I shiver again. It’s cold standing here, and my bike’s heavy. I’m tired, and I want to go home. But I can’t go home. If I do, Mum will know I was never in St Pirans. I’ve got to cycle the miles to town and face Conor’s anger.
“You can come home with me, Sapphire,” says Granny Carne, as if reading my thoughts.
I can’t do that. I slept at Granny Carne’s cottage once, and that was enough. There’s too much Earth magic in her white rooms that are folded away under the Downs, with her hives and her vegetable plot, and the fire that never goes out, and the Book of Life, where words fly like a storm of angry bees if you disturb them. I don’t belong in Granny Carne’s cottage.
“I’ve got to go to Conor, Granny Carne.”
Granny Carne walks with me up to the St. Pirans road. My bike wheels squeak, and pebbles crunch and rattle. A vixen barks in the distance, and the sea sighs from the bottom of the cliffs. The sounds make the night feel huge.
“Best ride quick now, my girl, before your battery fades,” says Granny Carne. And then she reaches into the pocket of her shabby old earth-colored skirt. “I have something here for you before you go,” she says, and opens her hand to show me a little bunch of shriveled berries.
“What are they?”
“Rowanberries. Fruit of the rowan tree.”
“From last autumn?”
“Maybe last autumn. Maybe longer. I don’t call it to mind exactly. Take them, my girl. The rowan brings protection, didn’t I tell you that?”
Yes, but everything’s the wrong way round, I want to protest. Conor’s got something from Ingo that Elvira made. But Conor belongs more to Earth than I do. And now you’re giving me something with Earth magic in it, which can’t be much use to me in Ingo.
“Go on, take it.”
Even my hand is reluctant. The rowan’s pushing me away again, as it did in our garden. I don’t want to touch it.
“Take it.”
I can’t disobey Granny Carne. I force my hand forward, and suddenly the barrier gives. The little bunch of berries is in my palm. The rowanberries are dark and wrinkled, but when I touch them, they feel warm, as if the sun were still glowing on them. That’s because they’ve been in Granny Carne’s pocket, I tell myself quickly. I put them in my own pocket, although I don’t want to at all. Still, I can throw them away when I’m out of Granny Carne’s sight.
“Put the berries somewhere safe. Wherever you go, take them with you.”
“Even to Ingo?”
“Even to Ingo. Don’t ask me the why of it. Keep them safe and keep them hidden. Don’t let anyone know that you’ve got them.”
“But won’t they go soggy in Ingo?”
Granny Carne laughs. “They’ve more life in them than that, my girl. My rowanberries are more than a match for salt water.”
“Can I show them to Conor?
“Not Conor, not anyone. Keep them safe.”
She raises a hand in farewell. One moment she’s there, and the next she’s melted into the darkness. I get on my bike again and push off. The road is steep, and I have to pedal hard just to keep going. I don’t look back. The berries seem to burn in my pocket, but I already know that I won’t dare throw them away.
CHAPTER SIX
IT’S LATE. CONOR AND SADIE and I are sitting by the fire. The electricity isn’t back on yet in Rainbow and Patrick’s cottage, because the whole place needs rewiring after the flood. They are using candles and a kerosene lamp and a solid-fuel stove that heats the water too.
I’m sitting on a cushion on the floor, and Sadie’s head is on my knee. Her eyes are half shut; she’s snoozing but not really asleep. I stroke her head gently, rhythmically. She didn’t like the talisman. She growled at it when I took it out of my pocket and gave it to Conor.
Conor likes it, though. He’s sprawled in one of the baggy old armchairs Rainbow and Patrick got from the Salvation Army. They lost all their furniture in the flood. Luckily their floors are stone downstairs, so they’ve scrubbed clean. Conor has been helping prepare the walls because they’re repainting everywhere. There’s a big can of white emulsion in the corner. Someone donated it, Conor says.
It’s very peaceful. I feel a long way from Ingo, even though Rainbow and Patrick’s cottage is built right on the shore. That’s why it was hit so hard in the flood. A lot of structural work had to be done before they could even move back in.
Rainbow’s mum and Patrick’s dad aren’t here. They’re off again in Denmark, where Rainbow’s mum was born; at least I think that’s where they are. They came back after the flood to make sure everything was okay, but they stayed only a few weeks. They’ve got work out there, and they want Rainbow and Patrick to go over to Denmark too. Rainbow was talking to Mum about it one day. Patrick works in a surf shop and studies, and Rainbow does her music and all her other stuff. Patrick wants to be a doctor, and he already knows which uni he’s going to apply for later on. They want to stay here, not go to Denmark.
They’re at a band rehearsal now. Rehearsals go on really late, Conor says. It’s a new band, and Rainbow’s the lead singer. I didn’t even know Rainbow could sing. Not sing properly, I mean. I wonder what kind of voice she’s got.
I’m tired, and the fire is warm. I could just lie down beside Sadie and fall asleep—
“Saph,” says Conor abruptly.
“Wha—what?”
“I’ve been thinking.”
I haven’t told Conor everything yet. He was so angry when he opened the door, it didn’t seem a good time to tell him about the Deep and the Assembly and the Kraken and everything else, all jumbled up with blame and anger. I gave him the talisman as quick as I could, so that he’d think about Elvira, not about what I’ve been doing.
It worked. I don’t think he’s angry now. He’s frowning, but only because he’s studying the talisman so closely.
“I wonder if I can find a chain that’s fine enough to go through the hole,” he says.
“You mean you’re going to wear it?”
“Of course. That’s what it’s for.”
“Conor, what is a talisman for?” Faro said it brought good fortune. I wonder if he’s right.
“It protects you,” says Conor. “It’s made for one person, and it only works for them.”
“How do you know?”
“I read about soldiers in the war who had them. A special medallion on a chain round their necks or something like that. There was a story about a man who was shot just here”—Conor touches his neck below the collarbone—“but he was wearing a holy medal as a talisman, and it deflected the bullet. He’d have been killed without it.”
I stare at Elvira’s little carved figure nestling in Conor’s hand. It doesn’t look like enough to stop a bullet. “They probably work differently in Ingo,” I say.
“I could try that jewelry shop in Market Street…,” Conor goes on dreamily, his forefinger stroking the talisman. I want to shake him.
“Conor, before the others get back—”
Conor stretches and yawns. “We’ll have to stay here tonight. Look at the detail on the carving, Saph! Isn’t it amazing? Do you think Elvira did it herself?”
“Probably,” I say sourly, “since she’s so talented.”
“Look at the expression on his face. I can’t believe anyone could carve anything so fine.”
The hairs on the back of my neck prickle. “But Conor, there isn’t any expression. Look, his face is blank.”
“You’re not looking at it properly. Shift Sadie off and come round here. You don’t get the candlelight down there.”
Reluctantly I shift Sadie’s warm, heavy weight off my legs. She whimpers in protest.
“Poor old Sadie—it’s all right; you can lay your head on my cushion.”
The candlelight wavers as I go round to the back of Conor’s chair.
“Don’t stand like that, Saph; your shadow’s falling on it. Move. Look. Now can you see?”
I stare at the smooth face of the carved Mer ma
n. It’s expressionless. It could be anyone. But as I watch, a ripple spreads over it, like the bulge of the swell under the sea before the waves break.
“There! You saw it, didn’t you?”
“Um, I’m not sure….” No. It was an illusion. The face is featureless.
“You know, Saph, it sounds unbelievable, but I think—don’t you think he looks a bit like me?”
“No, Conor!”
The words snap out of me, sharp and fearful, before I even know they’re in my mind. Sadie bounds to her feet and whips toward us, barking.
“Get down, you crazy dog, get down!”
“She’s not crazy. She doesn’t like it, that’s all. She’s scared of that talisman.”
I drop to my knees and wrap my arms around Sadie’s neck to comfort her. She’s growling deep in her throat.
“Come on, girl, it’s not going to hurt you.”
But Sadie won’t stop growling. In the end I have to drag her into the little back kitchen to calm her down. “You stay here, Sadie darling; then you won’t have to look at that horrible talisman,” I whisper in her ear before I go back into the living room and shut the door.
“He does look like me,” says Conor again, softly and wonderingly, as he stares at the talisman like someone staring at a hypnotist’s pendant.
I reach out and snatch the carving from his palm and put it in my pocket. “Now can we talk?”
Conor rubs his eyes the way he does when he first gets up in the morning, then grins at me. A normal, friendly Conor grin instead of the dopey talisman-struck expression.
“So. About the Deep,” I begin in a businesslike way, like a teacher giving out homework.
But just then there’s a rush and rattle at the door before it bursts open, and Rainbow and Patrick spill over the threshold.
“I was first!” yells Patrick.
“No, you weren’t. You cheated. Sticking out your foot to make me fall over in the sand doesn’t count.”
It’s good to see serious, responsible Patrick carrying on the way Conor and I do.
“Being first is what counts, not how you get there,” announces Patrick with satisfaction.
“I’ll remember that,” says Rainbow. “Is that really the time? It’s nearly midnight. We had such a great rehearsal, Sapphy—you’ll have to come along next time. Do you play guitar like Conor?”
“The only instrument she plays is other people’s emotions,” says Conor, “and the triangle. Go on, Saph, tell Rainbow about your starring role in the primary percussion band.”
“Thanks, Con.”
“You look as if you could sing, though,” says Rainbow. “Can you?”
“I used to sing with Dad sometimes.”
“Did you? What kind of songs?”
“Mostly traditional.”
Rainbow warms her hands at the fire. “Sing one of them. I’ll join in if I know it.”
The way she says “Sing one of them,” you’d think it was the easiest thing in the world just to stand there and open your mouth and let the song out. As if nobody would ever be shy or embarrassed or think that their singing wasn’t good enough. And Patrick seems to feel the same. He’s sitting on the hearth rug, emptying sand out of his shoes, but he glances up and says, “Yes, let’s hear something. Rainbow’ll probably know it too.”
Songs flit through my mind. Not “O Peggy Gordon.” It’s too powerful, and besides, it gives away too much. I wish I was away in Ingo—no, I can’t sing that here. But there’s one I can.
“It’s an Irish song,” I say slowly. “Dad used to sing it at the end of the evening at the pub.” I pause and take a deep breath. It all comes flooding back to me, from when I was little and would be let sit at a corner table with Mum sometimes, when the air was late and smoky, full of laughter and talk. I’d clutch a packet of crisps, and Conor and I would sit still as mice in case anyone remembered about us and ordered us home.
And there was Dad’s face, shining and happy. Sometimes he would sing without accompaniment, sometimes he’d play a few chords on the guitar as well, but his voice was the thing. It was full and strong, and it had something in it that stilled the talking and the laughter and made faces grow dreamy.
“Go on, Saph,” says Conor quietly. “It’s ‘The Parting Glass,’ isn’t it?”
“Yes.”
I draw in my breath slowly. The first line comes out uncertainly, but then my voice steadies, and I forget about myself and only remember the song.
“Of all the money e’er I had,
I spent it in good company;
And all the harm I’ve ever done,
Alas ’twas done to none but me;
And all I’ve done for want of wit,
To memory now I can’t recall,
So fill to me the parting glass,
Good night and joy be with you all.
“Of all the comrades e’er I had,
They’re sorry for my going away,
And all the sweethearts e’er I had,
They wish me one more day
to stay,
But since it falls unto my lot
That I should go and you should not,
I’ll gently rise and softly call,
Good night and joy be with you all,
Good night and joy be with you all.”
When I reach the end of the song, I realize that Rainbow hasn’t joined in. The words echo in my head: But since it falls unto my lot That I should go and you should not…
When Dad sang those words, did he guess that would be his fate? He would rise and go, and we would stay. But he didn’t leave joy to us.
The firelight blinks and dazzles. I look down to hide my eyes.
“Why didn’t you join in, Rainbow?” asks Patrick. “You know that song.”
But Rainbow shakes her head. “It wouldn’t have been right. Sapphy’s voice is different from mine.”
“It’s a good voice,” says Patrick. “It makes you want to listen.”
“Your voice went well with Dad’s, Saph,” says Conor.
“Yes.” Dad’s voice was strong, but he knew how to modulate it so it didn’t drown mine. I’d forgotten what it felt like to sing with Dad.
No, I hadn’t forgotten. I’d just put it out of mind, with all the other things I couldn’t bear to think about, now that Dad was gone.
They’re sorry for my going away…
Dad could never, never have known how much sorrow his going away would bring to us. I stare into the fire, remembering that night when we waited and waited, and Dad didn’t come home. Conor and I sat huddled on the stairs, listening, hoping until there wasn’t room for hope. Conor grew up that night. I don’t know if I did, though. I don’t feel any more sure of myself than I used to.
Conor and I shouldn’t ever be angry with each other. We should stick together. Ingo has taken our father. We can’t let quarrels over Ingo take us from each other.
I lift my head and smile at Conor. His expression is faraway and thoughtful, but slowly it opens into a smile. It’s the kind of smile that says, Let’s be friends; let’s not argue anymore. I don’t know what we were quarreling about anyway.
“You should be in our band, Sapphy,” says Rainbow. “What about you, Conor? Do you sing?”
Conor laughs. “You don’t want to hear me. My voice is like a frog’s. Gribbet, gribbet, gribbet. They didn’t even let me into the school choir.”
I laugh too. Conor is like Mum. They sound like a couple of bees bumbling along together when they try to pick up a tune. It’s quite a nice sound, but you really wouldn’t call it singing.
No, Saph. That isn’t true. Remember. Remember Conor singing to the guardian seals and calming them with his power. How strong and sweet his voice was then. The memory swirls in my head. I can almost hear the notes and the mysterious words that Conor sang.
My head jerks up.
“But you can sing, Conor!” I blurt out.
Everyone stares at me.
“Um, I mean, your v
oice isn’t that bad,” I say hastily. It sounds lame. And there’s Sadie scratching at the kitchen door. Why are we leaving her out? She doesn’t understand it. She gives a plaintive whine.
“She needs to go out,” I say with relief. “I’ll take her.”
“I’ll come with you,” says Conor quickly.
Rainbow and Patrick are going to get out the camping mats and sleeping bags. I’m sleeping in with Rainbow, Conor with Patrick. It’s strange to be in a house where there are no adults to decide things or arrange things for you. It’s true that Patrick is sixteen, but Rainbow is only my age. And yet here she is checking that there’s enough milk for morning and finding a towel for me. It’s strange, but I quite like it, and Rainbow seems to think it’s completely normal.
Conor and I walk Sadie down the silent nighttime streets. Sadie walks on my right side, as far from Conor as she can get. She knows that he’s got the talisman back, and it’s in his left pocket. She doesn’t like it, even though she’s calmed down a bit now. She bristled when he brushed against her, coming out of the door.
St. Pirans is still only half alive after the flood. You can’t see all the damage by the light of the streetlamps, but a lot of families still aren’t back in their homes. They are staying with relations or in bed-and-breakfasts. The town is midnight quiet. The streetlamps make wavery shadows on the walls so that it looks as if someone’s hiding there, waiting to jump out. Our footsteps tap on the cobbles, and Sadie’s claws patter. We are heading away from the sea, uphill.
“So tell me,” says Conor.
“Tell you what?”
“Everything you haven’t told me. What really happened when you were in Ingo?”
And so I tell him. It’s easier to talk when we’re side by side, walking in the dark. For a long while after I’ve finished, Conor is silent. We walk onto a patch of waste ground and wait while Sadie does her business. When she’s finished, we walk on again. Sadie doesn’t care how far we go; she’s delighted to be out, and she keeps glancing up at me as if to say, Good, you’re showing sense for once and not dragging me home after twenty minutes. Maybe I’m getting you trained at last.