They aren’t talking, just staring at each other, their faces so close they almost touch. As I watch, Elvira slowly drops in the water. Her shoulders slip beneath it, her neck, and then her face, hidden in the cloud of her hair.

She’s gone. Conor and I are left, staring at the surface of the sea. We wait for a long moment, then we turn and meet each other’s gaze.

Our boat rocks, very gently. High above, a gull drifts, watching us, crying out the news. Telling Ingo everything that has happened. I could understand what the gull is saying, if I tried. But I’m too tired to try.